Chapter 45 Stubborn She's Not Afraid to Be the Wall Behind Him!

Li Shimin, holding his mother's favorite long-sleeved robe, leaped onto the roof.

The midday sun, tugs at the clouds, reveals the shape of a lion. Every strand of its red mane seems to breathe, to burn with flame, surging towards you.

Changsun Qingjing felt that wherever Madam Dou's skirt went, it meandered and shimmered, a red with bright gold trim, a stubborn, reborn, immortal color.

The young man firmly believed that his mother's temporarily lost soul would follow the last rays of light to find the summoning banner and return home to reunite with her husband and children.

He carried his mother's clothes, almost falling or rolling down the ladder, and landed in a pile of unspoiled snow.

“Videha!” Changsun Qingjing rushed to Li Shimin’s side, knelt on the ground, and tried to pull him up.

"Cheer up, you must see your mother off on her final journey!"

Li Shimin struggled to lift his mother's clothes high, as if a fragile soul was contained there.

His eyes were filled with a mixture of confusion and grief.

“She’s back. She’s not reconciled.” He pointed to Changsun Qingjing’s ear, where in the distance, crimson flames burned like mane, fierce and imposing, their light reaching the sky.

The lion-head-shaped setting sun seemed to let out a mournful cry as it sank behind the mountains, leaving only desolate, grave-like peaks.

"What am I going to do now?" A chilling, icy, and desperate atmosphere enveloped the face of this warm, passionate, and optimistic young man. Suddenly, he buried his face in his clothes, still carrying the familiar scent of spices, like a helpless infant, letting tears stream down his face.

"Get up, get up first!" Changsun Qingjing's voice was gentle yet firm. She silently knelt beside the distraught young man. She could wait, wait for him to untangle his own knots in his heart.

After the soul-summoning ceremony was completed, the relatives gradually left the central courtyard and reunited in Madam Dou's bedroom.

However, according to etiquette, those closest to Madam Dou could only look at their wives, mothers, and grandmothers from behind a screen, and could not cross that short distance, nor could they peek at the body of the deceased under the pretext of grief.

The personal maid began to wipe the body of the recently deceased mistress and change her into the ceremonial robes of a noblewoman. Low sobs came from inside and outside the bedroom, followed by a few wails, and then bursts of mournful weeping, sometimes continuous, sometimes intermittent, choked by the cold wind and ice.

Changsun Qingjing recalled that afternoon when she fled from her uncle's house to Longshouyuan. She was lonely and helpless, with nowhere to go. She had the ambition to never abandon her, but she was afraid that her uncle would send her back to the clan she did not want to be associated with.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, it was this weak, weeping boy in front of her who offered a helping hand, leading her away from the cold winds and helplessness.

Why should she be afraid of being the wall behind him!

Changsun Qingjing moved closer to Li Shimin, cupped his cheeks, and pulled him out of his chaotic thoughts.

"Alright, your mother's spirit has returned now. Go and keep her company," she said softly.

Then, Changsun Qingjing tried to take Lady Dou's clothes from Li Shimin's hands. He trembled as he clutched the crumpled red garment even tighter, as if it were the last hope to communicate between the living and the dead, as if it were the place where his soul could rest.

The two remained locked in this standoff for a long time. Grief, doubt, anger, and reluctance flashed across Li Shimin's brow, while Changsun Qingjing remained as resolute as ever.

The stubborn boy finally gave in, loosening his white knuckles and letting Changsun Qingjing take away the relics used to summon his mother's spirit.

As the last piece of red cloth slipped through his fingers, tears welled up in his eyes once more, but he suppressed the urge to snatch it back.

The second umbilical cord connecting mother and child was thus severed—a helpless, reckless, and inhumane act, but one that had no other choice.

Changsun Qingjing looked up at the people in the bedroom who were waiting for their deceased wife and mother to dress up for the last time, and his eyes inadvertently met those of Third Sister. That sorrowful yet resolute gaze held not only surprise and understanding of Changsun Qingjing's actions.

"Let Mother go in peace." Changsun Qingjing helped Li Shimin up. She tied his turban back up, brushed the dust and blood off his face, wrapped his arms around her neck, and pressed him firmly against her shoulders. "Stand up, let's go to Mother together."

Li Shimin glanced at Changsun Qingjing. Compared to himself, the girl before him was almost a head shorter. Because of the elaborate wedding ceremony and caring for the sick, she was even thinner than before her marriage. Stimulated by the cold wind, her cheeks were almost as translucent as jade, with fine red veins surging within them, their gurgling sound clearly audible.

Her voice was neither loud nor shrill, yet it possessed an undeniable power.

Li Shimin nodded and obediently stood up. His panic and grief over the loss of his loved ones had reached their peak, and his actions were inevitably disordered and chaotic.

The two falls didn't actually break any bones; they just temporarily made him lose his usual arrogance and confidence.

Setting up the bed, bathing, changing clothes, feeding, small encoffining, large encoffining... Unrestrained busyness can indeed numb the nerves of grief.

While announcing the death, the family carried Madam Dou's coffin back to Daxing City.

Before Li Shimin's eyes was a blinding, gleaming white. On his way back to Daxing, he subconsciously shielded his eyes with his hand. In the corner of his eye, he seemed to catch a glimpse of a calm yet resolute bluish-green, perhaps from his imagination, or perhaps from the direction where Changsun Qingjing was.

In the Tang State Mansion of Daxing City, a nine-foot-long memorial banner was erected in front of the coffin in the main hall, the white silk trembling in the biting wind.

For several days in a row, Changsun Qingjing knelt beside Li Shimin amidst the blinding white. She watched helplessly as her husband collapsed before the coffin.

Li Shimin awoke with a start in the flickering light of a candle.

"Where am I?" He rubbed his buzzing head, inside which countless echoes clamored, threatening to burst through his flesh and blood.

“Maybe it’s hanging on a cliff, or maybe it’s fallen to the bottom of a valley.” Changsun Qingjing looked at him with doubt and some worry. “Mother is home, and so are you and me. You fainted while keeping vigil. I was with you, but then I saw you screaming in your nightmare, so I woke you up.”

Upon seeing Changsun Qingjing with his hair in a mourning bun and dressed in the most stern clothes, Li Shimin realized that he had been talking nonsense in his delirious dream.

“I guess your spirit chased after your mother’s spirit for a long time, but she chased it back,” Changsun Qingjing said understandingly.

Li Shimin carefully recalled those events when he was unconscious and on the verge of death. Those strange things were clearly just illusions, yet they felt so real that they were beyond question.

Perhaps it was truly his mother's spirit, or perhaps it was some hidden, growing green within him that prevented him from giving up on himself.

Li Shimin tried to grasp Changsun Qingjing's hand: "I'm talking nonsense, don't take it to heart. Has the date for the funeral been chosen?"

"The divination has already been performed."

"I want to build a thatched hut to be with my mother." He said his decision resolutely and willfully.

Changsun Qingjing looked at Li Shimin with a strange expression: "It's good that you think that way."

"Is 'admittedly' a profound statement?" Li Shimin looked at Changsun Qingjing's red and swollen eyes. He wasn't sure if she was crying for her mother's mourning or because she was worried about him. Either way, he regretted his slightly reproachful tone.

"It's just in time you woke up. Let me check your foot and leg injuries." Changsun Qingjing put the wound medicine aside, rolled up the trouser leg that was still wet with blood from a long-standing injury, took off his footwear, and carefully cleaned the old wounds and new ulcers.

She said with some relief, "Thankfully, I'm alright!"

Changsun Qingjing re-bandaged Li Shimin's wound and said sincerely, "The imperial envoy and the Duke of Chen have come to the mansion, but it's a pity that Mother couldn't see them this time."

"Any news from Luoyang?" Li Shimin suddenly realized, remembering that his mother was worried about his father's promotion before she died.

“My father spent half his life trying to be on par with your father. Don’t laugh at him for his mediocre life…” Li Shimin found that the more he tried to prove that his father was no less capable than Changsun Sheng, the less confident he became; if he simply admitted that his father was ambitious but lacked talent, he would feel unwilling.

“The two men’s circumstances are completely different and cannot be compared. You should be happy that your mother’s expectations have come true.” Changsun Qingjing ended the topic of his fathers.

"Yes, it's a pity that my mother accompanied my father on his many official journeys, and just when he was about to achieve great things, she passed away." Li Shimin was silent for a long time, then asked, "What about my mother's funeral?"

Changsun Qingjing did not answer directly, but simply stated the facts: "The imperial envoy and the Duke of Chen arrived one after the other, and the Emperor and Empress also learned of my mother's death. They announced the imperial edict, expressing their condolences to my father on behalf of the Emperor and Empress..."

"What does that have to do with me?" The young man, burdened by grief, remained immersed in his fantasies about Yilu.

The candlelight on the lampstand trembled violently as if bewitched, and a few sparks splashed onto the Buddhist scriptures on the table.

Author's Note: A tug-of-war between two stubborn individuals

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