Chapter 1 This dying nymph was a bit foolish; it miscalculated the day of its metamorphosis…
It was an ordinary early spring morning. Changsun Qingjing lay by the garden pond, quietly observing a clumsy nymph swaying and trembling as it grabbed a withered branch floating on the water's surface, slowly climbing to the very end, hanging upside down to gather its strength.
Her elder brother, Changsun Wuji, came over, looked at his sister, then at the pool, and said with a sneer, "This water nymph is a bit stupid. It miscalculated the day of its metamorphosis and refuses to go back into the water. It probably won't survive..."
The nanny and the mother, Gao, probably felt that it was inappropriate for the young man and woman to be watching insects by the water like country children, so they prepared to take them back to the pavilion.
The head of the family, Changsun Sheng, who was leaning against the palanquin, did not care about the two children's rude behavior. He waved his hand to signal the nanny to step back and let his wife return to his side.
In the dusty, sweltering days of a persistent illness, unresponsive to medicine, even the aging Right Valiant Guard General couldn't help but feel a childlike wonder. He beckoned his children closer, listening to his brother and sister arguing about the life and death of a dragonfly. Facing his stubborn son, Wuji, Changsun Sheng gestured with his hand in the air, mimicking a flying dragonfly, and said, "Perhaps the dragonfly transforms into a dragonfly today, and soars high in the clouds tomorrow. Wuji, don't underestimate it."
“But the timing of its metamorphosis was just wrong…” The young man was unmoved by his father’s joke and remained steadfast in his beliefs.
"Could it be that you've come to take me back to the Zhao Dynasty?" Changsun Sheng muttered to himself, then squeezed the little girl's rosy fingers, which were wet with the pool water. "I won't play with you today."
Everyone nodded. Changsun Qingjing also felt that his father was spending less and less time outside.
On this day, there were an unusually large number of eagles circling above Daxing City. They cried out, they soared and gathered, they hibernated, they waited.
The scene was as clear as a scroll passed down by Xiao Yi, slowly unfolding before Changsun Qingjing.
In the fifth year of the Daye era, the eldest grandson Qingjing was eight years old.
These were the busiest days of her life. The emperor's personal envoys and physicians, the Imperial Household Department's attendants, relatives, students, and old friends came one after another. She often had to kneel outside the heavy curtains of the inner room, listening to her seriously ill father's soft murmurs.
"Make alliances with distant states while attacking nearby ones, and unite the weak while separating the strong. I hope that Your Excellency will convey to the Emperor that when dealing with the Turks, you must remember to use both kindness and severity... I have already rewritten several of the letters I wrote to the late Emperor when I was on the border. I am old and weak, and there are many errors and omissions. I hope that my scribes will laugh at me. I only hope that this will be of help to the court and the Inner Secretariat."
After his father's several heart-wrenching coughs and the messenger's heavy sigh, the young Changsun Qingjing rose abruptly, eager to rush into the curtained room, but was pulled back onto the cushions by his elder brother, Changsun Wuji. They were powerless against birth, aging, sickness, and death; it seemed they had no choice but to sit idly by.
The two children stared blankly as the clear blue sky gradually darkened with gloom. Changsun Qingjing even saw the agitated Changsun Wuji reach out to grab something in front of him. Yes, the darkness was like a cage, a net, like withered branches and fallen leaves soaring upwards in an autumn wasteland. Teenage boys often fantasize that they are omnipotent, able to clear away these obstacles and find a clear and bright future.
The room was filled with the scents of imperial herbs, exotic incense, and the heavy smell of paper and ink. Changsun Sheng entrusted all his diplomatic strategies to the envoy, until he could no longer imagine what dangerous the Turks, whom he had always manipulated, might become, before finally bidding them farewell. He firmly believed that history would record at least a few words about him. He had no regrets in public affairs, and while he didn't cling to the illusion of longevity, he still hoped to treat his children, born in his two marriages, fairly.
From the perspective of the heir to the imperial lineage, fate had played more than one cruel joke on Changsun Sheng. He had three sons with his ex-wife. His eldest son, Changsun Xingbu, was remarkably similar to him in both interpersonal skills and military strategy, but unfortunately, he died in battle during the rebellion of Yang Liang, the Prince of Han. His second son, Changsun Heng'an, was also commendable in his role as Eagle-Winged Colonel, but tragically perished in the battle against the Shiwei. His third son, Changsun Anye, possessed an exceptionally silver tongue, combining the charisma of a diplomat with the cunning of a schemer, leaving his father uncertain whether this was a blessing or a curse.
On his deathbed, Changsun Sheng had no choice but to confess: "Sometimes, I want to ask Zhangchou Taiyi to read your fortune, but his prophecies are so accurate that I'm afraid of hearing unbearable results; sometimes, I want to emulate He Ruodun and find an awl to pierce your proud tongue, but I just can't bring myself to do it to my own flesh and blood." Changsun Anye looked at his father in astonishment, not knowing how to comfort him.
Changsun Sheng snorted and said, "Great ambitions coupled with a lack of ability inevitably lead to trouble. You'd better rein in your ambitions that don't match your capabilities." Then, his father, who had been so arrogant just moments before, suddenly pleaded, "Remember, my funeral must not exceed the prescribed rites... Do not forget to offer sacrifices to our grandparents. Remember to clear the weeds around the graves of your two deceased elder brothers every year. Also, take good care of your mother and your underage younger siblings. Swear it now!"
Changsun Anye glanced back hastily at his thirteen-year-old brother and eight-year-old sister. His stepmother, Madam Gao, sensed the fleeting displeasure in her stepson.
“Okay.” The son, Anye, swore to take good care of his mother and his two younger siblings. If he broke this vow, he would be condemned to the hell of having his tongue pulled out. His promise was probably sincere, but it differed from his stepmother's definition. However, at least in the eyes of his father, uncle, and younger siblings, this half-brother was not a heartless and ungrateful person.
Changsun Sheng nodded in satisfaction and called his youngest son, Wuji, forward: "Bring me the Turkic golden sword from my sword rack." The boy, who had been worried about his father for months, looked thin and frail. Realizing that his father was saying goodbye to everyone, he shook off his dejection, solemnly took the golden sword to his father, placed it beside the bed, and then helped his father, who was leaning to his feet, to his feet.
Changsun Sheng squinted as he drew the sword and examined it for a moment before sheathing it and solemnly handing it to his son, asking, "Do you know the origin of this sword?"
The boy nodded and said, "I know, it was given to my father by the Turkic Khan because he admired my father's skill of killing two birds with one stone."
"Now it belongs to you." The boy hesitated for a moment, hugged the golden knife to his chest, looked around, then temporarily put the knife to his side, and then solemnly knelt down to his father.
Changsun Wuji racked his brains, wanting to tell his father that he would surely surpass him, bring glory to the family, and even rise to high office. He wanted to fulfill so many of the responsibilities of the son of the Right Valiant Guard General, to put his dying father at ease and happy. But fate seemed unwilling to give him even a moment longer to prove himself to his father.
He felt a cold glint approaching from his side, and his intuition told him it was the unfriendly, watchful gaze of his unpredictable and temperamental elder brother. Changsun Anye was nearing thirty, while Changsun Wuji was, in his brother's eyes, practically a harmless child. Whether stern or kind, it was all part of his elder brother's duty.
Changsun Wuji glanced at Changsun Anye out of the corner of his eye. His elder brother, who was often scolded by their father as a "good-for-nothing drunkard," was now filled with sorrow and bewilderment about the future.
"That must be because I'm too narrow-minded!" The young nobleman felt somewhat guilty towards his elder brother.
Their uncle, Changsun Chi, stood there stunned, his heart filled with mixed emotions. The eldest son versus the beloved son, the legitimate heir versus the illegitimate heir, the surging future of the family versus the cold, cruel reality, ambition versus compromise and forbearance, breaking with convention versus following the established order—these are age-old dilemmas that forever prevent people from making calm choices.
Of course, the aging general believed he had done the best for both his country and his family. At this moment, he felt he had done nothing wrong. But deep down, he was still uneasy, selfishly reserving his last moments for his heartbroken wife and innocent daughter.
Changsun Sheng smiled and pointed to the pipa on the table, saying to Madam Gao, "I've been busy with many things today, and it's been a long time since I've heard you play. I know you're troubled, so please do your best to play a piece called 'Entering the Battle' for me."
Lady Gao nodded, and, clutching her pipa, crawled to her husband's side. Changsun Sheng reached out with difficulty to tuck the stray strands of hair, damp with tears, behind his wife's ear. "Take care of yourselves after I'm gone," he whispered.
Lady Gao, holding a ceremonial tablet, conjured a desolate scene on her five-stringed pipa. Changsun Qingjing sat down beside her father's bed, her elbows resting on the edge, her chin supported by her hands. She wanted to find words of comfort for her father, but he suddenly stroked her double-bun hairstyle and teased her in a playful tone: "In the past, your father always told you stories; how about you tell your father a story today?"
The girl nodded. She didn't ask her father what he liked to hear; she was certain that what she was playing was exactly what he wanted to hear. The pipa music was sometimes melodious and gentle, sometimes faint and delicate, and sometimes poised to burst forth…
"Once upon a time, in the Central Plains, there lived a young hero who vowed to defeat the arrogant northern barbarians. Coincidentally, a marriage alliance was being formed between the two countries, and the young man was chosen to be the envoy escorting the princess. After overcoming countless hardships, the group finally arrived at the royal court. The Khan of the northern kingdom looked down on the Central Plains delegation, constantly making things difficult for and mocking them. At the Khan's wedding to the princess, two great eagles soared across the sky. The Khan, holding two arrows, pointed at the circling birds of prey and asked the delegation, 'Who can shoot down these two eagles?' The Khan, assuming the Central Plains were full of cowards, intended to thoroughly humiliate the delegation. Unexpectedly, the young man stepped forward: 'I am willing to join the Khan in celebration.' He immediately took an arrow, seized the moment when the two eagles were locked in a struggle, and shot them both down in one shot, drawing gasps of amazement from the congratulatory envoys. From then on, the young man became a legendary hero in the northern borderlands..."
The stirring sound of the pipa abruptly ceased, and the boy in the story remained forever young and valiant. Changsun Qingjing nestled against his father's chest, watching him fall asleep with a smile. "Later, the boy traveled to many places. He saw galloping cattle and sheep, endless deserts, the crimson haze of the northern desert, and the five-colored sky..."
The hero indeed died at the opportune time. Firstly, the nation was thriving, requiring no painstaking effort to repair the crumbling Sui Dynasty; secondly, the family was harmonious and fraternal, necessitating no effort to mend the animosity between their sons. As for the sins that could not be fully recorded by the bamboo of Nanshan, the evil deeds that the waves of Donghai could not wash away, the laughingstocks of Chang'an and Dongdu, and the lamentable fate of orphans and widows, those are stories of another era.
Lady Gao, holding her children's hands, entered the central courtyard, as the exaggerated, mournful cries of her servants and maids rose one after another. The eagle, which had been perched for a long time, sensed the presence of a soul and, drawn by the fleeing spirit, took flight, soaring into the clouds.
Changsun Qingjing stared intently at the sky; the eagles never returned. The young man, whose bow was like thunder and whose horse was like lightning, and his era of youthful vigor, had come to an end.
A note from the author:
Let's see if we can post it.
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