Chapter Nineteen: Past Events Amidst Misty Rain
"Be careful, Jiancheng!"
A piercing scream tore through the cold mountain mist, accompanied by the sharp twang of a bowstring. The pink figure, like a startled crane or a resolute shield, lunged at the man before her.
The next moment, a three-pronged, armor-piercing arrow was deeply embedded in her left chest. It was so fast that she staggered before collapsing limply to the ground.
"Zhi Li—!"
A heart-wrenching roar erupted from Zhen Jiancheng's throat. He caught the woman's falling body with his bare hands; where he touched her, warm blood was quickly soaking her pink clothes, spreading a glaring crimson. Her eyes, which were always smiling and clear as autumn water, were now unfocused with pain, yet they still stubbornly stared at him, reflecting his face, which had turned deathly pale and contorted.
"Take care of...our child..." With her last ounce of strength, her lips parted, her voice barely audible, filled with endless longing and unfinished words of advice. Tears slid down her cheeks, mingling with the bloodstains on his shirt. Then, like a butterfly with broken wings, her eyelids closed gently and forever.
He could even clearly feel the life force that sustained her being drained away little by little along with the hot blood surging from her chest. In the end, the body that had once nestled against him for warmth, giving him boundless courage and tenderness, completely lost all warmth and vitality in his arms, and slid down heavily.
Just moments before, they were fleeing for their lives. Behind them were black-clad men of unknown origin, highly trained and deadly in every move. Their few remaining guards fought desperately, the clash of swords echoing through the air, the forest thick with the stench of blood. They thought they had shaken off their pursuers, but little did they know that their enemies had such insidious crossbowmen lying in ambush, their target clear: Zhen Jiancheng's back. And Yunji's mother, in a flash, shielded him with her own body from this fatal blow.
There was no time for weeping, no time for sorrow. Immense grief, like an icicle, pierced his very bones, yet was forcibly suppressed by an even stronger instinct for survival and a burning rage for revenge. His eyes were bloodshot, and almost with inhuman willpower, he swept her still-warm body into his arms, and, with the desperate cover of his two remaining guards, stumbled and staggered toward the pre-arranged rendezvous point deep in the dense forest.
An inconspicuous blue-canopied carriage appeared silently like a ghost. The coachman, his trusted confidant, paled upon seeing this, but without uttering a word, he quickly helped him settle Ji Moli into the carriage. The carriage immediately started moving and sped towards their secret residence in the capital of a neighboring country.
The carriage jolted and swayed. Zhen Jiancheng held the person in his arms tightly, his trembling fingers futilely trying to wipe away the bloodstains on her face and neck. He called her name softly again and again, but the only response was the monotonous sound of the carriage wheels rolling over the road and the increasingly cold touch of the person in his arms.
When they returned to the small courtyard hidden in the heart of the city, dusk was approaching. The setting sun, like blood, dyed the small courtyard a poignant orange-red. The old doctor, who had been waiting in the courtyard, hurriedly stepped forward, placed his fingers on the young woman's wrist for a moment, then shook his head heavily, knelt on the ground, and said in a hoarse voice, "Young master... Madam... her heart has stopped, there's no way to save her..."
The last glimmer of hope shattered completely. Zhen Jiancheng stood there, his body swaying, as if the whole world had collapsed and crumbled before his eyes. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; only scalding tears finally broke through the dam, gushing out and splashing onto her pale but still beautiful face.
He had thought he was used to loss. Only now did he realize that losing her was equivalent to losing the only light and support in his barren life.
The source of this tragedy lies deep within the web of power struggles between the two countries and the fates of individuals.
It turns out that the boy, Jian Cheng, is the fourth prince of the powerful Eastern Kingdom. His birth mother was originally a concubine of unparalleled beauty in the palace. Because of her strong personality and inability to flatter, she offended the powerful empress during a palace intrigue. The empress's family was very influential, and through their machinations, not only was his mother banished to the cold palace on some pretext and died soon after, but he, at the tender age of seven, was also sent to this neighboring powerful country as a hostage under the pretext of "building good neighborly relations and tempering his character."
A hostage, though nominally a guest, is in reality a prisoner. His life, death, honor, and disgrace all hinge on the subtle shifts in the relationship between the two nations and the whim of his late father, the emperor.
The woman's father was a valiant general who had made outstanding contributions to the founding of a neighboring country, but he died in battle during a border conflict. Her mother lived with her maternal grandfather while she was pregnant—also from a prominent military family in the neighboring country.
Perhaps it was a coincidence of fate, or some unspoken arrangement, but it was Yunji's maternal grandparents who adopted the impoverished hostage, Zhen Jiancheng. This vast mansion became both a prison where two lonely souls met and a haven where they depended on each other for survival.
Because of their "special" identities—one a hostage from an enemy state, living a precarious existence under someone else's roof, the other an orphan girl who had lost her father and relied on her maternal family—they were actually in a delicate situation of being "hidden" within this grand mansion. The family provided them with food and clothing, but rarely allowed them to appear on important occasions, as if afraid their presence would remind others of unpleasant past events or affect the family's marriage alliances and interactions with other powerful figures.
Thus, living a secluded life became their norm. Most of the time, they were "confined" to their small study and back garden deep within the mansion. Together they read and practiced calligraphy, debated classics and history; together they played the zither and painted, admired flowers and watched fish; together they grew freely and tenaciously like wild vines in a corner where no one noticed them.
Those years stretched out endlessly, filled with the scent of ink and flowers, and the focused light in their eyes that shone solely on each other. They discussed the customs and scenery of their respective homelands, shared the strange tales they had read, and secretly discussed the treacherous undercurrents within their own households and even in the courts of both nations. In each other's company, they seemed to temporarily forget the heavy shackles they carried, the cruelty of imperial power struggles, and spent a truly carefree and oblivious period of their youth. It was as if they were never pawns abandoned by fate, but simply the most ordinary couple in the world.
Without elaborate formalities or state gifts, on a spring day when pear blossoms were in full bloom, they faced the heavens and the moon, offering incense sticks as their witness, and became husband and wife. It was the grandest and most precious promise of warmth that two people forgotten by the world could give each other in their loneliness and cold. The following year, they had a boy, whom they named "Yunji," wishing him a smooth and peaceful life.
However, the illusion of peace was bound to be shattered. As time passed, the political situation in both countries became increasingly turbulent, with powerful ministers harboring complex and intertwined interests. The very existence of Zhen Jiancheng, this prince exiled to a foreign land, remained a thorn in the side of certain forces within Zhen's own kingdom and certain factions in neighboring countries seeking to stir up trouble. Several overt and covert assassinations followed in quick succession; like frightened birds, they constantly changed residences, wary of any suspicious activity.
Until this time, the assassin found them precisely, and Yunji's mother, in her own way, ended this endless escape, and remained forever outside that blood-stained forest.
His partner's death was like a piece of flesh being ripped from Zhen Jiancheng's heart, leaving a wound that would never heal, a wound that flowed with pain and hatred. He buried her with his own hands on the hillside where they had strolled hand in hand countless times, her grave facing the direction of Zhenguo. He knew that her soul would surely long for him to return to his homeland with their child.
Soon after, the political situation in the country changed drastically. The old emperor fell seriously ill, and the princes engaged in a brutal power struggle for the throne. In just a few years, the once illustrious princes, due to conspiracies, coups, or their fathers' suspicions, were gradually swallowed up by the river of time, disappearing without a trace.
On his deathbed, the emperor finally remembered Jiancheng, the fourth son of the emperor, who was far away in a foreign land and almost forgotten. He issued an edict ordering him to return to the country immediately.
That year, Zhen Jiancheng had just turned twenty. Carrying the excruciating pain of losing his beloved, the young and naive Yunji, and the forbearance and shrewdness honed in a foreign land, he embarked on his journey home. He knew that what awaited him in his homeland was not the warmth of paternal love and filial piety, but a far more dangerous and colder battlefield.
As expected, although he nominally returned to the country, he had been away from the court and the people for several years and had no foundation. In the eyes of the court officials, he was nothing more than a lucky one who had taken advantage of the situation, a puppet that could be manipulated at will. All the forces in the court, including those powerful ministers and relatives of the emperor who had survived the infighting among the princes, were eyeing him covetously, wanting to replace him at any time.
With only the faint support and guidance of his mother's family, he was forced to make the most pragmatic choice. He quickly married a woman from a prominent family who held military power in the capital region as his empress, and also took several other women from influential families as concubines. This was not out of love, but purely out of a need for power balance and self-preservation.
The first few years of his reign were the most precarious period of his life. Imperial power was once controlled by powerful maternal relatives and domineering court officials, and he was practically a puppet with an official seal, his decrees barely leaving the palace. Every decision was filled with the struggle and compromise of various forces. Every night, he would sit alone in his empty bedchamber, watching the flickering candlelight, and the gentle yet firm eyes of his mother, Yunji, would always appear before his eyes. That became the only belief that sustained him and allowed him to live on and reclaim everything.
He remained hidden, secretly accumulating power. He skillfully exploited the conflicts between the Empress and the concubines' families, dividing and winning them over. He placed a limited number of trustworthy military commanders in key positions, gradually building a truly loyal army. Like the most patient hunter, he awaited the perfect opportunity.
After years of lying low, he finally struck. In the seventh year of his reign, taking advantage of a border skirmish that shook the court, he swiftly joined forces with the military to remove the Grand Secretary and his cronies who had held power for many years, thoroughly purging the court. That bloodless coup, though without gunfire, truly saved his throne and his life.
Having personally experienced the pain of being hampered by powerful relatives and ministers, Zhen Jiancheng, after ascending the throne, was most wary of and guarded against the growing power of the empress's family and relatives. Once his imperial power was initially consolidated, he overruled objections and posthumously conferred the title of "Consort Hua" on his deceased wife. He also sent people to formally bring back Yunji, who had been fostered outside the palace and was gradually becoming sensible, to be raised in the palace.
However, the powerful clans behind the Empress and several concubines at the time were still formidable. To protect Yunji, prevent him from becoming a target of palace intrigue, and to conceal his own untold years as a hostage and his true feelings, Emperor Zhen Jiancheng chose to keep it a secret. He gave a unified account, claiming that Yunji was born to a commoner woman he had met during a southern tour many years ago, and that his mother had died early, so he had been raised outside the palace. He concealed the fact that Yunji's mother came from a prominent military family, and deliberately obscured Yunji's true age, ultimately classifying him as the seventh prince and naming him "Zhen Yunji," hoping that this child with a troubled fate could live peacefully in the deep palace.
Time flies, and several years have passed. The young hostage prince of the past has become an iron-fisted emperor who controls the life and death of the empire. But whenever the night is deep and quiet, after reviewing the mountain of memorials, when he is alone in the empty Hall of Mental Cultivation, that profound loneliness will surge up like a tide.
That night, the moonlight, like quicksilver, streamed through the carved window lattices and onto the cold floor. Emperor Zhen Jiancheng dismissed all the palace servants and walked alone to an inconspicuous niche in a corner of the hall. He reached out and, with some effort, pulled out a sandalwood box. The box was unlocked, but covered with a thin layer of dust. He gently brushed away the dust, opened the lid, and inside lay a beautifully preserved scroll bound with gold thread.
He took a deep breath, as if gathering enough courage, before slowly unrolling the scroll.
On the drawing paper is a smiling woman in white. She stands beneath a pear tree, her eyebrows curved, her eyes clear and lively, carrying a touch of innocent naiveté, yet also concealing a keen wisdom and resilience that sees into people's hearts. It is Yunji's mother.
His fingertips gently traced the eyebrows, eyes, lips, and nose of the person in the painting. Those deliberately sealed memories, as if broken from their seal, surged and crashed against his heart. Her laughter, her whispers, the resolute look in her eyes when she rushed to him to shield him from an arrow, the feeling of her gradually growing cold in his arms... everything was as clear as if it were yesterday.
After an unknown amount of time, the intense emotional surge gradually subsided. He opened his eyes again, gazing at the figure in the painting, and a strange sense of understanding and peace rose within him.
He suddenly realized that all these years, he hadn't simply lived in the pain of losing her. He had transformed his longing for her into the driving force for governing the country, into armor protecting their children. He had completed his transformation from a hostage passively accepting his fate to an emperor actively controlling his destiny. Wasn't this a kind of solace for her?
It was at this moment that a clear figure suddenly entered his mind—Guo Shangshu's daughter, Yunji's study companion, Huairou.
The girl… the first time he glimpsed her from afar in the palace, she inexplicably stirred his heart. She possessed a unique temperament, as serene as autumn water when calm, and as lively as the morning glow when vibrant. Especially her eyes, clear and open, carrying a wisdom and tranquility beyond her years, occasionally revealing intelligence and wit, even a hint of subtle scheming and decisiveness.
Previously, he deliberately ignored this inexplicable attention, attributing it to his scrutiny of those around Yun-gil. But now, after thoroughly sorting out his feelings towards Yun-gil's mother, he suddenly understood.
Her gentle gaze, that seemingly serene yet subtly sharp aura, had long ago captured his heart. "May I?" Jiancheng whispered to the woman in the painting. She looks so much like you, yet she isn't you.
He didn't know. But he knew he could no longer ignore this longing to get closer.
"June." The emperor's voice rang out in the silent hall, tinged with a barely perceptible hoarseness.
A slender figure appeared silently in the shadow of a palace pillar, bowed, and replied, "Your subject is here."
The emperor did not turn around, still gazing at the scroll in his hands, his tone calm and unwavering: "I wish to see someone."
June was a close advisor to the emperor, and he understood everything at a glance at the exquisite painting placed on the table.
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