Life, soul, cause and effect
Chuxiu Palace, its gates wide open, was draped with white curtains. Palace servants bowed their heads and silently swept the courtyard, burning mugwort to ward off evil spirits.
Zhiwei followed the busy palace servants into the main hall, her gaze falling on the nanmu coffin in the center that had not yet been sealed.
Although it was early spring and the weather was still cool, after the body had been lying there for several days, an indescribable somber smell still lingered in the air.
Perhaps for this reason, even the emperor did not come to see this favored concubine one last time.
The palace maid leading the way frowned at the smell.
Zhiwei seemed unable to smell the odor. She slowly stepped forward, took out a clean handkerchief from her sleeve, bent down, and gently wiped Wan Zhen'er's face, which was pale but unusually calm, in the coffin, brushing away the non-existent dust.
“Your Majesty is very clean.” Zhiwei turned to Siyu and said, “You have taken great care of yourself.”
Siyu knelt beside the coffin, seemingly oblivious to everything, her eyes now bruised and swollen, clearly indicating she hadn't slept for many days.
"Your Majesty...it's all my fault for not taking good care of her." Siyu's eyes were swollen, and she tightly clutched an extremely small paper lantern in her hand.
Zhiwei recognized the lantern—she had seen it many years ago, when Sun Wei clumsily made it while Wan Zhen'er laughed and messed with it, and the final product looked like this.
The last, relics?
Zhiwei reached out her hand, and Siyu hesitated for a moment before finally placing the small lantern into her hand.
Zhiwei took the lantern, its edges worn and a crooked rabbit drawn on it. She carefully placed the lantern inside the coffin, between Wan Zhen'er's cold, stiff fingers, then took three incense sticks, lit them, and placed them in front of the coffin.
A wisp of smoke rose, swirled, and dissipated.
Just as the incense was about to burn out, a series of hurried and chaotic footsteps suddenly came from outside the palace, accompanied by faint shouts, growing louder as they approached.
Yonghua Palace is not far from Chuxiu Palace, this commotion...
Zhiwei raised her eyes and looked in the direction where the commotion had started outside the hall, understanding dawning on her.
Consort Ling is about to give birth.
——
In the main hall of Yonghua Palace, Zhu Liji stood with his hands behind his back, his brows slightly furrowed.
The midwife's voice rose and fell, and suppressed moans of pain echoed from the delivery room.
At this critical moment, Zhiwei finally arrived. The moment she stepped through the gate, Pinghai, with his sharp eyes, saw her as a savior and hurriedly ran over: "Oh my, my dear aunt, you've finally arrived! The Empress inside has been asking about you. Please come in!"
After exchanging a glance with Zhu Liji, Zhiwei was led by a palace maid into the delivery room shrouded in the stench of blood.
A heavy, rusty odor assaulted the senses, almost nauseating. Several palace maids hurried in and out, carrying blood-soaked cloths and copper basins, their expressions filled with fear.
The old midwife's voice was already hoarse, but she kept repeating, "Your Highness, breathe, breathe in rhythm with me! The baby is big, you have to conserve your energy, don't shout, don't waste your strength!"
A scene that seemed familiar.
Zhiwei walked to an inconspicuous corner and quietly observed everything before her.
Blood.
Pale red blood.
Blood that seems to flow endlessly from the fountain of life.
Not a drop, not a puddle, but a surging, viscous crimson tide, constantly overflowing from beneath the postpartum diaper, soaking the brocade quilt, and dripping onto the cold ground, as if tolling a death knell for a long ceremony.
This blinding red suddenly burst open the floodgates of Zhiwei's memories.
She saw the horrific scene of the wedding procession being slaughtered in the humid rainforest of Lingnan. Those faces that were still alive yesterday were now lying in the mud, and the blood and rainwater beneath them mixed into a pale pink stream that meandered and seeped into the black earth.
She saw an open-air table in Shu County, where the steamer was not filled with the aroma of food, but with the eerie sweetness of steamed human flesh. Dark red crumbs remained on the cutting board, gathered together like pairs of scarlet pupils that could not rest in peace even in death.
She saw flames shooting into the sky, and a charred, curled-up corpse, its body mutilated, with two marks on its neck: one a knife wound, and the other a deep, bone-revealing ligature mark.
Countless faces—familiar, unfamiliar, young, old, loved, hated, betrayed, owed—were no longer blurry shadows, but converged into an enormous demon, its empty, crimson eyes staring silently at Zhiwei.
Thick, sticky tears of blood slid down his cheeks.
Is it hers, or someone else's?
Why does it keep flowing more and more?
Hello, is anyone there?
Zhiwei trembled as she watched the tears of blood flow more and more rapidly, gathering into streams, surging into rivers, and finally roaring at her feet, transforming into a boundless ocean of blood.
It's cold.
Their mouth and nose were blocked, they were deprived of breathing, and they could not move their limbs.
Those lost lives, their pain, their resentment, their injustices, all seem to be transformed into an unbearable weight through this sea of blood.
The weight pressed down on Zhiwei's chest, crushing her bones, trying to drag her into this eternal crimson darkness.
Just one step, just one more step! A voice clamored temptingly in my ear.
"Miss Yan..." On the dragon bed, Consort Ling, her hair damp with sweat, her face deathly pale, weakly reached out to Zhiwei, "Help me... hold me..."
Hearing the call, Zhiwei suddenly broke free from the terrifying illusion.
She blinked, the bloodshot in her eyes fading, returning to that somewhat blank and vacant look.
Zhiwei walked to the delivery bed. Consort Ling was lying in the messy brocade quilt, her face was sallow and her lips were cracked. She was exhausted.
Upon seeing Zhiwei, a glimmer of light finally returned to her unfocused gaze, and she reached out with difficulty, as if trying to grasp this last piece of driftwood.
Zhiwei did not dodge.
"I'm here." She smiled, reached out, and firmly grasped Consort Ling's trembling hand.
Beside her, a palace maid held a tray with a life-extending pill that was said to be priceless and a rare treasure.
That was specially prepared by the imperial physicians for cases of difficult childbirth.
Zhiwei took the pill, twirling it between her fingertips as if to confirm its weight, and then gently placed it to Consort Ling's lips.
"Your Majesty, suck on this and gather some strength." Zhiwei's voice was low and steady, carrying a strange soothing power.
Consort Ling opened her mouth as instructed and took the pill into her mouth. Zhiwei then took the warm water handed to her by a palace maid and carefully fed her a small sip.
The pills were taken, and time agonized as it passed in the delivery room. Zhiwei sat quietly by the bed, holding Consort Ling's hand.
Zhiwei silently watched the woman in labor before her. On the verge of death, an unusual, abnormal flush rose on Consort Ling's face, as if she were drunk—no, even redder.
Zhiwei recalled the sow she had seen in the countryside. Before it died, it also let out such a piercing cry. Then it was dismembered, and what was left was the bright red, still-uncongealed pig's blood, more captivating than lip gloss.
What a beautiful color! Zhiwei couldn't help but touch it with her own hand.
However, the vibrant red gradually precipitated, turned gray, and stagnated, eventually solidifying into a lifeless dark red, like a piece of congealed blood that had been left out for too long and was repulsive to look at.
"Wah—!" A baby's loud cry broke the silence in the delivery room.
"It's born! It's born! It's a little princess!" The midwife's voice trembled with joy.
"Your Majesty, please look!" Someone spoke. Consort Ling, exhausted, raised her head and groaned weakly. The child was so close; she would soon see the little one!
Suddenly, a large mouthful of thick, fresh blood gushed from her mouth!
Almost at the same moment the blood gushed out, the birth canal below collapsed instantly, and warm blood, like a floodgate opened, quickly soaked through the thick mattress and dripped onto the floor.
"Your Majesty!"
"Blood! He's bleeding profusely!"
"Quickly, summon the imperial physician!"
The delivery room instantly descended into chaos.
The palace servants, carrying hot water and medicinal herbs, frantically rushed around like headless flies, trying to stop the surging flow of life that was bursting through the dam.
Only Zhiwei, amidst the chaos, slowly rose from the edge of the bed.
Her face, hands, and the front of her clothes were covered with spurted blood, left from the moment Consort Ling vomited blood and she hurriedly covered her mouth and nose.
Zhiwei raised her hand slightly; the bloodstains were an extremely dark red, gleaming eerily under the palace lanterns.
Zhiwei walked up to the midwife, extended her hands stained with blood, and calmly said, "Give me the child."
The old woman was startled by her empty eyes and instinctively handed the swaddled baby over.
Zhiwei took the crying little princess and gently stroked the baby's extremely delicate cheek with her fingertips.
So this is life.
Having rehearsed it a thousand times in her mind, Zhiwei skillfully held the baby in her arms, gently rocking her, and even humming a faint lullaby.
"The moon is bright, the breeze is gentle..."
Holding her child, Zhiwei turned and walked out of the delivery room, seemingly oblivious to the chaos and life-or-death situation behind her.
The imperial physician rushed over with his medicine chest, passing by her.
Outside the delivery room, listening to the faint sounds of chaos coming from inside, Zhu Liji called out Consort Ling's name repeatedly through the curtain. He took a few small steps, but ultimately did not cross the threshold.
After all, it was a bloody place that was detrimental to the government.
No matter how urgent it was, he refused to break this precedent.
Even when Zhiwei walked up to him with the child in her arms, the baby in the swaddling clothes was still crying softly.
Zhu Liji's gaze first fell on the baby, then swept over Zhiwei's blood-covered body, and his Adam's apple bobbed.
“Your Majesty,” Zhiwei began, her voice flat, her eyes filled with a deep darkness, “Look, the little princess… is so beautiful.”
Zhu Liji's eyes widened in an instant.
For some reason, even though he knew it might be the dullness caused by the medication, he still felt a lump in his throat, and even his anxiety for Consort Ling was somewhat dampened.
In the end, he didn't say anything, only waved his hand.
The two people and their child stood quietly outside the delivery room.
After an unknown amount of time, the noise in the delivery room gradually subsided, eventually fading into a chilling silence.
——
Consort Ling's life was ultimately not saved.
The imperial physician reported nervously that the patient had died from "a large fetus, difficult labor, and postpartum hemorrhage."
In just half a month, two high-ranking concubines in the palace passed away, making the already desolate harem even more bleak.
Yonghua Palace, white silk banners fill the sky.
The funeral was extremely grand, almost exceeding the standards for a concubine. Consort Ling was a generous person in life, but now that she has passed away, the palace servants all wept and remained silent.
Zhu Liji stood before the coffin. In just a few days, his beard had become unkempt and his eyes were bloodshot.
He reached out, his fingertips trembling slightly as he stroked the carefully made-up face of Consort Ling in the coffin. His movements were slow and heavy.
“Consort Ling…” Zhu Liji’s voice was hoarse, and there seemed to be a genuine sense of grief in his movements.
The sound shattered in the empty hall, and there was no more sound.
Zhiwei held the little princess, who was less than three days old, and stood quietly in a corner.
Ultimately, a mother and daughter are connected at heart. The little princess seemed to sense that this was the last chance to see her mother, and she kept squirming and crying anxiously in Zhiwei's arms, her little face turning red.
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