Chapter 8
By the arrival of deep winter, I could write to His Highness.
Delicate regular script came easily to my brush.
At the end of one letter, I even quoted The Book of Lord Shang: “A king’s army is not arrogant in victory and does not despair in defeat.”
His Highness wrote back: “Did you write this yourself?”
The princess consort, nearly ready to give birth, clutched the letter and laughed until tears came.
She told me to answer with a little poem I had just learned.
“May I be the star and you the moon, our radiance joined night after night.”
I considered it, then put brush to paper.
The war had lasted more than half a year, bringing both victories and defeats. Yet our army held the pass and gave the Western Yi no further advantage.
Lately, reports of victory came one after another.
The capital’s long oppression finally began to lift.
Warming ourselves over the brazier, the princess consort and I counted the days and wondered whether His Highness could return in triumph before her labor began.
She wanted him to see his first child enter the world.
The child meant more than sentiment. In our dynasty, the existence of an heir weighed heavily when choosing a crown prince.
“He will return in time.” I held her hand and comforted her gently.
In truth, we both understood.
If Prince Chen came home victorious, his reputation would soar.
Calls to name him crown prince were already loud. They would soon become deafening.
But His Majesty had other sons.
The tallest tree drew the fiercest wind.
Once court and country lost their calm, Prince Chen’s household would lose its peace as well.
We prepared for everything—except an ambush on his road home.
The defeated Western Yi, unwilling to accept failure, sent masters across the deadly snow mountains to assassinate him.
Prince Chen and a squad of guards were scattered in the treacherous terrain. His whereabouts became unknown.
The news had been sealed tightly enough that it should never have reached us.
Then Prince Huai’s consort came to pay a visit.
The moment she left, Xiao Yuru began to bleed.
Rain pounded through the night while her screams tore through the residence.
The baby’s position had already been poor. With a few more days it might have corrected itself, but the sudden labor placed her in terrible danger.
Jingzhe, Guyu, and the other maids somehow fetched midwives and physicians, yet none knew what to do. They could only leave matters to fate.
Of all words, I hated “leave it to fate” most.
They sounded unlucky.
I pushed past the clamoring midwives and head-shaking physicians, entered her room, and asked if she would trust me.
Sweat soaked her hair. Her unfocused eyes studied me for a long while before she nodded.
I had never borne a child, but I had watched many births.
Once, I saw a village healer—who treated cattle as often as people—use his hands to turn a child trapped sideways in its mother’s womb, allowing a safe delivery.
Afterward, I secretly asked how he had dared. Was he not afraid of breaking them both?
He glared and roared, “They would die anyway! You treat a dead horse as if it might still live!”
His ferocity frightened me so badly that I avoided him for months.
Now his words seemed thunderous with truth.
An unnamed force guided my hands as I slowly turned the child into position.
I did not think of whether Li Jinxuan remained alive, or what would happen if I failed.
I wanted only Xiao Yuru and her child to live.
Both of them. They both had to live.
The princess consort had spent all her strength.
I bent to her ear and coaxed her to push.
I lied that His Highness cared deeply for her but feared offending her dignity.
I promised he would return and that a long road still waited for them together.
After what felt like an eternity, a baby’s cry finally rang in my ears.
I collapsed to the floor.
When reason returned, terror crashed over me like mountains and seas.
How had I dared?
One tiny mistake, and I would have played myself straight into the grave.
But the unconscious woman still gripped my hand so tightly that I could not withdraw it.
Looking at her bloodless profile and the wailing child, I closed my eyes.
Relief loosened something inside me.
Perhaps whether I lived or died was not the most important thing.
What mattered was that I had won once again.
And I intended to win many, many more times.
Guyu raised the baby and announced, “A young heir!”
Jingzhe rushed inside, her voice cold. “Word has already spread outside that Princess Consort Chen died in childbirth with her baby.”
A piece of charcoal cracked loudly in the brazier.
The infant, who had finally stopped crying, began again in a hoarse little voice.
I turned toward Xiao Yuru, just awakening, as the pieces fell into place.
No wonder one of the three midwives retained by the household had vanished, another fallen unconscious, and the third developed violent stomach trouble.
No wonder the Empress Dowager had summoned every imperial physician to attend her sudden “illness.”
The struggle between the two princes had begun the moment the army marched home in victory.
Even the Western masters’ assassination attempt was likely someone’s design.
Xiao Yuru said nothing. Her fingers tightened around mine.
At last she spoke. “They labored so hard to make me die in childbirth, then spread the news before they could possibly know the result. There is only one explanation.
“His Highness lives but has concealed his whereabouts. Someone is trying to drive him into a reckless move.”
“A reckless move?” I laughed softly.
So this was a contest among the powerful—no blows, no curses. Merely hearing it made my blood race.
I pressed a hand to the bed and rose, tucking the blankets around her as I did.
Looking out at the pale winter beyond the window, I said slowly, “Why should we be the only ones in turmoil? If there must be chaos, let everyone share it.”