Chapter Forty-Three: The Grand Ceremony of the Alliance of Five Nations (Part Twenty-Three)

At the height of noon, wisps of white clouds drifted across the azure sky, newly parted from the distant peaks. The interplay of blue and white lent the heavens a beauty far surpassing any single hue, offering a more pleasing sight to all living things beneath the sky. Sunlight spilled through the trees, dappling the earth with scattered patches of light and shadow that shifted with each passing breeze. Crisp and, at times, noisy birdsong mingled with the exuberant wildflowers and grasses of the hills, and the scurrying of small animals—all bearing witness to the vibrant pulse of nature.

A modest carriage was making its slow way eastward. The horse’s hooves trod lightly, the wheels pressed shallow tracks into the soil, marking the passage with two faint ruts. The pace was exceedingly slow, each step measured, the carriage creaking quietly as it rolled. The black horse, slick with sweat, snorted and heaved a labored breath.

The driver wore a deep-blue robe, beneath which was a fine inner garment of snowy white silk. He looked to be about twenty-one or twenty-two, with sharply defined features, and upon closer inspection, a strikingly handsome countenance. His hair was bound by a black crown, with loose strands falling on either side of his forehead. A blade of green grass dangled from his lips, and a look of lighthearted ease graced his face. One hand held the reins, the other gripped a long, pale-yellow whip.

From time to time, the whip cracked and danced through the air like a slender snake—coiling and unfurling—before snapping down on the plump haunches of the horse. The animal would toss its head and grunt, tense its hindquarters, and pick up the pace. Yet as soon as the driver gathered the whip back, the horse would slow once more.

While the carriage seemed ordinary from the outside, within it was another world entirely. The window screens shimmered with a faint purple glow, the unique silk veil reserved for the royal family of Xize. There were also jade fittings, ornate canopies, and a bed of golden silk.

Inside sat two women, one older, one younger. They were none other than Changsun Luoxue and the nursemaid who had cared for her for many years. Changsun Luoxue, her hair fashioned in a hanging bun and adorned with a jade hairpin, leaned against her nursemaid’s shoulder. Her face was bloodless, always wearing a languid, drowsy look; her eyes held the depths of a lake, prone to overflow with tears at the slightest provocation. Yet she was, still, breathtakingly beautiful—a true portrait of the sickly beauty.

Her pallid, delicate hands were wrapped around an ice-jade flask of hot water, as if drawing warmth from it. Despite the height of summer, her body was cold as ice—she had been so since birth. All attempts at medicine and treatment had failed; indeed, her condition seemed only to worsen. Were it not for the flask she always carried, her hands might already have stiffened.

Her attire was equally out of season, for she was draped in a bright red snow-fox pelt coat, her favorite color. The nursemaid, by contrast, was dressed plainly, in a white blouse and purple skirt, her hair in a simple bun that accentuated her ample figure.

Changsun Luoxue exhaled softly and, in a voice tinged with melancholy, asked, “Nurse, how much farther until we reach Ding’an Temple?”

The attentive nursemaid drew the coat more tightly around her, lifted the curtain for a glance outside, and replied, “We’re nearly there, miss. Once we pass through this grove, Ding’an Temple will be in sight. Are you feeling tired?”

“Perhaps it’s the rough road—the carriage jolts so much, I feel uneasy inside, a bit… cough, cough, cough…” Before she could finish, a tickle rose in her throat. She hurriedly pressed a handkerchief to her lips and fell into a fit of coughing.

The nursemaid’s heart ached for her. She gently patted Luoxue’s back and instructed the driver, “Zhong Yu, slow the horse—even slower.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Zhong Yu spat out the blade of grass, his brow creasing. The horse was already moving as slowly as possible, yet for Changsun Luoxue, it was still too fast, too jarring.

He tightened his grip on the reins, then loosened them, and the horse slowed even further. Still, the coughs from within the carriage fell heavily on his heart with each sound.

Meanwhile, at the archery grounds, Changsun Chengjue, Shen Xinan, and the others were preparing for the final event. Among the competitors, Gu Nanyuan had truly been the shining star—his arrows flew swift and unbroken, winning rounds of applause. Even Linghu Changeng had openly praised him.

Of course, the others were not lacking in skill. Yet Fuhua’s arrogance did little to endear him—especially to someone as aloof as Linghu Changeng. Though their temperaments were similar, they found each other intolerable, for those who are ruthless cannot abide ruthlessness in another; they know all too well the demons lurking within.

And so, no matter how outstanding Fuhua was, Linghu Changeng merely remained noncommittal, while Fuhua himself disdained Changeng’s empty words of praise.

Yet… if only Linghu Changeng would join him, Fuhua mused, surely their cause would be unstoppable. He eyed Changeng, startled by the suddenness of his own thought. He knew well of Linghu Changeng’s past exploits—if even his own parents had suffered at his hands, what hope had others?

To join forces would only invite trouble: impossible to control, not bound even by the emperor’s favor, how could a disgraced prince hope to win his loyalty? Besides, a man of such pride would never serve beneath another, nor seek allies. His solitary strength alone was enough to command respect—why dirty himself in the mire of the mortal world?

At this, Fuhua twisted the ruby-studded jade ring on his thumb, pushing aside his fleeting ambitions.

Gu Nanyuan, however, seemed eager to win Linghu Changeng’s favor, seizing every chance to converse with him. Mafei Lü, for his part, looked on with disdain, his words laced with sarcasm.

After all, they were all princes, and the five states were roughly equal in might—there was no need to yield to anyone or curry favor at the expense of one’s dignity. Mafei Lü, in fact, considered himself superior to Gu Nanyuan; he saw no need for flattery, confident that his own abilities would earn Linghu Changeng’s respect.

By contrast, Shen Xinan and Changsun Chengjue seemed mere onlookers, their expressions as gentle and unruffled as ever, their eyes calm, as though all that transpired around them had nothing to do with them at all.

“The final challenge,” Linghu Changeng announced, then turned to a nearby guard. “Bring me five handkerchiefs at once.”

“At once, sir.” The guard bowed and hurried off to the crowd below.

“Forgive me, but what need have we for handkerchiefs?” the Minister of War asked, puzzled.

“There is a use for them,” Linghu Changeng replied with a sidelong glance, unwilling to elaborate.

Soon the guard returned, respectfully presenting the handkerchiefs to Linghu Changeng.

“Give them to the contestants,” he instructed, his eyes narrowing to slits.

The five competitors exchanged uncertain glances, unsure what to make of this turn of events, but nonetheless accepted the handkerchiefs with due reverence, unsure what purpose they would serve.

“Master Linghu, what is the meaning of this?” Gu Nanyuan inquired, bewildered.