Chapter 1: CH 1

Chapter One

Emperor Qingjia’s 17th year of reign. Xi Liang Imperial Capital. Snowfall.

Tomorrow marks the dawn of a new year. Even though the imperial capital was bustling with people, numerous shops and winehouses have already closed for the day, their owners choosing to stay up in anticipation of the new year. In the streets, there remain only a few roadside stalls, struggling to make a living by selling odds and ends.

Zhang Jin bought himself some wine. In the snow, his footsteps were uneven, leaving footprints trailing behind him. Smiling bitterly to himself, he watched the snowfall increase in its intensity.

In the streets, commoners hurried along. Yet, amid the hustle and bustle, he invariably heard the whispers which fluttered from the mingling groups of people huddling by the roadside. Though stricken with shock, their faces were lit with excitement and curiosity.

He knew what the entire city was clamouring about. At the junction of the streets, the walls were plastered with imperial decrees, fluttering gently in the snowfall.

The weather was about to change.

Tomorrow, at the hub of the city, a person would be executed.

If the person being sentenced were a criminal or a traitorous official, that would be acceptable, perhaps even a normal occurrence. Yet the identity of this individual was exceptional:

Xuanji, of the Nian family.

She was the reigning Emperor’s most favoured consort, an evil-doer who, despite lacking absolute beauty, managed to bring great misfortune and disaster to the country.

During the fifteenth year of Emperor Qingjia’s reign, she entered the imperial harem and was immediately conferred the prestigious title of an Imperial Consort. During the sixteenth year of Emperor Qingjia’s reign, her father, Minister Nian, conspired a rebellion, causing her entire clan to be executed. Though she escaped death, she was demoted to a palace slave.  Yet, before long, she reinstated her position where she continued to enjoy glory and splendour – until today.

Legend has it that when she first entered the palace three years ago, the Emperor once executed a hundred people overnight, all for her. To date, the reason remains a mystery.

Fragmented accounts from eye-witnesses have spread through the common folk. They spoke of the blood that covered the grounds of Fengjiu Palace, of the shrill and despairing cries that emanated through its walls, transforming the palace into a purgatory that night.

Overseeing all of this was the Emperor. Holding his favoured consort within his embrace, he watched impassively as the imperial guards carried out his orders, execution after execution. When the blood that flowed splattered across the woman’s embroidered shoes, the Emperor bowed down, and, using his sleeves, helped her wipe away the bloody imprints.

In present day, the reasons behind the sentencing of this once favoured consort to a cruel death remain shrouded in a veil of secrecy. Traditionally, when women in the palace are sentenced to death, they would either be bestowed a silk fabric to hang themselves, or a cup of poisonous wine to end their lives. Yet this consort would soon be subjected to such a cruel execution, carried out under the watchful gazes of millions of commoners.

One can only remark that the heart of an emperor is unfathomable.

As for the crime committed, rumour has it that Consort Nian escaped from the palace, where she later conspired with foreign enemies out of desire to avenge her fallen family and quench her hatred.

Death by execution – a cruel torture where the sharp axe of the executioner would fall upon the sufferer’s waist, severing their body into two halves. Yet with their upper bodies pinned to the execution table, their blood would not be able to flow easily. Such a sentence was designed to let the criminal suffer intensely before dying from the extreme pain.

Humans are such strange creatures. When one is in a position of fortune and bliss, others would often look at you with twinned looks of jealousy and admiration. When one has fallen from grace, the same people would gaze at you hungrily in anticipation of a good show, premised on your misfortune.

Without exception, all the common people within the capital have gathered in anticipation of the death of this fallen beauty.

Zhang Jin laughed bitterly at himself. Should he not be rejoicing at his own good fortune? To actually be able to have dealings with this infamous consort? He was a soldier tasked to guard the imperial prison, having recently been transferred to this inferior position. At present, he had been tasked with the lowly job of being an errand-boy – to purchase pints of alcohol to help dispel the cold.

***

Patting his shoulders to shrug away the accumulated snow, Zhang Jin had just entered the prison cells when he heard the hoarse voice of a man from within.

‘Brothers, who among us has the courage to enjoy a fun few hours with this beauty?’

‘Your Excellency, this – this isn’t a good idea, is it?’ A nervous voice replied hesitantly.

However, he was quickly shushed down by a few other clamouring voices.

‘What are you afraid of? This woman will be sentenced to death tomorrow! We’ll drug her after we’re done with her. From then till the axe falls, she would not be able to make even the littlest of sounds.’

‘Brother Lu has a point. I’ve had my fair share of women, but an imperial consort? Just think – what will it feel like to bed such a woman?’

Hearing these words, Zhang Jin could not help the tremor of unease that spread through him. ‘Your words are equivalent to the great crime of deceiving his Majesty, the King!’ Zhang Jin’s thoughts were in a disarray. Only when his words escaped him did he realise that he had already taken a few quick steps towards them.

Under the dim light of the oil lamps, the faces of those in the room were cast in a strange light, their expressions distorted.

On the table, a few cups were overturned, wine spilling forth from them to gently pool on the floor. A few soy beans lay scattered across the table.

One man looked disapprovingly at Zhang Jin. ‘Oh, Brother Zhang has returned.’

That man was Mou Quan, one of the prison chiefs, and the person who had wantonly raised the earlier suggestion. Mou Quan’s sister had previously been married off as a concubine to an accountant in Prince Lingrui’s residences. Soon after, Mou Quan was promoted to his current position. With his elevated status, his audacity had also grown.

Zhang Jin took a quick step forward. He said, ‘Your Excellency has had a few too many drinks and made an indiscreet remark. As for your suggestion, it cannot be permitted.’

Mou Quan sneered, ‘Brother Zhang once held a post at the Ministry of Rites. How could us coarse and unrefined people be compared to you? However, if you would permit us in this one small matter today, we could let you have the first pickings.’

Hearing his words, a crowd of prison guards laughed uproariously.

‘And… If tomorrow there were to mysteriously materialise another corpse, then I can only report to our superiors that Brother Zhang had too much to drink, to the extent of taking liberties with the imperial consort.’

Zhang Jin smiled faintly. The temperature was bitterly cold, yet he could feel the damp coolness of sweat sticking to his clothes.

Abruptly, a faint, indistinct noise stirred across the still air.

‘Your Excellencies. May I ask, who would like to go first?’

From within the prison cells, a soft voice emerged. Though devoid of cajolery, it was a voice which undeniably belonged to the woman who once commanded the devoted love of the Emperor.

In this cold and bitter New Year’s Eve, that soft voice brought a feeling of warmth and comfort to those who heard it.

Dozens of prison guards exchanged glances, desire clouding their eyes.

From beyond, a light breezed fluttered, causing a few flecks of snow to drift in. The next moment, the silk curtains covering the prison cells furled up gently.

Zhang Jin clenched his fingers. His eyes remain fixed ahead, unwavering.

He recalled that this thin and flimsy silk curtain was bestowed by the Emperor’s head attendant, Eunuch Xu, when Consort Nian was first banished to prison.

As the curtains settled to a drop, the woman’s features were once again hidden.

Could a person’s features be comparable to the striking beauty of peach blossoms blooming in March? Now, no one would ever know.

As Zhang Jin was the most recent addition to the prison guards, a number of odd jobs fell under his responsibility.

Occasionally, she would ask for some water.

Zhang Jin would pass it through the railings of the cells to her. The hand which would then extend through the white silk was small and slender, its nails neatly trimmed and devoid of any polish.

In the three days that she had spent in the cells, her silence was eerily reminiscent of a dead man, as though, if one were to draw back those silk curtains, they would discover that no one lay within.

Until now.

All things considered, it could be said that Nian Xuanji had helped him out in his moment of difficulty. Yet, at that moment, Zhang Jin only had one thought: that woman was insane.

Abruptly, a sudden force pushed him aside. Startled, he could only watch as Mou Quan hastened towards the front of the prison cells, brandishing a key within his fingers. One of his hands brushed across the hanging curtains. His face was transformed with lust and desire.

Zhang Jin was momentarily struck with shock. As he recovered his senses and made to stop him, a sound echoed from behind him.

His step faltered.

He lowered his head, only to see the gleam of a sharp blade swiftly penetrate and leave his chest. The ebb and flow of his blood that spewed forth was warm, yet the sharp stab of pain from his wound was ice-cold.

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It was the kind of sinister and fearful cold a person experienced before his impending death.

Slowly, his body slid down, yet he refused to accept it. Taking a deep breath, he half-knelt on the floor, fighting to see the face of that ruthless man who had bestowed upon him with death. Only then would he know from whom he should seek his revenge on as a ghost.

The sound of heavy objects thumping against the floor soon aroused him from his thoughts.

Amid his blurring vision, he saw tens of bodies fold and collapse onto the floor, the breath of life leaving their owners before they even had the time to make a sound of protest.

Blood stained the porcelain walls, a vibrant colour under the dim light.

He turned to look at Mou Quan.

Mou Quan remained frozen in his previous stance, yet his posture was unnaturally stiff and rigid. Zhang Jin understood why when he saw the four limbs that were each nailed by a dagger.

Despite that shocking image, it appeared that Mou Quan’s wounds were not meant to be fatal, for he could still tilt his body to witness the horrifying scene playing out before his eyes.

Suddenly, Zhang Jin heard sound of footsteps, lithe and graceful.

Struggling, he braced both his hands on the floor to support himself. Clenching his jaw, his narrowed eyes squinted in the direction of those steps.

The unhurried steps passed by him. There were four or five people. From his position on the floor, Zhang Jin could see the elaborate boots of the leader, which were embroidered with the five claws of a dragon, its satin a resplendent yellow.

With a jolt, he suddenly recalled that, years prior, he once had the fortune of seeing these exact pair of boots.

Back then, he had been kneeling prostrate on the floor. That person had left his elevated throne to walk to his side, and, with the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile, had remarked to him, ‘You have the markings of a literary talent. Your knowledge is extensive. In future, you will surely be a man of importance.’

That year, in the Imperial Examinations, Zhang Jin had ranked third and was posted to the Imperial Hanlin Academy. Later, he would be conferred the title of Assistant Minister in the Ministry of Rites, where he would aspire to one day repay the Emperor for his grace and favour. Alas, owing to his stubborn disdain and refusal in climbing the social ladder and siding with one of the numerous factions within the imperial court, he was eventually demoted to being a prison guard after offending an influential official.

Would that person be him? Yet the prisons were a filthy and sordid place. Why would this man be here?

Except, in this world, what other person would dare to wear shoes displaying such embroidery and colour?

‘My Prince, please, spare me my life!’

A mournful plea snapped him out of his hazy recollections. Clinging onto the fragile threads of life, a hoarse and grotesque voice emanated from its owner, who was crawling towards the few men standing before them.

‘Who are you? Should I recognise you?’ A mocking voice answered, careless and unconcerned.

‘It is I, your humble servant, Mou Quan. My little sister is a concubine to the accountant in your manor. My Prince, please, spare my life, please spare my life, I will kowtow to you!’

Zhang Jin shivered. Long Zijin, the Prince Lingrui, was also here?

Mou Quan’s entire face was warped with pain. Sprawled across the floor, he repeatedly kowtowed, the sound of his head connecting with the cold prison floor echoing across the room. Seeing that odd combination of ferocity and humility, Zhang Jin could not suppress the soft exhalation of laughter that escaped him.

‘And you? Who might you be?’

That voice belonged to another person. It was merely a bland tone, yet Zhang Jin stilled.

Enduring his pain, he struggled to lift his head. From the glow of the harsh lights flickering from the lamps, he saw the four individuals who had entered the prison cells.

He grimaced bitterly, and, supporting himself with both his arms, crawled over to the group, until he was prostrate before those pair of boots. The floor beneath him was mottled with flecks of blood.

‘This humble official greets Your Majesty. Long live Your Majesty!’

‘Ah!’ In the silence of the prison cells, the sudden exclamation reverberated. ‘Your Majesty? It is Your Majesty, the King?’ Mou Quan’s jaw dropped. Terror stricken, he stared agape at the tall and imposing figure before him.

‘Didn’t you say that you wanted to have a tumble with my consort? Why don’t you hurry along?’ the Emperor said, his voice a soft caress.

In an instant, it was as though all the life was sucked out of Mou Quan, whose face turned ashen. A sudden putrid smell wafted across the room. Zhang Jin saw the clear stream of excretion that flowed from between Mou Quan’s trembling legs.

‘What did you say your name was?’ the Emperor inquired coolly.

The Emperor did not look at any of them in particular yet Zhang Jin knew without a doubt who he was referring to.

Reluctantly, he adopted a deferential tone, and said, ‘Your humble servant is Zhang Jin.’

‘You seem like an interesting person,’ the Emperor smiled, and, turning to the man beside him, remarked, ‘Zijin, it appears that you were merciful. Though you have exerted strength in spearing that blade of yours, you have not wounded his heart vessels. Qingfeng, wouldn’t you agree?’

A youth dressed in a green walked forward from behind. Bowing, he said, ‘Yes.’

Alarmed, Long Zijin immediately knelt to the floor, and said, ‘Your brother dare not.’

‘Your Majesty, why don’t you let me send this person off on behalf of Prince Lingrui?’ Another individual, dressed in greenish-blue and who had been standing by in attention, said.

The Emperor assented.

Zhang Jin forced back a bitter smile. Once, he had been a noble official; now, he was a servant. Yet the Emperor who remained powerful in his authority no longer remembered him. Zhang Jin did not understand why Prince Lingrui chose to spare him, and even less could he fathom the Emperor’s desire to kill him.

Only, when an Emperor wished to kill a person, no reason was needed.

Cold sweat mingled with his blood, which slowly pooled to the floor. Of the prison guards within the cells, a few remained struggling in futility, fighting for desperate survival with their last breaths of life; others lay lifeless, their eyes unseeing, their bodies cold.

The man dressed in greenish-blue walked forward, his movements swift like the wind.

From birth, Zhang Jin was a stubborn man with an unyielding personality. Even in his despair, he refused to plead for mercy. The only thing he did was to slant his gaze to meet Prince Lingrui’s stare, silently expressing his gratitude.

Slowly, he closed his eyes.

In the still air, there was a faint exhalation, so soft that one could not be sure if that breath were not merely a figment of their imagination.

An enormous palm moved to cover his face.

In a moment, he would die.

‘Eunuch Xu, please show mercy.’

As a wave of dizziness surged forth in him, that oppressing pressure which had been threatening his life suddenly vanished, as though dispersed by the force of that soft voice which emanated from behind the white curtains of the prison cell.

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

He did not die! He actually survived! After the moment of terror where he hovered on the precipitous edge between life and death, Zhang Jin was left dazed to the extent that he could not utter a single word of relief. His heart thumped wildly, trying to reconcile itself with the hazy fact that he was alive.

Then he heard the detached laugh of the Emperor, and his heart constricted. His body, which had been paralysed in fear, involuntarily took a half-lurch backwards. Having flirted with death once, he had no wish to experience such a feeling ever again.

‘Ah Li.’ A woman’s soft voice resonated through the air once more.

Ah Li. Whose name was Consort Nian uttering?

Zhang Jin felt the slide of cold sweat over his body, heard the wild thumping of his heart.

Prince Lingrui – Long Zijin; the Head Eunuch – Xu Xi; that youth – Qingfeng.

‘Yes.’ A murmur of assent issued from the austere man.

Indeed. Within the four walls of this prison, there was a fourth person, one whose name had the word ‘Li’. Only, no one had ever dared to address that man by his name directly.

Emperor Qingjia – Long Fei-li.

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