Welcoming the Emperor Back to the Court (1)
On the last day of September, the Emperor's carriage arrived in Changxiang City. The land trembled, and the people were in an uproar, for Changxiang City had awaited its future ruler for fifteen years.
The weather was not pleasant. Thick clouds loomed, and the monsoon scattered fine dust across the soon-to-be-yellowed grassy slopes. The wind rose, and the mist swirled like steam rising from the mountain's base.
This was a lavish feast that had emptied the national treasury. The procession welcoming the Emperor stretched from the palace atop the mountain down to the plains below. Sixteen noble families built shrines, the new aristocrats erected ceremonial tents, and mothers emptied their chests to dress their daughters in resplendent finery. Children held out their hands, anticipating candy, flowers, and cakes falling from the sky.
Everything seemed justified. This land had basked in its ancient glory for a thousand years, and everyone hoped for a ceremony that would recreate a golden age they had never seen but always remembered.
Qi Qingran watched it all silently.
Her mother had awakened her at night and dressed her in splendid attire as radiant as the morning sun. Sitting quietly with her hands down, adorned with majestic and alluring jewelry, she understood her mother's intention. As the eldest daughter of the Qi family and the jewel of the Prime Minister's residence, she was expected to capture the attention of the world at such events. She would receive many generous gifts from noble youths who, despite knowing they had no chance, would still present rare treasures. Years later, when she had a proper title, those treasures would still gleam in her chest, marking her brief youth.
This was her fundamental difference from her brother Qingzheng. For a boy, fifteen was just the beginning, but for a girl, from the moment she blossomed, she was already awaiting her curtain call.
This was a woman's fate, regardless of wealth or status. No one needed to teach her; she understood it innately.
She sat like a deity, her eyes behind white curtains bound with golden hooks, fluttering in the wind like a white ribbon.
White ribbon...
Her earliest memories were tied to war. Almost as soon as she opened her eyes to the world, her father and mother were gone. Tutors came and went, never staying long enough to bond, as they were called to the city walls during times of need.
She had thirteen tutors, seven of whom survived to become her father's aides. Gaining Qi Xiang's favor had become an unspoken path to advancement for the scholars left in Changxiang City, mockingly called the "Qingran Shortcut."
She couldn't blame them. It took courage to stay in such peril, but she couldn't be grateful either. None stayed long enough to truly teach her, and none answered her and her brother's endless "whys."
So, she sought answers herself. After her nurse slept, she would sneak out, brush off dusty books by the firelight, and voraciously read anything with words.
She read her father's letters, documents, and notes, following in his footsteps unknowingly.
One snowy night, she fell asleep by the stove. The heavy snow broke the roof beams, extinguished the fire, and soaked her cotton clothes, yet she slept on.
Everyone slept. On snowy nights, the city and its enemies rested, a rare reprieve from conflict.
When she woke, the familiar nightmare of siege cries began again.
She was ill; she knew it. No one had time to care for her. That night's assault was fierce, as if the enemies had awaited this moment. The ravenous wolves outside wanted to tear the ancient city apart, brick by brick.
Everyone said Changxiang City couldn't be held.
A deafening explosion confirmed their fears. The night turned into a misty hell, with thousands of cries and screams, the cold wind amplifying the terror. The explosions followed one after another, children huddling together, trembling. They didn't know what was happening, but they seemed to understand their impending fate.
"Miss," the nurse silently produced a white ribbon.
"It's time," she reminded, hoping Qingran would accept her fate with dignity.
"It's Madam's wish." Seeing no response, the nurse stumbled over, tears streaming.
How old was she then? Eight, maybe nine. But at that moment, all fear, humiliation, and anger surged in.
She lacked dignity. She screamed, struggled, and hurled anything at the old woman with the ribbon. She hoped it was a nightmare that would end if she yelled loud enough.
But it wasn't. The frail old woman had a demonic power. Qingran tried to run, but her legs were weak. Cold sweat mixed with tears and snot in her mouth. She stumbled to the door, but her arms were weak. The door took several tries to open, and the wind and snow hit her burning face.
She crashed into a chest, losing all strength.
"Aran, don't be afraid, Aran," a familiar voice said in her ear.
Then she slept, as if dead, deeply and soundly.
When she woke, it was seven days later, and her parents had returned.
Her father brought medicine, firewood, and workers to repair the house, and good news.
The city gates held! Her father was jubilant, almost dancing. His gaunt face glowed. "Ran'er, do you know? If we hold this time, Changxiang City won't fall again!"
He spoke excitedly about the battle, holding her mother's hand, tapping his knee in rhythm. Her mother smiled, gazing at him with full admiration, wholeheartedly worshipping her husband and hero. In Qingran's memory, it was the warmest scene between her parents.
Her father talked long, even asking about their studies, but he never mentioned that night.
Qingran only knew that the nurse disappeared, and Ah Fu began shuttling between the city and home, relaying her father's orders.
That night seemed torn from her life. Even after recovering, she doubted if it was a dream or just her imagination.
Year after year, she followed in her father's footsteps, advancing rapidly. But in moments of idleness or confusion, the white ribbon would float like a ghost, whispering endlessly like the old woman's spirit.
"Bai Zisu presents a box of silk for the young lady!"
A servant brought a silver box. Yu Hu took it, presented it, and Qi Jiafu, holding his sword, cautiously opened it. Once verified, he placed it on her desk—a jade lotus leaf with twelve boxes of silk, an ancient, labor-intensive craft involving soaking raw silk in young lotus buds until the flowers bloomed, imparting a subtle, natural fragrance.
Qingran nodded. Her makeup was too thick to express much emotion.
Who was this "Bai Zisu"? Likely a young man who had accompanied his clan brother to the Prime Minister's residence. He stood on tiptoe, eagerly scanning Qingran's face from a distance. Receiving no response, he was pushed back by the crowd, his enthusiasm fading with each step until it turned into disdain and regret, accompanied by a self-righteous pride—thinking she looked down on him due to his origins.
There were likely many such men. They abandoned comfortable lives in their hometowns to come to Changxiang City, hoping to conquer something—preferably a woman who could elevate them with a nod. Ultimately, they conquered nothing and returned home, cursing those who "looked down" on them, never realizing they were simply invisible.
The crowd sighed with disappointment—the gifts piled before Qingran had reached a mountain, and she hadn't even glanced at them. But the sighs quickly turned to cheers—
Behind her, Qi Qingzheng strode over Qi Qingran's long shawl that was dragging on the ground , pressed it on his sister's shoulder, and sat casually beside her, throwing off his cloak.
This was a world where only the victor mattered, and the news of Qingzheng's victory over He Peiyu had spread everywhere. No one cared how he won; they were just happy the Prime Minister had an heir.
"What took you so long?"
"Mother nagged a bit, insisted I wear this." Qingzheng pointed to his shoulder armor, intricately patterned with embedded pearls and tassels, a size too large for him, making him look like a boy in his father's armor.
Qingzheng put down a long box, about to remove his helmet to wipe his sweat. Qingran hissed, "Hey!"
"Sis, I'm exhausted. I almost got here before I remembered I forgot this." He pointed to the box, glanced at the Yang family, and said, "Hey, you kept an eye on her, right? No one made a move on Xuetan?"
"Oh, now you're calling her Xuetan?" Qingran pressed her sleeve on the box, whispering, "I'm warning you, no courting today."
"Why not?"
"The He family's watching. How would it look?"
"I don't know how she feels. What she says, does, or thinks… all controlled by her brother. Sure, chasing Xuetan is unfair to He Yinning, but marrying her wouldn't be fair either. They've done all the damage they could. We apologized, fought our battles. I can't spend my life facing He Peiyu's sister, right?" Qingzheng tugged her sleeve, lifting her hand. "Come on, let me be. Everyone's declaring their feelings. Why can't I?"
"Qingzheng, don't mess around! This is just a game to liven up the event. Miss Xuetan is the apple of Yang Laozhuguo's eye. You can't afford to toy with her, and neither can our family!" Qingran's hand pressed the box firmly. "Sit still. This isn't the time for your antics!"
"Sis, I'm serious about her." Qingzheng slowly pulled the box, his tone strange. "Sis, I know you mean well, but… let go. You're not me, not He Yinning, not Xuetan. We don't know what the future holds."
Qingran released her grip.
Qingzheng pulled out the box.
"Can you marry her?"
"Maybe."
"Qingzheng!"
"Sis, you can marry the wrong person but never love the wrong one, right?"
"Fine, as you wish. What's in the box?"
"Ning Shulings painting from Dad's study."
"Qingzheng!"
"Father always loves to say, 'Make the best use of everything and everyone.' I guess he won't blame me for this." Qi Qingzheng confidently handed the box to Qi Jiafu. "Brother Fu, please deliver this for me. Tell her we have many more such paintings at home. If she likes them, she's welcome to visit."
"Yes, Young Master."
Qi Jiafu reached for the box, but Qi Qingzheng suddenly grabbed his arm, startling him. Qi Qingzheng leaned in and whispered, "Brother Fu, I can't find Xiaobai."
"Young Master..."
"I can't find Xing Bai, and I don't want to lose you too."
Qi Qingzheng then sat upright, watching Qi Jiafu walk towards Yang Xuetan.
He Yinning had been keeping her head down, but when she saw the box in Qi Jiafu's hands, she lifted her head slightly. Seeing Qi Jiafu heading straight for the Yang family's table, she stood up abruptly to leave. He Peiyu grabbed her shoulder, glanced at Qi Qingzheng, and took a sip of his drink.
Qi Qingzheng, however, only had eyes for Yang Xuetan. Her small face, nestled in the fur of her fox coat, lit up with a radiant smile as she exclaimed softly upon unfurling the painting.
In a crowd of thousands, she possessed an otherworldly purity.
"Do you like it?" Qi Qingzheng asked.
They were separated by at least a hundred steps. The crowd's noise was as loud as a bustling market, making it impossible to hear even if one shouted.
"I like it," Yang Xuetan smiled and replied.
As she lifted her head, Qi Jiafu stood in stunned silence. This girl looked exactly like Cong'er, even tilting her head and smiling in the same way. However, her eyes held a cold, icy desolation, as if untouched by the human world.
Her voice was so soft, like a drop of water falling into an abyss or a snowflake landing on earth, yet the surrounding crowd amplified her words in waves—
"She said she likes it!"
"She said she likes it!"
"She said she likes it!"
Excitement and joy surged through the crowd, soon turning into a roaring cheer. This was the marriage people longed to see—the granddaughter of Yang Laozhuguo marrying the son of Qi the Prime Minister, ensuring the continuation of the hero family's legend.
The cheer caught everyone off guard, even Qi Qingzheng himself. Growing up in Uptown, he had no idea of the place he held in the hearts of the people of Changxiang City—no one cared about his studies, behavior, or the rumors from Uptown. They only knew he was Qi Xiang's son, born during the national war, raised in Changxiang City. When a war without hope loomed, his father had chosen to stay with his newborn twins—surviving with the city.
When the siblings stayed, countless fleeing citizens also stayed. From that moment, they were defending not just the capital but their home.
Today, the former master of their home was returning—the one who abandoned them in crisis. And their hero was about to hand over the city gates and power. What would the future hold? Would Qi's promises still stand?
People couldn't voice these questions or their tangled feelings, but they could cheer, applaud, and smile, making choices driven by their hearts.
"Rabble!" He Peiyu muttered, finishing his drink, pressing his sword, and leaving.
The trumpets for welcoming the emperor sounded.
"They're coming," a voice in the crowd seemed to remind everyone, who then looked toward the road's end. The road, like bronze, pointed to the horizon, where a cloud chariot rumbled into view. It stood a hundred feet tall, pulled by hundreds of slaves driving camels and horses, their bodies buried in rolling dust. Armored guards surrounded the chariot's base, with Qi the Prime Minister and Yang Dingtu standing on its middle level, while the Emperor and Empress Dowager sat atop, overlooking all.
Robes of blue, purple, green, and red parted like waves. Amid the Chief Ritual Officer's long invocation, countless heads and shoulders bowed in unison.
A profound silence fell.
Though Qi Qingzheng had always mocked the "mole-like little Emperor," in this moment, he too dared not make a sound. Everyone looked and bowed in one direction, thousands in perfect, solemn silence. The mountain city rooted deeply in everyone's memory seemed to bear a power of subjugation grown from the land itself over millennia.
Kneel down—a terrifying force made everyone kneel. Compared to this solemnity, the earlier uproar seemed like child's play.
The wind paused, the clouds halted, and even breathing seemed to stop. The South City gates opened, followed by gate after gate, creating an iron path from the mountain's base to its peak.