“When I was very young, Wanniang told me that the most noble woman in the world was the Empress, and the palace where the Empress lived was called ‘Kunning Palace.’ I asked Wanniang what Kunning Palace looked like.”
“Wanniang said she didn’t know either.”
“Sitting beneath the leaking eaves in the countryside, I thought to myself—if only I could transform into one of those wild geese flying across the sky, soar to the prosperous capital, slip into the Forbidden City, and see Kunning Palace for myself. How wonderful that would be.”
The palace gates were tightly closed, with only a single window on the left slightly ajar. The sky was overcast, the light dim.
Within Kunning Palace, usually bustling with activity, not a single servant could be seen. Only Jiang Xuening remained, kneeling before a table. Pale, slender fingers held incense tongs, gently stirring the fragrant contents of the gold-inlaid Boshan incense burner. Wisps of smoke rose lazily, weaving through the dim light. Her robes, embroidered with golden phoenixes, spread long behind her; the intricate cloud patterns shimmered faintly in the gloom.
“Later, I truly did arrive in the capital. Heaven played a cruel joke—granting me ambitions I should not have had, yet raising me in the rural countryside. I never acquired the bearing of a renowned lady from the capital or the grace of an aristocratic woman. And yet Heaven placed me here, in this prosperous land, this arena of strife, and gave me only a beautiful face…”
Jiang Xuening’s appearance was extraordinarily striking, radiant like a lotus in bloom. Her moth-like eyebrows curved gracefully, eyes subtly upturned, and sandalwood lips dusted with vermillion. Naturally charming, she had cultivated a rare grace and dignity over the years, wielding the Empress’s seal and holding high position. With lowered brows and downcast eyes, she could make hearts skip a beat.
You Fangying stood silently nearby, listening to the voice as ethereal as dust and smoke, reflecting on the life Jiang Xuening had led—scheming endlessly, chasing power and fame. A pang of sorrow rose in her chest. They both understood there was no escape.
Jiang Xuening smiled faintly. “Fangying, during all this time, I’ve often wondered—did I truly make a mistake?”
Raised by Wanniang, unaware of her origins, she had spent her youth running wild like an untamed bird. Only Wanniang’s rouge and powder could bring her back home. Wanniang, a woman from the ranks of courtesans, had told her the world belonged to men, and women must conquer men to wield power themselves.
Through twists of fate, she met the young Marquis of Yongyi Manor, Yan Lin, who dressed her as a boy to play freely throughout the capital. Even her parents dared not discipline her. There was a hint of childhood affection between them.
But later, the Yongyi Manor was implicated in Prince Pingnan’s rebellion. Yan Lin’s entire family was exiled. The young man, not yet of age, climbed Jiang Manor’s walls at night to find her. Hoarse, desperate, he gripped her hand: “Ningning, wait for me. I will return to marry you.”
Jiang Xuening said firmly, “I will marry Shen Jie. I will become Empress.”
She remembered the heart-piercing gaze in his eyes as he released her hand and fled into the night. Five years later, she became Shen Jie’s Empress.
The road to power had been harsh. Along the way, she had encountered countless people like Yan Lin—Xiao Dingfei, Zhou Yinzhi, even Grand Princess Leyang, Shen Zhiyi, who perished among barbarians. None, however, could have foreseen Yan Lin’s return. Establishing military merit at the frontier, pledging loyalty to Xie Wei, he returned under the banner of “purging the Emperor’s side,” seizing the Forbidden City and placing her under house arrest.
Shen Jie, poisoned and incapacitated, could no longer manage state affairs. Yan Lin brazenly entered and exited her palace, dismissing servants, while all knew him as Xie Wei’s right-hand. He had led the slaughter of half the imperial palace, guarded the gates, and ensured no one escaped. He had overseen the extermination of the Xiao clan across nine generations.
Jiang Xuening’s long, curled lashes cast shadows beneath her eyes, her expression reflecting the desolation of life’s unpredictable turns.
You Fangying watched silently. Jiang Xuening set down the incense tongs, covered the burner, and opened a large, square brocade box. Inside lay the Imperial Jade Seal and a decree she had written and sealed an hour ago, requesting burial with the late Emperor, asking Grand Tutor Xie Wei to stabilize the realm, govern wisely, and choose a worthy ruler.
Jiang Xuening lifted her gaze to the window. Snow that had fallen overnight had stopped. Dazzling sunlight broke through the clouds, casting a bright beam into the gloomy palace.
She murmured, “Had I known this would be the outcome, why strive and scheme? Better to have traveled ten thousand miles, soared like a free bird. In the end, I stumbled into these palace walls, prosperity my cocoon…”
You Fangying remained silent.
Jiang Xuening asked softly, “Fangying, if given a choice, would you still come?”
You Fangying, the daughter of an Earl’s concubine, awkward yet shrewd, had risen through business and industry to become one of Jiangning Prefecture’s foremost merchants. Misfortune and palace politics had placed her under house arrest, yet she remained Jiang Xuening’s confidante.
They spoke of distant lands, strange machines, and secrets of the previous dynasty, too late to prevent mistakes.
You Fangying sighed bitterly. “In this godforsaken era, injustice is endless—anyone wanting to transmigrate here, go ahead.”
Jiang Xuening, startled by crude language, suddenly called out, “Master Xie!”
Outside, snow blanketed the vermillion palace walls. A mass of people stood silently. Yan Lin was at the side, hand on his sword. The one at the front did not respond at first, but Jiang Xuening knew he could hear her.
The figure before her—the most scheming man in all of Great Qian, sage in appearance, demon in heart—had executed the imperial clan, controlled lives, and commanded respect while hiding malevolent power.
“You killed the imperial clan, executed the Xiao family, annihilated the Tianjiao Cult. You hold power and my life. I have no right to negotiate,” she whispered, tears falling. “But there is one life I wish to exchange… Vice Minister of Justice—let him live…”
The person outside remained unmoved. After a long pause, a single word came, flat yet beautiful: “Acceptable.”
Jiang Xuening’s hand rose resolutely.
“Pfft.”
The dagger severed the blood vessels in her slender neck, the sound sharp as tearing paper. A clanging long sword echoed outside. Her golden hair ornament shattered, deep red gemstone scattering, fresh blood flowing like childhood streams.
Kunning Palace had become her tomb.
Sunlight streamed in, melting the snow, yet the memory of the blade’s edge remained painfully vivid.
Then she coughed. Something pressed on her chest. She opened her eyes.
She was lying on a disheveled couch, between two men. The refined face of a young man was close, an arm casually draped over her.
Her mind raced to Yan Lin’s return, house arrest, sleepless nights. She flung the arm away and stood.
The young man stirred, half-asleep. “Mm, Brother Jiang, let’s continue sleeping—”
“How dare you!”
She slapped him across the face. “Smack!”
The black-robed youth, sword as pillow, awoke startled. Seeing her flushed hand and disheveled clothing, he drew his sword and pressed the tip against the young man’s neck.
“What did you do to her?!”
The young man protested, “This Prince has no such proclivities!”
Jiang Xuening froze. She smelled wine, noticed the blue robe embroidered with bamboo, and realized—this wasn’t a dream.
The young man at sword-point: Yan Lin, the future rebel.
The black-robed youth: Prince Linzi, future Emperor Shen Jie.
Rebirth, as You Fangying predicted.
And from the start of this life, she had slapped the future Emperor.
If she knelt to apologize now… would it be in time?
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