Reeds choose to dwell near water, growing in large clusters and patches, easily forming marshy ponds. Outside of Xiangfan City, this particular reed field originally lacked the scenic beauty of autumn reeds flying like snow. Yet, ever since Princess Jing’an, Pei Wangfei, developed a fondness for it, the local people—who previously gathered reeds in autumn for firewood or pulp—naturally ceased to appear. Fortunately, the benevolent Princess regularly subsidized nearby villagers with silver, and her presence attracted local literati and scholars who bestowed scenic names, such as “Fragrant Fields of Reed” and “Green Lake Fishing Inquiry.” The ornate gate inscribed with “Ripples Reflect the Sky” was penned by a renowned calligrapher a couple of years ago. Consequently, during boat rides to enjoy the scenery, the locals profited handsomely from wealthy tourists.
Princess Pei usually visited the reeds in spring and autumn, but this year she arrived somewhat early. Her entourage was modest, merely two personal maids and a small contingent of lightly armed palace guards. In recent years, Prince Jing’an Zhao Heng governed Xiangfan effectively, loved the people dearly, and gained an immaculate reputation. Additionally, his pious devotion to Buddhism and Daoism became regionally renowned. Thus, the princess never encountered any unpleasant incidents during her outings.
Leaving the main road for a narrow trail, they entered a dense reed forest. As usual, Princess Pei would disembark and dismiss the guards to follow behind. They never disturbed her serene pursuits, and since the reeds towered over people, this ensured she could remain undisturbed. However, this time was unusual; not only was she early, but she remained seated at the junction.
Inside the carriage, the ever-meticulous Princess personally lit a small censer with sandalwood. She knelt with grace, her buttocks resting on her calves, creating a subtly rounded silhouette. Even the two maids within the palace, despite their familiarity, could not help but admire the scene. Princess Pei possessed notably lustrous, waist-length black hair. When her attendants brushed it, they would clasp strands in their hands and admire its beauty. The gentle princess would smile faintly at herself in the bronze mirror. Moreover, when the maids washed her delicate lotus feet after she tired of books, they would feel their hearts race, exclaiming at how breathtakingly beautiful she truly was.
The princess held a letter handed to her by Prince Zhao Heng before she departed—meant to be personally given to the Beiliang heir at the reed field. Otherwise, she would not have come so early. Cradling the envelope, not even properly sealed, she hesitated as if considering opening it. Regarding Zhao Heng, no one understood him more than she did. He spoke little, leaving matters unresolved for others to decipher. This cryptic manner affected everyone, including their son, Prince Zhao Xun, whose eccentric nature was likely molded by his father’s rigid nature. Based on a woman’s intuition, Princess Pei, no longer naïve, recognized the unnatural gazes Zhao Xun harbored. Entering the palace back then, she harbored no ambitions of rivalry, yet despite the previous princess’s mysterious illness and death, the blame inevitably fell upon her, regardless of her own justifications. Hence, in recent years, though she noticed Zhao Xun’s inappropriate glances, she never addressed them, scolded him, or mentioned it to Zhao Heng. The Prince valued health highly; Zhao Xun inheriting the title would be at least twenty years hence. By then, Zhao Xun, likely demoted to the title of Lord Jing’an, would probably no longer hold resentment toward an aging princess.
Besides the secret letter, Princess Pei had a sandalwood box containing prayer beads beside her. She adored the box’s carvings but never opened it. She knew anything she cherished was despised by Zhao Heng, especially since this sandalwood box was a gift from someone Zhao Heng loathed. She feared that opening it might anger him, resulting in the loss of both the box and beads.
The princess softly instructed, “Go check whether the young master of Beiliang approaches.”
The two maids, who religiously reported every detail of her meals to Prince Zhao Heng, gracefully exited the carriage.
With delicate fingers, Princess Pei retrieved the sealed letter bearing Zhao Heng’s handwriting: “To accompany a nephew a thousand miles.”
She furrowed her brow and whispered, “Does this imply ‘accompany you a thousand miles, yet we must part’? He won’t personally see him off?”
Shaking her head slightly, she felt puzzled. Despite Zhao Heng’s fall from favor among the highest courtiers due to his failed coup attempt, even mocked by the heteronymous King Xu Xiao and other influential feudal lords, she knew he remained an ambitious man. Never forgetting his past humiliations, his yearning to return to the capital remained steadfast. A man like Zhao Heng, whose ambitions endured like reeds unyielding to wind and rain, could endure the humiliation of personally apologizing to his son Zhao Xun after the latter’s beating. Could he truly descend to the depths of expressing farewell to a younger generation in such a self-deprecating manner? Unexpectedly, she recalled his parting words from atop the steps: “Our fated union as husband and wife has allowed me to offer a million blessings on your behalf. I hold no regrets.”
Placing the letter back into the envelope, she looked down at the sandalwood box. Her eyes shifted toward her maids still eagerly awaiting on the road for the noble youth. Instinctively, she reached to touch the box but withdrew abruptly as if scalded. The princess felt a pang of frustration. Petulantly, she seized the box and slammed it against the carriage wall. The box tumbled, spilling a string of ancient rosary beads across the floor. Though she neither believed in Buddhism nor the Daoist teachings, her noble upbringing and years within the Jing’an palace granted her extensive knowledge. She cherished a string of “Bodhi Seeds” famously known as “satisfaction,” a gift from someone she adored. How fickle women could be—having just discarded the box, she now lovingly gathered the beads. Leaning against the carriage wall, she held a smooth tusk-white bead and gazed dreamily into the distance. To the world, she had Xiangzhou, Xiangfan, and these reed fields—everything seemed hers. Yet the truth was far from it; just as commoners would never comprehend the intrigues of court politics, none of these truly belonged to her.
Memories returned—her carefree childhood, the proud day she entered the palace, the icy glares of the first princess, Zhao Xun’s inherited coldness, the absurdity at the inn by Shouyang Lake. As she heard thundering hooves, she was finally jolted into recalling the secret letter and its bitter farewell from Prince Zhao Heng, whose last words echoed like an elegiac inscription. Startled, she dropped the beads, and her face whitened like autumn reeds in the chill.
“This wasn’t a farewell journey—this was a one-way trip to the underworld!”
※※※
A young man lay sprawled on the horizontal beam of a magnificent archway inscribed with the words “Ripples Reflect the Sky.” The breeze swept through the reeds, gently tousling the hair near his temples. He exuded an aura of tranquil leisure.
He fancied himself a very optimistic youth, never indulging in complaints or self-pity. In his early years, he grew up suffering alongside his mother, enduring countless scornful glances. When she passed away at nine, gaunt and wraithlike, she spoke many words he couldn’t fully grasp at the time. Somehow, she meant that bearing him was a choice she never regretted, nor did she resent his unknown father. Later, with small hands, he dug her grave, recognizing her unfulfilled wish—to glimpse the man just once. But she never did.
As he pondered how to avoid starvation among the barren tombs, a towering man with an effeminate voice appeared. Dressed in luxurious silks unlike anything he had ever seen, the man looked almost like a demon wearing human skin.
Even at such a young age, he instinctively thought he had encountered a devil. Yet the man merely took his hand and said he would take him home.
Home?
With no mother left, what house was that?
He was brought to a city surrounded by towering walls, the splendor outside his view through the carriage curtains nearly blinding. He seemed to pass through countless gates before reaching a lake. By the water stood a man resembling him, dressed in golden robes covered in coiled serpents.
Later, he learned those weren’t serpents—they were dragons. The man wearing them bore a robe of imperial dragon scales. Then he gained two adoptive masters. One was the man who took him “home,” while the other was a monk seldom seen smiling. The first master, despite his gentle nature, had cried at the sight of the golden-scaled man covered in grotesque yellow snakes. But on their return journey, he knelt and whispered comfortingly, saying, “Don’t be afraid.” As he grew, the elder master, whose surname was Han, always smiled at him no matter how mischievous he was. In that boundless home, everyone feared him greatly.
During the Mid-Autumn Festival at twelve, he sneaked onto the Wuying Hall to admire the moon, nearly costing him his head. His elder master knelt before the golden man and pleaded for mercy. Only then did he realize his master could do more than smile—he could also kneel, a gesture usually reserved for others. After that, no one dared to stop him from climbing palace halls at will—Wuying, Baohe, and Wenhua Halls were open playhouses.
His second master’s temper was less forgiving, always wielding a duster and speaking of Buddhism. Whether he won or lost the debates, he received beatings. Yet once, when the second master spaced out, he reached out and touched the monk’s bald head, and his master didn’t even scowl. In truth, his identity was clarified long before he came of age. However, he had no desire to contend for anything. After all, what did it matter? In that household where everyone feigned unity while hiding discord, he grew weary. Plus, he and the mischievous girl Sui Zhu couldn’t stand each other, constantly bickering and dueling. Eventually, he fled to the Shangyin Academy for a life of leisure.
Among worldly women, the only kind he fancied were those who weren’t conventionally beautiful but possessed a lasting charm. That was how his mother had been—even when illness ravaged her beauty, her eyes still radiated warmth. Finally, he got to witness that famous temperamental girl whose reputation preceded her. Climbing the wall into her pavilion, she stabbed him with a sword. Later, they made a wager—an ocean duel of ten matches. He lost, but so what? Who said men must always triumph over women? He was perfectly content dedicating himself to his beloved wife, caring for her gently and ensuring her a lifetime of happiness and peace.
Unfortunately, whenever he secretly visited her feeding chickens and ducks, she never failed to chase him off with sword strikes. He never held it against her. After all, what could be more natural and endearing than a wife teasing her husband with little fits?
This cheerful young man stood beneath four armored guardians of rune-forged red armor.
The Water Armor had been shattered by an old swordsman returning to the martial world. Though he grieved, considering the swordsman served his future brother-in-law, he bore it with composure, even willing to spare the Water Armor rune.
Since all had been done with good intentions, it was time for the main task.
Sneaking out of the academy, his primary purpose was to deliver a message to Prince Zhao Heng. Essentially, succession wasn’t originally his, but if Zhao Heng played his part, the Beiliang share could be his.
Zhao Heng was a clever man. Previously indecisive, he now showed wisdom. This time, his moves were bold.
The young man sat upright, legs dangling from the archway, gazing toward the rising dust along the distant road. He chuckled: “Brother-in-law-to-be, don’t blame your future brother-in-law for being unkind. Know that this land possesses excellent feng shui.”
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