Originally, in the early autumn of the second year of the Xiangfu era in Liyang, the civil and military officials of the Great Chu court were eager to divide the realm among themselves. Yet, within just three months, an atmosphere of widespread despair had taken hold. If not for Grand Preceptor Sun Xiji’s unwavering composure and the fact that Cao Changqing still showed no signs of taking military command from Xie Xichui, the court would have already descended into chaos.
For the female emperor Jiang Ni, seated on the dragon throne in her imperial robes, it made little difference whether she faced a court of beaming ministers or a gathering of gloomy officials. In fact, she harbored a secret scorn. Earlier, when Great Chu had triumphed against the odds on the Guangling River, annihilating Prince Zhao Yi’s Guangling navy, and later successfully raided the granary stronghold of the Southern Border army, the loudest voices had clamored for imperial legitimacy—”A state cannot be without a ruler, and a ruler cannot be without a consort.” Now, though the Great Chu sovereign was a woman, she too needed an “empress” to uphold propriety. Thus, Song Maolin, one of the twin jewels of Great Chu alongside Xie Xichui and the eldest grandson of the Song clan—renowned as “Northern Xu, Southern Song” alongside the Prince of Xinliang—became the most favored candidate.
Song Maolin’s brilliance was such that even Grand Preceptor Sun Xiji had privately hinted to Cao Changqing, who remained aloof from court affairs, that he should consent to the marriage. Not only would it stabilize the Jiang dynasty’s rule, but the young emperor would hardly be “lowering herself.”
Yet, as the Southern Border’s top general, Wu Zhongxuan, parted ways with Prince Zhao Bing and returned to Guangling with dual authority as Liyang’s Minister of War and General of the Southern Conquest, Lu Shengxiang finally bared his fangs like a true veteran of the Spring and Autumn era. Song Li, who had also once walked the halls of Tai’an City, seized full military control from Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling. Most devastatingly, with Chen Zhibao and the elite forces of Shu joining the fray, Great Chu’s frontlines collapsed, shifting from frequent victories to a desperate defensive stance. The court’s fervor—once so intense it seemed Tai’an City was within grasp—was doused in cold water, leaving most nobles as wilted as frostbitten eggplants.
It was then that Cao Changqing, who had previously sought to temper Great Chu’s young generals, finally withdrew from the Guangling River navy and returned to the capital as both supreme commander and Minister of Works. When Jiang Ni had ascended the throne, Cao Changqing had still been merely the naval commander, his rank half a step below three elder generals and equal only to his disciple Xie Xichui, who led the eastern front—a mere second-rank official.
Without Cao Changqing, the city of Shenhuang had been gripped by panic. But with his return, even without a single soldier at his side, the dark clouds over the capital dispersed, and sunlight returned.
In truth, everyone knew: without Jiang Ni, the new Great Chu could never have been restored. But without Cao Changqing’s tireless efforts, the dream of restoration might have remained just that—a dream, pitifully unrealized.
After court adjourned that day, Cao Changqing, who had missed the morning assembly, changed into fresh court robes and followed the eunuch of the Office of Ceremonial through the palace corridors. Outside the imperial study, he waited quietly for the emperor’s summons, meticulously observing every protocol. The elderly eunuch was uneasy. In the past, upon hearing of Cao Changqing’s arrival, the emperor would have greeted him outside the city, let alone received him in the study. This suggested a rift between the sovereign and the once-revered Minister of Works—a dire omen for the state.
Expressionless, Cao Changqing stood at the foot of the steps, inwardly sighing. He knew exactly why the emperor was keeping him waiting. She was angry—furious, in fact. When Grand Preceptor Sun had strongly recommended Song Maolin, Cao Changqing had neither consented nor refused. How could she not resent him? That she hadn’t drawn the Great Liang Longque Sword to strike him down was already a mark of respect for her “Uncle Chess Sage.”
After the anxious old eunuch bowed and closed the door, Cao Changqing remained silent, standing still. The imperial study of Great Chu was vast. Though many of its treasures had been looted by Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling, the dynasty’s deep reserves ensured that, even in the early days of restoration, the study’s regal grandeur matched its former glory.
Cao Changqing looked up to see the young woman in her bright yellow dragon robes, bent over a sheet of tribute paper, practicing calligraphy. She wasn’t using the imperial brush “Millennium Green,” symbolizing enduring rule. His gaze shifted slightly to the gold-lacquered cup inscribed with “Golden Vessel, Eternal Stability.” By tradition, on the first day of the new year, the Great Chu emperor would open the window, dip the “Millennium Green” in Tusu wine, and write auspicious phrases like “Peace Under Heaven” and “Longevity of the State” to gift to officials.
Once, she had confided her nervousness to him, admitting her calligraphy was poor and jokingly suggesting he write them for her. Cao Changqing had refused but comforted her, saying she need only write a few for trusted elders like Grand Preceptor Sun. Reluctantly, she had agreed, though her unhappiness was plain. He’d heard that, after her coronation, she had practiced tirelessly for that New Year’s ritual—far more diligently than she ever had with the sword. Rumor had it she’d filled a small basket with practice sheets, forbidding the maids and eunuchs from touching them.
Now, Cao Changqing gazed at the slender figure in dazzling gold behind the grand desk, his mind drifting to a hazy memory from years past. A pang of sorrow and guilt struck him.
The female emperor of Great Chu, whom no one now dared call “Jiang Ni,” refused to look at him, huffing, “I’m still angry. I need to write at least thirty more characters before I calm down. Just wait, Uncle Chess Sage.”
Cao Changqing suppressed a laugh, pulling a chair to the window. He angled it so he could see both the scenery outside and the little girl in dragon robes who still didn’t quite look the part of an emperor. Yet even he couldn’t deny how her regal bearing had grown with each court session, earning silent approval from Grand Preceptor Sun. Her grace in handling court affairs had progressed from initial awkwardness to effortless mastery—as if she were born to rule. Sun Xiji had privately joked to old colleagues, “Her swordsmanship improves swiftly, and so does her reign.”
After meticulously writing a dozen characters, Jiang Ni peeked at the solemn Cao Changqing, then pursed her lips, realizing her pettiness. She set down the brush and snorted, “Done!”
Cao Changqing stifled a smile. “Eleven more to go. I can wait.”
Jiang Ni glared. “Uncle Chess Sage!”
He chuckled. “Alright, I know you’re upset about Song Maolin. I came to be your punching bag. After all, Grand Preceptor Sun is old—you can’t hold it against him.”
Jiang Ni demonstratively grabbed the brush again, tapping it. “If I weren’t emperor, I’d sneak out and beat that Song fellow into a pig’s head.”
Cao Changqing couldn’t help but laugh. “What a terrible influence. The Prince of Northern Liang once yanked Jin Lanting’s beard in Tai’an City, leaving the Minister of Rites too embarrassed to show his face for half a month.”
Jiang Ni slammed the brush onto its stand.
Cao Changqing hesitated, then sighed. “After a great victory, Liang Manor needed a princess consort. In this matter, you can’t blame him.”
Jiang Ni punched the desk lightly, glaring, then wrinkled her nose and snorted, “So it’s my fault?!”
Cao Changqing waved his hands hastily, smiling. “No, no, of course not.”
Now he understood—Song Maolin was nothing. The real issue was the Prince of Northern Liang’s marriage. Cao Changqing had been caught in the crossfire of her anger toward that Xu fellow.
His smile softened.
When they were young, he had loved her, and she had loved him. No one was left unloved. How wonderful.
Every man in the world shares the same wish: to win one heart, white-haired but never parted.
Yet more than fearing beauty’s fading, he feared a life cut short before gray hairs could come.
A shadow crossed Cao Changqing’s heart. For the first time, he questioned himself: Had he been wrong?
He had missed his chance. Why must they miss theirs too?
Liu Songtao, now a Buddhist, had urged him with life and death. The Confucian Sage had reasoned with him. Even the fires of war across the Central Plains had failed to persuade Cao Changqing of Great Chu to “let go.”
Jiang Ni asked cautiously, “Uncle Chess Sage, are you angry?”
Cao Changqing shook his head gently. “Even if I were angry with the whole world—even with Great Chu itself—I could never be angry with you.”
Jiang Ni sighed with exaggerated world-weariness. “Though it feels disloyal to my parents, I think… if Mother had met you earlier…”
Cao Changqing—hailed as “Eight Parts of the World’s Grace,” “Great Chu’s Proudest,” “The Green Robe Who Came Too Late to Save Great Chu”—blushed for the first time in his life. He coughed, cutting her off, then feigned sternness. “Your Majesty!”
Jiang Ni grinned mischievously. “But if Mother had met you earlier, there’d be no Jiang Ni, right?”
Strangely, she called herself “Jiang Ni,” not the name history would record—”Jiang Shi,” regardless of Great Chu’s fate.
Flustered, Cao Changqing scowled. “Your Majesty, be careful, or I might ‘forget’ a certain message! A message someone in Tai’an City asked me to deliver!”
Jiang Ni immediately straightened, adopting a solemn tone. “Uncle Chess Sage, state affairs come first. Speak!”
Cao Changqing deadpanned, “Your Majesty, this subject is thirsty.”
The Western Chu emperor sprang up with startling speed, darting to the door without a care for imperial dignity. “Bring Minister Cao a pot of Spring God Lake tribute tea!” she ordered.
Soon, Cao Changqing sat serenely, sipping tea, wafting its fragrance with the lid.
He closed his eyes, savoring the aroma, as if he’d entirely forgotten the “important matter.”
Without even looking, he knew the emperor was pretending indifference while straining to listen.
Smirking, he took a sip. “Your Majesty, I lied. In Tai’an City, I only fought. No messages.”
Jiang Ni gave a nonchalant “Oh.”
But the characters on her paper—furious, murderous—told another story.
The densely covered sheet held just three words, written over and over.
Cao Changqing suddenly asked, “Your Majesty, I hear some propose three strategies: the best being our main force should head south, even allying with Prince Zhao Bing of Yanchi to divide the realm with Liyang; the middling being westward expansion; the worst being a death fight with Lu Shengxiang. What do you think?”
Jiang Ni hummed absently.
Cao Changqing sneered. “The ramblings of pedantic scholars!”
She looked up. “Uncle Chess Sage, back when we went to Northern Mang, besides the Southern Dynasty nobles, that lecherous old man we met last—was he Wang Sui, now the Eastern Front commander?”
Cao Changqing nodded.
After a long pause, Jiang Ni asked gravely, “Then… have you also secretly contacted Gu Jiantang?”
Cao Changqing said nothing but smiled.
My Great Chu emperor is no less than Liyang’s new ruler, Zhao Zhuan.
Jiang Ni lowered her head, biting her lip. “Ambitious Prince Zhao Bing is no saint, but Wang Sui and Gu Jiantang are no better.”
Cao Changqing rose and walked to the window. “Scholars govern, hence Great Chu’s centuries of prosperity as the Central Plains’ orthodoxy. But in times of chaos, expecting literati to save the state is folly. Our scholars don’t grasp this, and as one myself, I cannot say it aloud. Yet one thing I will ensure: three generations of Liyang emperors will learn that without Xu Xiao, the Zhao family cannot save the realm with scholars either!”
He lowered his voice. “But the truth I wish to tell the world is not this.”
After a long silence, he turned to her, smiling. “In the turbulent Spring and Autumn era, many seditious prophecies spread. Some concerned your mother—our Great Chu empress. So I know you left Northern Liang because you feared…”
Jiang Ni jerked her head away. “No!”
The study fell silent.
Suddenly, she realized Cao Changqing had moved to the desk. She flung her arms over the papers, blushing. “No looking!”
Cao Changqing feigned curiosity, craning his neck. “Hmm, doesn’t seem to say ‘scoundrel.'”
Jiang Ni blurted, “Of course not! Why would I waste ink on him?”
Cao Changqing grinned silently.
The young emperor in dragon robes stubbornly blocked his view.
He teased, “‘Stab you to death’? Your Majesty, with only me here, this subject treads on thin ice.”
She flopped onto the desk, shielding the papers with her body, and lifted her head. “You’re seeing things! Uncle Chess Sage, your eyes are failing. Less late-night reading!”
Cao Changqing set down the teacup, leaned forward, and ruffled her hair fondly. “I’m old—bad eyes, worse memory. But I just recalled that message. In Tai’an City, he said… roughly… that soon, he’d lead the Northern Liang cavalry to Guangling to take you back. If you refused, he’d stuff you in a sack and carry you off. Liyang, Western Chu, the world—Xu Fengnian couldn’t care less.”
She stared, blinking.
Cao Changqing smiled. “No lies this time. Absolutely true.”
Still, she just blinked.
He pretended to muse, faux-annoyed. “Like it or not, since even Deng Tai’a and I couldn’t stop him in Tai’an City, there’s no stopping him. I’m no immortal. What can I do? Ah, how does that saying go?”
Jiang Ni’s dimples appeared—one to topple cities, the other kingdoms. Unthinking, she replied, “Cucumbers taste best cold!”
Cao Changqing murmured, “Your father was a wise ruler but a poor husband. I was worse—a cowardly fool. But that Northern Liang youth… he’s better than us both. Your Majesty, when the time comes, just pretend to stab him. Don’t really kill him. You’d regret it.”
A broken heart may seem heavier than a dead one, but grief is far lighter than despair.
Tears welled in Jiang Ni’s eyes—as if hearing a beloved elder’s last words.
Gently, Cao Changqing set down the cup.
And let go.
※※※
The war between two states—first Great Chu and Liyang, with their stalemate at Xilebi; now Northern Liang and Northern Mang, with three hundred thousand cavalry facing a million—would soon see another chapter.
In the third year of Liyang’s Xiangfu era, the second year of Great Chu’s Shenxi era…
That day, Gu Jiantang stood alone in his tent, silent all night, finally muttering: “Cao Changqing delayed me twenty years.”
On the Northern Mang border, Wang Sui drank alone, roaring with laughter: “Revenge! Now that’s true romance!”
That day, outside Tai’an City…
Cao Changqing of Western Chu.
One man.
One siege.
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