Chapter 9

Yet he felt that the person Tan Tuyet Tan truly resented was Bui Chieu Dan.

She loved him. After his death, she had no one left. Helplessness, bewilderment, hurt and resentment had all hardened into hatred.

Ta Thuat realized that even her hatred was not his to claim.

How pathetic.

Just when he thought they would spend the rest of their lives trapped in this entanglement, he opened his eyes again.

He was back, several years earlier.

…

At the flower-viewing banquet, Tan Tuyet Tan signaled to him.

He suddenly remembered her cat.

Its owner had been just as lovely and endearing.

Then he thought that perhaps he was the one who resembled it.

Everything about him was at Tan Tuyet Tan’s mercy. Except that he was different from the cat: one glance from her, and he would willingly come to her side.

Given another life, Ta Thuat resolved to stop Bui Chieu Dan.

But this time, Bui Chieu Dan rebelled ahead of schedule.

Ta Thuat had been quietly making preparations of his own, yet Bui Chieu Dan always seemed one step ahead.

The city was in chaos.

In the distance, he saw a carrier pigeon circling overhead.

Something small seemed to be hanging from it.

It was too far away to make out. Just as he tried to get a better look, an arrow struck the bird’s wing.

Ta Thuat looked away and ordered his household guards, “Break into the palace. Bring Tan Tuyet Tan back.”

Surely Heaven ought to favor him for once and let him take her away.

After all, in this life Tan Tuyet Tan had agreed to marry him.

In this life, she had shown him a little favor.

13

Bui Chieu Dan had recovered his memories of our previous life.

Yet the hostility between us had subsided.

He held me close, his fingertips brushing gently through my hair.

The silence was almost eerie.

For a dazed moment, I thought I was back in our previous life.

Still, I was rather glad he remembered. Otherwise, I was genuinely afraid he would go on behaving like a madman.

After a long while, he asked slowly, “Do you want to leave me so badly?”

“Were we unhappy in our previous life?”

He lifted my chin and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Well?”

I answered honestly.

“You died too young and left me alone. I don’t want to end up like that again.”

His fingers tightened around mine. His voice turned cold.

“What did they do to you?”

Countless people had wanted me dead, of course.

Ta Thuat had stopped them all.

After a long silence, I left out everything involving Ta Thuat and said only, “What good ending could a wicked empress expect?”

His voice was a little hoarse. “You suffered.”

I stared at him, taken aback.

Then he gave a soft, knowing laugh.

“Khanh Khanh, you’re simply tired of it. Tired of me, and tired of life in the palace.”

He rested his chin against the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

“If it were only because I died young, you could have warned me. I would have had the imperial physicians look after my health. Instead, you decided to leave me. Can you really say you didn’t want a different life?”

I looked at him, my lips moving without a sound.

So many thoughts tangled together in my head that even I couldn’t explain them.

Perhaps there was no single reason. Perhaps all those reasons together had convinced me that leaving Bui Chieu Dan was my best choice.

I gave him a slight push. “…Think what you like.”

He wouldn’t budge.

His gaze settled on my face. He spoke slowly, with a seriousness so intent it was almost spellbinding.

“If all you fear is that I’ll leave you alone, with no one to turn to, then in this life I’ll take care of myself. I may not die so young.”

“And we can have children now. If I do die, you can rule as regent.”

“Or…” He paused, then continued calmly, “you could raise troops of your own and hold the tiger tally. After my death, you…”

He stopped there.

Everything else lay in what he had left unsaid.

I could scarcely believe what I was hearing.

But what he suggested was, in fact, a way forward.

I parted my lips, wavering.

As I considered it, Bui Chieu Dan lightly pinched my earlobe.

“In our previous life, what happened between you and Ta Thuat?”

I looked up sharply.

He watched my expression. His voice was flat. “Did he force himself on you?”

“It’s over,” I said quietly.

I didn’t want to speak of it again.

14

Bui Chieu Dan kept me in the palace.

It almost seemed that we had returned to our old life.

But I knew some things had long since changed, quietly and irrevocably.

Half a month later, the edict naming me empress arrived.

I didn’t kneel to receive it. I merely reclined on the chaise with my fingers resting against my temple.

The officials who had come to deliver it exchanged looks. None dared speak.

At last, Bui Chieu Dan strode in.

Unconcerned, he waved everyone else away.

“Won’t you give me a smile?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I looked at him and spoke distinctly.

“I’ve thought it through. I want to go to Jiangnan. I don’t want to stay here.”

The room fell silent.

The smile faded from Bui Chieu Dan’s lips. A long while passed before he spoke.

“The surviving members of the Marquis of Sung Ninh’s household have fled south. Have you arranged to meet him?”

My eyes widened in surprise. I shook my head honestly.

“I didn’t know that. There’s nothing between Ta Thuat and me. Before, I only wanted to use him to get away from you. That’s all.”

Bui Chieu Dan was silent for a long time.

The hall was so quiet that I could have heard a pin drop. Outside, the breeze whispered past the eaves.

At last, he spoke, his voice low and rough.

“If you’re so determined, I’ll let you go.”

I stared at him, scarcely trusting my ears.

“But on one condition.”

“If, a few years from now, I’m still in good health, you must return to the capital. Come back to me.”

Who could be certain what would happen in a few years?

In his previous life, he had been plagued by illness. Even with proper care this time, he might not be able to change his fate.

It was only a promise, after all.

My lips trembled.

“All right.”

15

The day I left the capital, the sky was clear and blue, without a cloud in sight.

The gloom that had pressed down on us for so many days had lifted completely. My heart felt much lighter too.

I took a great many valuables with me.

Heavy chests filled with gold, jade and jewels were loaded neatly onto the carriages. Dozens of elite guards would escort us.

A spacious, finely crafted ebony carriage waited beneath the city gate, its curtains hanging softly.

I climbed in with the injured carrier pigeon in my arms.

Its other wing had been bandaged. It would never fly again, but at least it had survived.

I lifted the side curtain and instinctively glanced up at the gate tower.

A figure in black stood at its highest point.

I couldn’t make out his face or his expression, only his tall, straight silhouette, the imperial robes stirring in the wind.

Solitary. Desolate.

He stood motionless, watching from afar.

The wheels began to turn. Slowly, we drew farther away.

The vermilion walls of the imperial city receded, growing smaller until they vanished from sight.

Ahead lay the misty rains of Jiangnan, the mountains and the sea.

Freedom.

Only that lone figure remained on the tower, standing in the wind for a long, long time.

The End.

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