Chapter 13

I gripped his hand anxiously too.

“Xiao Che, they’re right. You can’t go back.”

He turned his hand and held mine tightly. There was no fear in his eyes.

“Jiang Shu. Are you afraid?”

I looked at him and shook my head.

“No. With you here, I’m afraid of nothing.”

He smiled.

“Then fight your way through with me.”

He turned to the guards.

“Prepare horses. We’re returning to the palace immediately.”

There was no room for refusal. Knowing they couldn’t persuade him, they hurried to obey.

Soon two swift horses were brought over. Xiao Che mounted, then held out his hand. I took it without hesitation, used his strength to climb up, and sat before him, held firmly in his arms.

“Hold tight,” he whispered beside my ear.

He pressed his legs against the horse. It shot forward like an arrow.

The night wind screamed past my ears, but my heart was strangely calm.

A battle of life and death lay ahead.

As long as I was with him, I feared nothing.

Hooves shattered the quiet of the long street. Soon we reached the palace gates.

They were shut tight, rebels crowding the walls. At the sight of us, they drew their bows.

“Fire!”

Arrows darkened the sky.

Xiao Che held me close and hauled on the reins. The horse reared with a long whinny, evading the first volley.

He drew a long sword from the saddle. Its snowy gleam wove a curtain of light, knocking away every arrow that came at us.

“Follow me!”

He took me toward an obscure side entrance beside the main gate, where the defenses were weakest.

His hidden guards were already fighting the rebels there. Blades flashed, blood and flesh flew.

He leapt from the horse with me in his arms and placed me behind him. His sword became a cold, deadly streak as he plunged into the fighting.

The polished, gracious ruler was gone.

He was a god of slaughter from hell.

Wherever his blade went, no one could stop him.

Warm, sticky blood splashed my face.

I wasn’t afraid. I only watched him fight, bathed in blood, for me and for this country.

We soon cut a bloody path into the palace.

Inside was a sea of fire. Clashing weapons, screams, cries of agony everywhere.

Zhang Meng and his men were surrounded in the square before the Hall of Mental Cultivation. Every one of them was wounded, but they fought desperately, refusing to retreat.

“Your Majesty!” he shouted when he saw us. “His Majesty has returned!”

His voice revived the Imperial Guards like a powerful stimulant.

The rebel leader, Prince Jing, saw us too.

He stood on the hall’s steps, a savage smile on his face.

“Xiao Che! You actually dared come back! You could have taken the road to heaven, but instead you’ve forced your way into hell. Today you die!”

He raised his command flag, ready to order his whole army to surround and destroy us.

Xiao Che looked at him coldly.

“Uncle. You forced our hand.”

He suddenly raised a hand and whistled toward the sky.

The piercing sound carried everywhere.

From all directions came heavy, measured footsteps.

Thunderous. Relentless.

The ground began to shake.

Prince Jing’s expression changed.

Countless soldiers in heavy black armor, powerful crossbows in hand, poured from the walls and dark corners. Like a tide, they surrounded the rebels instead.

On each suit of armor was one character: Xuan.

The Black-Armored Army.

Great Xiao’s finest and most mysterious troops. They obeyed the emperor alone—the sharpest weapon Xiao Che had kept hidden in the dark.

Prince Jing was stunned. He’d never imagined his nephew had another move like this.

“This… this is impossible…”

Xiao Che looked at him as though he were already dead.

“Uncle. The game is over.”

21

His voice rang across the burning palace like judgment from the depths of hell.

Prince Jing’s face went gray as ash.

He knew he’d lost. Utterly.

The Black-Armored Army had broken the last of his nerve. Those silent figures were like death itself, their crossbows trained on every rebel. One command would turn the square into a bloody slaughterhouse.

“Surrender, and you will be spared.”

The emperor’s voice carried across the square.

The rebels looked at one another.

Then someone dropped a weapon.

Clang.

Clear. Harsh.

Like a signal.

More and more soldiers laid down their arms and knelt. They didn’t want to die. They were only pawns, led astray by someone else.

Prince Jing laughed wildly in despair.

“You’ve won, Xiao Che! You really are crueler than that weakling father of yours!”

He pulled a dagger from his robe and held it to his throat.

“But you’ll never take me alive! If I die, I’ll die as a prince!”

He was about to kill himself when an aged, authoritative voice rang out.

“Stop!”

Supported by Noble Consort Ning, the empress dowager emerged from the Hall of Mental Cultivation. Her face was pale, her eyes still sharp.

She looked at him with pain and disappointment.

“Seven,” she said, using his childhood nickname. “What a fool you’ve been! How will you face the late emperor’s spirit?”

At the sight of her, he shook. The dagger stopped.

“Sister-in-law…”

His voice trembled.

“Even now, do you intend to plead for him?” Xiao Che asked her coldly.

She shook her head. When she looked at her son, her eyes were full of comfort and pride.

“You have your own judgment. I only wish to tell him…”

She turned back to Prince Jing, speaking each word distinctly.

“Treason means death for nine branches of your family. But for the late emperor’s sake, His Majesty and I can spare the lives of your household. On one condition: tell us who was behind the contact with those Northern Frontier remnants.”

Prince Jing shuddered.

My heart gave a thump too.

This was more than a palace struggle. Foreign threats lay behind it.

He was silent, looking from the empress dowager to the emperor.

At last, he lifted his face and sighed deeply. He threw down the dagger.

“I’ll tell you.”

He crumpled to his knees.

And so the terrible coup ended.

Dawn was near. A silvery line brightened the eastern horizon.

Beside Xiao Che, I watched him calmly organize everything that followed: reassuring officials, treating wounded soldiers, clearing the battlefield.

He seemed once more the decisive ruler in command of all things.

But I knew he was exhausted.

His hand trembled slightly around his sword hilt. A wound on his back ran deep to the bone, inflicted by a rebel while he protected me.

He’d endured it without a word.

When everything was finally settled, when the first morning sunlight fell over the palace, he could hold on no longer.

An utterly weary smile appeared on his face.

“I kept it safe.”

Then he fell toward me.

“Xiao Che!”

I rushed forward and caught him. He collapsed into my arms, unconscious. Hot blood soaked my clothes.

In that moment, an invisible hand seemed to crush my heart.

The pain left me unable to breathe.

Only then did I realize how important this man had become to me.

I was afraid of losing him.

More afraid than I’d ever been.

He lay unconscious for three days and nights.

I stayed beside him for three days and nights too, washing his wound myself, applying medicine, feeding him porridge.

I didn’t leave his side.

The empress dowager and Noble Consort Ning visited. Seeing how worn I was, they urged me tenderly to rest.

I only shook my head.

I had to wait for him to wake.

I had to give him my answer myself.

On the morning of the fourth day, his fingers twitched.

Then he slowly opened his eyes.

He looked at me, startled for a moment, then smiled.

“You… stayed.”

His voice was weak and hoarse.

My tears broke loose. I rushed to the bedside and held his hand tightly.

“I’m here. I’ve been here all along.”

His eyes were gentle.

“The year isn’t over. You… can still leave.”

I shook my head, tears blurring my sight.

“I’m not leaving.”

My voice caught.

“Xiao Che, I’m not leaving. I want to stay. To marry you. To be your empress.

“To protect this home with you.”

He listened quietly, an immensely bright smile slowly spreading across his face. Pure and clear as a child’s.

He raised his hand and gently wiped away my tears.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that.”