The city of Chang'an bustled with life, as it did every other evening. From the meticulously arranged houses to the vibrant markets teeming with merchants and traders, every corner of the city seemed to thrum with vitality. The path leading to the imperial palace was particularly breathtaking, flanked by majestic autumn blaze maples and scarlet oaks. Their fiery leaves, scattered by the seasonal winds, blanketed the ground in hues of gold and crimson, creating a scene that was both serene and surreal. It was the cusp between autumn and winter, and the air carried the crisp chill of the changing seasons.
The palace itself was a magnificent edifice, a testament to the empire's wealth and power. Its grand exterior shimmered under the moonlight, and its imposing gates were guarded by two stoic soldiers, their discipline evident in their unwavering stances. Inside, another pair of sentries stood vigilant, while the palace walls bristled with elite archers, their sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of threat.
Within this fortress of grandeur ruled the emperor, a man whose tyranny was as legendary as his conquests. His dominion stretched far beyond China's borders, reaching the coasts of Taiwan, Japan, and North Korea. Feared and respected in equal measure, he ruled with an iron fist, his name spoken in hushed tones by rulers and subjects alike.
Tragedy had hardened the emperor's heart. He had lost his first wife during the birth of his eldest son, Zhao Rui, an event that had irrevocably altered his temperament. Consumed by grief and bitterness, he often blamed his son for his misfortune, going so far as to banish him once in a fit of rage. His second wife bore him thirteen sons but no daughters, further fueling his dissatisfaction and driving him to impose harsher decrees upon his subjects.
Each of the thirteen princes bore the surname Zhao, a mark of their imperial lineage: Zhao Wei, the eldest; Zhao Ming, the reserved intellectual; Zhao Chen, Zhao Yang, Zhao Jian, Zhao Hao, Zhao Zhi, Zhao Guang, Zhao Feng, Zhao Lin, Zhao Peng, Zhao Tian, and Zhao Xuan, the youngest. Despite their individual talents and idiosyncrasies, they shared one defining trait—their unparalleled beauty. Yet, even among them, Zhao Rui stood apart, his striking presence eclipsing that of his younger brothers.
On the fourth day of the week, the princes gathered for breakfast in the opulent dining hall. The long table was nearly full, save for one vacant seat.
"He's not coming," Zhao Xuan declared, his youthful voice tinged with disappointment. As the youngest, Zhao Xuan was often coddled by his brothers. Unlike the others, he had no aptitude for martial arts or palace intrigues. Instead, he found solace in art and poetry, spending his days sketching the maids in various styles. His carefree demeanor often got him into trouble, but his brothers were quick to shield him from their father's wrath.
"This is his fourth absence," Zhao Peng muttered, tapping the table lightly with a finger. A maid approached, carrying a white ceramic jar of fine tea. She moved gracefully around the table, pouring tea into each cup with practiced care.
When she reached Zhao Zhi, however, he seized her arm, pulling her close. The maid let out a startled cry, her composure slipping for a moment.
"Unhand her!" Zhao Ming commanded, his tone calm yet authoritative, his eyes never leaving the book he was reading. Reluctantly, Zhao Zhi let her go, a sly smirk playing on his lips. Known for his volatile temper and reckless behavior, Zhao Zhi often clashed with his brothers.
As the maid hurried away, Zhao Zhi leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "If he doesn't show up, perhaps I'll entertain myself by killing his maids instead."
The remark was met with silence, the other princes ignoring his provocation.
After breakfast, the princes mounted their horses, galloping through the palace grounds with youthful exuberance. They raced each other across the sprawling landscape, their laughter and banter filling the air. Eventually, they arrived at a mountaintop camp marked by two flags indicating its boundaries.
The day's activity was one they all anticipated with excitement: the hunt. A cruel game, it involved releasing maids into a field, where they were pursued by wild dogs and served as living targets. The prince who killed the most maids or whose maid survived would be declared the winner, earning the privilege of a wine dinner hosted by Chen Jingyi.
Jingyi, the emperor's niece and Zhao Rui's cousin, was the pride of the imperial family. Her beauty, reminiscent of the emperor's late first wife, captivated all who saw her, and her favor was a prize the princes eagerly sought.
The hunt began with a loud whistle as an arrow was loosed into the sky. The maids, previously caged, were released into the open field. At first, they hesitated, their confusion giving way to terror as the snarls of wild dogs echoed through the air. Panic spread like wildfire, and the maids scattered, each desperately seeking refuge.
Zhao Zhi's face lit with a wicked grin. "Now the real fun begins," he declared, raising his bow. His brothers followed suit, their arrows slicing through the air.
Zhao Feng, however, found his attention drawn to a particular maid. Despite her obvious inexperience, she fought valiantly, fending off wild dogs and narrowly avoiding several arrows. Her resilience intrigued him.
"Interesting," Zhao Feng murmured, nocking an arrow and taking aim. Instead of targeting the maid, he loosed his arrow at one of the dogs attacking her. The beast fell, its body collapsing into the bloodied grass.
Zhao Zhi noticed and scowled. "Interfering with my kill, are you?" he snarled, his eyes blazing with anger.
"It's just a game, brother," Zhao Feng replied nonchalantly, loosing another arrow to protect the maid.
The hunt raged on for an hour, the field littered with bodies of maids and beasts alike. When the incense timer burned out, signaling the game's end, only two maids remained alive—one belonging to Zhao Rui, the one who had been independent all along, and the other to Zhao Feng.
Seething with frustration, Zhao Zhi drew his bow one final time, aiming at Zhao Rui's maid. Zhao Feng noticed and fired an arrow of his own, attempting to deflect Zhi's shot. Though his aim was true, it only diverted Zhi's arrow slightly, and it struck Zhao Feng's maid instead.
The game concluded in a tense silence. Soldiers retrieved the survivors and the bodies, while Zhao Zhi rode off in a fury, muttering curses under his breath.
The surviving maid, barely clinging to life, lay on the ground, her torn white garments stained with blood and dirt. Her fragile frame trembled with exhaustion, her shallow breaths audible even amidst the chaos.
Zhao Feng dismounted, observing her with quiet admiration. "She'll live," he said with a faint smile. "Now Rui owes me one."
He turned and rode away, leaving the soldiers to tend to the survivor. As the princes departed, the sky darkened, the remnants of the day's cruel entertainment staining the earth beneath them.
---
Longhua slowly opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. She tried to spring to her feet but found it nearly impossible to move. Her chest ached terribly, and her back offered no relief. Summoning all her strength, she carefully propped herself up on one arm, her body trembling as she struggled to steady herself. What had she been doing before this? Her mind was a void—disjointed fragments of memory teased her, but nothing concrete emerged. Had she lost her recollection entirely?
She glanced down at her body, trying to make sense of her condition. The room around her was cramped, poorly arranged, and sparsely furnished. It resembled a maid's quarters. Slowly, she crawled to a tarnished mirror on the far side of the room. As she peered into the glass, a single name echoed in her mind: Longhua.
Was that her name? She couldn't be sure, but it felt strangely familiar.
Before she could ponder further, the door creaked open, allowing sunlight to stream in and momentarily blind her. A middle-aged woman, impeccably dressed and seemingly in her early fifties, stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her and approached with measured steps.
"You're awake," the woman remarked, halting a short distance from Longhua. Her voice carried a tone of mild relief. The woman didn't seem familiar.
"One of the imperial soldiers on patrol found you floating in the river. You were… mostly unclothed, so he's currently undergoing cleansing rituals," the woman added bluntly. To Longhua's surprise, she felt no embarrassment at the statement. Why was that? Was this indifference a part of her nature?
"You need to be examined by the royal physician. You're clearly in a fragile state," the woman continued. She extended a hand toward Longhua, but the latter instinctively shrank back.
"It's alright," the woman assured her gently, and after a moment of hesitation, Longhua relented.
---
In another part of the palace, Zhao Zhi, Zhao Feng, Zhao Chen, and Zhao Ming sat around a grand dining table. Their faces betrayed concern, their tense silence punctuated by occasional outbursts.
"We don't even know if the messenger we sent is still alive!" Zhao Zhi bellowed, his voice tinged with frustration. Among the brothers, he was known for his fiery temper.
"We may have no choice but to compel him to attend. After all, this dinner revolves around him," Zhao Chen declared, his face a portrait of simmering anger.
"Relax," Zhao Feng interjected with a confident smirk. "The news of the hunting game victory must have reached him by now."
"You cocky bastard!" Zhao Zhi shot back, though a faint grin played at the corners of his lips.
"I'm certain he'll come to repay his debt," Zhao Feng continued with unwavering certainty.
"That remains to be seen," Zhao Ming added calmly, his stoic demeanor unchanged. The other princes turned toward him expectantly, but he offered no further comment, leaving the room in contemplative silence.
---
"Report!" came the urgent cry of a palace guard as he rushed into another chamber. Zhao Guang and Zhao Peng stood waiting, their expressions alight with curiosity. The guard dropped to his knees, bowing deeply.
"Deliver." Zhao Peng commanded.
"He has decided to make his appearance," the guard announced.
"And the messenger?" Zhao Guang inquired sharply.
"No word yet, my lords. We suspect he… may have perished," the guard replied hesitantly, bowing his head further to convey his grief.
"That bastard!" Zhao Guang cursed under his breath.
"You are dismissed," Zhao Peng said with a wave of his hand. The guard quickly retreated.
"It's infuriating that bloodshed is forbidden during the wine dinner," Zhao Guang growled, his hands clenched into fists.
"We could ambush him on his way back," Zhao Peng suggested coolly.
But Zhao Guang was already storming out of the room, leaving Zhao Peng to follow closely behind.
---
Meanwhile, the court lady guided Longhua into a dimly lit, medically equipped chamber. She laid Longhua gently on a long futon before addressing the old physician who appeared wholly uninterested in their presence.
"You lazy old fart!" the court lady snapped, breaking the silence. The man turned his head lazily, his indifferent expression intact.
"And look who's calling me old," he shot back dryly. "You're not exactly a spring flower yourself."
"Enough of your nonsense. The girl needs urgent attention," she retorted, her tone exasperated.
The physician sighed and approached Longhua, placing the back of his hand against her neck to check her pulse. His brow furrowed slightly. "Her pulse is weakening."
He shuffled to a nearby drawer, retrieving a small wooden box containing acupuncture needles. Without delay, he began inserting the fine needles into precise points along her body.
"Are you certain this will work?" the court lady asked nervously.
The physician paused briefly, then resumed his work with a nonchalant shrug.
---
Three days passed, and Longhua's condition gradually improved. Though her memories remained elusive, she began assisting the other maids with light chores, her resilience surprising even herself. Court Lady Shan, as she was known, had taken Longhua under her wing, explaining the significance of the upcoming wine dinner.
The gruesome and ruthless nature of the event left Longhua unsettled, but she dared not voice her discomfort. Her own identity was shrouded in mystery; she couldn't even be certain if she was born a servant or someone of noble blood. All she had was the fragment of a name: Longhua.
---
At last, the day of the wine dinner arrived. The palace bustled with frenetic energy as maids hurriedly ensured that the venue was immaculate, while hired dancers prepared for their performances. By evening, the anticipation was palpable.
Princes began arriving in elaborate palanquins, each adding to the grandeur of the event. The venue filled with dignitaries from all over Chang'an, their chatter dominated by the astounding tale of Zhao Rui's mysterious victory in the hunting game. Whispers spread like wildfire—would he truly grace the dinner with his presence?
Thirty minutes after the dinner was declared open, the air buzzed with excitement. Entertainment was in full swing, and the guests were visibly animated. Zhao Peng and Zhao Guang strode through the crowd, deep in conversation, until they crossed paths with Zhao Chen and Zhao Yang. Polite smiles and formal pleasantries were exchanged before the groups parted ways.
Zhao Guang and Zhao Peng eventually made their way to the menu room, where the maids prepared food and drink for the evening. Walking with an air of haughty elegance, they paid no attention to the maids who cast admiring glances their way.
Pausing at the doorway, Zhao Peng gestured for Zhao Guang to proceed. The latter approached the head court lady, engaging her in a captivating conversation. With her attention wholly absorbed, Zhao Guang subtly opened the wine intended for Zhao Rui. He deftly dropped a pill into the liquid before resealing the bottle.
Satisfied, he ended the conversation and departed, convinced his scheme had gone unnoticed.
But unbeknownst to him, Longhua had been watching. Hidden behind a shelf laden with dishes, she had seen everything.