Chapter Twelve: Helpless Longing for the Homeland

Duke Jiang forced a bitter smile. “I gave her all I had, loved her with everything in me. And then, when Mingchu turned two, the thing I always feared finally happened.”

He closed his eyes. “She found the wide-sleeved wedding dress, its bloodstains still faintly visible. Perhaps I’d been waiting for this moment all along. I told her everything, holding nothing back—I truly couldn’t bear to deceive her any longer.”

He would never forget how she looked then, as if her soul had vanished in an instant, her gaze fierce and desolate.

He covered his face with his hands, but could not block the vivid memory: her cold, mocking smile as she asked if he’d found her amusing these past years, the killer of her father right beside her while she believed her vengeance had been achieved.

She hated him, hated his cruelty and deceit. She even took up a knife, intent on killing him, but in the end could not bring herself to do it.

“Once the truth was spoken, I no longer had to live inside a fabricated peace. She refused to see me again, withdrew to the Ruohua Pavilion, and wasted away day by day. It was then that I received word: the remnants of the Lunar clan had rallied their strength, intent on avenging old grievances.”

Duke Jiang glanced at Wuxuan. “You know this better than I do.”

“Hmph.”

“The Emperor, with his vast ambition, could not bear to see the borderlands ruined, so he resolved to eradicate their power one by one. The Lunar clan provoked us first, so they were the first target. We feigned weakness, letting them taunt us, while our finest troops were readied in secret, preparing to rush to the frontier.”

Duke Jiang tapped the writing desk lightly. “Wuxuan, you must have received this news long ago, set your ambush, and prepared to strike us fatally. Did you never wonder who sent this intelligence out in secret?”

In the Pavilion of Snow and Reflection,

Mingrou asked, “Mother, when did you learn her true identity?”

The aroma of tea curled through the room, sandalwood from the golden incense burner drifting everywhere. The Duchess rubbed the fine silver bracelet on her arm. “The day after the Duke led his troops away, a servant reported that Zhenyuan had fallen into the Taiqing Pond while playing. I was startled and rushed over, only to find Zhenyuan sitting calmly by the water’s edge—it was all a trick, the child playing games with me.”

Mingrou interjected, “Zhenyuan truly is mischievous.”

The Duchess replied, “It was Ning’er’s mischief that saved us that time.” She continued, “Ruohua Pavilion isn’t far. I thought to visit her, but as I approached the door, I overheard her voice. She said the message had already been sent, the Lunar clan’s ambush was set, just waiting for the Duke’s arrival.”

“She actually did that!” Mingrou exclaimed, astonished.

“I was terrified, burst in and demanded to know what she had done, why she would do such a thing. Only then did she reveal her identity. The Duke’s troops had already been marching a day; she said it was too late to stop them.”

The Duchess sipped her tea and went on, “She laughed wildly, triumphant, and I was stunned. I confined her to Ruohua Pavilion and sent riders to intercept the Duke. Those days at home, I was constantly afraid. Thankfully, the message reached him in time. Yet for some reason, I always felt everything was too coincidental.”

Duke Jiang’s gaze drifted outside the window. “To mobilize an army so far from home, the distant enemy prepares; a thousand-mile march depends on surprise. When I received the message from my wife, I had no choice but to return to the capital. Back at the manor, I confronted her: if she sought vengeance, she could have come directly for me—why disregard so many innocent lives?”

“I could not forgive her cruelty, so I deliberately distanced myself from her.”

Wuxuan was silent for a moment. “At the time, I did receive messages sent by carrier pigeon—two letters in all.”

“Two?” Duke Jiang frowned.

“I recall the first letter said that Yang Dynasty would launch a surprise attack, urging us to prepare an ambush. But shortly after, a second letter arrived, saying the information was false, no need to mobilize. We waited and watched for days, saw nothing happen, and assumed it was someone’s prank.”

Mingchu saw clearly as her father’s ever-calm expression finally broke, as if a storm had suddenly swept the tranquil surface of the water. He slapped his hand on the table. “Wait! What did you say?”

He strode forward, grabbed Wuxuan’s collar, his eyes wild with rage. “Explain yourself!”

Li Chang hurried to intervene. “Duke, please calm yourself!”

“Duke Jiang, let go of me.” Wuxuan shook his hand free.

“I couldn’t be clearer!”

Duke Jiang let his arms fall, despondent, his eyes dark and deep as the sea.

Jiang Zhenyuan exclaimed, “I remember now—it was that songstress, no, the Third Concubine, who told me to lure Mother out. She said Mother wouldn’t come just because I’d fallen in the water, and dared me to try. I didn’t believe her, thought she was talking nonsense, so I…”

“I remember it well, because it was the second day after my fifth birthday,” Zhenyuan declared firmly.

Duke Jiang stared straight at the painting, his eyes like dead ponds, glimmering with tears.

He suddenly burst into laughter, tears falling unbidden. “Danruo, Danruo, why did you lie to me?”

Mingchu felt sorrow well up, tears threatening to spill. The wide-sleeved lily dress—Mother’s last wish was to be dressed in it at her death.

She had been afraid of the bloodstains then; now, thinking back, her heart ached.

“The lady sent two letters in all. The first was full of hatred, dispatched in a moment of reckless anger. But when she calmed down, she could not bear it—not bear to see you hurt, not bear to see so many die. She sent a second letter, deliberately letting the Duchess find out,” the nurse recounted, unable to forget the scene:

Danruo sat alone beneath the phoenix tree as the dying sun cast fiery light across the earth. She cradled a book, murmuring, “How pitiful, the bones by the Unsettled River, still the dream-lovers in the spring boudoir. How can I bear it… This cursed war, why is it never-ending?” Tears fell, soaking her crimson gauze dress.

The sunset was like blood, her red attire breathtaking, yet so frail.

This was Danruo’s story. She was gone, leaving behind a pain impossible to retrieve, a sorrow no place could contain.

Silence filled the study; no one spoke, no one wished to speak. Grief and regret seized Duke Jiang’s heart, and on his resolute face appeared a childlike helplessness, fragility.

Mingchu lowered her gaze, breaths uneven. Her hands twisted together. She glanced at Duke Jiang, and a wave of helplessness crashed over her, her heart awash with emotions, bitter and hard to bear. Isn’t love supposed to be pure? Why must it be tangled in hatred for country and family? Did Mother love Father, or hate him? If they loved each other, why did they deceive one another? Mingchu broke free from the nurse’s grasp and ran out.

“Miss!” the nurse cried.

Yuewu was already in pursuit, and the nurse breathed a sigh of relief.

Mingchu’s steps were scattered, her heart more so. She passed through the winding corridor, its twisting path leading to a pavilion at the end. Beside the pavilion, trees cast deep shade, flowers and grasses mingled. The pillars were dark green, hidden among the lush foliage, barely noticeable unless one looked closely. Mingchu had always loved this quiet place.

She ran all the way, breath chaotic, parted the tall flowers, and found a stone bench by the wall to sit on, resting her chin in a daze, her eyes lifeless. She heard footsteps, but didn’t turn—she knew who it was.

Yuewu sat beside her. The wind blew gently, stirring the loose strands of hair on her forehead.