Chapter 67 - 66: 400 Years Later, the Sovereign and Subject Reunite
Chapter 67: Chapter 66: 400 Years Later, the Sovereign and Subject Reunite
In this life, Qingyuan was twenty-five years old, which meant she had lived for twenty-five years in this future era, four hundred years after her time.
Being reborn with her memories was a strange thing indeed.
Because just a second before, the blades of the Hong Clan and the Tiele had been plunging into her body over and over. Blood had gushed from her wounds, but she had endured the pain, refusing to make a sound.
But the next second, she was an infant, abandoned at the door of an orphanage. The first thing she saw was the unfamiliar sight of modern architecture.
After living two lives, many of her memories had blurred with the passage of time.
But the years she had spent following the Empress remained as vivid as ever.
Back when she was still with the opera troupe, the female leader had sighed and asked her, "A Yuan, when do you think Meizhou will ever return?"
"Return to where?"
"To the court’s rule, of course. That way, our lives can finally be stable."
Qingyuan had asked, "Then why doesn’t the court come and take it back?"
The troupe leader’s expression grew melancholic. "Perhaps they’re too busy. It’s better not to know; you’ll have fewer worries that way."
But Qingyuan did know. She knew because she had read many books.
During the day, she was busy singing and dancing in the opera, but at night, she would find a moonlit spot to take out her books and read.
Some she had bought with her saved-up money; others she had salvaged from trash heaps.
By the time she was born, Meizhou had already been lost for fifty years.
’It wasn’t that the court was too busy, nor that they had forgotten. It was that the court was incompetent. Otherwise, why would they have let the people of Meizhou be displaced, left to be slaughtered by the Tiele?’
In those days, Qingyuan was filled with hate.
That is, until the young Prince Jing led her iron-hoofed cavalry back onto this land, drove out every last one of the Tiele, and returned Meizhou—lost for fifty years—to the embrace of the Xuan Dynasty.
Qingyuan also finally understood the meaning of her name, "Yuan"—
The kite that soars to the heavens.
"’Her Highness hasn’t actually read that many books. To find the meaning of your name, she spent ages looking through a dictionary yesterday,’ Zhuge Mingyue said casually as she led her away to change her clothes. ’It’s rare to see her apply herself so studiously.’"
’Even those who have read countless books look down on Her Majesty,’ Qingyuan thought. ’But she has always been a good, good person.’
Unlike the Four Great Young Masters, she had been by the Empress’s side even before her ascension.
And so, she had been able to witness firsthand that famous turning point in the history books—the Xiping Rebellion.
On that day, the Empress slew her brother before Shenxuan Gate and killed her father in Guanghe Hall.
All of Mingjing was thrown into chaos.
’She killed her own father and brother!’
’It was treason! A violation of all morality!’
’She should be struck down by heavenly lightning!’
But Qingyuan knew the truth. It was the old Emperor who had grown wary of her, fearing her achievements would eclipse his own. He had planned to trick her into relinquishing her military authority, forcing her to drink poisoned wine and "atone for her crimes" with death—a mercy that would at least leave her body intact.
And it was the Crown Prince who had laid an ambush for her at Shenxuan Gate, intending to take her life.
After she had reclaimed both Meizhou and Cangzhou, her usefulness was at an end. The court was ready to cast her aside now that her work was done.
At the time, Zhuge Mingyue and the others had tried to persuade her. "Your Highness, if you are to inherit the throne, you cannot bear such an infamous reputation. Let us do it for you!"
But she shouldered the burden herself. She even ordered the court historians to record the event exactly as it happened, forbidding them to change a single word.
Qingyuan remembered a heavy snow falling that year. Some said it was a strange omen, a sign that the heavens were enraged by the Empress’s sin of patricide and fratricide.
But what followed that snow was the Taichu Golden Age.
Qingyuan was able to take on disciples, to pass on the art of opera, to teach dance. People even respectfully called her "Qu Xian," the Sage of Song. It was something she had never dared to dream of.
Later on, Qingyuan returned to Meizhou to continue teaching the art of opera to more children. She wanted to make the city a better place.
During her time in Meizhou, she received monthly letters from Zhuge Mingyue. They were always filled with news like, "Her Majesty led the troops into battle herself again today," or "Her Majesty is marching on the Southern Region."
Qingyuan never paid it much mind. The Empress had never lost a battle.
She had even prepared a New Year’s gift, planning to travel to the capital on New Year’s Eve of 1609 to pay her respects.
A few days before she was to leave, a heavy snow fell in Meizhou.
Snow was a rare sight in Meizhou; the last snowfall had been eight years prior. The children, having grown up there, had never seen it before. One by one, they began to jump with excitement.
"Sister Qingyuan, the snow is so heavy!"
"Quick, look!"
"Wow, I’ve never seen so much snow before! We can have a snowball fight!"
"Sister Qingyuan, can we take a break today? I want to build a snowman."
Qingyuan smiled. "Alright. Just be careful not to fall."
At the time, she didn’t know. She didn’t know that the heavy snow was the heavens themselves bidding farewell to Her Majesty.
But if the heavens truly existed, why would they let Her Majesty die in the prime of her life?
Qingyuan watched the children laugh and play in the snow, until the sound of a bell tolled in the distance.
DONG... DONG... DONG...
It echoed through the clouds, shaking heaven and earth.
The children looked at one another, not knowing what the sound meant. But Qingyuan knew.
It signified the death of a sovereign. The entire court would be in mourning.
Qingyuan blinked slowly, unable to process it at first.
She stared blankly in the direction of Mingjing, as if she couldn’t comprehend why such a sound would ring out.
Just six months ago, she had met with the Empress, who had been as magnificent as ever—even more so, in fact.
’So why was the bell tolling?’
The snow began to fall even harder then, flake after flake covering her motionless form until she, too, became a figure of snow.
"Sister Qingyuan! What’s wrong? You’ll freeze!"
"What a strange bell. I’ve never heard anything like it!"
’The tolling... The tolling!’
Qingyuan snapped back to reality. She shook the snow from her clothes, hiked up her skirts, and ran in the direction of Mingjing, her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing.
DONG. DONG.
The tolling continued, each chime a heavy blow to the heart, so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
Qingyuan didn’t know what she was doing. She just ran, until the children’s gasps sounded from behind her. She had fallen, her palms scraping against the stones, blood welling up.
But she seemed not to feel the pain. She scrambled back to her feet and kept running.
Qingyuan couldn’t remember how she made it to the post station on her own two feet that day. Nor could she recall how many times she had urged the coachman to go faster, faster.
’And the last memory... what was it?’
Snow.
In the snow, that red silhouette was as vivid as ever. Only this time, it wasn’t approaching, but receding into the distance.
Until it vanished completely at the end of the road.
The year she ascended the throne, the snow had fallen so heavily.
The year she passed, the snow fell just as hard.
A blizzard swept away an era that had lasted for a brief eight years—Taichu.
Afterward, the wind blew without shadow, and the snow fell without a trace.
Nothing remained.
Her name, her achievements, her face, her voice... The history books erased much and twisted even more.
But now, here she was, lying perfectly fine, returned to her eighteen-year-old self—at the peak of her spirited, reckless youth.