Chapter Four: Dominating the World (Part Three)

Page 1 of 3

III. Wei Qin’s Severed Arm

Xiangbao often wondered if winter bore her a grudge.

Whenever she lay alone, her hand would unconsciously drift to her belly. It was flat now; her child was gone.

She had lost two children. The first time, she had been so naïve that her sorrow was dulled by confusion. But this child… she had carried her for ten full months, felt her growing day by day within her, felt her mischievous kicks… She had even seen her, if only for a fleeting moment…

That single glance was destined to imprint itself upon Xiangbao’s memory for the rest of her life.

She had lost her daughter.

“Madam, His Highness the Crown Prince has arrived,” Xile entered and reported.

Xiangbao nodded.

“Mother.” Sixiang entered, already a refined and handsome youth.

That word—“Mother”—stabbed Xiangbao like a knife, draining her face of all color.

“Mother, don’t you want Sixiang anymore?” Sitting by the couch, Sixiang tugged her hand, his voice full of grievance.

Xiangbao silently berated herself, quickly turning her hand to hold his. “I’m sorry.”

“Madam, it’s time for your medicine,” Xile returned, this time carrying a bowl of decoction.

Xiangbao shot her a look—she knew full well Xiangbao had no desire for medicine.

“Mother, take your medicine,” Sixiang coaxed, taking the bowl, cooling a spoonful at his lips, then offering it to her.

What could Xiangbao do but drink it? Faced with a child who called her “Mother,” how could she throw a tantrum?

“Mother, news from the battlefield—Father’s army is pressing the enemy; Qi’s troops are in disarray. Father will soon return triumphant!” Sixiang shared the good news in excitement.

“Mm.” Xiangbao responded softly.

Wei Qin… he will come back too, won’t he?

Sixiang was well-behaved, sharing only pleasant things to make Xiangbao smile, careful not to mention his ill-fated little sister whom he never met.

After the medicine, Xiangbao fell into a deep sleep.

Perhaps it was the effect of the medicine; for several days, her sleep was heavy and muddled. In her haze, someone gently stroked her hair—his gaze shadowed and dark.

Her lashes fluttered. Xiangbao opened her eyes to meet a pair of narrow, alluring eyes—who else but Fuchai? She studied him for a long while, unable to resist tracing the bridge of his nose, so like their daughter’s…

Noticing her gaze, the gloom vanished from Fuchai’s eyes. He gently took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“I’m not dead, not wounded, not a drop of blood lost—not even a hair harmed. I’ve come back whole, unscathed,” he said.

“Mm.” Her eyes grew hot.

“Wei Qin has returned too,” he added.

“Thank you.”

Sitting by the window, Xiangbao gazed at the swirling snow outside. Fuchai had returned in triumph, Wei Qin was alive… It was good.

But her daughter…

She lowered her head, staring at her hands, as if she could still see that soft, tiny body lying warm in her arms that day…

She had been trapped, forced to let her daughter suffocate within her—no one came to save her. If not for Shi Lian, she herself might not have survived.

“Madam, it’s still snowing outside. You’ve just miscarried; you can’t withstand the cold…” a maid advised, only to be stopped by Xile.

In the Palace of Guanwawa, such talk was taboo.

Xiangbao turned to the girl and said solemnly, “It wasn’t a miscarriage. My daughter… she’s simply dead.”

The maid froze; Xile’s eyes reddened.

Turning back to the window, Xiangbao caught a snowflake drifting in, holding it in her palm as it melted—a brief, sparkling life vanishing.

Her vision dimmed. Looking up, she saw the man in red outside the window—Wei Qin. He was smiling at her, a peace knot she’d given him dangling from his neck on a hemp string.

He moved through Guanwawa Palace as if it were his own home.

“Now that you’re Left Sima, why are you still so careless?” Xiangbao teased, curving her lips to hide her pain.

Wei Qin grinned broadly.

“That was meant to be tied to your sword—why is it around your neck?” she asked, pointing at the peace knot.

“It’s inconvenient on the sword,” Wei Qin replied.

“Give it here,” Xiangbao said, holding out her hand.

“You already gave it to me.” Wei Qin protectively raised his right hand over the knot, wary as a child.

Xiangbao laughed, thinking the hemp ugly. “Give it to me.”

Page 2 of 3

“Even though the war’s over, I still need the peace knot—who knows, I might get hacked to death one day,” Wei Qin misunderstood, refusing to let go.

“Don’t say such things.” His words unsettled Xiangbao; she scolded him, then sighed in defeat. “I just wanted to change the cord—it’s ugly.”

Wei Qin paused, blushing, and quickly pulled off the peace knot, placing it in her palm.

Xiangbao took a few silk threads from the table, twisted them skillfully into a new cord, threaded it through the knot, and returned it to Wei Qin.

He tucked it into his robe.

Noting his earlier ominous words and seeing him hide the knot, Xiangbao frowned. “Wear it.”

Wei Qin hesitated.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want it? Forget it.” She feigned indifference.

He took her seriously, hurriedly fetching the peace knot, biting one end of the cord, looping it around his neck—just as he was about to knot it, his hand slipped and the knot fell to the ground.

He bent to search for it. Xiangbao, puzzled, rose and hurried out to the window.

She found Wei Qin crouched in the snow, searching for the knot with his right hand, while the left sleeve hung empty, fluttering in the wind…

Biting her lip, she approached. Seeing her feet, Wei Qin looked up in surprise, then slowly stood.

“What happened?” Her voice trembled.

“I was ambushed in battle,” Wei Qin replied with a grin, scratching his head with his right hand. “I used to ambush others—now it’s my turn for retribution, I suppose.”

Xiangbao’s face was cold. Seeing her expression, Wei Qin lowered his head, as if he’d done something wrong.

“Heh. The blade was aimed for my face, but I thought—what if my looks are ruined and you don’t recognize me? So I raised my hand to block it, and—there went my arm…” He tried to joke as if telling someone else’s story, but as Xiangbao’s face remained blank, his voice faded until he dropped his head.

Xiangbao did not look at him, instead kneeling in the snow to search for the fallen knot.

Her tears fell silently as she sifted through the snow, each drop melting a tiny crater—like a heart riddled with wounds.

“I’m sorry…” Wei Qin bent low, murmuring by her ear.

Gritting her teeth, Xiangbao suddenly raised her head. “Why do you always apologize to me? You’ve done nothing to me! The one you owe is yourself! The one who lost an arm is you—not me!” she shouted in anger.

Wei Qin knelt on one knee, gently wiping her tears with his only hand. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m sorry—the Yue woman’s actions…”

She stared at him, stunned—he knew everything.

So he blamed himself for the child’s death, for what the woman of Yue had done to her.

How foolish—none of it was his fault. Even if he’d been there, the woman would not have spared her; Goujian had ordered the child’s death—how could the woman have shown mercy?

Wei Qin brushed the stray hair from her forehead. “Sister…”

He called her “Sister.”

He, for the first time, acknowledged her as his sister.

Xiangbao gazed at him in a daze.

“Sister, you have never been alone.” His voice was gentle. “Never have I been so grateful to be your kin.”

Xiangbao bowed her head against his broadening shoulder, tears streaming down. He knew she had wanted a child to have a blood relative, though he had always rejected their shared blood. Yet now…

He acknowledged it.

How bitter his heart must be.

She was selfish to the extreme.

Her hand touched the peace knot in the snow. Picking it up, she carefully hung it around his neck again… The bright red sleeve, fluttering in the wind, was painfully striking.

That arm—along with the tattoo that marked his identity—was gone.

Wei Qin never spoke to her of that battle, the one that cost him his arm, but Xiangbao knew it must have been brutal.

Yet… the man in red survived.

Her brother came home alive.

In the afternoon, a palace attendant brought word: Fuchai would hold a banquet in the main hall to reward the troops and celebrate victory. All consorts were summoned to attend.

Xiangbao nodded her assent.

“Madam, last night, Doctor Wen died,” Xile said as she fixed Xiangbao’s hair, studying her carefully.

“Doctor Wen?” Xiangbao, pale as a ghost in the mirror, barely focused. She wondered if the woman had been able to bury her daughter properly.

“Yes—the physician who was supposed to deliver your child. They say he was murdered at home last night, clutching jewels, with his mouth stuffed full of coins—a horrifying death…” Xile shuddered.

Xiangbao snapped back to attention, frowning. “Coins in his mouth?”

Xile nodded, looking mournful.

That night, the doctor had conveniently left the palace. He must have taken someone’s bribe. But if the mastermind killed him to silence him, why stuff his mouth with money in such a twisted fashion…?

Xiangbao’s heart tightened as she recalled Aunt Gan’s death.

Page 3 of 3

“I saw an old, ugly woman counting money in a room,” Wei Qin’s words echoed in her mind.

“Then I heard you’d been sold,” Wei Qin had said, frowning.

“So, you set fire to Liu Junzui and burned Aunt Gan alive?” she’d sighed.

“Mm,” Wei Qin replied softly.

“Madam? Madam…” Xile’s voice pulled Xiangbao from her reverie.

She came to herself, sighing quietly. Was the doctor’s death related to Wei Qin?

Xile brought the makeup case, carefully painting her face as Xiangbao closed her eyes, letting her do as she wished.

“Madam, you really are so beautiful,” Xile remarked in awe after a while.

Slowly opening her eyes, Xiangbao looked at the woman in fine dress in the bronze mirror—delicately arched brows, eyes bright as stars, lips painted a vivid red, stunningly lovely.

Age had stripped away her girlish innocence and freshness, leaving her with a hint of sultry charm. A slight curve of her lips, and she was every bit the legendary enchantress.

She had to admit, Xile’s artistry was remarkable. The woman in the mirror, with one smile, could topple a city—utterly different from the wan, grief-stricken figure of moments before.

This was the image a femme fatale should present. Since Master Wu Zixu esteemed her so highly as such a woman, how could she disappoint him? Especially tonight, when so many were waiting to see her stumble. To them, she was not a grieving mother, but a laughable woman who failed to win favor through her child.

How could she let them have their way?

Even if her tears threatened to drown her, she would smile and play her part as the perfect beauty of disaster.

“Madam, are you sure your health… will be all right?” Xile hesitated, worried.

Standing and stretching slightly, Xiangbao smiled. “This body’s a bit frail, but I’ve only myself to blame. I deserve it.”

Xile bit her lip, saying nothing more.

The ornate carriage waited outside Guanwawa Palace. Supported by Xile, Xiangbao took her seat. Suppressing the turmoil in her stomach, she pressed a hand gently to her flat belly.

“Are you all right, Madam?” Xile asked anxiously.

Xiangbao shook her head.

Stepping from the carriage, she stood before the main hall, straightened her spine, drew a deep breath, and entered, leaning on Xile.

The once-noisy hall fell silent as all eyes turned to the woman from Guanwawa Palace.

Being watched like this was unpleasant. Xiangbao was reminded of the day she stood on the auction platform of Liu Junzui, awaiting her fate. Amidst gazes of disdain, resentment, jealousy, admiration, and awe, she walked into the hall with her head high.

She wore a white fox fur cloak, dotted with splashes of red as vivid as blood. Fuchai, seated at the head, was resplendent in bright yellow, lips pressed together as he watched her approach.

At each corner of the hall, bronze stoves burned fiercely, sending tendrils of smoke into the air and banishing all chill.

Fuchai’s narrow eyes narrowed further, his gaze fathomless as a deep pool.

Xiangbao took her seat quietly.

“Wine!” Fuchai raised his cup and called out.

The spell broke; courtiers rose to offer congratulations.

Xiangbao turned to see Wu Zixu at the chief seat to her right, his face dark and sullen—perhaps because she had, yet again, failed to act with propriety, or perhaps out of disappointment that she was not sunk in grief or even dead.

Was it not said that trouble lasts a thousand years?

She raised her cup and, across the hall, flashed him a bright smile.

Wu Zixu’s face darkened further. In his eyes, a woman who could still smile after losing a child fit perfectly his image of a femme fatale. Xiangbao sipped her wine, coolly observing the jealous flames in the eyes of the other consorts. After a while, she noticed one person missing—Zheng Dan had not appeared.

Seeing Xiangbao drink, Xile grew concerned.

Just one cup flushed Xiangbao’s cheeks with red.

Suddenly, Fuchai stood, to everyone’s astonishment, walked to her side, wrapped the fox cloak around her, and led her from the hall.

In the carriage, he took her back to Guanwawa Palace.

Holding her in his arms, she felt none of the carriage’s jolting, resting quietly with her eyes closed.

His hand moved gently from her waist to her flat belly, and he asked softly, “Does it hurt? …It must hurt terribly.”

“Yes, it hurts very much,” she murmured, eyes still closed.

“I heard it was a girl… Was she beautiful?” His hand caressed her wine-warmed face.

“Yes, she was beautiful,” Xiangbao opened her eyes and smiled, though her vision blurred. It was the sort of conversation ordinary couples might have, with a trace of pride for their daughter…

He held her tighter. “Who did she resemble?”

She thought of her daughter’s lovely nose. “Her nose was like yours; her mouth like mine.”

“Then she must have been truly beautiful.” Fuchai’s voice seemed to come from a distant cloud.

He held her close, as if he wished to keep her pressed to his heart forever.