Chapter Four: The Struggle for Supremacy (Part Four)

IV. The Death of Wu Zixu

Wu Zixu watched as Fuchai left, holding Xiangbao close, and could not help but feel utterly dispirited. He had advised and remonstrated countless times, but Fuchai had grown weary of him; Bopi, that petty man, repeatedly slandered him, and now, the fate of the State of Wu seemed all but sealed.

Rising hurriedly to return home, Wu Zixu became even more resolute in his earlier decision: he would send his son to Qi for safety.

When Wu Feng heard of his father’s plan, his first thought was to take Yunji with him.

“You’re mad!” Yunji stared at Wu Feng in disbelief. “If the king finds out, neither of us will escape death!”

“Father says the king draws close to the petty and pushes away the wise; Wu’s destiny is nearly spent. The king already harbors murderous intent toward Father. You should come with me to Qi first, then we’ll figure things out. Otherwise, the king won’t spare you either.” Wu Feng pulled at Yunji, speaking urgently.

Yunji scoffed coldly. “To Qi? Uncle only arranged for you to go, didn’t he? If I went too, he’d surely berate you for being distracted by women and unable to achieve greatness.”

Wu Feng was taken aback, about to protest, but Yunji had already shaken off his hand and turned away. “Since Uncle sent me into the palace at sixteen, whether enjoying riches or languishing in solitude, I am destined to die old within these walls.”

Yunji swept her sleeves and left.

“Yun’er, why do this to yourself? The king only dotes on Xishi—he’ll never look back at you.” Wu Feng stood where he was, suddenly speaking in a low voice. “Besides, if Xishi learns the physician was sent out of the palace at your father’s request, she won’t forgive you either.”

Yunji paused for a moment but still departed without a backward glance, leaving Wu Feng in heartache.

In the end, Wu Feng left Wu alone. No sooner had he gone than Fuchai’s envoy arrived at Wu Zixu’s gate.

It was Sima Wei Qin.

“Uncle Wu, forgive me.” Wei Qin brought with him the sword “Shu Lou.”

Seeing Wei Qin, Wu Zixu was greatly surprised.

“You secretly sent Wu Feng to Qi; you must harbor double loyalties.” Wei Qin reached out, holding the “Shu Lou” sword. “You have colluded with enemy states. The king commands you to end yourself with the ‘Shu Lou’ sword.”

“I must have been blind to ever think you were my own son!” Wu Zixu glared fiercely at Wei Qin.

Wei Qin sneered.

Knowing fate was sealed, Wu Zixu accepted the sword. “Tell Fuchai for me: after my death, hang my head at the east gate of Gusu, so I may watch the Yue army enter through that gate with my own eyes!”

Wei Qin watched without blinking as Wu Zixu took his own life before him.

“Did you know, it isn’t Xishi who lives in the Palace of Wanwa?” Wei Qin crouched down, looking at Wu Zixu lying on the ground as blood streamed from his neck. Wei Qin smiled. “She is the daughter of Ya Li—my sister, Xiangbao.”

Wu Zixu’s eyes widened in shock as his breath ceased.

When word spread that Wu Zixu was ordered to die, Xiangbao’s expression remained calm.

“Prepare a set of men’s clothes for me.”

Xile looked troubled. “The king has instructed that madam must not leave the palace for now.”

“If the king blames you, I won’t let you suffer.” Xiangbao glanced at her.

After some hesitation, Xile nodded. Dressed in men’s attire and with Xile’s arrangement, Xiangbao slipped quietly out the back door.

The carriage had long been ready, headed straight for the city gate.

“Prime Minister Wu… Prime Minister Wu… Your death is so unjust!” From afar came cries of anguish.

The carriage stopped at the city gate.

She lifted the curtain, a cold wind rushing in; Xiangbao shivered and looked up. There stood an old man with white hair and beard, weeping bitterly, clutching Wu Zixu’s severed head.

“Prime Minister Wu, Prime Minister Wu… Your death is so wrong…” The old man ignored the gathered crowd, holding the head and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Move aside!” Guards rushed over, dispersing the onlookers.

A troop approached; at its center, Wei Qin rode, holding the reins with one arm, flanked by two lines of guards.

“Seize him,” Wei Qin said coldly.

The old man had already climbed the city tower. “Ha! Prime Minister Wu’s loyalty to Wu shines like sun and moon, yet that foolish king favors petty men and shuns the wise. Today, Prime Minister Wu dies for his country. I shall place his head atop Gusu’s gate and watch as the fierce army of Yue storms this city! Ha…”

He placed Wu Zixu’s head atop the gate, kowtowed three times reverently, then threw himself down.

A cry of alarm surged among the crowd as they retreated.

The old man’s body twisted on the ground in a grotesque posture, dark red blood slowly spreading, staining his white hair.

Staring at the blood, Xiangbao could not describe the feeling in her heart. She had hated Wu Zixu, but now that he was truly dead, she was not as glad as she imagined.

He had been a loyal minister.

“Clear it up.” Wei Qin, still in the saddle, did not even furrow his brow. Life and death—who had seen more than he? Such scenes, to one raised amid bloodshed, meant little.

“Sir, Prime Minister Wu’s head…” a guard hesitated.

Wei Qin looked up and suddenly smiled. “Let it stay there and watch.”

Xiangbao watched him loosen the reins and touch the safety knot at his neck. She was about to step out to meet Wei Qin when, for some unknown reason, the horses suddenly bolted.

The startled horses dragged the carriage wildly through the streets, the driver thrown off early. Xiangbao clung desperately to the window, bitterly amused—was Wu Zixu so relentless that even in death he would not let her go?

Battered and shaken, just as Xiangbao thought she would fall apart, the carriage abruptly calmed. Regaining her breath, she reached out with trembling hands to open the curtain and saw a tall man in black, mounted, holding the reins.

“Well done, General!” someone nearby laughed.

Xiangbao pressed her chest. “Thank you for saving my life, General.”

The black-clad man’s back stiffened, then slowly turned to look at her.

Xiangbao was stunned.

“Brother Afu?”

She had not expected to meet Afu here. She stepped off the carriage and followed him into the tavern opposite. Several burly men in black stood up; the one who called Afu “General” was among them.

Xiangbao was surprised.

“Sit, sit, sit…” Afu waved for them to sit, taking Xiangbao’s hand to seat her. “Xiangbao, I’ve searched for you for so long. I tried to inquire at Wu Palace but heard you were no longer there. How did you end up here?”

Xiangbao smiled faintly. “Brother Afu…”

As she spoke, the men looked at her oddly, as if she had said something wrong.

“It’s all right. She’s the Xiangbao I’ve been looking for,” Afu said with a smile.

“I knew it!” one of the men punched Afu, laughing. “I said, when did our Black-faced General Cangwu become so gentle?”

Black-faced General? Cangwu?

Afu smiled, unfazed.

Xiangbao never imagined that Afu, who once brewed wine for her, would become Cangwu General of Yue. This time, he was here as Yue’s envoy, bearing gifts.

“I will rescue you.” After returning Xiangbao to the Palace of Wanwa, Afu said, “I promise I will get you out, no matter what.”

Watching Afu ride away, Xiangbao sighed.

Back at the Palace of Wanwa, she found the gates wide open, guards standing at the entrance. Sensing trouble, she hurried inside.

“Sire.” Seeing Fuchai, Xiangbao smiled, ready to feign innocence. But when she saw Xile lying on the ground, beaten nearly to death, her smile froze.

“Madam…” Xile cried upon seeing Xiangbao.

“Take Xile to rest. Bring a physician,” Xiangbao instructed a maid.

The maid hesitated, glancing uneasily at Fuchai. Only when he nodded did she help Xile away.

Xiangbao was puzzled. When Wei Qin was sentenced to dismemberment, she had rushed out and caused a scene at the execution ground without consequence. Why was it so severe now, bringing punishment to Xile—and Fuchai had brought so many men?

She looked at Shilian, who stood behind Fuchai, head bowed, his expression unreadable.

Fuchai glanced at Xiangbao, then handed her a bamboo scroll.

Xiangbao took it, opened it, and was instantly chilled to the bone. On the scroll, only two lines: “Wu Zixu is dead, mission fulfilled without disgrace.”

Such blatant betrayal.

And the handwriting—it was identical to hers.

“Was that child’s death truly caused by Prime Minister Wu?” Fuchai looked at Xiangbao, his gaze icy.

Xiangbao was stunned, doused from head to toe—what did he mean? Did he suspect she had harmed her own child to frame Wu Zixu? She instinctively looked at Shilian, who still kept his head bowed, fists clenched.

Her handwriting—she had learned from the copybook he gave her.

Another plot? Did he teach her to write just so, when his own crimes were exposed, she could take the blame?

Biting her lip, Xiangbao let out a low laugh.

Yes, after so much, she had almost forgotten his brother Shijiao had died because of her. He had always threatened vengeance.

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“How does the king plan to punish his concubine?” Xiangbao looked up at Fuchai, a hidden pain in her heart. Such an absurd misunderstanding—she could never clear her name.

Fuchai stared at her in silence.

“King, how will you punish me?” Deep inside, something fractured.

Fuchai’s gaze deepened, his brow slightly furrowed. “If I spare you this time, will you betray me again?”

Xiangbao shook her head.

His eyes were dark as night.

“King, believe it or not, I have never betrayed you.”

“In that case, let it be as if I never came.” Fuchai took the bamboo scroll from her hand, raising it to throw into the fire.

Xiangbao was momentarily dazed.

“King, King, something’s wrong, something’s wrong…” Suddenly, a guard rushed in.

“What is it?” Fuchai frowned, hands clasped behind his back, discreetly hiding the scroll.

Was he determined to protect her?

“Thousands of citizens are gathered outside the Palace of Wanwa, all demanding justice for Prime Minister Wu,” the guard said, breathless.

Fuchai pressed his lips together; Xiangbao saw his hand clutching the scroll tighten slightly.

“King, the people say Prime Minister Wu was harmed by Lady Xishi. His head still hangs at the city gate. If you don’t hand over Lady Xishi, I fear…”

Xiangbao was stunned. Would Fuchai choose the people’s favor or protect her? If he lost their support, his reign would be precarious. Would he hand her over, leaving her to face the mob alone, to die in such misery?

Just the thought chilled Xiangbao to the core, trembling.

Fuchai continued to look at her, emotionless, unreadable.

“King…” The guard spoke urgently.

“That was Shilian’s doing, nothing to do with the lady,” Shilian’s voice suddenly sounded, calm as ever.

Xiangbao turned in surprise. Had his conscience awakened?

Fuchai turned to him. “You wrote this?”

Shilian did not answer, but tore a strip of cloth from his robe, bit his finger, and wrote: “Wu Zixu is dead, mission fulfilled without disgrace.” One stroke at a time, he wrote two lines.

The handwriting—identical to that on the bamboo scroll.

The handwriting matched Xiangbao’s exactly.

“The lady learned to write by copying mine, so naturally it’s the same.” Shilian looked up at Fuchai and, to Xiangbao’s surprise, smiled faintly. It was the first time since entering Wu that she saw him smile.

Fuchai relaxed his grip on the scroll. “Take him outside, hand him to the mob,” he ordered.

Guards stepped forward, binding Shilian. One moment, he was a general; the next, a prisoner.

“Wait, take this as well.” Fuchai handed the scroll to a guard. “Evidence.”

The guard stuffed the scroll into Shilian’s bound hands and led him away. Xiangbao stood there in a daze, watching as they took Shilian away.

“Do you want to see?” Fuchai drew Xiangbao into his embrace, looking down at her.

Xiangbao lowered her head, letting him hold her. “If Shilian hadn’t confessed, would you have handed me over?” she asked quietly.

She wanted to know, but he gave no answer.

“Let’s go see,” he said, leading her toward the door.

Unable to resist, Xiangbao followed. Before they reached the gate, scolding and beating rang out.

“Kill him! Kill him!”

“Kill the beast who murdered Prime Minister Wu! Kill him!”

“This traitor, this sellout… Selling out Yue wasn’t enough, now he ruins Wu…”

“Kill him…”

“Kill him, kill him…”

Xiangbao bit her lip, suddenly unwilling to look.

“Look, madam,” Fuchai whispered in her ear.

She understood now—he was making an example. Wu Zixu once killed Linglong, hanging her head at the Drunken Moon Pavilion. Now, he wanted Xiangbao to watch as Shilian was beaten to death by the mob.

She had become the wretched monkey in his warning…

At the gate of the Palace of Wanwa, Xiangbao stood silently, watching Shilian in the angry crowd, hands bound, unable to resist. So proud and high-ranking—a general—yet now, lips pressed tight, face cold and expressionless, pushed and shoved by the mob in silence.

He held the scroll in one hand, the blood-written cloth in the other, as he was kicked and cursed.

Suddenly, a stone struck his head, blood streaming down his temple, staining half his face. His consciousness seemed to waver; shoved again, he staggered.

He turned, looking at Xiangbao, half his face bloody and terrifying.

Xiangbao flinched, forcibly turning away.

A dull thud sounded; a wooden club hit his head, and, battered and bloody, he wobbled and finally collapsed.

“Hang this traitor at the city gate to comfort Prime Minister Wu’s spirit!” Fuchai’s voice rang out, cruel as ever.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Xiangbao watched as they dragged Shilian away, nearly dead. Was it an illusion? She thought his blood-stained eyes kept watching her until he was taken far away.

At last, the mob dispersed, satisfied.

The Palace of Wanwa returned to its quiet, luxurious isolation, save for the dark red blood staining the gate.

Fuchai turned to Xiangbao.

She met his gaze, refusing to yield.

“Take care of yourself,” he said after a moment, indifferent.

“That’s all?” Xiangbao’s voice was weary.

He reached out, gently caressing her face, then abruptly left. Watching his retreating back, Xiangbao remained dazed.

That night, Fuchai did not stay at the Palace of Wanwa. Xiangbao endured a night of nightmares, dreaming of Shilian’s bloodied eyes staring at her. She slept heavily, not knowing how long, until smoke woke her.

“Madam, madam, fire, fire!” A disheveled maid rushed in, dragging Xiangbao out.

They ran for what seemed an eternity, Xiangbao nearly suffocated by smoke, still unable to escape. Suddenly, the maid collapsed, lifeless. Xiangbao was shocked; looking down, she saw a bloody hole in the maid’s chest.

She looked up at the woman before her—a woman in sumptuous robes, dressed for a banquet, yet utterly out of place at this moment.

“Yunji.” Xiangbao coughed from the smoke, frowning.

Yunji sneered, her face twisted in the firelight, right hand gripping a bloodied dagger, droplets falling steadily.

“Why?” Xiangbao demanded, glancing at the fallen maid.

“Ha, why?” Yunji laughed uncontrollably, tears streaming. “Why… Do you know? My cousin is dead… He was sealed in a carriage, pushed into a ravine—his body lost…”

Xiangbao was stunned. Wu Feng was dead? Wasn’t he supposed to be in Qi? Who did it?

“We grew up together… He treated me so well…” Yunji cried and laughed, nearly mad. “He promised to marry me when we grew up, but I entered the palace… Uncle wanted me to stay by Fuchai’s side… to guide him, make him a wise king…”

The smoke thickened; Xiangbao covered her mouth.

“How could the king ever change for a woman…” Yunji’s gaze sharpened, glaring at Xiangbao. “It’s all your fault! Because of you, the king condemned uncle to death; because of you, he sent men to kill my cousin! You demon—why won’t you die? Why won’t you die! Why won’t you die…” She brandished her dagger, lunging at Xiangbao.

Xiangbao dodged in panic.

“I thought the letter would doom you, but didn’t expect a scapegoat to appear…” Yunji screamed, face contorted.

Xiangbao was shocked, heart pounding, afraid to know the truth. “What letter?”

“Hahaha… Wu Zixu is dead, mission fulfilled without disgrace…” Yunji laughed hysterically.

Xiangbao was thunderstruck—the bamboo scroll, forged by Yunji to frame her? And Shilian… Shilian…

A stabbing pain brought Xiangbao back to her senses; she watched Yunji’s crazed face, saw the dagger plunge into her shoulder.

“Why won’t you die! Why won’t you die! Why won’t you die…” Yunji screamed, stabbing wildly.

Summoning unknown strength, Xiangbao shoved the madwoman aside and fled.

The fire brought down the beams; scarlet flames crashed down with a roar. Xiangbao turned, dazed—Yunji was pinned beneath the beam… Was this her tragic love?

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“Madam, you’re bleeding! Where are you going? Madam…” Xile’s voice seemed to echo from another world, barely audible.

The image of Shilian, bloodied, kept flashing before Xiangbao’s eyes… He had always watched her, yet she had turned away, never looking back. Betrayed so many times, used so many times, and in the end, the one who quietly protected her met such a fate…

Shilian… Shilian… Shilian…

She had to see him, to ask why he never explained, why he bore every false charge for her…

Why he paid with his life to keep her safe…

She had to ask him, she had to know!

She ran through the deserted midnight streets, clad in white, hair loose, barefoot, like a madwoman.

She ran and ran, finally reaching the city gate, and looked up, dazed, at the bloodied figure hanging there.

“Shilian! Shilian!” she cried, teeth clenched.

Tears streamed down her face… “Are we even close? I can count the words we’ve exchanged on my fingers! You idiot! Is any random stray worth your life, your protection?” Xiangbao stamped her foot, fists clenched, crying and screaming, cursing beneath the gate.

“Idiot! Idiot! You’re the idiot! Big idiot! Madman! Fool! Fool…”

She had never been so out of control, so furious, so hateful. She could not bear the weight of his sacrifice—most unbearable was her ignorance of everything!

Her cries drew the city guards; one approached.

“No shouting!” he scolded as he came near.

Xiangbao ignored him, only gazing up at the bloodied figure on the tower.

Dawn had broken without her noticing. Xiangbao stood there, finally seeing him clearly—sunken, closed eyes, tangled hair, face covered in blood, lips pale and cracked…

She stood in a pool of blood. Her legs gave way, and she slumped against the wall, burying her head in her knees.

What is this? Saying nothing, doing nothing… In the end… Not even giving me a chance to apologize… Must you make me remember you forever in such a cruel way?

Shilian… You win!

She did not know how long she sat, until suddenly someone pulled her into their arms.

A single arm held her tightly, as if she were a precious treasure regained.

She looked up at the man in red, disheveled and trembling. Her heart softened; she reached out, stroked his shoulder, and tears flowed endlessly.

“Damn you! Why are you here?” Wei Qin suddenly pushed her away, gripping her arm, shouting.

Xiangbao stared, stunned by his fury—it was the first time he truly lost his temper at her.

Feeling the sticky blood on her shoulder, Wei Qin’s voice softened. He glanced at his palm, stained with blood. “Who hurt you?”

Reminded of the dagger wound, Xiangbao felt dizzy with pain.

After a moment, Wei Qin sighed, wiping her tears with his only right hand. “Let’s go home.”

Xiangbao looked at Shilian, still hanging at the gate. “Wei Qin, help me take him down.”

Wei Qin pressed his lips together, said nothing, and swung his sword, severing the rope. He stepped forward, catching Shilian’s falling body with one hand.

“Who dares act up here?” the city guards rushed over, but paused seeing Wei Qin. “Lord Sima?”

“Bury him,” Wei Qin removed his red cloak, wrapped it around Shilian, and ordered coldly. Then he turned, reaching for Xiangbao. “Let’s go.”

Xiangbao bit her lip, fixed her gaze on bloodied Shilian, unable to move.

“Last night, the Palace of Wanwa burned. The king knows, and the palace is in chaos. If you stay here, Shilian won’t rest in peace.” Wei Qin bent his back toward her. “Let’s go.”

After a brief hesitation, Xiangbao climbed onto his back, just like when they were young.

“Hold tight.” He supported her with one hand, standing.

“Lord Sima, this traitor…” a guard spoke, hesitating.

“Bury him.” Wei Qin’s voice was icy.

“Yes.” The guard shivered, obeyed meekly.

Wei Qin said no more, carrying Xiangbao away.

On his back, Xiangbao looked back as Shilian’s body receded… When he was dragged away, bleeding, watching her, what was he thinking?

Vision blurred, Xiangbao bit her lip.

“That one wouldn’t want to see you cry,” Wei Qin said, sensing the dampness on his back.

Xiangbao leaned against him, silent.

“I think he’d rather you misunderstand him forever, never know the truth.” Wei Qin added.

“Why…” Xiangbao sniffed, asking the foolish question.

“Because I think so, too,” Wei Qin replied quietly.

Her throat blocked, Xiangbao reached up, choking him. “If you dare do the same, I might as well strangle you first!”

Her hand moved, pain stabbing. Tears dripped onto Wei Qin’s neck; he made no sound, just kept walking.

On his back, Xiangbao felt him stop. She looked up, meeting a pair of narrow eyes.

“King.” Wei Qin showed no sign of putting her down.

“Thank you, Lord Sima.” Fuchai dismounted, reached out.

Xiangbao clung to Wei Qin’s clothes, but at last let go, barely touching the ground before being taken into another embrace.

The Palace of Wanwa was devastated by fire, so Xiangbao moved back to the Drunken Moon Pavilion, bringing Xile with her. Besides the shoulder wound, her feet were covered in blisters from running barefoot so far. So Xiangbao spent a long time confined to bed.

They said Shilian was buried with honor.

Again, a grand burial.

When someone dies, what else is there but a grand burial?

But what does that mean?

She moved her bed beside the desk and devoted herself to practicing calligraphy. She had never been so earnest, every stroke careful. The copybook Shilian gave her, untouched for so long, had been put away by Xile and so survived the fire.

“Did Lady Yunji really die?”

“Yes, I heard the fire at the Palace of Wanwa was set by Lady Yunji…”

“Heavens, why? Was it jealousy of Lady Xishi?”

“Silly, of course it was because of General Wu Feng.”

“Huh? Why? Wasn’t Lady Yunji the king’s woman?”

“What do you know? Lady Yunji loved her cousin General Wu Feng. Because of Lady Xishi, he was implicated and died, and she went mad, set fire to Palace of Wanwa, and died herself—call it tragic love…”

“How do you know?”

“Little girl, let me tell you, no one dies for someone they don’t love!”

A breeze carried the maids’ gossip through the window. Xiangbao’s hand trembled, and she wrote a wrong character.

No one dies for someone they do not love.

Such a thick stack of copybooks—he must have written for so long.

When he sent them, she thought he just wanted to get rid of her, so wrote something for her to play with. Later, knowing the characters were his, she suspected a plot.

…

She and Shilian had always been enemies.

She had caused his brother’s death; he had wounded her brother.

“Shilian.” She gently stroked the thick copybook. “Why didn’t you kill me back then? You should have.”

That day, at the cottage, he did not strike.

She hated him, saying, General Shi, one day you will die because of me.

Now, her words became fate.

He really died because of her.

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