Chapter 125: The Abandoned Little Emperor (End)
News of the Prince of Zhenbei’s death eventually spread. But the greater upheaval came during the next court session, when the emperor ordered a state funeral for the Prince of Zhenbei, demanding white mourning banners throughout the capital and a seven-day mourning period in the palace before burial in the imperial tomb—
The very tomb she had insisted on building earlier, an imperial and consort tomb.
This caused an uproar in the court. Having been unable to uncover the identity of the person hidden in the emperor’s palace, these cunning officials finally understood.
Even the most foolish among them realized that only the Prince of Zhenbei had the power to control the flow of information within the palace so tightly.
…So, the person the emperor loved was her greatest enemy.
What an absurd love story.
Su Mingxiu had made many enemies, not just those who opposed her, but even some within the pro-emperor faction resented her. Coupled with her ruthless methods during her early reign and the bloodshed during the rebellion, her death was like a collapsing wall, pushing everyone away. The little emperor’s proposal was met with fierce opposition.
Even many military officials found the idea of burying a subject with the emperor shocking and unprecedented, voicing their objections. The next day, the little emperor issued an edict, posthumously declaring the Prince of Zhenbei as the Empress of the Xiao Zhou dynasty.
The officials, who had been preparing to incite protests at the palace gates, were stunned. The censors’ first instinct was to remonstrate. But after carefully reviewing the edict, they found no grounds for objection.
During Su Mingxiu’s regency, the court had already cleared the Su family’s name, restoring their noble status. And she was indeed a woman.
Although her character might be questioned, she had eradicated the Turkic threat and suppressed the aristocratic families for the Great Zhou. In terms of achievements, how many empresses throughout history could compare to her?
The officials, after much deliberation, realized that the only way to prevent Su Mingxiu from being buried in the imperial tomb was to expose the emperor’s true gender.
Then, they could argue that burying two women together was unprecedented and inappropriate.
The officials’ unrest couldn’t reach the emperor, who had suspended all court sessions.
And the person they were so concerned about was currently arguing with Sun Feiyan. Calling it an argument wasn’t quite accurate.
Sun Feiyan was always respectful, but she was also stubborn, refusing to carry out the emperor’s order, even if it meant death.
“Please, Your Majesty, reconsider.”
She knelt before Xiao Miyun, repeating these words clearly.
“If Zhen insists on going, do you think you can stop me?”
“Please think this through, Your Majesty,” Sun Feiyan said, her head lowered. Hearing the little emperor’s scoff, she continued softly, “Wangye’s sudden passing has destabilized the court. If Your Majesty insists on leaving the capital during these turbulent times, you might be in danger—Wangye made me swear an oath with my life to protect Your Majesty. Please don’t make things difficult for this minister, and… please respect Wangye’s wishes.”
Xiao Miyun, in her embroidered yellow boots, stepped forward and grabbed Sun Feiyan’s collar, her expression anxious. “What else did she tell you?”
Although she had been prepared for Su Mingxiu’s death, it still felt sudden and unreal. Su Mingxiu’s last words to her had been too few, not enough to savor, no matter how many times she replayed them in her mind. Now, hearing Sun Feiyan’s words, she felt like a child whose candy had been taken away, seeing another child with more, desperately wanting to snatch it back.
“Nothing else, Your Majesty,” Sun Feiyan replied after a moment of thought, confirming that those were Su Mingxiu’s last words to her.
“Think harder—”
Xiao Miyun, frustrated at not getting any more “candy,” frowned. Just as she was about to speak, she remembered the reason for their argument. She had insisted on accompanying the army to escort Su Mingxiu’s coffin to the imperial tomb, but Sun Feiyan had objected.
They had been in a stalemate for days.
Facing this veteran who had followed Su Mingxiu for so long, Xiao Miyun couldn’t force her. Angered, she could only leave in a huff, seeking refuge in the warm pavilion’s tower, lingering in the place where Su Mingxiu’s presence still lingered.
Cheng Qing’s arrival was announced. The Prime Minister, knowing about the little emperor’s conflict with General Sun, volunteered to mediate. As she waited outside the warm pavilion, Xiao Miyun, remembering that Cheng Qing had also supported Su Mingxiu, reluctantly allowed her to enter.
After a few steps, Cheng Qing praised the scenery, especially the tower, a unique structure in the Xiao Zhou dynasty. She remarked that the Prince of Zhenbei must have enjoyed her time here.
No ruler disliked a scholar’s flattery, especially when it mentioned Su Mingxiu. A faint smile appeared on Xiao Miyun’s lips.
But it was tinged with sadness. “This isn’t even the most beautiful time in this pavilion.”
After Su Mingxiu’s passing, as if sensing its master’s absence, the plants, despite the palace maids’ meticulous care, seemed to wilt. Just a few days ago, they had to replace dozens of pots every day.
Cheng Qing, now the Prime Minister, changed the subject:
“Over a thousand years ago, the Qin dynasty, at its peak, had the magnificent Efang Palace, showcasing the beauty of all four seasons; a hundred years ago, the Southern Dynasty built four hundred and eighty temples amidst the misty rain. Yet, both the Efang Palace and the temples were reduced to ashes in the flames of war—”
“Your Majesty, how long do you think this warm pavilion and its tower can last?”
The smile on Xiao Miyun’s lips disappeared.
“What are you trying to say?”
She naturally wanted this warm pavilion and tower to last for generations, to have her and Su Mingxiu’s names etched in history, a testament to their love.
“If Your Majesty wants this tower to endure, it depends on how long this dynasty can last. If the Xiao Zhou lasts for ten thousand years, this tower will stand for ten thousand years.”
If the little emperor didn’t rule wisely, if the Xiao Zhou dynasty fell like the Qin or the Southern and Northern Dynasties, no one would remember their story decades later.
This was Cheng Qing’s message.
Xiao Miyun understood. After a long silence, she walked to the top of the tower, looking at the mountains in the distance, then sighed deeply.
She ordered Sun Feiyan to escort Empress Su’s coffin to the imperial tomb—
And the emperor, from the top of the tower, watched as her beloved departed, laid to rest in the cold tomb. That day, Cheng Qing stayed with her until late at night.
After that, Xiao Miyun ruled for forty years and never set foot in this palace again.
Fifty years later.
Xiao Miyun entrusted the court to her chosen successor, refusing the title of Retired Emperor and the offer to stay in the palace. With a small escort, she went to the imperial tomb, intending to spend her remaining days with her beloved.
Eternal flames, made of red candles, burned in the tomb, never extinguishing.
Dressed in a simple red dress, no longer wearing her imperial robes, she sat at a desk, drawing. Crumpled papers littered the floor. Many paintings adorned the walls, depicting scenes of outings in all four seasons. In spring, amidst the willows and flowers, two beautiful figures admired the scenery by a lake, a table laden with peony pastries beside them.
In summer, horses galloped across the plains, two figures on the last horse, their heads leaning against each other, a Buddhist amulet, its red string prominent, hanging from one of their necks.
As for autumn and winter… the emperor’s face was clearly visible in the paintings, but the other person was always shown from the side or from behind, their features obscured, inviting curiosity.
The paper before her was a vibrant red, a festive color. But as she was drawing a double happiness symbol for a wedding quilt, Xiao Miyun hesitated. She called out without turning around: “General Sun, do you remember what kind of quilt patterns she liked when she was on campaign?”
The tomb was silent, only her own voice echoing.
After a moment, Xiao Miyun realized that General Sun was long gone. A few months ago, after a heavy rainstorm, Sun Feiyan had gone to check for leaks in the tomb, then collapsed upon returning, her old war injuries resurfacing, and she never recovered.
It was Xiao Miyun who chose her burial site.
It was said that Cheng Qing, who had remained in the capital, forced by the new emperor to stay and advise the court, also fell ill upon hearing this news. Xiao Miyun wondered if she should send someone to inquire about her condition.
Lost in thought, she smiled faintly, then turned back to her drawing, looking at the sealed coffin beside her. “Why don’t you give me a hint? Do you prefer the double happiness symbol, or the mandarin ducks playing in the water?”
The coffin, naturally, didn’t respond.
Xiao Miyun smiled again, then, unable to continue drawing, she murmured to herself: “I’ve never dreamt of you.”
She said: “You’re even more stingy than them. They at least stayed with Zhen for many years, but you never visit. Now that Zhen is alone, you don’t even come to see me. Was your love… just a lie?”
The tomb remained silent.
Xiao Miyun could only continue drawing. These were scenes she had imagined in her dreams, in moments of intense longing, things she wanted to do with Su Mingxiu.
She didn’t know if they had done these things together in those forgotten lifetimes.
But she wanted to.
Because she longed for this happiness.
“Clack…”
This painting had taken a lot of effort. Putting down her brush, Xiao Miyun’s wrist dropped. She wanted to sleep, so she returned to her own coffin. As she was drifting off, she heard the sound of a prayer bead rolling away.
Xiao Miyun followed the sound into the darkness, a sudden thought: she shouldn’t have let Su Mingxiu have the prayer beads repaired by just anyone. The beads must have protected her, but they hadn’t been treated with respect, so the gods and Buddhas were angry and no longer protected her.
The same with the Buddhist amulet later—
She had said that it was stained with blood, inauspicious, and shouldn’t be used.
Lost in thought, she touched her wrist and decided to retrieve the prayer bead. Su Mingxiu had left her so little, she didn’t want to lose anything.
So she got out of her coffin. For some reason, she felt younger, her energy restored, as she searched for the bead in the darkness. She somehow ended up near Su Mingxiu’s coffin.
She squatted down, wondering how she could see so clearly in the dark. She picked up the prayer bead, examined it under the candlelight, then suddenly saw a flash of bright purple.
Xiao Miyun froze, her gaze tracing the purple fabric upwards, and saw the person, whose youthful vibrancy she had been unable to capture in her paintings, standing there with a smile, extending a hand towards her.
Her eyes reddened, but no tears came. Seeing this person’s smile, all her grievances surfaced.
“Why are you only here now?!”
She cried, reaching out for the figure, who caught her gently.
Outside the tomb…
The stone door suddenly slammed shut, the rumbling sound startling the birds in the mountains. The bell at the mausoleum tolled, its sound echoing all the way to the capital.
“On this day, the entire nation mourned the Empress. For the next three thousand years, there were no more joint tombs for emperors and empresses. This precedent in the history of the Great Zhou was unique and unparalleled. Therefore, the Empress’s fifty-year reign was known as the ‘Reign of the Phoenix’.”
—Book of the Xiao Zhou Dynasty
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