A Frozen Heart

As Mingyue had predicted, after comforting Chuxue, the Emperor of Que returned to his study and secretly contacted the Emperor of Luo. Mingyue was not privy to the details; she only knew that half a year later, on a certain day, the Emperor of Que left the palace in secret, accompanied by only the two shadowy spies as before.

When the Emperor of Que slipped into Prince Qi’s bedchamber with practiced ease, Mingyue witnessed the fear, unwillingness, and regret in Prince Qi’s eyes.

“Emperor Que, years ago you ordered the assassination of the King of Shu—are you here to repeat the same trick?”

“No.” The Emperor of Que replied coolly, “The assassination of the King of Shu was not my command. This time, however, it is.”

Whatever glimmer of hope Prince Qi had was instantly extinguished. The Emperor of Que cast a cold glance at the prince, who was seated on his couch, then turned and gave a slight nod to one of the spies, before turning his back.

Had she not witnessed the events surrounding the King of Shu, Mingyue might have doubted the Emperor’s reason for appearing in person. But this time, it seemed the same, and her curiosity faded.

The spy stepped forward. As the sword flashed, the blade was already poised—only to be gripped by Chuxue.

“Your Majesty…”

The Emperor of Que frowned slightly and turned back, stunned, as was Prince Qi. No one could have anticipated Chuxue’s appearance at such a moment. She stared silently at the Emperor, not uttering a word. Blood dripped down, staining the brocade quilt on the bed, and the aged Prince Qi’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

“My child, let go… Your father thought that by pledging ourselves to Yun, Qi would be spared the Emperor of Que’s wrath, and you could live happily. But in the end, I failed you. It’s all my fault, all my fault! I should never have agreed to let you marry him, knowing what the Emperor intended!”

Prince Qi’s words left Mingyue shocked, and the Emperor of Que, too, showed a rare trace of surprise. Who would have thought that a king would offer up his land and people to another nation, all for his daughter’s sake?

Chuxue still did not let go, and Prince Qi, discarding all dignity, used both hands to pry open her fingers. The spy, seemingly unable to bear the sight, channeled his energy and shattered the sword into fragments. Only then did Prince Qi gather Chuxue’s hands and throw away every last shard. He cupped her face, saw the lifelessness in her eyes, and said with a trembling voice, “Remember, all of this was your father’s choice. That I could not protect our kingdom is my incompetence. All I ask is that you live well, live happily… That is my promise to your mother. Will you help me keep it? If I break my word, your mother would never forgive me. You wouldn’t want to see your father driven away by your mother, would you? Come now, don’t cry. Forget Qi, forget your father and brother, forget everything here and become Consort of Que. Bear a healthy son, and live a joyful life. Do you hear me? Promise me, child, promise your father…”

Prince Qi pulled Chuxue tightly into his arms, his clouded eyes brimming with tears. After a while, he looked at the Emperor of Que, covered Chuxue’s ears, and gritted his teeth. “No need for you to do it, Emperor Que. I will end my own life to atone before our ancestors. I ask nothing for the heir, but for Chuxue, you must protect her. Otherwise, even as a vengeful spirit, I will not forgive you!”

With those words, Prince Qi released Chuxue, embracing her once more.

“Take her away,” the Emperor of Que nodded, stepping forward to pull Chuxue. She finally reacted, clinging desperately to her father. In the end, it took both men to separate her from the bed and lead her away.

Chuxue kicked and struggled, trying to break free from the Emperor’s grasp, but it was futile. Soon after, the chamber doors opened wide, and the two spies withdrew. Chuxue, who had been struggling, suddenly went still, then bit down hard on the Emperor’s hand. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she refused to let go until the Emperor, in pain, loosened his hold. She pushed him away and rushed back inside.

In that instant, Mingyue saw hatred, despair, or perhaps resignation in Chuxue’s eyes.

Chuxue ran to her father’s corpse, holding him and rocking back and forth on the floor. Her once clear, bell-like voice was now hoarse as she repeated, “Father, wake up and talk to me. I promise I’ll never leave the palace without permission again. If you don’t believe me, let Zihua watch over me… Wake up. Let’s go see Mother together, she’s so lonely in the royal tomb. I couldn’t visit her on her last birthday, but we can make it up to her today, can’t we? Father, don’t play games with me. I’ll be good from now on. I won’t marry the Emperor’s son or anyone else. I just want you and brother to be well. Please, stop playing. This isn’t fun, really… Father, it’s me, Chuxue. Why won’t you answer me? I know I’ve made you angry. Scold me if you want, or lock me up like before, anything—just don’t ignore me. Father, you’re all I have left, don’t leave me alone…”

The Emperor of Que stepped in quietly, softening his voice. “Chuxue, come back with me.”

She turned toward his voice. The eyes once filled with his image were now empty and dim. After a long while, his silhouette gradually came into focus. She clutched her father’s hand tighter and said, “I won’t go back. I don’t want to… It’s too cold there. I don’t like it. It’s better here with Father. Besides, the Empress said you personally ordered the child in my womb to be killed. Pity only one died. If I had died too, I wouldn’t have to endure that cold any longer. I don’t like the cold, so I’ve decided to stay here, with Father.”

Her tone was as innocent as it had once been, but every word was a blade sinking into the Emperor’s heart.

With each sentence, the Emperor’s expression grew darker, and Mingyue found herself at a loss for how to face the two of them.

“Chuxue, come with me,” the Emperor stepped forward, his tall figure blocking her path.

Chuxue shook her head, her delicate brows furrowing, lips pursed. “I told you, I don’t want to go back. Why can’t you understand?”

The Emperor closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he raised his hand and struck the back of her neck, finally rendering her silent. He lifted her into his arms and instructed the spy, “Proceed as planned.”

With Prince Qi’s death, the kingdom of Qi fell into chaos. The Emperor of Que and the Emperor of Luo invaded from two fronts, swiftly subduing Qi with unstoppable force. In five short months, the two emperors were on the verge of completely dividing the conquered land.

Chuxue, brought back to the palace, remained silent and vacant. She would not even speak to Zihua. For three months after Qi’s destruction, the Emperor of Que brought both the young prince and Zihua to Chuxue’s bedside.

“If you keep going on like this, I’ll execute them both before your eyes!”

Only then did Chuxue show any reaction. She opened her mouth and, in a hoarse voice, said, “I’ll obey.”

The Emperor took the prince away, leaving only Zihua to watch over her. Gradually, Chuxue’s health returned, her voice as it once was, but the laughter never returned to her eyes, and she developed the habit of worshipping the Buddha. The Emperor raised no objection, but whenever she left the palace for the Heavenly Kingdom Temple, he would send a large escort, as if terrified she might disappear for good.

Did he regret it? Mingyue didn’t think so. From his perspective, the Emperor of Que had committed no great crime. Ambitious and capable, he would never let slip a chance to strengthen his rule or seize supremacy. As long as Chuxue remained a princess of Qi, this outcome was inevitable.

Yet, the irony: Chuxue was the one most suited to him. Only in her presence could he find respite from the world’s burdens. But he was the least suitable for her—for she could never match his stride, and so their relationship was doomed to imbalance.

Perhaps, had Chuxue been born with another identity, they might have found happiness. In that case, he would not have hurt her, nor would she have needed to chase after him. They could have understood and cherished each other, and even within the palace walls, their story might have been a legend.

But as Jun Xiao once said, how many “what ifs” are there in this world?