In times of war, the greatest figures are always the mothers. Beneath the flames of battle, countless souls wait at the river of reincarnation, hoping that those they once loved might return to life. When you think of it that way, childbirth doesn’t seem as frightening.
So many children are born without ever seeing their mother or father. If they’re lucky, someone will take them in and raise them. If they’re not, they’re devoured by the birds of prey circling the skies, and then they start over again. And the pain—never-ending.
Huang Bei Shuang’s Jiemashu tree had grown tall, and by March, it would bloom with flowers as white as snow. Each day now, she made time to teach young Saman lessons in ethics and governance in the study. He was the perfect example of a child who survived by his own means. Not yet ten years old, he had made his way to Yunpei alone. Ye Pei once asked him what he ate along the way. Saman had laughed and said he caught jerboas. “They’re cute,” he explained, “always digging holes in the sand dunes and really fast. It’s hard to catch one, but when I was hungry, I didn’t care. Eating them raw made me sick every time.”
Every day, Saman would recount a story from his past for Huang Bei Shuang, even the less honorable things he had done to survive. Children are straightforward and honest, and whenever Saman spoke about the times he had stolen or lied, he felt embarrassed. After all, back among the refugees, it was nothing out of the ordinary—who hadn’t done such things? But now, living in the grandeur of the palace, surrounded by the dignity that culture brings, he found it harder to talk about. Each time this happened, Huang Bei Shuang would stroke his small head and say, “Saman, humans feel shame because we are born with a conscience. If you want to live well, you need to establish a clear principle for yourself, one that will answer the question: Who are you? How will you walk your path?”
It seemed like these words were meant not just for the lost boy but also for her own troubled heart. For her guiding principles seemed to be drifting further from her grasp, becoming distant and blurred.
In this beautiful palace, she felt increasingly powerless.
“Lady Shuang,” Ye Pei entered, “His Majesty has summoned you.”
“Oh! Take care of Saman! Don’t let him slack off!” Huang Bei Shuang stood up, and Zai Ping and Dao Qiu followed her as she left. Arriving at Zhan’s chamber, the two maids stepped aside as Huang Bei Shuang pushed the door open and entered alone.
Zhan was sitting at the table, his gaze fixed intently on an unfinished game of chess before him. Hearing the sound, he lifted his head to look at her, smiling softly. “You’ve come. Sit.”
Huang Bei Shuang sat down. Zhan didn’t look at her again, remaining absorbed in his game. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “I want to send you as an envoy to Mizan.” This decision had clearly been weighing on him for some time.
Huang Bei Shuang looked at him but said nothing.
Zhan leaned back in his chair, his face showing signs of exhaustion. These days, managing military preparations and evacuating citizens had taken much of his energy. “I need someone to represent me in Mizan, to convince King You Guang to align with Yunpei, or at the very least, to promise not to actively join the war,” he said, his eyes never meeting hers.
Huang Bei Shuang let out a faint, bitter laugh. “Your Majesty intends to use me to distract Ruo Wen, doesn’t he?” She looked at Zhan. “If you can divert Ruo Wen’s attention, you’ll be free to deal with the Tian Du army first.”
Zhan turned to her. “…I’ll send Wu Jihai with you. Don’t be afraid.”
But Huang Bei Shuang remained unmoved. “Of course, you’ll send a general with me, along with a grand military escort to accompany me to Mizan, parading all the way.” She looked at the chessboard, picking up a black piece between her jade-like fingers and placing it on the board with a click. “But the problem is, do I really have such a strong allure? What if Ruo Wen doesn’t take the bait? And are you so sure of your ability to defeat Tian Du?”
Zhan smiled bitterly at her words. “Are you willing?”
Huang Bei Shuang didn’t struggle in the slightest. “Why wouldn’t I be? In your eyes, this is my only value, isn’t it?”
“I never thought of you that way.” Zhan looked at her.
Huang Bei Shuang smiled faintly. “But you’ve measured me that way. It’s fine, Your Majesty—I’ve measured you the same way.”
Zhan’s expression grew cold. He turned his gaze back to the chessboard, his voice deepening. “If one day you had to choose between Qing Yun and Ruo Wen as your enemy, who would you pick? Qing Yun or Ruo Wen?”
“There’s no need to ask. Of course, Qing Yun,” Huang Bei Shuang replied without hesitation.
“Why?” Zhan asked.
Huang Bei Shuang turned her head to look out the window. “Because I want to… I want to see him, Your Majesty.”
“Hahaha!” Zhan laughed heartily. “So, if you really switch sides, I’ll lose both my wife and my army.”
Huang Bei Shuang teased back, “Then, Your Majesty, you’d better be careful.”
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