Chapter Twenty: Who Can Stand Against

Human affections are as thin as paper; the affairs of the world ever change, like the shifting moves of a chess game. When poor in the midst of the bustling city, no one cares; when wealthy deep in the mountains, distant relatives appear. If you do not believe it, observe the wine at a banquet—every cup is first offered to the rich and powerful. If a fine steed is tethered before your door, kin will come even if they are not truly kin.

Friends for wine and meat are plentiful every day; but without money or power, kinship grows cold. When meeting, it is as if for the first time; yet to old age, no grievances remain in the heart.

A throng of servants supported the eminent minister as he advanced toward the palace gates, while General He Jin, once but a butcher, had set aside his earlier anxiety. Seated in a palanquin borne by twenty-eight men, his left hand caressed a beauty, his right raised a goblet of fine wine, surrounded by sycophants praising him without end. He Jin’s smile blossomed across his face.

“By imperial command, we are to enter the palace. No one may obstruct us; those who do shall face death without pardon. Now, the golden token granted by the Emperor Ling has become pivotal...” Glancing at the long procession and hearing the endless sounds of intrigue, Zifan could not help but shake his head. With a court so corrupt, how could the realm not fall?

“Long live the Emperor, ten thousand years!” The city guards, seeing the golden token, bowed low in obeisance. Life is precious; no one wishes to risk theirs. These well-trained Black Riders are not mere idlers—their fierce aura marks them as veterans, not to be matched by the pampered scions whose fine appearance hides their lack of skill. With the golden token, there was no need for swords or guns, and the guards could gracefully step aside—a perfect solution.

The struggle of a chaotic age was about to begin...

“Disaster, disaster! He Jin has entered with troops!” A young eunuch rushed in, flustered. Standing nearby, the “Ten Attendants” Zhao Zhong and Xia Yun were at a loss, their hands uncertain, palms sweaty, hearts racing, minds blank. They did not know what they were doing or what they were to do...

Such panic is unseemly. After so many years at the Emperor’s side, how have they learned nothing? The chief of the “Ten Attendants,” Zhang Rang, however, remained calm.

“If the sky falls, I will hold it up. Besides, the outcome is not yet decided; who will win is still unknown. Why panic?” Zhang Rang, who had attained his position by being fiercer than others, had his reasons.

“Even a baseborn upstart may rise to power. Open rivalry, secret plotting, alliances of foxes and dogs—all bring disaster. When nobles lose their hearts, they are mere prey; right and wrong blur, debts of gratitude and resentment are tangled, black and white indistinguishable, leading to lifelong gloom. Zhang Rang always wore one face in public, another in private, never revealing his true feelings.”

Heaven may be measured, earth may be surveyed, but the human heart cannot be guarded against!

He Jin is but a butcher and a lazy, gluttonous commoner—not to be feared. It is his advisors who plot and scheme; thus my own conspiracy failed. I underestimated these rising stars! There was one named Yuan Shao, another called Cao Cao—they ruined my plans! After some thought, Zhang Rang spoke precisely, then grew doubtful—without the Tiger Tally, how did they command troops? “Investigate! I shall see who dares to be so bold.”

“Master, it is too dark to see clearly. But they are certainly not the garrison; judging by their attire, they must be frontier troops called for the banquet.” Zhao Zhong, experienced in court affairs, observed keenly.

Frontier troops... Then it must be Zifan, the Imperial Sima of Youzhou praised by the Emperor, still in the palace. The soldiers must be his. They have ruined my plans—why did I not foresee this? Zhang Rang’s teeth ground audibly, his eyes aflame with uncontrollable fury, like a lion stirred to wrath.

In the Palace of Zhaoji

The floors were paved with white jade, inlaid with golden pearls. Lotus flowers were carved into the ground, each with five stems and petals exquisitely lifelike, even the stamens delicately discernible. Walking barefoot, one felt only warmth, for the stone was warm jade from Lantian, as if every step gave birth to a jade lotus. It rivaled the extravagance of Pan Yuer’s golden lotuses. Maidservants held white lotus lanterns and knelt nearby—“the Emperor’s passing” was a momentous event without equal.

Empress He, adorned in a golden phoenix robe, her hair pinned with golden forks, draped in soft silk ribbons, was a vision of regal beauty—majestic yet gentle, possessing the grace that could eclipse the moon and shame the flowers, the elegance of a fish falling and a goose descending, with a faint butterfly mark on her brow. Her voice was sweet but not cloying, dignified as a blossom, her steps light as ripples, her eyes tinged with violet—mysterious, alluring, enchanting, yet never lacking dignity.

She had remained unaware, dressing day and night in anticipation of Emperor Ling’s arrival. Only now, upon hearing of his passing, did she bring the crown prince Liu Bian, looking heartbreakingly delicate.

Just as she arrived, Empress Dowager Dong entered with her son Liu Xie. For these two women, the sky had fallen—one lost a son, the other a husband. The sudden tragedy left them bereft of support and comfort.

In life, death is inescapable. Even emperors like Qin Shi Huang, who sought immortality with all their might, could not evade it.

For concubines who had borne royal sons and whose sons were granted fiefdoms, they could leave the palace to enjoy their later years in their sons’ domains, honored as Queen Mother.

For example, Lady Bo, a consort of Emperor Gaozu, left for the fief of her son, King Liu Heng of Dai, after Gaozu’s death and was honored as Queen Mother of Dai. Likewise, after Empress Guo of the Eastern Han was deposed, she was titled Queen Mother of Zhongshan. Thus, the Eastern Han followed the customs of the Western Han: concubines who bore sons could depart the palace for their sons’ fiefdoms.

But for those concubines who had not yet been favored by the Emperor or had not borne sons, their fate was tragic—cast into the cold palace or sent to accompany the dead.

In ancient times, common folk believed that after death, the soul lived in another world, and the tomb was the master’s residence in that realm. All rites were performed as for the living, especially for an emperor.

For these beauties and concubines, in the bloom of youth, who would wish to be buried alive or locked in the cold palace, to accompany cold, lifeless bones? To see their riches turn to dust, these beauties wept in utter misery...

Hand in hand, gazing through tears, words choked and silent. Thinking of journeys, a thousand leagues of misty waves, dusk deepening over vast Chu skies—

Empress He trembled all over, tears glistening on her lashes. She wiped her face with shaking hands, but the tears, like strings of pearls broken, would not stop. The world seemed so tragic, life so bitter—a blink, and people vanish without a trace, parted by life and death.

The wild geese recall the past, the musician by the River of Forgetfulness weeps, willow catkins fall across the shoulders.

Of all the sorrows in the world, none surpass the pain of death and separation.