The little girl was full of anticipation for the peach blossom rain.
Since taking human form, she had never left the underground palace. Everything outside was a curiosity to her; anything could catch her interest, especially something that sounded as beautiful as this.
“I’ll ask.”
She slapped Little Peach Blossom aside and turned to ask He Qingfu what to do, but before she could speak, she noticed that He Qingfu’s expression looked troubled.
“Are you upset about state affairs?” little Jiang Yan asked.
He Qingfu shook her head.
Jiang Yan gave an “oh” and didn’t pursue it.
She began analyzing on her own: “I’m also afraid of being discovered by exorcists. Besides, as the emperor, you can’t be seen consorting with yao, right?”
“The people might get scared and start speculating that I’ve possessed you.”
Recently, she’d heard many stories from Chen Xihe, including a picture book about a fox yao bringing chaos to the court. While her own view was that the country’s downfall had nothing to do with the fox yao—everything was the fault of a foolish, incompetent emperor—others might not see it her way.
And Jiang’s current situation wasn’t good.
As emperor, Jiang Chixi couldn’t afford even the slightest disturbance; she had to keep the people’s hearts steady.
But the little girl really wanted to see the peach blossom rain. She thought for a while, then tentatively asked, “Can I send a red string out with you?”
“Just like before, sticking to your clothes.”
“I’ll keep the aura very faint, so the exorcists shouldn’t notice.”
He Qingfu was silent for a long time, then refused.
“It could still be discovered.”
“There are no exorcists in the palace, and you’re hidden in the underground palace, so you haven’t been found,” she said softly, looking down at the little girl. “But there are many exorcists outside, and they’re very capable. If you’re discovered, it’ll be dangerous.”
The little girl nodded.
She didn’t dwell on it and turned straight to Little Peach Blossom. “I can’t see it.”
“I can’t leave here.”
Little Peach Blossom was disappointed. “That’s when I look my best.”
Jiang Yan: “You’re so vain.”
Little Peach Blossom flicked his petals. “Just vain for that moment!”
“After that, I’ll be bald. Once the flowers fall, the leaves will drop too. My spirit can only attach to a blossom, so after late spring, I won’t be able to come play with you.”
Jiang Yan: “Oh.”
Little Peach Blossom sidled up to her. “But I’ll be back next year.”
“When I grow a few more years and can take human form, I’ll have enough yao power to bloom anytime, anywhere. I’ll be able to come play with you whenever I want, and the flowers I bloom can come play with you too.”
“Anyway—”
Little Peach Blossom boasted, “After late spring, don’t miss me too much.”
The little girl looked at him with disdain, pushing him aside.
“Transform, huh.”
“You’re such a big tree. If you take human form, the whole country will know. Then all the exorcists will come for you. You definitely won’t dare.”
Little Peach Blossom: “……”
“Fine, you’re right.”
After a round of banter, the idea of leaving the underground palace to see the outside was dropped. He Qingfu sat silently to the side. After a moment, she looked up at Chen Xihe.
At that moment, Chen Xihe was watching her closely, brows lightly furrowed.
“You don’t seem worried about state affairs,” he probed.
Chen Xihe truly was attentive. He Qingfu gathered herself, smiling as she shook her head. “I’m just too tired lately.”
“It feels like everything is a worry.”
With that, she took a deep breath, stood, and bid everyone goodnight. “There’s been constant trouble at the border, and I still have memorials to read. I’ll go now.”
The little girl waved her hand.
He Qingfu stepped forward, patted her head, and left the underground palace.
Back in her bedchamber, she sat on the bed. Moonlight spilled through the doors and windows, and He Qingfu leaned against the bed, motionless. After a while, a bitter smile appeared on her lips.
Where is there any transformation?
Under the cold moonlight, she bent over her desk and laid out her thoughts on paper.
By the next evening, Jiang would see three days of torrential rain. Heavenly lightning would strike the Nation-Guarding Temple. In a single night, all the plants would wither and flourish—fresh grass sprouting on the steps, but every peach blossom on the tree would die.
There is no late spring. Late spring will never come.
*
Jiang Yan set the diary aside.
Because she’d spent so long in the tomb, many of her memories were blurred, but this was one of the few that remained vivid.
Now, reading He Qingfu’s diary, the memory resurfaced, becoming even clearer than before.
She finally understood what all those strange expressions meant, and the words left unsaid.
After thinking for a while, Jiang Yan continued reading.
That night, He Qingfu was full of regret.
I shouldn’t have introduced Tao Tao to Yan Yan.
She wrote in her diary: A year ago, I thought about this. Back then, I didn’t know if it was better for Yan Yan never to have a friend, or to have one and then lose them.
She wanted a friend so badly, so my thoughts leaned toward the latter.
But Yan Yan only has this one friend. She has only this one.
He Qingfu wrote earnestly:
If there were still a late spring…
If there were still a late spring, everything would be fine. It would just mean carrying a red string. I brought talismans to hide her aura—every kind, really. I used to think I was over-prepared, but now I can’t even use them.
Listening to them talk about the future—so far ahead—when not a single word could come true.
It was so hard to hold myself together.
Jiang’s politics were busy now, with constant news from the border. He Qingfu had little time. She put down her pen, put away the diary, and lay back on the bed, returning control of the body to Jiang Chixi.
Fortunately, when He Qingfu was in control, Jiang Chixi could choose to share her vision or simply sleep. Jiang Chixi always chose to rest, shutting out the outside world, so she never lost sleep over He Qingfu’s activities.
A dozen minutes later, a palace maid came to trim the lamp wick, then helped Jiang Chixi get up.
After washing her face with cold water, Jiang Chixi, still in her robe, sat by the window reading memorials. Through her eyes, He Qingfu could see every word.
Now, it wasn’t just Chu that was provoking them—there was also Xiao.
Jiang was caught between the two, its borders touching both. Now, the two countries were plotting together, hoping to persuade the stronger Wei to carve up Jiang.
Some of this intelligence came from Chu Hanzhi.
“Wei’s attitude is unclear, but they’ll probably refuse. They’re too far away, and the King of Wei isn’t stupid. If he sets a trap, he’ll gain nothing.”
“Chu’s situation is interesting too. My brother is useless, always throwing tantrums in court. Not long ago, he even killed a minister who remonstrated him, tsk tsk.”
“The latest the war will start is next year,” she wrote in her letter. “Wishing Your Majesty great success in advance. Chu is bound for chaos—I hope it comes sooner, so I’ll have my chance—”
“Isn’t that so?”
Jiang Chixi burned the letter on the lamp’s flame.
She and Chu Hanzhi had the closest, most secret alliance. Each knew the other’s circumstances best. Their similarity bred understanding, and their interests were now almost identical, so they had formed an alliance.
Chu Hanzhi wanted chaos in Chu, not out of ignorance of the people’s suffering, but because only through chaos could Chu be reborn. With an incompetent emperor, Chu had to break before it could rise.
After reading Chu Hanzhi’s letter, Jiang Chixi picked up a secret message from a border general.
This letter was from Yao Shian.
“All is well. No need to worry.”
He had grown up with Jiang Chixi, gone to the frontier at fourteen, started from the bottom, and in ten years become a commander defending the borders. He had just turned forty-two.
After detailing the border situation, Yao Shian casually added a few lines about himself.
“Received the birthday gift—loved it. Deputy Wang and the young soldiers kept staring in envy, so I chased them all away.”
“Got a few more white hairs lately—makes me feel more dignified with age.”
“Just always sleepy. Getting old, I guess—spring drowsiness is catching up to me.”
“All is well.”
Next was a letter from Gu Daojun, his strategist, a woman in her twenties with great skill in military tactics.
She detailed several plans to counter the possibility of a two-front attack.
“Jiang isn’t suited to growing grain, and winter supplies are always an issue. So the two countries will likely attack in winter—end of next year. Recently, I found an old trade route on the map, though it’s buried by sand and trees. Not sure if it’ll be useful.”
Jiang Chixi read on, her gaze landing on Gu Daojun’s closing words.
“I’ve agreed with General Yao—we’ll fight for Jiang another twenty years at least. We’re just getting started, aren’t we?”
“Your Majesty need not worry. Jiang’s people have never feared petty villains.”
Jiang Chixi smiled.
She folded the paper, pressed it with her fingers, tore out the family gossip, and put it in a wooden box, burning the rest of the military secrets.
Even as a bystander, He Qingfu could see the meaning in all this.
Jiang Chixi had not only loyal subordinates, but true friends.
She was not a lonely emperor.
With so much official business, Jiang Chixi canceled morning court and spent the whole day reading reports from across the country, only resting briefly at dusk.
After putting down her brush, she took the medicinal soup from her maid and rubbed her brow in exhaustion.
“Your Majesty, would you like—”
Before the maid could finish, a silver bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, lighting up half the night.
A deafening clap of thunder followed.
“Boom—!!”
The maid rushed to close the window, but Jiang Chixi stopped her. Taking the soup, she walked to the window, frowning as she looked into the distance.
Another blinding flash split the sky.
Then several branching bolts spread in all directions, as if rending the heavens.
A sense of foreboding rose in Jiang Chixi’s heart. She instinctively looked toward the Nation-Guarding Temple. At that moment, the brightest, most terrifying bolt struck straight in that direction.
Jiang Chixi immediately set down her soup and ordered someone to check the temple.
But the messenger had barely left before returning, with the temple abbot in tow.
The elderly abbot was flustered, rain-soaked, clearly having run all the way.
“Your Majesty—”
Jiang Chixi said calmly, “Speak.”
Her composure soothed the abbot somewhat. He lowered his voice, “The peach tree was struck and destroyed—split down the middle. Many people saw it outside the temple.”
Jiang Chixi nodded.
“It’s common for trees to be killed by lightning. No need for panic or wild speculation.”
She instructed the abbot to return to the temple. “Have some people proclaim it a sign of great fortune.”
“Say that before Jiang was founded, a five-hundred-year-old willow was struck down. The tree died, the nation rose, and after the rain, bamboo shoots and green grass flourished. Several great talents were born in Jiang.”
The abbot understood at once, bowed, and hurried back to the temple.
Accompanied by her maid, Jiang Chixi returned to her chambers to change.
She spread her arms, and the maid fastened her sash. Out of the maid’s line of sight, a little red string suddenly squirmed in the corner.
He Qingfu’s consciousness immediately took over.
She moved her sleeve in time with the maid’s actions, hiding the red string’s movement and sticking it to her hem.
He Qingfu turned and set out.
On the way—twenty minutes—the little red string crawled into her collar, whispering words only the two of them could hear.
“It suddenly disappeared.”
“It was like it melted away—its spirit just vanished, and the petals withered.”
“Father consort said it died. Is that true?”
He Qingfu nodded slightly.
After that, the little girl said nothing more.
When they reached the Nation-Guarding Temple, He Qingfu saw the scene she’d once glimpsed in her visions, only far more tragic than in anyone else’s memory. The peach tree, nearly ten meters tall, was now nothing but blackened branches, everything charred, broken limbs scattered everywhere.
Some spots still smoked, only to be doused by the pouring rain.
He Qingfu did everything Jiang Chixi should do, calming the panicked people.
But the little girl remained silent throughout.
It was late. In the torrential rain, the crowd dispersed, and a palace maid came to drape a heavy cloak over He Qingfu’s shoulders.
She pulled the collar tighter, wanting to linger a while longer.
But she couldn’t stay.
She had to return to the palace—history demanded it.
As He Qingfu turned to go, the little red string hiding in her collar suddenly spoke.
“There are still a lot of peach blossoms on the ground.”
She spoke in a very small voice.
“And it rained really hard from the sky.”
“Peach blossom rain is really ugly.”