Chapter Twelve: The Love of the Silk Tree

Five years ago, a neighboring kingdom invaded. The late emperor dispatched General Yan Wuying, the Guardian of the West, to quell the unrest. After three months of campaign, Yan Wuying returned victorious, the entire nation rejoiced, and he once again became a favorite in the imperial court. Upon returning home, Yan Wuying learned that his wife, Qin Rushui, was more than four months pregnant—a piece of news that delighted him. That very night, he hosted a grand banquet at his mansion, inviting the high officials and nobles of the court.

Yet that same night, Prime Minister Feng, bearing a memorial listing Yan Wuying’s alleged crimes, hurried to the palace. Less than an hour later, an imperial edict was issued from the palace, accusing Yan Wuying of colluding with foreign enemies and betraying the nation for personal gain—a crime punishable by death. He was immediately thrown into the Heavenly Prison to await his fate.

A large contingent of palace guards and imperial troops stormed the General’s mansion, arresting Yan Wuying. To eliminate any threat, the emperor decreed that not only Yan Wuying but his entire clan would be executed. Upon hearing this, Yan Wuying desperately sought someone to send a message to Ling Zeytian, pleading with him to save Qin Rushui and their unborn child at any cost. Ling Zeytian petitioned the late emperor to spare them, but his efforts were in vain. Left with no other choice, he dispatched his own guards to rescue Qin Rushui, hiding her in a quiet nunnery within the capital so she could rest and protect her pregnancy.

But when Qin Rushui learned the truth, she fainted repeatedly, teetering on the brink of death. Whenever Ling Zeytian visited, he found her kneeling, weeping, and begging him to save Yan Wuying.

Ling Zeytian, too, wished dearly to save Yan Wuying, but his father, the emperor, had withdrawn from court, refusing to see anyone, surrounding himself with elite guards who had orders to kill any who attempted to force their way in. Ling Zeytian did not understand what had befallen his father. All he could do was find a way to visit Yan Wuying in prison—a man he respected as an elder brother.

As the day of execution approached, the prison’s security grew ever tighter. Even Ling Zeytian could barely secure a meeting. The night before the execution, worn down by Qin Rushui’s desperate pleas, he took her to see Yan Wuying one last time.

By then, Qin Rushui was more than six months pregnant, her movements cumbersome, but somehow, they managed their final meeting. Ling Zeytian still remembered how Yan Wuying held Qin Rushui close, begging him to safeguard his wife and child.

“Your Highness, the debt I owe you in this life cannot be repaid. Now, as I face death, I ask only that you protect my wife and child. In my next life, I shall return as a beast of burden to repay Your Majesty’s kindness.” With that, Yan Wuying knelt on the damp, shadowy prison floor and bowed three times in solemn gratitude.

Yan Wuying was born to a noble household, favored since youth, lauded as a prodigy. Now, even imprisoned and awaiting execution, he remained composed. That ever-present, gentle smile on his face gave the impression that nothing could ever truly trouble him.

Only such a man was worthy of Ling Zeytian’s respect.

So Ling Zeytian knelt in return, facing Yan Wuying, and vowed that he would protect his wife and child, no matter the cost.

The next day, Yan Wuying was executed by death by a thousand cuts in the western marketplace of Lingtian City. Over a hundred members of his household were also put to death.

Afterward, Yan Wuying’s head was severed and displayed above the city gate for three days as a warning. Ling Zeytian secretly gathered his remains, had them sewn back together, and arranged a secret burial for him on Dragon Mountain.

He never dared let Qin Rushui know the manner of Yan Wuying’s execution, fearing the grief would be too much for her to bear. Yet, in the end, she learned of it from others and fell gravely ill, bedridden ever after.

Having promised Yan Wuying to protect his family, Ling Zeytian purchased a secluded courtyard in a remote alleyway of the capital, where he placed Qin Rushui under the care of trusted palace attendants. He knew her devotion to Yan Wuying was deep; since his death, she had lost all will to live. Only for the sake of the child she carried did she persist. Ling Zeytian therefore informed Qin Ruyan of her sister’s whereabouts, hoping she might persuade her to go on living.

Three months later, Qin Rushui gave birth to a boy. Following Yan Wuying’s wishes, regardless of the child’s gender, he was to be named Shunuo.

Later, by some twist of fate, Feng Qiuji discovered Qin Rushui’s hiding place and informed Prime Minister Feng. Qin Rushui was arrested and imprisoned. At that time, Ling Zeytian was away on official duty, absent from the capital. Due to poor care after childbirth, Qin Rushui suffered massive bleeding and fell ill in prison, with no one to look after her. Prime Minister Feng and the emperor then jointly petitioned for her to be executed by dismemberment. But Qin Rushui, upon entering prison, resolved to die. That very night, she hanged herself in her cell. With her own blood, she inscribed on the prison floor her wish to be buried with Yan Wuying, pledging to remain together for all eternity, even if their souls were scattered to dust.

By the time Ling Zeytian returned to the capital, Qin Rushui’s corpse had already been discarded in a mass grave. He ordered his men to search the site for a full day before finally retrieving her body for burial.

Fortunately, Qin Ruyan had taken Shunuo away and hidden him, allowing him to escape Prime Minister Feng’s search. Still, such a threat could not be allowed to survive. Ling Zeytian had no choice but to spirit the child out of the city by night, settling him in a house outside the imperial retreat on Dragon Mountain. There, Ling Zeytian spent fifteen days of every month with Shunuo, watching him grow. He knew he had failed Yan Wuying, unable to protect Qin Rushui, and would not let any harm come to his only remaining bloodline.

Only after ascending the throne did Ling Zeytian bring Shunuo into the palace, under heavy guard. Thus, few within the palace even knew of Shunuo’s existence, and those who did rarely saw him, and even fewer knew his identity. Thus, the palace assumed, like Feng Qiuji, that Shunuo was Ling Zeytian’s illegitimate son. The concubines vied endlessly for his favor, hoping to win the emperor’s affection.

In life, Qin Rushui had loved silk trees. To honor her memory, Ling Zeytian had many such trees brought from the south and planted them throughout the rear gardens, hoping that, come blooming season, those buried on the mountain—Qin Rushui and Yan Wuying—might see them.

When Ling Zeytian finished his story, Feng Qiuji was deeply shocked. So Shunuo was not his son after all; perhaps he truly was impotent. Should she take this chance to recommend her family’s ancient remedy...?

“What are you thinking about?” Ling Zeytian noticed her distracted gaze, as if she were lost in thought.

“Ah, nothing,” Feng Qiuji quickly replied. “But after hearing your story, I can’t help but think that you should be Qin Ruyan’s enemy. After all, it was your father who killed Yan Wuying and Qin Rushui. Why doesn’t she seek vengeance against you?”

Ling Zeytian shot her a glance, then said coolly, “Have you lost your memory? After all this, do you feel no regret for what you once did?”

What she once did? Did he mean her act of informing on others?

“I truly have lost my memory. I remember nothing before I entered the palace. Now I know my father was a villain, and Shunuo’s fate is so pitiable... Alas.” These words were sincere—she had not expected her father to be a traitor, and, considering all this, Ling Zeytian had been unusually merciful not to have tormented her to death.

“Ling Zeytian, I want to sincerely apologize to you. You should have told me this sooner; then I wouldn’t have acted so rudely today.”

A gentle evening breeze rose, sending a flurry of pink silk tree blossoms swirling through the air. For a moment, the rear garden was filled with drifting flowers, so beautiful it seemed unreal.

“Ling Zeytian, did you know? There’s a legend about the silk tree.” Feng Qiuji walked into the courtyard, took a deep breath, caught a blossom drifting from the air, and turned to Ling Zeytian.

It had been many years since anyone called him by his full name. When his father was alive, he would affectionately call him Aye. Since Feng Qiuji entered the palace, he had grown used to hearing her address him so and let her be.

“Once, the silk tree was called the Tree of Sorrow and did not bloom. The story goes that a poor scholar, after ten years of bitter study, prepared to take the imperial examination in the capital. Before he left, his wife, holding her fan, pointed to the Tree of Sorrow outside their window and said: ‘Husband, you will surely succeed, but the capital is full of distractions—do not forget the road home.’ The scholar left, but never returned, and so his wife waited and waited...” Like all ancient tragedies, the legend of the silk tree was another tale of a poor scholar abandoning his wife after success. Feng Qiuji couldn’t recall where she’d heard it, but such things seemed all too common in ancient times.

There are too many temptations in this world; to find someone with whom to keep a lifelong vow is rare indeed.

Ling Zeytian watched her slim figure and recalled how, on the mountain, she had asked if he hated her. Then, he had said yes, but now, suddenly, she did not seem so detestable after all.

“Later, the wife fell gravely ill. She struggled to the Tree of Sorrow where they had pledged their love and with her dying breath made a vow: ‘If my husband’s heart turns, let this sorrowful tree bloom; he will be the leaves, I the flowers. The flowers will not wither, the leaves will not fall, yet our hearts will never unite, and we will meet only at night through the ages.’ With those words, she died. The next year, all the Trees of Sorrow bloomed—soft and pink, like tiny fans hanging from every branch—but their blossoms lasted only one day. To honor her memory, people renamed the Tree of Sorrow the Silk Tree...” As she finished, Feng Qiuji looked down at the silk blossom in her hand—soft, pink, delicate. For some reason, the old tale, told in her voice, felt strangely sorrowful.

“Men having multiple wives and concubines is an ordinary thing; what’s the point of vowing eternal fidelity?” Ling Zeytian, who had been silent, spoke suddenly. His indifferent tone made Feng Qiuji pause.

“Women are little more than a man’s possession, like wealth or power—a symbol of his achievement. Which nobleman or prince in the court doesn’t have three wives and four concubines, a harem of beauties...?”

Feng Qiuji turned to look at Ling Zeytian’s expressionless face and remembered that he was the emperor, master of a harem of three thousand beauties. For her to speak of such things was almost laughable.

“So will you be the same?” Feng Qiuji interrupted him.

Ling Zeytian hesitated—he had never considered this. At least not before. Now that he was emperor, it was only natural to take wives and consorts and sire imperial heirs, just as previous emperors had done.

“But I believe,” Feng Qiuji said softly, placing the silk blossom into his hand, “if you truly love someone, your heart can hold no one else. Like General Yan and Lady Qin—after his death, her only wish was to follow him in death. That kind of love, unique and undivided, is the truest of all.” She withdrew, saying, “It’s late. I’ll return to my chambers. Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

Hearing her call him “Your Majesty,” Ling Zeytian felt a faint pang in his heart. Opening his palm, he saw the small, soft, pink, fan-shaped silk flower lying quietly there.

--- (A side note: if you’ve read this far, do leave a message. Zanyang is writing diligently...)