Note: This is a semi-historical work revolving around the life of Empress Feng of Northern Wei, wife of Emperor Wencheng, loosely based on 庶女有毒 by Qin Jian and mostly following The Princess Wei Young. This is written for fun and is my own interpretation of this epic tale of love, revenge, politics and justice.
If you have any suggestions then please drop a comment below,
Miya
In the wake of the Jin dynasty's collapse in the aftermath of the rebellion of the Five Barbarians and its retreat south of the Yangtze River, rival kingdoms emerged in the ensuing power vacuum in the north, each headed by the ethnic minorities who had settled after the collapse of Jin authority. Among them, the Great Wei and the Great Liang engaged in a bitter struggle for supremacy. In the year 440, Emperor Taiwu of Wei, a formidable strategist, unleashed a devastating invasion of Liang. The Wei cavalry, renowned for its power and discipline, shattered the Liang defences, pushing deep into their territory.
Faced with imminent defeat, the newly enthroned emperor of Liang made a desperate gamble to salvage his kingdom. He surrendered to the might of Wei, relinquishing his imperial title and accepting vassalage. This act of submission demoted Liang from an independent imperial state but a vassal, its ruler no longer an emperor but a king subservient to the power of Wei.
For sixteen years, a bitter peace endured. However, beneath the surface, ambition festered within the Great Wei. Chiyun Nan, the Western Marshal of Wei, wielded significant influence, his Chiyun family was ever-seeking to expand its power base, for they had grand ambitions for the world hegemony. When scouts uncovered a rich iron deposit within Liang's borders, the Chiyun family saw an opportunity to secure their dominance. To seize the mine, however, they would need to eliminate the Liang entirely.
A web of deceit was carefully spun. Whispers circulated within the Wei court, painting the King of Liang as a rebellious vassal plotting against his overlord. Allegations of forged correspondences, secret arms caches, and treasonous conspiracies took root, fueled by the ambitions of the Chiyun family. It was only a matter of time before a convenient incident could be manufactured, an excuse to ignite a new conflict and justify the destruction of Liang under the pretense of quashing a rebellion. And soon they had the reason.
The first tendrils of the Wei army snaked through Liang's border outposts, meeting startled looks more than fierce resistance. Wei's cavalry, honed in battles against nomadic tribes, was a storm-given shape, tearing across the land with terrifying speed. Liang's hastily assembled forces, accustomed to border patrols more than open war, were swept aside like leaves against a hurricane.
News reached the capital of Guzang like ripples upon a placid pond, growing into monstrous waves of panic with each breathless messenger. In the gilded palace, King Feng Mu, a scholar before he was a king, stared at the crumbling reports with a hollow ache in his chest. He had gambled on peace, on the shared history between Wei and Liang, on the reasonable nature of men. It was the gamble of a desperate optimist, and now his entire kingdom was forfeit.
Yet, he was not a coward. King Feng Mu donned his war armor, the steel cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the scholar's robes he felt more at ease in. His sons, princes too young to understand the enormity of their crumbling world, gathered around him, their eyes more frightened than brave. His wife, Queen Caiwei, stood tall beside him, the softness of court life stripped away, replaced by a regal determination forged in the fires of despair.
But their valor was like a candle flame against a conflagration. The Wei army, led by the brutal General Zhaosun Hu, a subordinate of Chiyun Nan, cut a bloody swath through Liang's countryside. Villages burned, their panicked cries echoing in the empty halls of the palace. Messengers arrived with fresh tales of horror – slaughtered garrisons, brave generals falling in vain attempts to stem the tide, the Wei banner waving mockingly over captured outposts.
The siege of Guzang was inevitable. King Feng Mu ordered his people within its walls, bracing for the storm he knew they could not withstand. The hastily repaired fortifications held for a week, then two, and still, no relief came. Neighboring kingdoms, fearing the wrath of Wei, turned a blind eye to their pleas for aid. The people of Liang were alone.
When the end finally came, it was heralded by a sea of black banners and the eerie echo of war horns. The Wei, sensing victory, broke the siege with a brutal, decisive attack that shattered the gates and overwhelmed the defenders. It wasn't a battle; it was a merciless wave crashing upon a shore, washing away everything with chilling efficiency.
King Feng Mu's last stand took place in the throne room, his sons and a dwindling band of loyal guards forming a desperate circle before him. He died with a sword in his hand and a defiant cry upon his lips, not in a last blaze of glory, but in the desperate act of a man who could only give his life, and not his kingdom, in defiance.
His sons died with him, cut down before they could even reach full manhood. The screams of the dying were a cacophony that would haunt the Wei soldiers for weeks to come. But their brutality was as efficient as their tactics. By nightfall, any person in the palace found bearing the name Feng was slain without mercy.
Except for one.
The wind, usually a gentle caress upon Princess Feng Xin'er's cheeks, roared with the fury of a thousand angry spirits. It shrieked through the trees and rattled the gilded roof tiles of her father's palace. It wasn't the wind of the usual summer storm; it was the wind of war.
Xin'er's heart, normally a fluttering bird within her chest, beat with a panicked rhythm against her ribs. Her embroidered silk slippers made no sound against the polished marble floor. Yet, she felt as if her hasty steps echoed through the palace halls, heralding the doom that had descended upon the Great Liang.
"Father!" she cried, skidding into the throne room. Soldiers, her father's soldiers, spilled blood upon the intricately woven carpets. Xin'er's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a scream. "Brother!", Not far away, her brothers lay in their own pool of blood.
King Feng Mu, once an imposing figure on his jade throne, slumped gracelessly amidst a pool of his own blood. His crown had tumbled off, a single ruby winking mockingly at her from the floor.
"Father!" This time, the scream tore free. Xin'er sprinted towards him, her beloved nursemaid's warnings about the unseemliness of such behavior long forgotten.
Before she could reach him, a heavy hand fell upon her shoulder. "Princess," a rough voice barked, "you must leave. Now!"
Xin'er whirled. Commander Zhou, one of her father's guards, his face a mask of grim determination, stood behind her, his armor painted red. One of his arms, Xin'er recognized was missing, the stump was tied with cloth but still dripping blood. "The Wei forces under Chiyun Nan and his dogs are now scouring through the palace for any member of the Feng family. They'll be back here any minute. Come – there's a hidden passage."
She shook her head, eyes burning with tears. "I won't leave my father, mother and brothers..."
"Princess, please!" His desperation made her heart clench. Commander Zhou, always so unwavering, was nearly pleading.
As if to emphasize the urgency, Xin'er heard the rhythmic pounding of feets getting closer, closer. It seemed to beat in time with her pulse. Another scream, further off this time, echoed down the palace corridor
.
"We must go," Zhou urged again. With a final, anguished look at her father, Xin'er let herself be pulled along by the commander.
They fled down secret passages known only to a select few, Xin'er's sobs echoing against the stone walls. They burst out into the palace stables, the stench of sweat and horse manure barely registering in her panic.
"Take this," gasped Zhou, thrusting a leather bundle at her. Confused, Xin'er watched as he took out a jade pendant from around his pocket and pressed it into her hand. "This was passed to me by your royal grandmother. It will buy you safe passage across the border."
Zhou hoisted her onto a sturdy mare. As he slapped the horse's flank, the final words he roared at her were lost in the animal's terrified whinny. The horse bolted, tearing out of the stables, out of the palace, out of her old life.
Princess Feng Xin'er's world had turned monochrome in the blink of an eye. The verdant forest was a canvas of shadows, and the moon a cold, distant witness to her desperate flight. Her heart, once a steady drum within her, pounded a frantic rhythm of terror. Her beloved Northern Liang, vibrant with life only days before, now lay in ruins, engulfed by the insatiable hunger for power of Chiyun Nan and the despotic Wei.
Memory painted cruel pictures across her mind – her father's proud smile, the echo of her siblings' laughter in the palace halls and her mother's love. Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced them back. Now was no time for weakness. She raced through the forest on her feet, her mare dead, shot by the arrow of a Wei soldier, she had barely survived and escaped in the forest.
A scream pierced the fragile night. Not another, Xin'er's mind begged. There had been too many that she had heard on this journey, as she raced through the devastated countryside of Liang, some regions were still fighting while others were now suffering. But this one was different, visceral in its desperation. She tripped over a vine, her escape on hold. A life hung in the balance, perhaps, and her soul wouldn't allow her to turn away
.
Feet finding a new rhythm fueled by something akin to fury, Xin'er followed the sound. Survival could wait. Someone was in far greater need.
The scene unfolded in a clearing like a grotesque nightmare. A young woman, silks once immaculate now stained with dirt, struggled against a ring of masked men. Her cries were muffled as one brute forced a cloth into her mouth. Just beyond, a maid, young and small, scratched and clawed at the attackers, her strength pitiful against their malice.
Years of rote lessons flared within Xin'er. Princely etiquette, graceful dances, womanly activities – they seemed like a mockery now. But somewhere beneath the ashes of her kingdom, the heart of a warrior stirred, the old blood of the steppe flowed in her veins, the proud warriors who had broken the myth of Han superiority and carved a realm for themselves on the Central Plains. To hesitate was to condemn these women to a fate likely worse than death.
She erupted from the brush, a scream tearing from her own throat. "For Northern Liang!" The battle cry which she had heard multiple times since the day she had escaped the palace, felt hollow even to her ears, but it was enough to startle her attackers. Herblade,e picked up during her escape, came in a wide swing. It connected, sending a man sprawling to the ground, dead.
They turned, their masked faces gleaming sinister. They'd not expected a counterattack, much less from a lone woman. Xin'er pressed the advantage, her strikes fueled by the weight of her fallen kingdom. Two more men crumpled.
Then her hand was empty, her borrowed blade sent spinning into the undergrowth. A hulking figure stepped forward, his eyes cold even behind the mask. Xin'er knew a flicker of despair then; she was outmatched, overtired, and her body screamed in protest at the exertion. She saw death before her eyes, her life swirled, her father, her mother, her brothers, her friends. Yet, a proud princess of Liang would not go gently into defeat.
But then came the flash of steel, swift and deadly. The brute toppled, and there stood the woman she'd helped, a bloodied dagger in her trembling hand. Fear and a newfound savagery warred in her eyes. Immediately after she fell on her knees, the bloodied dagger falling on the ground next to her, as she coughed blood.
An echoing silence descended, punctuated only by ragged breaths and the maid's quiet sobs.
Xin'er, her strength utterly spent, knelt beside the woman. "Are you hurt?"
"Alive," the woman choked out, "I think that's... that's all I can say. Thank you..." She coughed. "I…am Li Weiyoung, and this is my maid and friend Cui'er." Cui'er gave a courtesy to Xin'er to which she gave a nod of acknowledgment.
Xin'er gave a pained smile at the introduction, Wei, the word revolved in her mind, "I am Feng Xin'er."
Xin'er saw that both the women were exhausted, and were littered with cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Feeling her own exhaustion too, she knew that they had to to rest, or they wouldn't last another day.
The three tired women found a clearing not far away and settled down after lighting a fire. Weiyoung instructed Cui'er to treat the wounds that Xin'er had received.
"Cui'er," she said, her voice hoarse, "are you carrying anything that could aid us?"
Cui'er dug into a small sack slung over her shoulder. She offered strips of linen, a handful of dried herbs, and a small tinderbox. A flicker of hope ignited in Xin'er who was still feeling the stinging pain of the slash. It was little, but enough to work with.
"Please tend to your own wounds too." Xin'er said.
Weiyoung nodded her head, as she let Cui'er treat her wounds. The forest, with its birdsong and dappled light, felt like a mockery in the wake of death. Yet, they worked with quiet determination, tending to their injuries. Xin'er winced at the sting of the herbal paste, but forced herself to continue.
"In fact… I have not been entirely truthful with you, Lady Xin'er," Weiyoung continued, "I am from the Li clan of Great Wei, and my father is the current prime minister, Li Xiao Ran."
Xin'er narrowed her eyes at the mention of Wei but nodded her head and though her exhaustion battling with her curiosity, "What brought killers to your path?" she asked.
Weiyoung leaned tiredly against the log, a haunted shadow crossing her face. "My father, the Prime Minister, sent me away from Pingcheng when I was just an infant," she began softly. "After I was born, a wandering Taoist declared that I was a century disaster who would bring downfall to all the country, he did so to protect me from the Imperial wrath. But now, my paternal grandmother's birthday is coming, and she wants to see me. I received my father's message a few days ago and set off for Pingcheng, who knew I would get such a surprise from my stepmother before I even reached the Li estate."
"But why? Surely she doesn't think that you'd compare with her son or something?" Questioned Xin'er, her own heart pounding. The name 'Chiyun Rou' echoed like a death sentence in her own memories.
"I don't know," Weiyoung explained, "But, these killers told us just now, before you saved us, that she dispatched assassins to intercept me before I could become a true obstacle to her goals. I'm worried, about whether I can even reach Pingcheng, Chiyun Rou is the eldest daughter of the Chiyun family, who has great influence in the Great Wei. The current grand marshal of the Wei, Chiyun Nan is also from the Chiyun family."
Xin'er's eyes narrowed. Chiyun Nan – that venomous name was seared into her memory. His armies had laid waste to Liang, razing her home to the ground. It seemed, then, that her desperate flight had led her to an unexpected ally.
"Chiyun Nan… he killed my family, destroyed my country," Xin'er confessed, her voice a steely whisper. A strange sensation unfolded inside her, a mix of relief and a burning desire for retribution. "His Chiyun family… they are all my enemies."
Weiyoung looked at her with surprised eyes, causing Xin'er to smile bitterly, "In fact, I had not been entirely truthful to you too," She said, leaning a bit more comfortably, "I am Fen Xin'er from the Feng clan of Liang."
Weiyoung's eyes widened, "Feng….But…Liang….."
Xin'er managed a bleak smile. "But Great Liang has fallen, yes."
A look of devastation crossed Weiyoung's face. "...I mourn for your loss, Princess. And I… I understand why your pain."
For the first time since Liang's fall, a strange, heady mix of hope and rage bloomed within Xin'er's breast at Weiyoung's words. She and Weiyoung were remnants of shattered worlds, each hunted mercilessly.
"Lady Weiyoung," Xin'er began, her voice stronger now, "you have proven yourself courageous and true. Would you... would you join me in this fight? Not as princess and noblewoman, but as sisters in arms?"
Weiyoung's hand tightened around hers. For a long, tense moment, only their shared breaths filled the space. Then, Weiyoung spoke, and it was more than words – it was a covenant forged in the ashes of their old lives.
"I will, Xin'er. The Chiyun have taken much from me as well. My loyalty to you will be as true as my sun's rise from the east. "
Something like a smile flickered across Xin'er's face, a rare sight these days. "Then we must act swiftly, dear sister," she said, the title already feeling strange yet familiar upon her tongue. "I will help you reach the Li estate."
A small fire was their only witness as they knelt side-by-side. It was a paltry imitation of ancestral rites, yet Xin'er felt the weight of it nevertheless. With hands clasped, they spoke the simple words that sealed their pact.
"By this fire, I, Feng Xin'er, last princess of Great Liang, swear my loyalty and my sword to Li Weiyoung. I swear to avenge my people as she avenges her honor. We are blood of blood now."
Weiyoung's voice was firm, echoing Xin'er's dedication, "And I, Li Weiyoung, swear to stand beside Feng Xin'er, my sworn sister against all her enemies. We may stumble, may fall, but we shall rise together. This I vow."
The fire crackled between them, sealing their oath with light and shadow. Their new path wasn't one they'd have chosen – one was forced upon them by bloodshed and a thirst for survival. But they wouldn't face it alone.
With their vow etched in their hearts, they began gathering their meager supplies, preparing for the next leg of their perilous journey. However, a moment of stolen rest was not meant to be. From the surrounding growths came a rustling, not the natural rustle of the forest, but something deliberate, something menacing.
"More of them," Cui'er, the maid, hissed, her meager relief replaced by terror.
Before Xin'er could respond, an arrow whizzed through the air, its aim at Xin'er only for Weiyoung to push her out of the way, burying itself sickeningly in Lady Weiyoung's chest. She gasped, her hand flying to the wound, eyes widening in pain.
"No!" Xin'er lunged forward, already knowing it was too late. Two emerged from the shadows, their swords gleaming in the moonlight – not just paid thugs this time, but trained assassins.
Panic surged in Xin'er's veins. She snatched up her dropped blade and turned to Cui'er, desperation clawing at her voice. "Take her! Run!"
But Wei Young, although wounded refused to abandon Xin'er. "No..."
"Do it!" Xin'er's voice was raw with urgency. "For Cui'er! Go, now!"
Wei Young's pained gaze locked with Xin'er's, the plea resonating. With a sob caught in her throat, she nodded to Cui'er who immediately supported her to run away from the scene.
Xin'er faced their attackers alone, blade held high. "You will have to go through the Princess of Liang to reach them!" The lie tasted bitter, yet a desperate valor fueled her stance. She wouldn't go down easily.
Their attention shifted to her, but the surprise on their faces gave Xin'er the advantage for a few precious moments. She struck out, aiming to kill. She was not a truly trained warrior, but even a wounded rabbit bites its enemy hard.
Yet, their numbers meant that they were able to overpower her. A cut sliced her arm, sending a jolt of pain through her. Still, she refused to yield, fueled by the image of Weiyoung's pained eyes. One remained to fight her, while the other assassin chased in the direction of Weiyoung.
"Cui'er," she shouted into the night, praying the maid could still hear her, "Run! Take Li Weiyoung as far as possible. Live!"
Then, with a roar of defiance, Xin'er turned, forcing her way through the ring of attackers, her escape born of utter desperation.
The adrenaline had worn thin like threadbare cloth, leaving a cold ache in its wake. Xin'er's feet were leaden, her breath coming in harsh, ragged gulps. Each twist through the shadowed forest was a blur – every twig snapping underfoot sounded like a death knell. Had she run in circles? She had killed the assassin who had tried to kill her, but what about Weiyoung and Cui'er? Had they been caught?
Doubt clawed at her resolve. She had to stop, had to catch her breath, yet the memory of Cui'er's piercing scream kept her moving. It was also a danger to her, a voice whispered in her mind, if they had the maid, they had the only witness who could identify a Princess of Liang.
A sliver of moon broke through the dense canopy, marking a small clearing up ahead. Xin'er sprinted toward it, lungs burning, a desperate prayer forming silently.
Then she saw them. Cui'er was on the ground, a small, trembling figure in the silvery light. Beside her, silhouetted against the luminous moss, lay Weiyoung. A knot of dread formed in Xin'er's stomach. Not far was the other assassin, blood staining the grass underneath him.
She approached with halting steps, fear making her movements wooden. Cui'er sobbed, her face buried in her hands, oblivious to Xin'er's presence. Then she lifted her head, eyes wild. Upon seeing Xin'er, a broken cry escaped her.
"Princess... Lady... My lady..." Cui'er couldn't bring herself to form the words.
Xin'er didn't need them. Rushing forward, she dropped to her knees beside Lady Weiyoung. Crimson stained the once-pristine silk of her gown. The arrow that had felled her lay discarded along with another, the fletching stark against the greenery.
And then, her eyes - those eyes that had looked upon Xin'er with recognition and a touch of hope - fluttered open. Her lips moved, forming a weak smile as she focused on Xin'er.
"You...lived," Weiyoung whispered, her voice barely a thread.
"Because of you," Xin'er replied, taking Weiyoung's hand, its warmth already fading.
Weiyoung squeezed her hand feebly, her smile faltering. "Cui'er...she tried... but the assasin..."
Cui'er wailed, a raw echo of Xin'er's own silent grief echoing in the night. Weiyoung gently pushed the maid's trembling fingers back into Xin'er's palm.
"Cui'er...my maid... loyal, brave..." Weiyoung's voice broke, each word an effort. "Xin'er... promise me... care…my sister…take… my name…revenge…"
Xin'er choked back a sob. She knew what Weiyoung was asking - asking her to assume her identity, not just to survive, but to take revenge and to shelter this innocent girl who had bravely protected her mistress. To ensure a legacy survived, even if the rightful heir was gone.
"I promise..." she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. To the dying woman staring at her, it was Princess Xin'er making the vow. Yet something else stirred within her, a resolve hardened by grief and injustice.
A wet warmth trickled through Xin'er's fingers. Weiyoung's breathing grew shallow, her eyes dimming with each passing second.
"I am... not...afraid," she whispered with her last breath. Then, her fingers went limp, and the light faded from her eyes.
Xin'er closed those eyes now forever stilled. She sat in the clearing, the sobs of Cui'er mixing with the whispers of the night wind. Her lost kingdom, her slain family, and now this brave woman who had given her life to protect a stranger - the weight of it all threatened to crush her.
But grief hardened into steel within her. She wouldn't let it end here. She was a princess of a fallen kingdom, yes, but not a defeated one. There might be more assassins coming, but Xin'er vowed she would elude them, and shield Cui'er.
Dawn painted the clearing in a cruel parody of hope. Xin'er and Cui'er knelt beside the hastily crafted grave, its rough surface Weiyoung's only remaining testament to this world. After prayers whispered as much from memory as from the heart, they turned away, leaving her noble savior to the mercy of the forest.
Xin'er swayed on her feet, her hand pressed against a gash in her side. Each breath felt like shards of glass in her lungs. She had to find shelter, to rest, or she wouldn't make it through.
"Princess, please lean on me," urged Cui'er, the maid's voice choked with worry. "You cannot go on like this."
But Xin'er knew better than to leave a trail. "We need to walk in the stream," she rasped, pointing to a thin waterway nearby. "It will mask our tracks from any more assassins."
The water was icy, shocking her battered body, but it did the job. When they reached the other side, dripping and exhausted, they collapsed against a moss-covered rock. Evening wouldn't arrive for a few hours yet, offering a brief respite.
"Lady Weiyoung..." began Cui'er, her tears falling like a waterfall, as she clutched her hands to her chest, slowly breaking down, "She is...gone."
"Yes," Xin'er interrupted, her voice slightly trembling due to the exhaustion and the emotional pain. A pang of guilt shot through her heart.
Cui'er's sobs echoed through the predawn hush. Xin'er rested a hand on the maid's shaking shoulders, her own grief threatening to swallow her whole. But despair was a luxury she couldn't afford, not while Weiyoung's killers likely still lurked. She needed a plan, and fast.
"Cui'er," she said, her voice stronger than she felt, "can you tell me more about Lady Weiyoung?"
"She… she was the kindest lady in the world," stammered the maid. "She never treated me as a servant, she cared for everyone in the village where we lived in, why would they kill her, she was not even a legitimate daughter." Her tears fell freely.
Xin'er's mind raced. "Lady Weiyoung is the daughter of the Prime Minister, even if she lacks official status. Her death would create chaos in the Li household, benefiting Lady Chiyun Rou immensely. "
"Then we...what now," Cui'er whispered, her eyes round with terror. "Lady Weiyoung… she is dead, the killers told us that they had killed everyone in our village."
A cold shiver swept over Xin'er, the utter disregard of life, truly, both Chiyun Nan and Chiyun Rou were of the same blood. But the problem was her and Cui'er's safety, it was the truth that, as a princess of a fallen kingdom, she was now utterly alone. Then, like a bolt of lightning, a desperate notion surged through her as she remembered the last words of Weiyoung.
"Cui'er, look at me." She squared her shoulders, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "I bear a passing resemblance to Weiyoung, yes?"
The maid's gaze flickered over Xin'er's face. Hope, mingled with fear, began to dawn. “Yes, my lady, particularly if you were dressed in her finery..."
A risky scheme began to take shape. It hinged on deception and immense danger, but it was the only hope Xin'er had left. "Cui'er," her voice was firm, echoing the princesses of old she'd heard tales about, "I am Li Weiyoung now. You understand?"
The maid stared at her, then understanding flooded those tear-streaked eyes. "Princess...it is madness, but it just might work."
"It has to," Xin'er stated. "For our sake...and for your mistress's honor and to avenge her. Li Weiyoung died a hero, and we shall ensure she is not forgotten."
They rose then, two women bound by blood and desperation. As the first rays of noon painted the sky, it was not the princess of Liang who started the trek towards Pingcheng, the capital of Great Wei, but the vengeful specter of Li Weiyoung, ready to claim her birthright and, perhaps, chart a path back towards retribution.
If you have any suggestions then please drop a comment below,
Miya
A Death and A Rebirth
In the wake of the Jin dynasty's collapse in the aftermath of the rebellion of the Five Barbarians and its retreat south of the Yangtze River, rival kingdoms emerged in the ensuing power vacuum in the north, each headed by the ethnic minorities who had settled after the collapse of Jin authority. Among them, the Great Wei and the Great Liang engaged in a bitter struggle for supremacy. In the year 440, Emperor Taiwu of Wei, a formidable strategist, unleashed a devastating invasion of Liang. The Wei cavalry, renowned for its power and discipline, shattered the Liang defences, pushing deep into their territory.
Faced with imminent defeat, the newly enthroned emperor of Liang made a desperate gamble to salvage his kingdom. He surrendered to the might of Wei, relinquishing his imperial title and accepting vassalage. This act of submission demoted Liang from an independent imperial state but a vassal, its ruler no longer an emperor but a king subservient to the power of Wei.
For sixteen years, a bitter peace endured. However, beneath the surface, ambition festered within the Great Wei. Chiyun Nan, the Western Marshal of Wei, wielded significant influence, his Chiyun family was ever-seeking to expand its power base, for they had grand ambitions for the world hegemony. When scouts uncovered a rich iron deposit within Liang's borders, the Chiyun family saw an opportunity to secure their dominance. To seize the mine, however, they would need to eliminate the Liang entirely.
A web of deceit was carefully spun. Whispers circulated within the Wei court, painting the King of Liang as a rebellious vassal plotting against his overlord. Allegations of forged correspondences, secret arms caches, and treasonous conspiracies took root, fueled by the ambitions of the Chiyun family. It was only a matter of time before a convenient incident could be manufactured, an excuse to ignite a new conflict and justify the destruction of Liang under the pretense of quashing a rebellion. And soon they had the reason.
The first tendrils of the Wei army snaked through Liang's border outposts, meeting startled looks more than fierce resistance. Wei's cavalry, honed in battles against nomadic tribes, was a storm-given shape, tearing across the land with terrifying speed. Liang's hastily assembled forces, accustomed to border patrols more than open war, were swept aside like leaves against a hurricane.
News reached the capital of Guzang like ripples upon a placid pond, growing into monstrous waves of panic with each breathless messenger. In the gilded palace, King Feng Mu, a scholar before he was a king, stared at the crumbling reports with a hollow ache in his chest. He had gambled on peace, on the shared history between Wei and Liang, on the reasonable nature of men. It was the gamble of a desperate optimist, and now his entire kingdom was forfeit.
Yet, he was not a coward. King Feng Mu donned his war armor, the steel cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the scholar's robes he felt more at ease in. His sons, princes too young to understand the enormity of their crumbling world, gathered around him, their eyes more frightened than brave. His wife, Queen Caiwei, stood tall beside him, the softness of court life stripped away, replaced by a regal determination forged in the fires of despair.
But their valor was like a candle flame against a conflagration. The Wei army, led by the brutal General Zhaosun Hu, a subordinate of Chiyun Nan, cut a bloody swath through Liang's countryside. Villages burned, their panicked cries echoing in the empty halls of the palace. Messengers arrived with fresh tales of horror – slaughtered garrisons, brave generals falling in vain attempts to stem the tide, the Wei banner waving mockingly over captured outposts.
The siege of Guzang was inevitable. King Feng Mu ordered his people within its walls, bracing for the storm he knew they could not withstand. The hastily repaired fortifications held for a week, then two, and still, no relief came. Neighboring kingdoms, fearing the wrath of Wei, turned a blind eye to their pleas for aid. The people of Liang were alone.
When the end finally came, it was heralded by a sea of black banners and the eerie echo of war horns. The Wei, sensing victory, broke the siege with a brutal, decisive attack that shattered the gates and overwhelmed the defenders. It wasn't a battle; it was a merciless wave crashing upon a shore, washing away everything with chilling efficiency.
King Feng Mu's last stand took place in the throne room, his sons and a dwindling band of loyal guards forming a desperate circle before him. He died with a sword in his hand and a defiant cry upon his lips, not in a last blaze of glory, but in the desperate act of a man who could only give his life, and not his kingdom, in defiance.
His sons died with him, cut down before they could even reach full manhood. The screams of the dying were a cacophony that would haunt the Wei soldiers for weeks to come. But their brutality was as efficient as their tactics. By nightfall, any person in the palace found bearing the name Feng was slain without mercy.
Except for one.
The wind, usually a gentle caress upon Princess Feng Xin'er's cheeks, roared with the fury of a thousand angry spirits. It shrieked through the trees and rattled the gilded roof tiles of her father's palace. It wasn't the wind of the usual summer storm; it was the wind of war.
Xin'er's heart, normally a fluttering bird within her chest, beat with a panicked rhythm against her ribs. Her embroidered silk slippers made no sound against the polished marble floor. Yet, she felt as if her hasty steps echoed through the palace halls, heralding the doom that had descended upon the Great Liang.
"Father!" she cried, skidding into the throne room. Soldiers, her father's soldiers, spilled blood upon the intricately woven carpets. Xin'er's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a scream. "Brother!", Not far away, her brothers lay in their own pool of blood.
King Feng Mu, once an imposing figure on his jade throne, slumped gracelessly amidst a pool of his own blood. His crown had tumbled off, a single ruby winking mockingly at her from the floor.
"Father!" This time, the scream tore free. Xin'er sprinted towards him, her beloved nursemaid's warnings about the unseemliness of such behavior long forgotten.
Before she could reach him, a heavy hand fell upon her shoulder. "Princess," a rough voice barked, "you must leave. Now!"
Xin'er whirled. Commander Zhou, one of her father's guards, his face a mask of grim determination, stood behind her, his armor painted red. One of his arms, Xin'er recognized was missing, the stump was tied with cloth but still dripping blood. "The Wei forces under Chiyun Nan and his dogs are now scouring through the palace for any member of the Feng family. They'll be back here any minute. Come – there's a hidden passage."
She shook her head, eyes burning with tears. "I won't leave my father, mother and brothers..."
"Princess, please!" His desperation made her heart clench. Commander Zhou, always so unwavering, was nearly pleading.
As if to emphasize the urgency, Xin'er heard the rhythmic pounding of feets getting closer, closer. It seemed to beat in time with her pulse. Another scream, further off this time, echoed down the palace corridor
.
"We must go," Zhou urged again. With a final, anguished look at her father, Xin'er let herself be pulled along by the commander.
They fled down secret passages known only to a select few, Xin'er's sobs echoing against the stone walls. They burst out into the palace stables, the stench of sweat and horse manure barely registering in her panic.
"Take this," gasped Zhou, thrusting a leather bundle at her. Confused, Xin'er watched as he took out a jade pendant from around his pocket and pressed it into her hand. "This was passed to me by your royal grandmother. It will buy you safe passage across the border."
Zhou hoisted her onto a sturdy mare. As he slapped the horse's flank, the final words he roared at her were lost in the animal's terrified whinny. The horse bolted, tearing out of the stables, out of the palace, out of her old life.
Princess Feng Xin'er's world had turned monochrome in the blink of an eye. The verdant forest was a canvas of shadows, and the moon a cold, distant witness to her desperate flight. Her heart, once a steady drum within her, pounded a frantic rhythm of terror. Her beloved Northern Liang, vibrant with life only days before, now lay in ruins, engulfed by the insatiable hunger for power of Chiyun Nan and the despotic Wei.
Memory painted cruel pictures across her mind – her father's proud smile, the echo of her siblings' laughter in the palace halls and her mother's love. Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced them back. Now was no time for weakness. She raced through the forest on her feet, her mare dead, shot by the arrow of a Wei soldier, she had barely survived and escaped in the forest.
A scream pierced the fragile night. Not another, Xin'er's mind begged. There had been too many that she had heard on this journey, as she raced through the devastated countryside of Liang, some regions were still fighting while others were now suffering. But this one was different, visceral in its desperation. She tripped over a vine, her escape on hold. A life hung in the balance, perhaps, and her soul wouldn't allow her to turn away
.
Feet finding a new rhythm fueled by something akin to fury, Xin'er followed the sound. Survival could wait. Someone was in far greater need.
The scene unfolded in a clearing like a grotesque nightmare. A young woman, silks once immaculate now stained with dirt, struggled against a ring of masked men. Her cries were muffled as one brute forced a cloth into her mouth. Just beyond, a maid, young and small, scratched and clawed at the attackers, her strength pitiful against their malice.
Years of rote lessons flared within Xin'er. Princely etiquette, graceful dances, womanly activities – they seemed like a mockery now. But somewhere beneath the ashes of her kingdom, the heart of a warrior stirred, the old blood of the steppe flowed in her veins, the proud warriors who had broken the myth of Han superiority and carved a realm for themselves on the Central Plains. To hesitate was to condemn these women to a fate likely worse than death.
She erupted from the brush, a scream tearing from her own throat. "For Northern Liang!" The battle cry which she had heard multiple times since the day she had escaped the palace, felt hollow even to her ears, but it was enough to startle her attackers. Herblade,e picked up during her escape, came in a wide swing. It connected, sending a man sprawling to the ground, dead.
They turned, their masked faces gleaming sinister. They'd not expected a counterattack, much less from a lone woman. Xin'er pressed the advantage, her strikes fueled by the weight of her fallen kingdom. Two more men crumpled.
Then her hand was empty, her borrowed blade sent spinning into the undergrowth. A hulking figure stepped forward, his eyes cold even behind the mask. Xin'er knew a flicker of despair then; she was outmatched, overtired, and her body screamed in protest at the exertion. She saw death before her eyes, her life swirled, her father, her mother, her brothers, her friends. Yet, a proud princess of Liang would not go gently into defeat.
But then came the flash of steel, swift and deadly. The brute toppled, and there stood the woman she'd helped, a bloodied dagger in her trembling hand. Fear and a newfound savagery warred in her eyes. Immediately after she fell on her knees, the bloodied dagger falling on the ground next to her, as she coughed blood.
An echoing silence descended, punctuated only by ragged breaths and the maid's quiet sobs.
Xin'er, her strength utterly spent, knelt beside the woman. "Are you hurt?"
"Alive," the woman choked out, "I think that's... that's all I can say. Thank you..." She coughed. "I…am Li Weiyoung, and this is my maid and friend Cui'er." Cui'er gave a courtesy to Xin'er to which she gave a nod of acknowledgment.
Xin'er gave a pained smile at the introduction, Wei, the word revolved in her mind, "I am Feng Xin'er."
Xin'er saw that both the women were exhausted, and were littered with cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Feeling her own exhaustion too, she knew that they had to to rest, or they wouldn't last another day.
The three tired women found a clearing not far away and settled down after lighting a fire. Weiyoung instructed Cui'er to treat the wounds that Xin'er had received.
"Cui'er," she said, her voice hoarse, "are you carrying anything that could aid us?"
Cui'er dug into a small sack slung over her shoulder. She offered strips of linen, a handful of dried herbs, and a small tinderbox. A flicker of hope ignited in Xin'er who was still feeling the stinging pain of the slash. It was little, but enough to work with.
"Please tend to your own wounds too." Xin'er said.
Weiyoung nodded her head, as she let Cui'er treat her wounds. The forest, with its birdsong and dappled light, felt like a mockery in the wake of death. Yet, they worked with quiet determination, tending to their injuries. Xin'er winced at the sting of the herbal paste, but forced herself to continue.
"In fact… I have not been entirely truthful with you, Lady Xin'er," Weiyoung continued, "I am from the Li clan of Great Wei, and my father is the current prime minister, Li Xiao Ran."
Xin'er narrowed her eyes at the mention of Wei but nodded her head and though her exhaustion battling with her curiosity, "What brought killers to your path?" she asked.
Weiyoung leaned tiredly against the log, a haunted shadow crossing her face. "My father, the Prime Minister, sent me away from Pingcheng when I was just an infant," she began softly. "After I was born, a wandering Taoist declared that I was a century disaster who would bring downfall to all the country, he did so to protect me from the Imperial wrath. But now, my paternal grandmother's birthday is coming, and she wants to see me. I received my father's message a few days ago and set off for Pingcheng, who knew I would get such a surprise from my stepmother before I even reached the Li estate."
"But why? Surely she doesn't think that you'd compare with her son or something?" Questioned Xin'er, her own heart pounding. The name 'Chiyun Rou' echoed like a death sentence in her own memories.
"I don't know," Weiyoung explained, "But, these killers told us just now, before you saved us, that she dispatched assassins to intercept me before I could become a true obstacle to her goals. I'm worried, about whether I can even reach Pingcheng, Chiyun Rou is the eldest daughter of the Chiyun family, who has great influence in the Great Wei. The current grand marshal of the Wei, Chiyun Nan is also from the Chiyun family."
Xin'er's eyes narrowed. Chiyun Nan – that venomous name was seared into her memory. His armies had laid waste to Liang, razing her home to the ground. It seemed, then, that her desperate flight had led her to an unexpected ally.
"Chiyun Nan… he killed my family, destroyed my country," Xin'er confessed, her voice a steely whisper. A strange sensation unfolded inside her, a mix of relief and a burning desire for retribution. "His Chiyun family… they are all my enemies."
Weiyoung looked at her with surprised eyes, causing Xin'er to smile bitterly, "In fact, I had not been entirely truthful to you too," She said, leaning a bit more comfortably, "I am Fen Xin'er from the Feng clan of Liang."
Weiyoung's eyes widened, "Feng….But…Liang….."
Xin'er managed a bleak smile. "But Great Liang has fallen, yes."
A look of devastation crossed Weiyoung's face. "...I mourn for your loss, Princess. And I… I understand why your pain."
For the first time since Liang's fall, a strange, heady mix of hope and rage bloomed within Xin'er's breast at Weiyoung's words. She and Weiyoung were remnants of shattered worlds, each hunted mercilessly.
"Lady Weiyoung," Xin'er began, her voice stronger now, "you have proven yourself courageous and true. Would you... would you join me in this fight? Not as princess and noblewoman, but as sisters in arms?"
Weiyoung's hand tightened around hers. For a long, tense moment, only their shared breaths filled the space. Then, Weiyoung spoke, and it was more than words – it was a covenant forged in the ashes of their old lives.
"I will, Xin'er. The Chiyun have taken much from me as well. My loyalty to you will be as true as my sun's rise from the east. "
Something like a smile flickered across Xin'er's face, a rare sight these days. "Then we must act swiftly, dear sister," she said, the title already feeling strange yet familiar upon her tongue. "I will help you reach the Li estate."
A small fire was their only witness as they knelt side-by-side. It was a paltry imitation of ancestral rites, yet Xin'er felt the weight of it nevertheless. With hands clasped, they spoke the simple words that sealed their pact.
"By this fire, I, Feng Xin'er, last princess of Great Liang, swear my loyalty and my sword to Li Weiyoung. I swear to avenge my people as she avenges her honor. We are blood of blood now."
Weiyoung's voice was firm, echoing Xin'er's dedication, "And I, Li Weiyoung, swear to stand beside Feng Xin'er, my sworn sister against all her enemies. We may stumble, may fall, but we shall rise together. This I vow."
The fire crackled between them, sealing their oath with light and shadow. Their new path wasn't one they'd have chosen – one was forced upon them by bloodshed and a thirst for survival. But they wouldn't face it alone.
With their vow etched in their hearts, they began gathering their meager supplies, preparing for the next leg of their perilous journey. However, a moment of stolen rest was not meant to be. From the surrounding growths came a rustling, not the natural rustle of the forest, but something deliberate, something menacing.
"More of them," Cui'er, the maid, hissed, her meager relief replaced by terror.
Before Xin'er could respond, an arrow whizzed through the air, its aim at Xin'er only for Weiyoung to push her out of the way, burying itself sickeningly in Lady Weiyoung's chest. She gasped, her hand flying to the wound, eyes widening in pain.
"No!" Xin'er lunged forward, already knowing it was too late. Two emerged from the shadows, their swords gleaming in the moonlight – not just paid thugs this time, but trained assassins.
Panic surged in Xin'er's veins. She snatched up her dropped blade and turned to Cui'er, desperation clawing at her voice. "Take her! Run!"
But Wei Young, although wounded refused to abandon Xin'er. "No..."
"Do it!" Xin'er's voice was raw with urgency. "For Cui'er! Go, now!"
Wei Young's pained gaze locked with Xin'er's, the plea resonating. With a sob caught in her throat, she nodded to Cui'er who immediately supported her to run away from the scene.
Xin'er faced their attackers alone, blade held high. "You will have to go through the Princess of Liang to reach them!" The lie tasted bitter, yet a desperate valor fueled her stance. She wouldn't go down easily.
Their attention shifted to her, but the surprise on their faces gave Xin'er the advantage for a few precious moments. She struck out, aiming to kill. She was not a truly trained warrior, but even a wounded rabbit bites its enemy hard.
Yet, their numbers meant that they were able to overpower her. A cut sliced her arm, sending a jolt of pain through her. Still, she refused to yield, fueled by the image of Weiyoung's pained eyes. One remained to fight her, while the other assassin chased in the direction of Weiyoung.
"Cui'er," she shouted into the night, praying the maid could still hear her, "Run! Take Li Weiyoung as far as possible. Live!"
Then, with a roar of defiance, Xin'er turned, forcing her way through the ring of attackers, her escape born of utter desperation.
The adrenaline had worn thin like threadbare cloth, leaving a cold ache in its wake. Xin'er's feet were leaden, her breath coming in harsh, ragged gulps. Each twist through the shadowed forest was a blur – every twig snapping underfoot sounded like a death knell. Had she run in circles? She had killed the assassin who had tried to kill her, but what about Weiyoung and Cui'er? Had they been caught?
Doubt clawed at her resolve. She had to stop, had to catch her breath, yet the memory of Cui'er's piercing scream kept her moving. It was also a danger to her, a voice whispered in her mind, if they had the maid, they had the only witness who could identify a Princess of Liang.
A sliver of moon broke through the dense canopy, marking a small clearing up ahead. Xin'er sprinted toward it, lungs burning, a desperate prayer forming silently.
Then she saw them. Cui'er was on the ground, a small, trembling figure in the silvery light. Beside her, silhouetted against the luminous moss, lay Weiyoung. A knot of dread formed in Xin'er's stomach. Not far was the other assassin, blood staining the grass underneath him.
She approached with halting steps, fear making her movements wooden. Cui'er sobbed, her face buried in her hands, oblivious to Xin'er's presence. Then she lifted her head, eyes wild. Upon seeing Xin'er, a broken cry escaped her.
"Princess... Lady... My lady..." Cui'er couldn't bring herself to form the words.
Xin'er didn't need them. Rushing forward, she dropped to her knees beside Lady Weiyoung. Crimson stained the once-pristine silk of her gown. The arrow that had felled her lay discarded along with another, the fletching stark against the greenery.
And then, her eyes - those eyes that had looked upon Xin'er with recognition and a touch of hope - fluttered open. Her lips moved, forming a weak smile as she focused on Xin'er.
"You...lived," Weiyoung whispered, her voice barely a thread.
"Because of you," Xin'er replied, taking Weiyoung's hand, its warmth already fading.
Weiyoung squeezed her hand feebly, her smile faltering. "Cui'er...she tried... but the assasin..."
Cui'er wailed, a raw echo of Xin'er's own silent grief echoing in the night. Weiyoung gently pushed the maid's trembling fingers back into Xin'er's palm.
"Cui'er...my maid... loyal, brave..." Weiyoung's voice broke, each word an effort. "Xin'er... promise me... care…my sister…take… my name…revenge…"
Xin'er choked back a sob. She knew what Weiyoung was asking - asking her to assume her identity, not just to survive, but to take revenge and to shelter this innocent girl who had bravely protected her mistress. To ensure a legacy survived, even if the rightful heir was gone.
"I promise..." she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. To the dying woman staring at her, it was Princess Xin'er making the vow. Yet something else stirred within her, a resolve hardened by grief and injustice.
A wet warmth trickled through Xin'er's fingers. Weiyoung's breathing grew shallow, her eyes dimming with each passing second.
"I am... not...afraid," she whispered with her last breath. Then, her fingers went limp, and the light faded from her eyes.
Xin'er closed those eyes now forever stilled. She sat in the clearing, the sobs of Cui'er mixing with the whispers of the night wind. Her lost kingdom, her slain family, and now this brave woman who had given her life to protect a stranger - the weight of it all threatened to crush her.
But grief hardened into steel within her. She wouldn't let it end here. She was a princess of a fallen kingdom, yes, but not a defeated one. There might be more assassins coming, but Xin'er vowed she would elude them, and shield Cui'er.
Dawn painted the clearing in a cruel parody of hope. Xin'er and Cui'er knelt beside the hastily crafted grave, its rough surface Weiyoung's only remaining testament to this world. After prayers whispered as much from memory as from the heart, they turned away, leaving her noble savior to the mercy of the forest.
Xin'er swayed on her feet, her hand pressed against a gash in her side. Each breath felt like shards of glass in her lungs. She had to find shelter, to rest, or she wouldn't make it through.
"Princess, please lean on me," urged Cui'er, the maid's voice choked with worry. "You cannot go on like this."
But Xin'er knew better than to leave a trail. "We need to walk in the stream," she rasped, pointing to a thin waterway nearby. "It will mask our tracks from any more assassins."
The water was icy, shocking her battered body, but it did the job. When they reached the other side, dripping and exhausted, they collapsed against a moss-covered rock. Evening wouldn't arrive for a few hours yet, offering a brief respite.
"Lady Weiyoung..." began Cui'er, her tears falling like a waterfall, as she clutched her hands to her chest, slowly breaking down, "She is...gone."
"Yes," Xin'er interrupted, her voice slightly trembling due to the exhaustion and the emotional pain. A pang of guilt shot through her heart.
Cui'er's sobs echoed through the predawn hush. Xin'er rested a hand on the maid's shaking shoulders, her own grief threatening to swallow her whole. But despair was a luxury she couldn't afford, not while Weiyoung's killers likely still lurked. She needed a plan, and fast.
"Cui'er," she said, her voice stronger than she felt, "can you tell me more about Lady Weiyoung?"
"She… she was the kindest lady in the world," stammered the maid. "She never treated me as a servant, she cared for everyone in the village where we lived in, why would they kill her, she was not even a legitimate daughter." Her tears fell freely.
Xin'er's mind raced. "Lady Weiyoung is the daughter of the Prime Minister, even if she lacks official status. Her death would create chaos in the Li household, benefiting Lady Chiyun Rou immensely. "
"Then we...what now," Cui'er whispered, her eyes round with terror. "Lady Weiyoung… she is dead, the killers told us that they had killed everyone in our village."
A cold shiver swept over Xin'er, the utter disregard of life, truly, both Chiyun Nan and Chiyun Rou were of the same blood. But the problem was her and Cui'er's safety, it was the truth that, as a princess of a fallen kingdom, she was now utterly alone. Then, like a bolt of lightning, a desperate notion surged through her as she remembered the last words of Weiyoung.
"Cui'er, look at me." She squared her shoulders, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "I bear a passing resemblance to Weiyoung, yes?"
The maid's gaze flickered over Xin'er's face. Hope, mingled with fear, began to dawn. “Yes, my lady, particularly if you were dressed in her finery..."
A risky scheme began to take shape. It hinged on deception and immense danger, but it was the only hope Xin'er had left. "Cui'er," her voice was firm, echoing the princesses of old she'd heard tales about, "I am Li Weiyoung now. You understand?"
The maid stared at her, then understanding flooded those tear-streaked eyes. "Princess...it is madness, but it just might work."
"It has to," Xin'er stated. "For our sake...and for your mistress's honor and to avenge her. Li Weiyoung died a hero, and we shall ensure she is not forgotten."
They rose then, two women bound by blood and desperation. As the first rays of noon painted the sky, it was not the princess of Liang who started the trek towards Pingcheng, the capital of Great Wei, but the vengeful specter of Li Weiyoung, ready to claim her birthright and, perhaps, chart a path back towards retribution.
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