Chapter Eighteen: The First Meeting

Si Yan, the crown prince of the Yan Kingdom, was born of the principal wife but lost his mother early. He was raised by the most favored imperial consort, a woman both cunning and ruthless, who stopped at nothing to secure the throne for her own son, the emperor’s eldest. From childhood, Si Yan endured countless assassination attempts and the constant whisperings of the consort at the emperor’s side, living ever on the edge, surrounded by treachery and peril. Yet, the family of his late mother wielded immense power: his uncle was the kingdom’s foremost general, his grandfather the prime minister, and his grandmother the emperor’s own aunt. Moreover, Si Yan’s position as crown prince was decreed by the late emperor himself, rendering his status unassailable.

Still, it was common knowledge that if Si Yan were to perish, the title would surely pass to the eldest prince. After countless brushes with death and the loss of maternal love at age seven, Si Yan could not have grown into a simple, innocent child. He lived in constant vigilance, and some would say he was incapable of love—how could one who had never been cherished himself know how to cherish another?

Such is the weight of one’s upbringing, for many spend a lifetime trying to forget the pain of their childhood, while some, unable to escape its shadow, surrender their lives before their time.

Half a month prior, several ministers submitted a joint memorial accusing General Qin Li, Si Yan’s uncle and the kingdom’s guardian, of deliberately causing the death of the consort’s brother, He Ziyu, a general of the guards, on the battlefield against the Li Kingdom. They claimed that He Ziyu, in his eagerness for glory, ignored Qin Li’s counsel and led a midnight raid with nearly a hundred men, attempting to set fire to the enemy’s camp. Discovered during the assault, all but He Ziyu—whose noble status spared him—were killed on the spot.

Qin Li was roused from sleep by his personal guard, bewildered at being awakened in the dead of night, only to realize, upon feeling the cold beneath him, that he was in a war tent, not his bed. Instantly alert, he demanded, “What’s happened?”

His guard, pale and nearly undone by anxiety, explained, “General, Commander He just led nearly a hundred men, forging your orders, and took firebrands to the Li camp. He claimed you sent him to scout the terrain, even presenting your command token. None dared refuse him.”

Qin Li’s temper flared. “Is he mad? How many times must I tell you to keep an eye on that fool? He’s good for nothing but trouble! Can’t you even watch one man?”

The young guard, troubled by Qin Li’s rage, pleaded, “He used your handwriting and your token, General. No one dared stop him.”

“Enough,” Qin Li said, raking a hand through his hair. “Where is the idiot now? Have they all been captured?” Though it was a question, his tone made it a statement—he already knew the answer.

“They’ve been caught and are being held in the Li camp. The enemy is just waiting for us to attempt a rescue.” The guard knew Qin Li’s sense of duty would not allow him to stand by, especially since He Ziyu was not only the consort’s brother but also, by extension, a threat to his own nephew’s safety at court. Whatever his feelings, Qin Li had no choice but to attempt a rescue, despite the enmity and intrigue.

Rallying his forces, Qin Li prepared to confront the Li army when a scout arrived, breathless with news: “General, Commander He’s corpse is displayed outside their camp, a hundred miles away, as a warning and to embolden their troops.”

“What!” Qin Li’s mind reeled. Li was a small, sparsely populated, and impoverished kingdom on the eastern border, no match for the might of Yan—how could they dare provoke open conflict?

Qin Li had not expected Li to execute He Ziyu. Though he had little affection for the arrogant, incompetent noble, the act would certainly enrage the consort’s faction at court.

He remembered his father’s words from childhood: the pillow talk of women was powerful and could sway the fate of men. The emperor had kept Si Yan as crown prince only out of respect for the Qin family and the late emperor’s will. Should the Qin clan fall from power, a mere decree would not protect Si Yan for long—the court would become a battleground.

Si Yan was just sixteen. Qin Li, weary, gazed skyward. How much longer could he, his father, and their family shield this child?

“We’ll retrieve the corpse tonight,” he ordered, “decide among yourselves how to do it. I have other matters—let the men rest.” With that, he disappeared back into his tent.

Qin Li’s command was law, and his officers, more brothers than subordinates, understood well that retrieving the body was a losing proposition. Still, they were not courtiers, concerned more with honor than intrigue. Among the troops, news of He Ziyu’s demise was cause for celebration—it was well known he was a blight on the army, and many blamed him for the deaths of their comrades. Yet, they could not forgive the loss of so many for his reckless ambition.

Truth be told, He Ziyu’s death was not inevitable. Li, as a minor state, would not usually dare defy Yan so brazenly. But after He Ziyu bribed a guard and tried to escape, killing five in the process, the Li general, enraged, ordered his execution to rally his troops.

When Qin Li learned this, his face turned ashen. “When a man is foolish enough, even a hundred strokes of luck won’t save him,” he muttered, before rallying his soldiers with a fiery oration.

“…You are the pillars of Yan. Nearly a hundred of our brothers have fallen to a petty nation. Today, let us avenge them, reclaim our honor, and restore the glory of Yan. Will you follow me?”

The speech stirred their battered spirits. Grief transformed into fervor, and the ensuing battle was fought with unbridled passion and satisfaction.

Yet, to the bewilderment of many, Qin Li did not seek vengeance on the Li general; instead, he accepted his surrender, a move that astonished his men and later provided the consort with grounds to accuse him of deliberate murder.

But Qin Li was a true hero, choosing honor over expediency, forging a friendship with the Li general. Upon their triumphant return to court, the consort seized on this incident to have the emperor curtail Qin Li’s power. The emperor, though aware of the true situation, saw an opportunity to weaken the Qin clan, stripping Qin Li of the general’s seal and granting him the title of Prince Qin—a nominal promotion, but in reality a demotion.

The Qin family understood the emperor’s intent and did not protest, but with the consort’s faction growing ever bolder, and after Si Yan narrowly survived an arson attempt, it was decided that he should hide for a time. Thus, Si Yan was sent to the secluded Southern Garden in the western outskirts—the safest place often lies where danger is greatest.

Caught in the balance of power between kingdoms, the remote Southern Garden in the quiet Night Kingdom was the safest refuge. There, upon his arrival, Si Yan beheld a familiar figure: the valiant woman he had once glimpsed on the battlefield.

Half a year ago, in the depths of winter, the protracted battle for Lakeside City reached its climax. The Night Kingdom aided Chen, while Yan supported Li, their armies clashing endlessly along the border. It was then that Ye Qianling, fifth princess of the Night Kingdom, was sent to the front by her brother, Ye Qianchen. Having remained at home to support her sister-in-law through childbirth, she joined the fight only after the child was safely delivered.

For Si Yan, it was his first experience of war. He was captivated by Ye Qianling’s commanding presence, her image seared into his memory. He yearned for a chance to know her, only to learn from others that she was the Night Kingdom’s fifth princess. Who would have guessed that fate would bring them together again, here in the Southern Garden on these distant western outskirts?