Chapter Four: The Struggle for Supremacy (VI)

Six. A Thousand Miles Away

The Yue army split into two forces. Fan Li led troops by sea into the Huai River, aiming to cut off King Fuchai’s retreat; Chou Wuyu and Ou Yang attacked Suzhou from the southern border of Wu, with Gou Jian commanding the central army, following close behind.

The news reached Huangchi before the allied gathering began.

“Your Majesty, someone is seeking audience outside the tent.” Wangsun Luo hurried in.

“What is it?” Fuchai was polishing his sword.

Wangsun Luo came forward, leaned close, and whispered a few words. Fuchai’s face paled, his lips pressed tightly. “Let him in.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A sallow, gaunt man entered, his identity unclear.

Fuchai remained silent, still polishing his sword.

“I’m just here to deliver a message. Lady Xi Shi is hanging from the city gate in Suzhou.” Seeing Fuchai ignore him, the man scratched his nose, disgruntled.

Fuchai’s already pale complexion grew grimmer, lips pressed so tightly it seemed the air itself froze.

“I detest threats,” Fuchai said, looking at the man with a cold glance.

Just one look, and the man trembled, beginning to regret his greedy errand.

The sword flashed; dark red blood splattered the tent.

“Who else saw him?” Fuchai asked, glancing indifferently at the beheaded corpse.

“Several deputy generals saw him before me,” Wangsun Luo replied grimly.

“Kill them all.” Fuchai sheathed his sword.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Pass my order. We march immediately, seize the alliance leader’s title, and return to Wu tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord.”

King Fuchai of Wu mobilized his army overnight, challenging Jin. Jin was in turmoil, so Fuchai easily claimed the alliance leader’s title and withdrew his forces. Fearing the states along the route would intercept him upon hearing Yue’s invasion, Fuchai set fire to the outer walls of Song’s capital as a warning.

At the gate of Suzhou, a pale, disheveled woman hung suspended. Below, a one-armed man in red stood sword in hand, guarding her like a lone wolf.

How long had it been? Xiangbao could not remember. Her mind sometimes clear, sometimes clouded, but she could never let go of that stubborn, nearly obsessive one-armed man below the gate.

She thought, perhaps after all her struggles, death was inevitable.

Night fell; the Yue army surrounded Suzhou, eyes hungry for conquest.

Suddenly, a distant rider galloped toward the city.

“It’s the king! The king has returned!” The Wu soldiers, besieged by Yue, became excited, as if seeing salvation.

Banners billowed, dust rolled, the king rode tall and straight.

“It’s the king! The king has returned! The king has returned!” The man with the sword pressed against Xiangbao’s neck danced with joy, shouting.

Fuchai…

Hooves thundered, blood-stained armor, the figure drew closer, and closer…

“Open the gates!”

Fuchai charged in, looked up at the woman bound and hanging high above the gate. Blood stained her face, her hair matted, but she was alive.

She… was alive.

“What are you doing?” Sword clutched tightly, Fuchai spoke.

The crowd stirred.

“Your Majesty! This woman is the bane of Yue! She must not live! Execute her, I beg you!”

“Oh? Who is she?” Fuchai asked coolly, his expression unreadable.

“She’s from Yue! Xi Shi, the woman who caused Minister Wu’s death!”

“Wrong.” Fuchai answered softly. “She is not Xi Shi.”

Everyone was stunned.

“She is Xiangbao, a hero who came to die for Wu—” Fuchai narrowed his eyes, speaking slowly, “the daughter of Yao Li.”

Xiangbao, dazed, thought: he had known all along.

“What? Yao Li’s daughter?” They whispered, dumbfounded.

“Yes, release her. Otherwise, I’ll have no face before the noble dead in the afterlife.” Fuchai’s lips curled, a shadow passing through his eyes.

The man who had held Xiangbao at swordpoint hesitated, then untied her ropes. Fuchai stepped forward, catching Xiangbao in his arms.

Wei Qin’s eyes glinted like a wolf’s; he leapt forward and sliced the man who had held Xiangbao cleanly in two at the waist.

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“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” The crowd cried out in terror, hatred, and fury.

Fuchai ignored them, his narrow eyes still smiling—a smile as cold as ice.

Wei Qin, mad with rage, slaughtered them all. The ground was littered with broken bodies, his face splattered with blood, the sword in his right hand gleaming with a monstrous red light.

Not a single survivor remained. Fuchai, holding Xiangbao, mounted his horse and rode straight back to the palace.

Wu’s peace proposal arrived in Gou Jian’s hands, and he was furious, flinging it to the ground. Fan Li stood by, calm, as if unaffected by the king’s wrath.

“Minister Fan, why did you withdraw the army?”

If not for Fan Li’s sudden withdrawal, Fuchai would never have returned so quickly!

“My lord, you promised me you would ensure Xiangbao’s safety.” Fan Li glanced at the Yue princess beside him. “If Her Highness hadn’t acted on her own, would I have withdrawn so easily?”

The princess’s face was pale.

After careful weighing, Gou Jian finally ordered the army home.

The funeral for Si Xiang was held two days after the Yue army retreated.

“Crown Prince! Crown Prince! Crown Prince!”

Outside the hall, someone cried out in anguish.

When a person dies, the ritual of summoning the soul comes first. Someone takes the deceased’s clothing to the rooftop, facing north—the direction of yin—and calls the departed’s name to heaven, earth, and man three times. If the soul does not return, the funeral proceeds. Xiangbao sat by the couch, looking at the boy lying there, his face scarred by severe burns, grotesque and frightening, nearly unrecognizable as the once handsome youth.

Servant girls lingered at a distance, afraid to approach.

“The rites are complete, my lord.” Someone reported.

Fuchai nodded, then frowned at the woman sitting by the couch. Her face was pale to the point of terror.

“Lady, the Crown Prince must be bathed and dressed. Please leave.” Seeing Fuchai’s frown, Ziru stepped forward to advise.

Xiangbao shook her head. “Let me do it for him one last time.”

“That’s not proper.”

Xiangbao looked at her strangely. “I am his mother.” Her tone was so natural—she was his mother, why wouldn’t it be proper?

Ziru glanced at Fuchai, who nodded, so she said nothing more.

The prince’s body was slender, his skin burnt over wide areas, the left arm and chest blackened.

“Mother…” In a haze, the prince blushed, awkwardly calling her.

Xiangbao reached out to touch his charred cheek, unable even to cry.

The sky was gloomy and stiflingly hot. A thunderclap startled Xiangbao, who instinctively pulled Si Xiang into her arms.

“Don’t be afraid…” She gently patted his inert form, murmuring comfort.

He feared thunder most, that lonely child, always terrified of storms…

“Lady…” Seeing Xiangbao’s vacant state, Xile couldn’t help but weep.

“Si Xiang’s not afraid, mother is here…” Xiangbao patted his back, “I’ll never be angry with you again… never again… Wake up, won’t you? I’ll teach you to skip stones… Wake up, please…”

Fuchai strode forward, pulled Xiangbao up, and signaled Ziru to help. Ziru quickly assisted with bathing and dressing Si Xiang.

Xiangbao struggled.

“Don’t make trouble,” Fuchai frowned. Her wrists bore deep rope marks, bandaged but still frightening to touch.

“Let go! Can’t you hear the thunder? Si Xiang will be afraid! He’ll cry… He’ll have nightmares… Let go!”

“He’s grown up, no longer the child he once was!” Fuchai growled, not knowing why he indulged her madness.

Xiangbao was stunned by his shout, staring at him, her eyes quickly welling with tears. She bit her lip, and tears streamed down.

Yes… that day before the campaign, he’d said, “Si Xiang isn’t afraid of thunder anymore, hasn’t had nightmares in a long time.”

“But… but I’m afraid, I have nightmares… Always… the fire, such huge flames… Si Xiang calling me, asking for help, but I could do nothing… I watched him burn alive… He called me… He called me ‘mother’…”

Xiangbao cried and shouted, hiccupping. Fuchai embraced her.

“Feed the prince his burial meal,” Fuchai ordered the waiting maid.

The maid placed a jade bead into Si Xiang’s mouth. The burial rites continued: covering him with clothes, covering his face, filling his ears, wrapping his hands with cloth. After the preliminary arrangements, the body was placed in the coffin. Prince Si Xiang was buried with imperial honors; the mourning lasted for seven months.

Afterward, the burial date was divined, and Si Xiang was laid to rest.

By the time Si Xiang was buried, winter had come. Xiangbao, gravely ill, remained in the palace.

In the spring of 478 BC, famine struck Wu. In March, Gou Jian personally led a massive army against Wu, advancing to Lize. Fuchai mustered all troops from Suzhou to resist; the two armies confronted each other across the water. Wu suffered defeat after defeat, retreating to Suzhou.

The sounds of battle outside the city were deafening. Though it was only March or April, Xiangbao curled up on her bed, shivering, lost in nightmares.

“Xiangbao, Xiangbao, wake up…” Someone gently tapped her face.

Xiangbao knew who it was—for only he could pull her out of a nightmare.

But… he called her Xiangbao?

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Such a distant name… so far away it felt like another lifetime…

“Xiangbao, do you want to leave here?” He lifted her, brushing her forehead.

Xiangbao opened her eyes, momentarily confused.

His lips touched hers lightly. Xiangbao reached out, holding him. He rested his head on her neck. “Do you want to leave here, just be Xiangbao?”

“Yes.” Xiangbao replied honestly, then frowned, sensing something amiss. “What about you?”

“I am king. The king must remain in the palace.”

Her slender hand twisted his robe tightly. Xiangbao closed her eyes. “Then I’ll stay as Xi Shi.”

Fuchai was slightly taken aback.

“You said the palace isn’t fit for people. Now that I can leave, why not?”

“Because you are here.” Again, her tone was so natural.

“Do you know why Si Xiang changed so much?” Fuchai asked suddenly.

At the mention of Si Xiang, Xiangbao paused. Yes, the Si Xiang who shot A Fu and the Si Xiang who died in fire were two different people.

“Si Xiang was gentle and timid, like his mother. I gave him golden armor and told him, wearing it, he would be brave.” Fuchai pushed Xiangbao away, looking into her eyes as he spoke.

“Mother… mother… mother… Father… Si Xiang can’t kill… mother… armor…” Si Xiang’s anguished cries echoed in Xiangbao’s ears.

Only now did she understand.

Xiangbao pulled his hand to her lips, and bit down.

Fuchai watched her, unmoving.

Until blood seeped from Xiangbao’s mouth, trailing down his wrist.

Xiangbao released him, glaring in hatred. “Si Xiang was your son, he adored his father—how could you…”

“He was crown prince, Wu’s future king,” Fuchai’s voice was soft. “Do you not see how much blood lies beneath the throne? As prince, he could only move forward…”

“Are you telling me this to drive me away?” Xiangbao interrupted.

“Yes.” He admitted without hesitation.

Xiangbao glared at him for a long time, then began to unbutton her clothes. Fuchai looked at her, puzzled.

She crawled into his arms, hooked her arms around his neck, her face full of reckless resolve.

“A seduction?” He laughed.

“Does it not work anymore?” She looked at him pitifully. “I’m old. Don’t you want me?”

“Mm, I don’t want you.” He nodded.

“No!” She clung to him, kissing his lips.

It was hardly a kiss—it was more like a bite. Her technique abysmal as always, yet Fuchai’s heart was moved.

“Don’t send me away.” She lay in his arms, begging, “Don’t send me away, please…”

“Outside this blood-stained palace, Xiangbao can finally do whatever she wishes. Isn’t that good?”

“If you’re not here, what about my nightmares?”

“Once you leave, Xiangbao will never have nightmares again.”

“Excuses! Excuses! Have you found another beauty?” Xiangbao pouted.

“Mm, I’ve found another beauty. Don’t want you anymore.” He pinched her cheek.

Xiangbao pushed his hand away, lowering her head in silence.

Fuchai reached out, lifted her face, and gently wiped her tears.

Cradling her face, he kissed her, gently prying her lips open with his tongue, slipping something cool into her mouth. Xiangbao was startled, about to protest, but he forced her to swallow.

“Don’t try your seduction anymore,” Fuchai chuckled. “Eat your medicine, sleep well, and when you wake, everything will be fine.”

Her consciousness faded bit by bit. Xiangbao wept, clinging tightly to his sleeve. “You lied to me, you lied… you big liar…”

“You said you’d drag me to the Underworld with you… you lied… you lied… to me…” Her hand, gripping his sleeve, slowly slid down; she fell asleep.

Fuchai looked down at his wrinkled sleeve, the slender hand seeming to grip his heart. So, that night in the deep forest, she had not been asleep. She heard everything he said.

At that time, he’d said, “Even if I go to the Underworld, I’ll drag you with me. When you stand before me, you should be prepared for this.”

He brushed away her tears, smiling. “Fool, how could I ever bear to let you go?”