Chapter 3

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The court proclaimed that this imperial princess’s birth was accompanied by extraordinary omens;
The immortals declared that she was the reincarnation of a celestial child;
The eunuchs and palace maids all exclaimed, “Congratulations!”
In short, the imperial princess was regarded as the celestial fruit of the sovereign, and her duty was quite simple—just be a good celestial fruit.
Anyone could imagine: how could a mere celestial fruit have its own thoughts, let alone speak?
If even celestial fruits could speak, when the Great Sage Equal to Heaven once entered the Peaches Garden, the sounds of ancestral greetings and concern that arose one after another would surely have frightened the Keeper of the Heavenly Horses out of his wits.
Therefore, if the imperial princess wished to utter a few auspicious words, fine; if not, she could simply remain a silent celestial fruit.
But the imperial princess was not pleased in the least.
Firstly, she was not originally from the Song dynasty. After celebrating her ninth birthday in the Bao Lu Palace, as her “masters” had foretold, her intelligence suddenly blossomed, her understanding of all phenomena deepened, and she recalled many remarkable things!
For instance, the people she had once known, the places she had once visited, the books she had read, the lives she had lived—these memories floated hazily in her still-developing mind, but they were so profound that they gradually surfaced with vivid clarity, one after another.
Yet, compared to those memories that gave her a sense of warmth, her current situation was not so terrible.
On the surface, if one had to be transmigrated, she seemed to have drawn a rather favorable hand: born a princess, loved by her father the emperor, endowed with beauty, and even blessed with celestial omens, granting her a distinguished and auspicious status.
But not only her—anyone placed in such a position, upon reflecting on the events to come, would find that all soft pride would vanish in an instant!
When she realized her predicament, it was already the fourth year of the Xuanhe reign in the Song dynasty.
That year, her life was extraordinarily calm. How calm?
She memorized several sacred texts and began to study the theoretical knowledge of the Shenxiao sect, such as recognizing various star deities, their true forms, like the giant gate star and the literary star, both appearing as women—the former a beauty draped in celestial robes, the latter a dark-faced figure in red garments. Only after mastering these could she “concentrate her mind and refine the vermilion ink, paper, and brush” to summon the gods and draw talismans.
When drawing talismans, one must remember to invite different gods for different purposes. For instance, if a pregnant woman sought a talisman, one must summon the aid of Liu Tiansheng and the heavenly virtues to imbue the charm; casually inviting the wrong deities, such as Cai Doucheng or the battle stars, would be ineffective.
Yet, how to draw a talisman that could turn beans into soldiers and solve the imminent threat of the Jurchen invaders—that was something Zhao Luming had not yet mastered.
While the imperial princess diligently studied, in April, the Song launched its first offensive against Liao, confronting the fading Liao prince Yelü Chun. The Liao kingdom was crumbling under the Iron Hoof of the Jurchens, so this should have been an easy victory against a beaten foe, right?
The process was somewhat complicated, but the result was simple: victory after victory, again and again, at places like Langoudian, Baigou, and Fancun—all victories. Until, when the Song forces reached Xiongzhou and began to retreat, the emperor suddenly awakened and decreed a withdrawal.
Although the victory was won at the cost of chaos and abandonment, at least some surplus forces were dealt with—if the officials insisted on finding some consolation in this triumph, it could only be called a hellish joke.
The emperor was perhaps displeased, but life in Bianjing remained peaceful.
In crucial moments, it was the immortals who made the difference: through ceaseless effort, they finally achieved a great feat!
Yelü Chun was cursed to death!
The emperor was revitalized! Northern expedition! Northern expedition! Once more, a northern expedition!
This time, the famed general Liu Yanqing commanded a hundred thousand troops as the pacification commander, joining forces with Guo Yaoshi, crossing Baigou, launching a surprise attack, and seizing Yanshan!
The process was still complicated, but the result remained simple: the surprise forces entered the city, but reinforcements were delayed; when retreat was attempted, it was already too late.

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From Lugou to Xiongzhou, along the hundred-mile road, the fields and ditches were littered with the bodies of Song soldiers—lying face up, face down, or floating. The flames illuminated the night sky over Guixin City, revealing the triumphant and singing faces of the Liao troops below the city walls in sharp detail.
Yet the Liao songs could not reach Bianjing a thousand miles away, nor could the cries of the Hebei peasants, who had lost their sons, reach the emperor’s ears.
He ruled over all under heaven, yet could not defeat a waning Liao kingdom. The lands promised in the alliance could not be reclaimed; he could only watch as the Jurchens relocated the Yan and Yun people, leaving behind desolation and ruin.
Upon receiving the battle reports, the emperor was frightened.
Many cautioned him, “This is unacceptable, Your Majesty. Losing to the Liao is one thing, but losing your elite troops and thereby inviting the contempt of the Jurchens is far more serious!
If you cannot defeat the Liao, but the Jurchens can crush them, what makes you think the Jurchens will not march south?”
Yet such fears were soon softened by many gentle reassurances: “Master is a celestial being, why trouble yourself with worldly affairs?”
They added, “Who are the Jurchens? Barbarians and savages. If you subtract the Khitans, Northern Han, Bohai, and various other tribes, they number only tens of thousands of households. Our Song is so prosperous and populous—if you give them a dog’s courage, they wouldn’t dare provoke us!”
In the words the imperial princess knew well: “I refuse to believe your seventeen cards can beat mine in a second!”
The emperor heard countless words from heaven and earth, and nearby a beautiful palace maid brought him a fragrant, rich, and smooth broth brewed over many hours. He drank it warmly, and with the gentle breeze from Genyue Mountain, his heart slowly settled.
It was said that a remarkable and majestic stone had been found by Taihu Lake, hailed as an auspicious omen that only a prosperous era and a wise ruler could produce. Such a wondrous stone—according to the Daoists—must be placed in Genyue! When Master Yuqing worried about a lack of heirs, Master Jingyi advised building Genyue, and indeed, over sixty imperial sons and princesses were born!
Now with this “Divine Fortune Stone,” the court hoped the nation’s fortunes would turn and become as solid as rock, eternal and unchanging.
Whether the emperor or the people of Bianjing believed it, the imperial princess did not.
Not only did she not believe it, but upon hearing the results of the two battles for Yanjing, she was utterly terrified!
Having transmigrated after the Yanjing battles and before the Jingkang humiliation, this was nothing less than a countdown to death!
Not only terrified, she was also anxiously distraught!
A gentle hand brushed her brow, and a soft, melodious voice asked,
“Oh dear, such a furrowed brow—have you suffered some grievance?”
The speaker was a noblewoman in her thirties, not overly striking but skilled in self-adornment. Her hair was coiffed in a “bianyanjue” coiled bun, adorned with two or three small jeweled flowers, her makeup light and fresh. She wore a green jacket under a jade-colored outer garment. Sitting under a summer willow tree, she appeared deliberately styled to evoke “a loose bun and light makeup,” exuding both elegance and a subtle relaxed air.
It was well-known that the imperial court was never short of splendid jewels, beauties of all shapes and sizes. Beauty alone was insufficient; one needed at least two skills to retain the emperor’s favor.
Though Lady Wei had long accompanied the emperor, she was not particularly favored; besides her gentle demeanor, she relied on one biological son and one adopted daughter—this imperial princess.
An elder female attendant nearby laughed and said, “The emperor’s personally appointed celestial child, verified by the mysterious immortals, is envied by all other princesses—how could she have grievances?”
“Others were raised by their mothers like precious pearls and jade; she has been diligently cultivating in the Bao Lu Palace since childhood—do you think that is an easy place to be?”
Her soft words caused Zhao Luming to unconsciously lower his voice, “My lady, I am not complaining, I only worry about the Yan and Yun affairs…”
Lady Wei glanced at her in surprise, then at the surrounding attendants and maids, who covered their mouths to stifle their smiles.
“Matters of the court are decided by the emperor and his ministers; what concern is it of ours?”
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That was somewhat humorous.
Before she could speak further, a charming female officer covered her mouth and laughed, “Our imperial princess worries like a young master.”
“It must be from years of harsh cultivation with the immortals,” another beautiful palace maid observed. “These days, preparations for the Divine Protection Temple’s festival have brought many gifts and several young masters into the palace—what a coincidence!”
What connection did these young masters have to her, and why was it a coincidence?
Her confusion was quickly resolved when Lady Wei happily clapped her hands, “Indeed, is not Cao Ershiwu Lang here? Whenever Yuanyuan sees him, she brightens!”
Cao Ershiwu Lang appeared about fifteen or sixteen years old, with glossy black hair tied into two full buns, evoking an awkward cuteness, possibly because the family adhered to ancient customs: until fifteen, one could not bind the hair and enter adulthood, hence this awkward style.
Perhaps his youth made it convenient to bring him to the palace as a guest, but this was only Zhao Luming’s supposition. Regardless, being able to enter the palace and associate with the imperial princess at an age before propriety forbade such mingling meant that if a romantic lead were to emerge, they could be called childhood sweethearts.
It was not that she wished for this, but Cao Ershiwu Lang’s appearance was peculiar.
Though his hairstyle was awkward, his appearance was not. Despite the typical surly adolescent age, he had pale skin, clear eyes, a high nose bridge, and thin diamond-shaped lips. Ignoring the lengthy description, just watching him approach and bow with elegance and a gentle smile, from any angle, one could find no fault.
Seeing her dazed, Lady Wei added, “You met him when you returned to the palace on New Year’s Day of the second year of Xuanhe. He is your cousin; don’t you recognize him?”
Her biological mother was surnamed Cao and was said to hail from the same clan as Empress Cao of Ren Zong, the resolute and decisive Empress Guangxian, descendants of the founding general Cao Bin. Such a prominent family surely sent many daughters to the harem; some were renowned, others obscure. This was understandable.
But what she could not understand was how her cousin could allay her anxieties! Indeed, he had good birth, good looks, and good manners—a nearly perfect young nobleman. But these virtues were insufficient to fend off the Jurchen invasion!
The kind lady not only sent her a handsome and seemingly central cousin character but also prudently added,
“Today, Ninth Brother is resting. If the emperor permits, shall he take you all to enjoy half a day at the Ningxiang Pool?”
Lady Wei was thoughtful, seeking to secure some leisure for her; Cao Ershiwu Lang was gentle and courteous; and her own son—her elder brother—was kind, if infrequent in visits, but sent gifts to the Bao Lu Palace from time to time upon Lady Wei’s request.
Everyone around believed that with such a foster mother, such a brother, and with a fiancé suggested so subtly, any young princess’s worries should be relieved.
But the imperial princess was not so. Merely hearing the words “Ninth Brother” only deepened her anxiety.
She could not simply worry endlessly without action, she thought.
If Emperor Huizong was obsessed with cultivation and refused all advice, perhaps she could try another approach?
When Prince Kang Zhao Gou arrived at Lady Wei’s chamber, Cao Ershiwu Lang was chatting with his newly released-from-palace younger sister, while a palace maid smiled beside them, keeping rhythm.
Drawing closer, one could faintly hear Cao Ershiwu Lang asking Yuanyuan which poem she liked.
“Man Jiang Hong,” she replied.
“But the one with ‘The evening rain just ceased, the long river is still’?”
“No, I will sing it for you,” her clear, melodious voice suddenly rose sharply, fiercely beginning,
“Fury bristles my hair like a crown, leaning on the railing!”
Just turned sixteen, talented in both civil and military arts, able to “draw the bow to one stone and five dou,” Zhao Gou shuddered suddenly.