The Rise of Phoenixes-Chapter 226

His oath had seemed to echo in his heart and he swore to honor it for the rest of his life, but time passed and long days turned to night. Memory slowly faded, and the promises of an Emperor were like the breeze passing by the ears, and eventually he forgot.

Only now, as his savior lay dying in his arms, a sad smile on her face, did he remember his old promise.

He clutched her hand, his blood boiling like flame in his chest as he whispered in her ears: “I always think of you... that year when you tossed down that cup and composed a poem... in my heart...”

This was a knot in his heart, and even as she lay dying, he needed to ask — that year, he had been moved by her actions as she finished the cup of wine and composed a defiant poem in the Golden Palace. He had passed down an Imperial Edict naming her his Imperial Consort, but then she eloped with another man. It would be the first and only time he would ever face rejection.

“Mingying never dared to love His Majesty...” Madam Feng replied weakly, a trembling hand tracing the Tian Sheng Emperor’s stubble chin as a sad smile crossed her lips. “Three Palaces and Six Chambers... seventy two consorts and concubines... Mingying vainly hoped... to be the only one... but it was impossible... and I could not ask... living in Dijing had only sadness... Mingying never... eloped... I left alone... and the next year... poor... married...”

The Tian Sheng Emperor stared down at her and wept astonished tears as he cried out in misery: “Mingying! I’ve been mistaken all these years!”

“It’s... me... my character... not good... too...greedy...” Madam Feng smiled wanly, lingering on the verge of death. “Till death... not changed...”

“Don’t speak...” The Tian Sheng Emperor wept, clutching her. “Tell me... what wishes do you still possess?”

“Only hope... Your Majesty can live long and happy...” Madam Feng replied, her voice as if drifting in from far away, her eyes focused on a distant horizon, and her spirit absent as if a cluster of clouds floating far, far away. “That year... drinking and composing... how happy...”

“You can rest easy.” A teary Tian Sheng Emperor replied as he remembered the bold young woman who had stood in the Golden Palace half a year ago — Feng Zhiwei, his love’s daughter. Gentle warmth filled his heart and he quietly promised: “You wish me to live a long, happy life, and I wish you to rest without worry. I will treat your daughter well. She is just like you... I will... I’ll title her Princess... and she can marry... Helian Zheng!”

“Zhiwei... really is like me...” Madam Feng smiled proudly as she replied, gripping the Tian Sheng Emperor’s hand as she continued... “Title... doesn’t matter... for Mingying’s sake... forgive her ignorance... please, patience... marriage... Your Majesty’s wisdom... steppes are far... I worry...”

“Prince Helian will treat her well, but I will listen to you and wait and see.” The Emperor promised, clutching the thin, weak woman as she struggled to breath, refusing to die. He knew that she lingered in the hopes of seeing her daughter’s face, and he gently wiped away his tears and carried her into bed, finally turning a cold eye towards the Imperial Physician kowtowing in the corner.

“Use every method to keep her alive until she can see Feng Zhiwei!”

“Yes!”

In the deep halls of the Imperial Palace, a woman died in a pool of her own blood having accomplished her final mission.

Feng Zhiwei stood underneath the tree, staring up at the clouds.

Her face was caked with dust and dirt and her skin was pale beyond belief. She had not been able to cry when she had heard that it was too late, and even now, she had no tears.

She clutched the tree that she leaned against, barely upright.

Zong Chen had explained things simply, afraid that his words would be too much to bear and not completely sure of all the details himself, but his words were enough to plunge Feng Zhiwei’s heart into deep waters.

Her mother and brother had been locked up in Heaven’s Prison because of a case involving a descendant of the Da Cheng Emperor. Her brother had died and her mother had been taken to the Ning An Palace, and soon after, an Imperial Physician was rushed hurriedly to the scene.

Zong Chen looked down sympathetically: “Perhaps she is only wounded...”

Feng Zhiwei shook her head and Zong Chen immediately shut his mouth; not even he believed his own lies. With Madam Feng’s heroic temperament, how could she this final humiliation piled up on her decade of suffering. As soon as she had grabbed her axe and chopped down the cell door, she had already made her choice, leaving herself no retreat.

“I will go to Ning An Palace.” Feng Zhiwei finally announced.

“Madam Feng.” Zong Chen began, “It is too dangerous...”

“She is waiting for me.” Feng Zhiwei said resolutely, peeling away her Wei Zhi mask.

Zong Chen spoke no more and clapped his hands. Attendants stepped forward from behind the tree with a basin of clean water and clothing and makeup.

“You cannot go like this. The Emperor is very cautious.” Zong Chen replied. “Wash away the dirt, and I will fix your disguise.”

Feng Zhiwei washed her face and changed into the dress before putting on her Feng Zhiwei makeup. Zong Chen used mutton tallow to carefully touch up her dry, cracking lips before drawing several dark red marks hinting at smallpox.

Feng Zhiwei checked herself over in the hand mirror. Nothing looked out of place, and at this point, she was quite certain that the Commander beside her had crafted the face mask she always wore.

But with the pain and grief in her heart, she was in no mood to indulge her curiosity; as soon as everything was ready, she leapt atop a fresh horse and galloped to the Imperial Gates.

Mother! Wait for me!

...

The Nine Gates of the Imperial Palace were always heavily guarded and no one could enter without express permission.

Solemn Imperial Guards stood by the gates as patrols walked the paths and walls.

Pounding hoofs rapidly approached and the Imperial Guards stirred to readiness. In the distance, across the vast, flat square, a rider galloped towards the gapes, sun in her hair as she swept forward like a bolt of lightning.

The rider wore a black riding-dress dark as the horse she rode, her sleeves fluttering in the wind like dark clouds descending from heaven.

She cut an incredibly striking scene, her face composed and deadly, her horse breathing heavily as its powerful muscles ate up the distance, and just as the Imperial Guards were stirring from their astonishment at this gorgeous intrude, the rider had already swept past them like a gust of wind.

Like a dark swan’s feather riding a storm between the heavens and earth, impossible to capture.

When the Imperial Guards finally began yelling alarm and sending out patrols, the rider had already swept by the second gates.

Golden light haloed the rider as she cut forward like a golden arrow tearing through the air, already passing the Central Gates of the Nine Palaces into Dijing’s center’s center.

The Third Gate guards looked forward intently as they noticed the disturbance, readying their spears to block any intruder. As the rider rode purposefully towards them, the guards saw her reaching towards her waist.