On the shores of Bailu Isle, spring in Daitai City was vibrant with life.
Jiangnan was once again a year when apricot blossoms fell like rain and pear blossoms drifted like clouds, with bees and butterflies lingering, captivated by the scent.
Gao Luoshen sat quietly in the serene room of the meditation chamber within the Daoist temple where she had lived alone for ten years.
"Go, all of you. Flee as far as you are able."
She said this to a few Daoist nuns who were still reluctant to leave.
Before she had finished speaking, a flurry of urgent footsteps sounded outside, and a guard burst in.
"Madam! The Jie have breached the city gates! I hear Her Majesty the Empress Dowager was captured on her journey south! Rong Kang is leading the Jie army this way; I fear for Madam's safety! If Madam does not leave now, it will be too late!"
Everyone knew the Jie army was extremely cruel and brutal. Each time they breached a Southern Dynasties city, they would burn, kill, rape, and plunder, committing every conceivable atrocity. The current Jie Emperor was even more inhumane. It was said that he once had Southern Dynasties female prisoners cooked alongside venison in a pot, then served the dish, forcing his guests to distinguish the flavors for his amusement.
The Daoist nuns, already terrified, now heard this, their faces drained of all color, and they burst into tears. A few of the more timid ones trembled uncontrollably, barely able to stand.
Gao Luoshen closed her eyes.
The flickering candlelight cast her thin, solitary shadow in her Daoist robes on the wall, further accentuating her solitude and coldness.
***
Shenzhou was engulfed in the smoke and flames of war, the iron hooves of the barbarians successively trampling the beautiful and fertile ancient lands of the Two Capitals.
The Southerners, spurred by the eager anticipation of the elders in the North, had launched successive Northern Expeditions, but their outcomes were either a helpless retreat, or their wings broken midway, failing just as success was almost achieved.
When the dream of reclaiming their ancestral lands completely vanished, all the Southerners could do was rely on the natural barrier of the Yangtze River to live contentedly in Jiangzuo, and in a final flicker of their own sense of orthodox Huaxia superiority, dreamily gaze towards the Two Capitals, borrowing the caps and ceremonial robes to reminisce about the lingering vestiges of past glory.
But today, even this was no longer possible.
The natural barrier, once thought to be an impregnable defense, could not stop the Jie from invading the South.
And that Rong Kang was once the local military governor of Badong. A few years ago, after his wife passed away, admiring the renown of Gao Luoshen, and relying on his strong army and generals, with the imperial court's backing, he had proposed marriage to her.
With a lineage and noble status like the Gao clan, how could they intermarry with a military general like Rong Kang?
Moreover, Gao Luoshen had entered the Daoist order ten years prior, vowing never to remarry in this lifetime.
Her cousin, Empress Dowager Gao, knowing she owed Gao Luoshen for an event ten years ago, dared not force her.
Rong Kang, his marriage proposal rejected, felt utterly humiliated. From then on, he harbored resentment in his heart. The following year, he raised an army and rebelled. After being suppressed, he fled to the North, sought refuge with the Jie, and was greatly favored.
This time, the Jie invaded the South on a large scale. Rong Kang led the vanguard, leading the Jie army south to breach cities, flaunting his might and committing every conceivable evil.
***
"I am not going. You all go."
Gao Luoshen slowly opened her eyes and repeated her words.
Her expression was very calm.
"Madam, please take care of yourself…"
The Daoist nuns simultaneously knelt and kowtowed to her, then stood up, helping each other, and left, sobbing.
The vast Tử Vân Quan was soon left with only Cao Lạc Thần.
Cao Lạc Thần exited the Taoist temple through the back door, walking alone to the riverbank. She stood on a high rock outcrop, gazing at the surging river before her, which divided Jiuzhou into northern and southern halves.
A silver moon hung in the sky. The river wind rustled, making the flaps of her dress fly wildly, as if they would be carried away by the breeze.
On this late spring night, the distant tide shimmered on the river’s surface, like a silver thread pulling the moon closer.
She was intimately familiar with this silvery moonlight and the spring river tide outside Đài Thành.
Countless late nights, waking from nightmares, unable to fall back asleep, the only companion she had was the sound of the waves each night, night after night, year after year, month after month.
But tonight, the sound of the river tide was like the rhythmic rumble of a minor earthquake, steady as the drumbeats of the Jie cavalry advancing south.
Cao Lạc Thần seemed to hear the frightened cries and screams of the Taoist nuns who hadn’t escaped in time, mingling with the mad laughter and wild roars of the Jie soldiers in the distance.
Everything was over.
The glory of the Southern Dynasty, the glory of her family, and everything connected to her would all end tonight.
The Jie soldiers behind her were drawing closer and closer, their sounds carried by the wind with chilling clarity.
Cao Lạc Thần did not turn her head.
The river water swirled around her gradually rising skirt, like a blooming flower. Her slender, bamboo-like figure was buffeted by the waves, swaying in the wind by the riverbank.
She raised her eyes, staring at the tide rushing towards her, and stepped forward, one foot after another, dragging herself deeper into the river.
***
From the time Cao Lạc Thần first had memories, her father often took her to Shitou City by the river.
Amidst majestic green hills stood a towering city wall. Shitou City was located west of the imperial city, on the banks of the Trường Giang, and was heavily garrisoned year-round to protect the capital.
Her father would always hold her small hand and gaze intently at the distant north, separated only by a river, for a very long time.
To launch northern expeditions, reclaim lost territories, and restore the ancient Han nation was her father’s greatest lifelong wish.
It was said that on the night before her mother gave birth to her, her father had a dream of returning to Dongdu Luoyang. In his dream, he took the dream as reality, strolling along both banks of the Luo River, singing joyfully. He awoke in a state of ecstatic delight, only to be doubly saddened afterwards.
Lạc Thần once speculated that perhaps this was why her father had given her this name, a name that surely held nostalgia for the past, a yearning for the present, and profound hopes for the future.
Yet, her father surely never imagined that the final moment of her life would drift away with the current like this.
Just like her name, a predetermined fate—this might very well be a kind of prophecy.
The midnight tide, like a great dragon under the moonlight, let out terrifying, angry roars.
Its roaring pressed closer and closer to her, as if about to swallow her whole.
Yet, she felt no fear at all.
In this life, too many people she loved had already departed before her.
In the fifteenth year of Hưng Thịnh, at sixteen years old, she first tasted the bitter taste of parting with the dead. That year, her cousin, Cao Huan, who was also fifteen, tragically perished in the war to quell the rebellion of the imperial clan’s Prince Linchuan.
Next, in the second year of Taikang, when she was eighteen, she lost her newlywed husband, Lu Jianzhi.
In the third year of Taikang, she, the new widow, was still immersed in grief over the loss of her loved one, when heaven cruelly snatched away her father and mother. That year, the Three Wu Rebellion raged everywhere, rebel soldiers besieged the city, her mother was trapped, and her father, in an attempt to save her mother, both perished together.
And today, more than ten years later, not long ago, her elder cousin and paternal uncle – the last ones supporting the Great Yu dynasty and the Cao clan – also successively died in the battle at Xiangyang City, Jiangbei, which was directly facing the southward invading Jie army.
Many images flashed before Cao Luoshen’s eyes.
And finally, another face suddenly appeared in her mind.
It was the face of a young man, his heroic features stained with fresh blood.
The blood was very fresh, and it flowed ceaselessly from his eye sockets.
Drop by drop, it splattered onto her forehead and her beautiful, flower-like face.
At that moment, she was pinned to the ground by him. The two of them were face to face, so close they could feel each other’s breath.
His eyes seemed to be dripping blood, staring at her, filled with deep rage and hatred.
He was like a gravely wounded beast, erupting with hatred and fury before death, wanting to tear her apart and devour her alive.
But in the end, she was still alive, alive until today.
And he, in the end, died on top of her like that.
For a long time, Cao Luoshen had wanted to erase the face of the man with bleeding eyes from her memory.
It would be best to forget it, to clear it away.
Yet, over the past ten years, on countless late nights, awakened by nightmares, tossing and turning to the faint sound of the distant tide, unable to sleep, Cao Luoshen couldn’t help but think of the scene from that year.
The wedding night, filled with conspiracy and blood.
Many years later, even to this day, she still couldn’t understand.
In his final moments before death, why he didn’t break her neck – was it ultimately due to helplessness, or did he let her go?
She had also asked herself many times: if time could turn back, if everything could be reversed, would she accept such an arrangement?
She even wondered, if ten years ago, that man named Li Mu hadn’t died and was still alive today, what would the situation in Jiangzuo be like now?
Would those Northern Jie people still have the chance to breach Jiankang and capture the Empress Dowager and the Great Yu Emperor?
“— Capture her and there will be a great reward…”
Piercing sounds along with heavy footsteps came from behind.
The Jie soldiers had reached the riverbank, people were shouting, and some were wading into the water, chasing her.
The tide surged up and crashed over her head; she closed her eyes and let herself be embraced by it.
Her entire body, from head to toe, was immediately swallowed by the tide, disappearing from sight.
The tide no longer raged as it had before; it swirled out layers of white foam, completely enveloping her.
She floated gently within it, drifting leisurely, as if receiving the most tender care from a mother's embrace.
In her nose, the last thing she smelled was the faint, distinctive fishy scent of the spring river tide.
This smell made her remember the last breath of the young man who died on her that year.
It was the breath of blood.
The memory, and also one last time, brought her back to the late spring in Jiangnan ten years ago.
That year, she was 25, in the prime of her beauty, but she had been widowed for seven years.
The Cao clan was a top aristocratic family, a leading gentry clan in Jiang Zuo.
Cao Luoshen's father, Cao Jiao, was praised his entire life for his integrity and elegance. For generations, he served in court as General leading armies, General Who Guards the State, Grand Minister of the Secretariat, Minister of Works, and was enfeoffed as Duke Xuan, his fame spreading throughout the land.
Her mother, Xiao Yongjia, was the eldest sister of Emperor Xingping, known by her title Grand Princess Qinghe.
Besides her family background, Cao Luoshen, whose talent and beauty matched her name, was renowned in Jiankang. In these past seven years, suitors came endlessly, almost all of them brilliant descendants of gentry families worthy of the Cao clan.
But Cao Luoshen's heart was as still as water; she often stayed indoors.
Until one day, she was summoned to the imperial palace.
That peaceful life was thus broken.