Chapter One: After the Fall of the Kingdom

A crimson frost blanketed the land, desolation stretching as far as the eye could see. The red blossoms had withered, and the setting sun cast no shadow. Once resplendent, the solemn palace now lay in ruins, grandeur faded into bleakness and disorder.

In the main hall’s garden, the noble and elegant consorts of the inner palace, their faces painted and adorned, now trembled with fear. In this moment, they were nothing more than captives awaiting their fate, huddled together and weeping quietly, their former dignity nowhere to be found.

A gentle autumn wind swept through the courtyard, stirring the fallen leaves as if mourning the bitterness of a fallen nation.

“Mother, why must we kneel here?” The innocent voice of a child mingled with the sounds of crying. A four-year-old girl nestled shyly into the embrace of a young woman dressed in red. Her hair was styled in two adorable buns, and she wore a scarlet brocade jacket. Her eyes sparkled with the light of innocence.

A pair of hands, pale as jade, rested atop the child’s head, the sleeve’s crimson hue making them seem even more fragile and delicate. She soothed the little one with a touch gentler than a feather.

“It’s because those who have passed need us to honor them,” the young woman replied, her voice soft yet laced with a subtle mockery. Yet, her lips curled in a faint, unreadable indifference.

Human beings are so small—like dust in the wind, fading away with the passage of time, leaving no trace behind.

At that moment, the steady sound of footsteps approached. All those kneeling in the hall grew tense with dread, lowering their heads in terror, feeling all the more insignificant in the presence of the new arrivals.

A black folding fan opened and swayed gently, the golden script on its surface glimmering in and out of view. A deep violet robe, elegant and flowing, traced an imperceptible arc through the air with each graceful step. Fine embroidery of purple bamboo leaves adorned the cuffs and hem, with hints of bamboo shadows flickering across the robe’s surface, imparting a refined and tranquil aura to its wearer.

Above this resplendent robe was a face so exquisite it bordered on unreal, as if painted by an artist capturing the warmest hues of sunset—vivid and gentle, with no trace of cold steel, only cultured elegance, like a refined nobleman hidden from the world.

His eyes seemed gentle, yet concealed a sharpness within.

“Your Majesty, all of Marquis Yu’s consorts are present,” reported an attendant, stepping forward as burly soldiers stood in strict formation, faces expressionless, eyes fixed straight ahead.

The man in the violet robe said nothing, his gaze already fixed.

At the very front of the crowd, the girl in red knelt perfectly upright. It was not her scarlet attire that drew attention—many others wore even more dazzling colors.

Her clothes were a pure, unadulterated red, without embellishment or excess, immaculately clean, making it seem no more than a simple, deep-hued garment. Yet, contrasted against her snow-white complexion, the effect was striking—a harmonious blend both rare and captivating.

Her unadorned face was serene and clean, her long hair simply gathered in a modest bun. Unremarkable, perhaps, but in its simplicity lay an extraordinary elegance—like a red lotus rising from clear waters, its beauty pure and untouchable.

“So you are the Snow Empress.” As he spoke, the man appeared suddenly before the girl, his tall figure towering above her, eyes lowered in scrutiny.

She did not move, not even a flicker crossing her brow.

“Only the queen of a fallen nation,” she replied, her voice chillingly clear, detached from the turmoil around her—almost eerily so.

“Is that so? You seem quite at ease,” Ji Wuqing remarked, his gentle smile inscrutable.

“In every age, the victor becomes king and the loser the outlaw. Why dwell on it?” Xuexue responded with perfect composure, betraying neither fear nor disgrace, as though she were not a prisoner at all.

“You are too modest, Snow Empress. At sixteen, you entered the palace of Yu, soon crowned as the chief consort. For two years, you remained unremarkable, but three months ago, when I attacked Yu, you suddenly came into your own. This war has lasted until now because of you. I find this puzzling—perhaps you can enlighten me?”

Ji Wuqing regarded her with thoughtful curiosity, his voice as gentle as a mountain stream.

“Alas, there is always a hand stronger than the strongest. ‘There are always heights beyond the heights, and people beyond the people.’ Is Your Highness not such a person?” Her words were elusive, leaving the question of further heights unanswered.

In her past life, she had been the heir to the Guantao family—a master sculptor of clay figurines.

Pottery was a common craft, yet the Guantao family was shrouded in legend, famed for creating lifelike clay figures indistinguishable from real people. But their true secret was the power to grant these figures life. In this era, she was but a wandering soul, astonished to find similar legends woven throughout the Four Kingdoms. The strength Yu had shown these past three months was, in part, borrowed from this mysterious power.

Ji Wuqing seemed unconcerned by her evasive answer. With a swift flick, he closed his fan, lifting her chin gently with it. Her eyes, lowered in submission, met his gaze—a pair of hollow, lifeless eyes, devoid of color, nothing but endless darkness, a bottomless abyss.

She was blind.

Ji Wuqing studied her eyes, an air of curiosity softening his handsome features.

“It reminds me of something,” he mused. “Recently, I acquired a parrot—a clever creature, quick to mimic speech. I was so fond of it that I even brought it along during state councils, unwilling to neglect it,” he said, his words heavy with implication.

“And what became of the parrot?” she asked, understanding his meaning as if she already knew the outcome.

Was he likening her to the parrot? She fancied herself cleverer than that, at least.

“A few days later, I realized something: for all its intelligence, the parrot couldn’t recognize its master, only chattering aimlessly. So I ordered its eyes gouged out and its tongue cut, then kept it in a gilded cage, cared for meticulously. Stripped of the traits people once admired, I thought only then had it truly grown wise.” Ji Wuqing’s voice remained gentle, his smile chilling in its quiet menace.

If beauty could not be possessed, then he would destroy its allure, for what was no longer beautiful would naturally attract no covetous eyes.

“If only the parrot had been wise enough to block its own ears and seal its own mouth—not to hear, not to speak—everything would have been much simpler,” she replied, her tone flat and unremarkable.

“If that parrot were clever enough, I might have found peace myself,” he said, his meaning clear—it was not the parrot he spoke of, but her.

“As Your Highness said, a clever parrot may be an amusing plaything, but a person—no matter how clever—possesses thought, which a parrot lacks. Thus, a person’s mind cannot so easily be mastered. If it were me, I would willingly be deaf and mute, living quietly and causing no trouble.” Her words were a subtle assurance—her existence posed no threat to him.

“A toy is lifeless; I prefer the living. True, as you say, human nature is ever-changing. And that is precisely what makes it interesting.”

...Author’s note...

My dear readers, "Blind Empress" has just begun. There are drafts in reserve, so feel free to dive in.