The Lament of Autumn - Epilogue
Epilogue: The Empire United in Your Name for a Thousand Years; The Beauty Drifts with the Waves, Her Tears Falling in Layers, the Jade Mat Growing Cold
A year later…
She felt exceptionally warm when she woke up.
It was as if she were a bird that had hibernated through the entire winter, having finally waited for this sliver of revitalizing sunlight that slanted in through the floor-to-ceiling window on the balcony. She lay on the bed, looking up at the canopy above her head. Peach-red tassels hung down from one side of the curtains, swaying before her eyes like light gauze. She reached out to play with the tassels, winding the silk threads slowly, bit by bit, around her fingertips.
She was very thin now, and her mind was quite foggy; she remembered nothing. During the winter, she had fallen into a severe illness that would not fade, and though she was slightly better now, her mind had become even more confused.
Suddenly, there was a commotion outside the door. Tao Ziyi was determined to barge in, and although several guards were still attempting to block her, none of them dared to truly use force. Ruixiang begged all the way, "Madam, you cannot go in. The Dean has given instructions—you are absolutely not allowed to enter this room."
Tao Ziyi was wearing a high-collared cotton satin qipao, with gorgeous peonies embroidered in gold thread along the hem, draped in a black wool cape. She held her head high; her face, covered in a thin layer of powder, was dignified and beautiful, naturally imposing without needing to show anger. "You bastards! If any of you dares to touch me, I will make sure you have no place to be buried!"
Neither Ruixiang nor the guards dared to defy her, so they retreated in turn, allowing Tao Ziyi to storm directly through the door. Inside, a figure could be faintly seen lying within the bed curtains. Tao Ziyi hurried forward, the hem of her qipao swaying incessantly. She ripped open the bed curtains, but the moment she caught sight of Ye Pingjun, she was shocked, a look of disbelief appearing in her eyes. "How did you end up like this?!"
Pingjun seemed to have been startled by the noise. She slowly turned her head to look at her, her eyes blank and dull. Tao Ziyi could not be bothered with anything else and went straight to the point. "Miss Ye, do you know that Jinling and Yuzhou have gone to war?"
Pingjun acted as if she had not heard a word. Her hands were still clutching the tassels hanging from the curtain, twisting them slowly as a faint smile appeared on her face.
Tao Ziyi suppressed her boiling anger, tears in her eyes as she said, "Miss Ye, I have no time to joke with you. I do not begrudge you for stealing my husband; I have endured him fooling around with you here day after day. Now, I am humbling myself to come here and beg you—beg you to persuade him to go to Fusang with me."
She lay there without making a sound. Beside her, Ruixiang whispered, "Madam, please do not make things difficult for Miss Ye anymore. She has no idea what you are talking about right now."
Tao Ziyi was startled, frowning as she asked, "What has Jiang Xueting done to her?"
Before Ruixiang could speak, Pingjun suddenly smiled at Tao Ziyi. "Did you see my letter? Did you? Why didn't you come to find me... why didn't you come..."
Tao Ziyi took a step back, looking at all of this in horror, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She was still unwilling to give up and wanted to make one final effort. "Miss Ye, do you not know that the Yu army is about to attack? Most of the Northwest Army in Xueting’s hands has already defected to Yu Changxuan. Yu Changxuan is out for Xueting’s life. I had originally intended... I had intended... He will not listen to me, but he will always listen to you. At the very least, you could persuade him to leave with me..."
She only smiled at Tao Ziyi, as guileless as a child. Tao Ziyi turned her head away, and her tears fell in torrents. She turned and walked quickly out of the room. Ruixiang hurried to help Pingjun lie down. Pingjun reached out and grasped Ruixiang’s hand, suddenly smiling happily. "Your shirt is torn. Let me mend it for you."
Ruixiang was stunned. "Miss Ye..."
She still smiled happily. "Once it is mended, I will embroider a pear blossom on it. When you wear it, the pear blossom will rest against your chest. You must always remember that it was I who embroidered the pear blossom for you... Do not forget me... You must absolutely not forget me..."
Ruixiang was at a loss, flustered by her chatter, and could only vaguely coax her. "Fine, fine. I will not forget you, I will not forget. Do you want a pear blossom? I will go out and pick one for you."
She nodded, satisfied, and slowly closed her eyes. Soon, she drifted into a quiet sleep.
When Jiang Xueting arrived, she had already woken up. As soon as he entered the bedroom, he saw her sitting on the carpet, looking at the moon outside the floor-to-ceiling window. Her long hair draped all the way to the carpet. On one side of the window stood a flower rack, and in the vase sat a few sprigs of phoenix-tail grass. The room, heated by the hot water pipes, was warm and cozy. Her hands were clutching several sprigs of pear blossoms, shaking them slowly, murmuring words that were unintelligible.
He walked over and called her name. "Pingjun."
She turned her head and immediately beamed with joy. She raised the pear blossoms in her hands and said to him, "It is snowing, it is snowing..." Her mind remained unclear, and she looked at him with a foolish smile. The moonlight from outside the window shone upon her, her shoulders appearing like thin blades, her figure reflected on the carpet to the side like a pearl submerged in well water.
He leaned down and took her into his arms, saying softly, "It is cold here. Go and lie on the bed."
She shook her head vigorously. Seeing that she was only wearing a satin nightgown and was barefoot, and feeling that her shoulders were icy cold, he insisted on carrying her to the bed. Suddenly, she became frightened, struggling and kicking wildly. The pear blossoms in her hands fell onto the carpet, and her satin nightgown slid across his palms like water. She cried out, "Let go of me, let go of me! I do not want you!"
He finally released her, but lowered his head and covered his forehead with his hand. The corners of his mouth twitched silently. Seeing him like this, she reached out to pull his hand away, asking softly, "What is wrong with you?" He took the opportunity to brush his hand down from his forehead, took a deep breath, looked up to gaze at her, and smiled lightly. "I am fine."
She stared blankly at his face, smiling foolishly. "Do not cry."
Something warm flowed down his face, as if a tiny insect were crawling across his skin. His breathing grew rapid, and a sound caught in his throat—painful and sorrowful. "Pingjun, how could I have ruined you to this extent?"
She did not look at him, searching instead for the pear blossoms on the carpet. Having played enough, she threw them aside. To the side of the floor-to-ceiling window stood a yellow pear-wood cabinet, on which sat an enamel chiming clock covered by a transparent glass dome. She took off the dome and reached out to fiddle with the hands of the clock, giggling as she played. Her complexion was not good; in the moonlight, she seemed like a piece of warm, pale-green jade.
He stared at her, finally closing his eyes slowly. His face was a mask of desolation and despair.
From outside the door came Zhou Zhenghai’s voice. "Dean Jiang, a military report from the front line!"
He opened his eyes, but gave a faint smile. "Things have already reached this point; what is the use of looking at a military report? Let Yu Changxuan march directly into the city."
"Dean Jiang..."
"Get out!"
There was no more sound from outside the door.
She was startled by his shout and turned her head to look at him, as he was now furious. She retreated several steps. He lowered his eyes, refusing to look at her, and took a cigarette case from his trench coat. His hands trembled uncontrollably; after struggling to pull a cigarette from the case and bite down on it, he searched his entire body but could not find a match. Just as he was becoming irritable, a light suddenly appeared before him—it was she, who had struck a match and was holding it out to him.
He bit the cigarette, staring blankly at her.
Pingjun smiled happily, bringing the lit match to his cigarette, whispering incessantly, "Here you go, here you go."
He silently lit the cigarette with the fire in her hand and blew out the match. She held the black, burnt matchstick in her palm, stared at it for a long time, and then threw it away. She walked barefoot back and forth on the carpet; the carpet was a dark grape-purple, clinging softly to her snow-white feet. Wherever she looked, she would smile foolishly.
Jiang Xueting pinched out the cigarette in his hand, stood up, and walked to her side, kissing her face and head. She was terrified of him acting this way and could not stand still, but he seized the opportunity to hold her. She shook her head, dodging his lips. In the distance, the muffled sound of artillery fire came, booming and rumbling, continuous, like a soul-reaping ghost.
He suddenly hardened his heart and applied force. The two of them fell onto the bed. He kicked off his shoes in frustration, engaging with her frantically, even cruelly hurting her, just so that he could leave a mark that belonged to him, proving that she had once belonged to him, even if it were only a scar. She clutched the tassels on the pillow tightly and suddenly let out a cry of discomfort—muffled and weak, like a child with her head covered. He could not bring himself to care; the satisfaction of being enveloped in such warmth was bone-melting and soul-shattering to him. He could no longer care about anything.
This is the last time, he knew.
He was still sleeping in exhaustion when she woke up.
Pingjun felt around on the floor until she found her thin nightgown. She put it on, and then stood dazedly in the center of the room. Scattered on the purple-velvet carpet were those few sprigs of pear blossoms, illuminated by the moonlight, appearing as if a layer of frost had condensed on a grape. The moonlight was very cold, illuminating the entire floor-to-ceiling window.
She wandered over to the sandalwood wardrobe. The mirror on the wardrobe reflected her appearance—thin as a piece of paper, like a pale soul. She was a soul without a home.
The person on the bed let out a weary breath.
Pingjun slowly bent down, lying on the carpet, pressing her ear against the pile. She heard the artillery fire in the distance—the sound was immense, so immense it felt as if it wanted to shatter the world in this city. She reached out to feel under the wardrobe with all her might, nearly thrusting half her body inside, until she finally touched that item.
A sharp, intense pain awakened Jiang Xueting from his heavy slumber.
He opened his eyes to see Ye Pingjun right before him. Her face was pale as snow, and she was clutching a cold, flashing short sword in her hands. That dagger-sized blade was extremely delicate, with several exquisite plum blossoms engraved on the hilt. She gripped the hilt and thrust the blade into his abdomen.
His mouth twitched, and he let out a barely audible cry. "Pingjun..."
Her gaze was dazed, yet she actually responded. "Mm."
His face turned ghastly pale, his gaze fixed rigidly on her face. Tears rolled from his eyes, burning hot as charcoal, and bright red blood surged from his mouth. He looked at her besottedly. "Why can I never find you again..."
When she pulled the sword out, he let out a dull groan. Unstoppable blood poured out from his abdomen in a bubbling stream. She gripped the sword, turned around, and walked slowly to the floor-to-ceiling window to sit down, a blank and dazed expression on her face. He covered his bleeding wound with one hand and struggled to tumble down from the bed.
Pingjun held the short sword, looking up at the moonlight outside the window, motionless.
Jiang Xueting tremblingly reached out to take a sheet of paper from the cabinet beside the bed. The intense pain made breathing an incredibly difficult task; he could clearly hear the sound of blood flowing from his own wound. He placed the paper on the carpet, dipped his fingers in his own blood, and wrote three words on it: Let her go.
He supported himself against the bed and stood up shakily, walking toward Pingjun step by labored step. He stuffed the paper into Pingjun’s hands, breathing with difficulty. "Pingjun, take this. Keep it safe."
She was like a puppet devoid of life. His pajamas were soaked through with blood, and drops of blood dripped down from the hem, splashing onto the carpet in blossoming red flowers... Suddenly, she turned her head and smiled brightly at him—delicate and beautiful, just like that little girl with the double buns from long ago. She pointed a finger at the blood he had dripped onto the carpet and said happily, "Flowers..."
He nodded with difficulty, his face ghastly pale. "As long as you like them..."
She laughed merrily. "I like them."
Everything went black before his eyes, and he finally fell onto the carpet, also knocking over a large celadon vase with an intertwined branch pattern that had been sitting on the flower rack. With a loud "bang," the vase and rack overturned simultaneously, and the phoenix-tail grass that had been in the vase scattered across the floor. From outside the door, the guards knocked. "Dean Jiang!"
Before he lost consciousness, he heard someone open the door and walk in. His final gaze rested on Pingjun. She was still clutching that sheet of paper, her emaciated figure reflected on the moonlit window, appearing like a blooming pear blossom. The corners of his mouth trembled as he tried to smile, his low voice sounding like a dream-filled murmur: "You are free, Pingjun..."
The Yu army defeated the Northwest Army and marched into Yuzhou city on a morning filled with light, drizzling rain.
Checkpoints were set up at the city gates, requiring searches for everyone entering or leaving. The flags of the Jinling government hung all over the city, flapping in the cold wind. The fine rain tapped against people’s bodies, stinging the skin. The sound of carriage wheels rolling by "clack-clack" rang in her ears. She was wrapped in a tattered sheepskin coat, her hair disheveled, lying on her side on a bamboo mat in the carriage, shivering uncontrollably.
A little girl wearing a red cotton jacket sat on one side of the carriage. The girl had a beauty mark between her eyebrows, and her cheeks were frozen red. She reached out her soft, tender hand to wipe the rainwater from Pingjun’s face, whispering, "Are you cold?" Ye Pingjun’s breathing was rapid, her teeth chattering incessantly, and she could not speak. The little girl smiled. "My name is Qiu'er."
Pingjun became slightly clearer, as if in a final moment of lucidity. Her breathing grew thinner and thinner, and she spoke with great effort. "Where... are you taking me?"
"We took money from a Mr. Zhou." Qiu'er raised her hand to point at an old man driving the carriage in front, smiling sweetly at Pingjun. "He asked my grandfather and me to take you out of the city!"
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the street ahead. The carriage swayed. The driver cracked his whip, anxious to drive the carriage to the side of the road. Several officers on tall steeds galloped from the front, closely followed by a large contingent of guards, as well as heavily armed military police, who quickly blocked all the idlers on the entire street to the sides of the road.
Yu Changxuan, surrounded in the center, held a horsewhip in one hand and the reins of his horse in the other, sitting steadily on his mount. He wore a wide raincoat, his face beneath his military cap resolute and profound, though already added with a touch of weariness and the hardships of travel. On his black military boots were polished spurs that dazzled the eyes.
The people of Yuzhou city, who were all trying to leave, looked at this group of people who had just entered the city with nervous and panicked eyes. Yu Changxuan rode his horse, his gaze casually sweeping down to the road, when he saw a little girl sitting in a carriage looking at him. Her eyes were clear and bright, and she did not look panicked, only very curious. Beside the little girl lay a haggard woman covered by a tattered coat. The woman’s hair was disheveled, looking like a withered husk, her body curled up, her frame as thin as dry wood, shaking incessantly, as if she were suffering from a severe illness.
He only gave a light glance, and then turned his head away.
Hoofbeats came from ahead, and not long after, Adjutant Wu Zuoxiao had already ridden his horse to Yu Changxuan’s side. He dismounted quickly and stood to attention, the shock still lingering on his face. "Reporting to the Commander-in-Chief, we have found Miss Ye’s whereabouts."
Yu Changxuan’s body jolted, and his voice immediately grew urgent. "Speak quickly!"
Wu Zuoxiao hurriedly said, "Jiang Xueting has a small villa on the south bank of Yuzhou. The independent battalion that went to raid it captured a servant named Ruixiang from the villa. She said Miss Ye had always been imprisoned by Jiang Xueting within the villa. Jiang Xueting..."
Before Wu Zuoxiao could finish, Yu Changxuan, without a second word, pulled his reins and galloped toward the south bank of Yuzhou. The remaining staff officers and adjutants hurriedly spurred their horses to follow, chasing after him.
The person he was so urgently seeking was the spirited girl who had turned to smile at him with her small round bun.
She was the gentle lover who embroidered pear blossoms for him under the lamp.
She was Ye Pingjun, the beautiful woman whose every smile and frown held a faint, fragrant, cold air, who had held their love-token short sword with both hands and said she would share life and death with him.
She watched him gallop away.
The carriage began to move again, swaying. Her complexion was haggard and pale, her breathing grew increasingly labored, and the light in her pupils was scattered. Beneath her body lay the cool bamboo mat, the hardness of it digging into her withered bones. She gazed dazedly at the sky above, cold droplets of rain falling onto her sallow face. Her tears silently seeped into the texture of the bamboo mat...
Qiu'er suddenly turned her head and gave her a brilliant smile, full of admiration, and said innocently, "That man is truly majestic; he must be a remarkable great person."
She closed her eyes and did not speak.
The sky was gray. In a daze, there came one or two whistles from the direction of the Handan River ferry. The sound was very sharp, as if it were a keen blade capable of cutting through the old dreams of the past. Only in dreams would anyone truly take those tales of "enduring until the seas run dry and the rocks crumble" as truth, but when the dream awakened, nothing remained.
She curled up on the cool bamboo mat, her breathing already extremely faint.
The End of "Jade Mat Autumn"
Completed on February 19, 2010, in Jinan.