Chapter 6 — Chinh The Muu

“Bring my body to the palace gate, no one will dare to stop you.”

He knelt in front of the shrine, his forehead pressed against the cold tile floor, his shoulders shaking violently, not making a single sound. The white mausoleum was still hanging from the rafters, swaying gently with the wind. The eldest princess lay on the bed, her hands stacked on top of each other in front of her stomach, her face peaceful, her lips half-closed, as if she was mumbling something before falling asleep. What she wore was the purple-colored royal gown given to her by the emperor. That year, the emperor personally put it on her. She wore this outfit on her sixteenth birthday. She wore it when she was awarded a title. She wore it to send off to the emperor. She also wore it to send off the old man. Now she wears this outfit and entrusts her life to her son. Bui Chieu knelt all night. When morning came, he stood up, the dried blood on his knee was torn, the blood flowed down his calf, he did not wipe it off. He picked up Truong Princess. Her body was very light, so light that she did not look like someone who had supported Tran Quoc Cong's palace for many years. He carried Princess Truong through Chu Tuoc street, people all over the street knelt down, some burst into tears, some called Truong Princess Thien Long, some called the National Duke, he walked step by step, his spine straight, Princess Truong's silver hair hung down from his arms, blown away by the wind, like a strip of white silk unraveling. He hugged her, step by step walked towards the main gate. The Cam Y guards outside the door saw the body in his arms, saw the giant silver crown on Princess Truong's body, all of them knelt down. No one stopped it. The guard in front of the palace gate saw him from afar, saw the body in his arms, saw that giant silver crown, everyone knelt down, the palace gate opened layer by layer, he carried the princess through the long corridor, past the white jade steps, past the pedestal carved with dragons and phoenixes. The emperor met him at the heavenly palace. The Princess Truong's body was placed outside the palace, covered with a white cloth. The wind blew a corner of the cloth, revealing her purple sleeve. The emperor stood in front of the window, with his back to him, without saying a word for a long time.

"Her private soldiers and land, I will take back according to your wishes." The emperor's voice showed no emotion, "You want to go to the Southwest?"

"I ask for your orders, pacify the Southwestern bandits, and clear your name."

The hall was silent for a long time, the incense smoke in the furnace slowly rose, dissolving into the light filtering through the door. Bui Chieu bowed his head. When he stood up, he saw the emperor's back slightly bent in the shadow of the door. That was his mother's younger brother, the king of heaven. He didn't look a second time. On the day of the expedition, my belly was very large. He stood in front of the palace gate, wearing a mysterious armor, carrying a large sword on his waist that was much longer than when he was a teenager. He turned around on his horse, turned his head to look at me, the wind blew his cloak, making a loud noise. He looked for a long time and said four words clearly:

“Wait for me to return.”

I nodded. The team left the city gate and disappeared down the mandarin road towards the southwest. The billowing dust swallowed the backs of the last soldiers. I stood in front of the gate and watched until the dust cleared and there was no longer a single person on the mandarin road. Chu ma ma supported me and said softly, ma'am, come inside. I don't move. The wind blows from the South, carrying the smell of dirt, I put my hand on my stomach, the two children inside turned around, the sun was up, bright, warm, like the old days standing in front of the counter drawing sugar candy. We waited eight years. His letters were always very short, the first year wrote "an". The second year wrote "don't remember". The third year wrote "The Southwest has a lot of rain". From those short, almost stingy sentences, I pieced together the weather where he lived, the war, and his injuries. The fourth year in the letter was a pressed dried wildflower. I didn't recognize the flower. I brought it up to my nose to smell it, and the scent was gone. The fifth year there was no letter. Neither did the sixth year. In the seventh year, a war report from the Southwest spread throughout the capital—Tran Quoc Cong conquered twelve bandit camps in the Southwest, and the bandit rebellion was quelled. In the winter of the eighth year, his letter finally arrived, thicker than previous years, but when opened there was only one line of text.

"My husband and wife are safe, right?"

I turned the letter to the back. There are still two words left. I held the letter and sat by the window for a long time, the snow falling layer after layer outside the door... When he returned, the capital fell with the first snowfall of this year's winter. All the royal physicians in the Imperial Hospital gathered together in the Tran Quoc Cong palace, the medicine furnace was not turned off day and night, the whole street smelled of medicine, His Majesty wanted to create an appearance of treating meritorious officials, giving rewards like flowing water to carry in. But where that wound came from, only he and I know. He struggled on the line between life and death for three days and three nights, I stayed by his bedside to watch over him, not taking a step away. On the third night, the night dew was thick, he opened his eyes in pain and confusion.