Chapter One: The Symphony of Life and Death

In the summer of the fourth year of Jinglong of Emperor Zhongzong of the Great Tang, the weather was stiflingly hot and rainless. Drought had begun to reveal itself in Guanzhong, Henan, and other regions. Urgent memorials from various prefectures and counties flooded the imperial court like snowflakes. In his anxiety, the emperor buried himself in state affairs for days on end, never leaving the Shenlong Hall. Exhausted to the limit and beset by the oppressive midday heat, he continued to labor over his desk, sweat streaming down his aged and haggard face, almost losing himself in the work. The sight of the emperor, so frail and drawn, was almost unbearable. At last, the chief eunuch Gao Miao, who had been standing by in attendance for some time, could no longer watch in silence. With a look of concern, he cautiously approached and reminded him softly, “Your Majesty, it is nearly noon. You should take your meal.”

“Oh.”

Emperor Zhongzong, Li Xian, his hair now white, looked up in a daze at the sound, revealing a face gaunt to the extreme. His eyes were lifeless as he glanced at Gao Miao, responding with a vague grunt. He rubbed his temples, lips moving as if to say something, but at that moment, he caught sight of a palace maid entering, carrying a tray. He paused, watching her inquisitively.

“Your Majesty, Her Majesty the Empress, seeing that you are weary from state affairs, has personally steamed these cakes for you. She asks that you taste them,” the maid announced crisply as she stepped gracefully before the dragon desk, bowed, and raised the tray above her head in offering.

“Good, very good. The Empress is most thoughtful. Bring them here, I shall taste them at once.”

Zhongzong had always been fond of cakes, and his empty stomach only heightened his appetite. Seeing the soft, white cakes on the tray, his spirits lifted. He clapped his hands, beckoned the maid forward, and without delay took a cake, dipped it in the honey, and brought it to his mouth, praising its flavor even as he chewed.

Perhaps it was hunger that drove him, but the emperor’s manner of eating was hardly befitting of a sovereign—he devoured the cakes ravenously, provoking the suppressed laughter of the eunuchs in attendance.

“Your Majesty, please enjoy. I shall take my leave,” the maid said, a flash of excitement, panic, and unease flickering in her eyes. She bowed quickly, her voice trembling slightly.

“Mm, mm.” Zhongzong, content with his meal, paid her no mind, waving her off with muffled assent, continuing to eat with his head bent over the food.

“Ah! The pain! It’s killing me…”

Moments after the maid’s departure, Zhongzong, in the midst of his enjoyment, was suddenly wracked by a violent pain in his abdomen. With a loud cry, he collapsed onto the dragon couch, blood gushing from his mouth and nose.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Someone, quickly—help!”

Gao Miao, the chief eunuch, was utterly shocked, frozen for a moment before he screamed for aid. The hall erupted into chaos as the eunuchs and maids scrambled in panic…

Historical Record: On the fourth day of the sixth month of the fourth year of Jinglong (July 3, 710 AD), Emperor Zhongzong Li Xian was poisoned to death in the Shenlong Hall by Empress Wei and her daughter, Princess Anle. He was fifty-five years old.

On July 3, 2012, in a luxurious private room of a five-star hotel in Xi’an, a grand banquet had just begun. Over a dozen well-dressed middle-aged men sat around the table, each exuding an air of authority; it was clear at a glance that all present were high-ranking officials. Indeed, even the least among them held the position of deputy division chief—any one of them could shake the city of Xi’an with a word. Yet, as they looked toward the young man at the head of the table, barely over thirty, their gazes betrayed a hint of awe. Clearly, this young man was no ordinary figure. He was Li Sheng, the newly appointed Deputy Mayor of Xi’an.

Though Deputy Mayor was not the highest of ranks—especially one so newly appointed, not yet a standing member of the city committee—in a major city like Xi’an, it was not a position to be dismissed. Given Li Sheng’s age, just thirty, the significance was entirely different. No one could ignore his bright future, nor did anyone dare risk offending this rising star. Deference and flattery became the unspoken rule among his peers.

Feeling the respectful gazes of his colleagues, Li Sheng maintained a calm exterior, though inwardly he could not suppress a sense of pride. And rightly so—ten years since his graduation and entry into the civil service, while most of his peers still struggled for a home of their own, he had ascended to the position of Deputy Mayor. His success was self-evident, though the hardships and dangers he had endured were known to none but himself. Now, though not yet at the pinnacle, his promising future was undeniable, and he could allow himself some satisfaction. Still, such pride could not be openly displayed before his subordinates. Thus, he responded to their flattery with a gentle smile, refraining from any bold pronouncements.

Words could be few, but the wine could not go untouched. Not only did he drink, but he drank heartily, never refusing a toast, emptying every cup. From noon until dusk the revelry continued, and many of his subordinates fell under the table in this “alcoholic trial.” As the drinking wore on, Li Sheng suddenly felt his head spin, his body swaying uncontrollably. A wave of weakness swept through him, his wine cup slipping from his grasp and falling to the floor. In the midst of startled cries, his body slumped and he collapsed to the ground…

On July 4, 2012, the Xi’an Daily published an obituary: “Comrade Li Sheng, Deputy Mayor of our city, suffered a sudden myocardial infarction while on official duty. He was rushed to the hospital, but all efforts at resuscitation failed. He passed away in the early hours of this morning… Mayor Li’s sacrifice is a great loss to our Party and our city. After deliberation, the municipal committee has posthumously awarded Comrade Li Sheng the title of Martyr. The memorial service will be held…”

On the twelfth day of the twelfth month of the first year of Linde (January 3, 665 AD), at dawn, the north wind that had howled all night finally subsided, but the snow still fell thick and heavy, transforming the world into a boundless white. Only a few plum trees in the corner of the courtyard refused to bow to the storm, tenaciously blossoming pale yellow flowers amid the snow-laden branches. Their subtle fragrance quietly filled the air, bringing a touch of vitality to the otherwise desolate courtyard—a solitary highlight in the scene. By the window, a youth dressed in a purple prince’s robe stood motionless, his gaze fixed upon those flowering trees as if carved from wood or stone.

“Your Highness, it is time. You must proceed to the palace,” a young eunuch hurried in, treading softly to the youth’s side, bowing low and speaking in a hushed tone.

Though the eunuch’s voice was soft, the young prince started as if struck by lightning. His frail body trembled violently as he turned stiffly to look at the eunuch, his expression oddly bewildered.

“Your Highness, is something wrong…?” the eunuch stammered, clearly frightened, taking two small steps back as he studied the young prince in confusion.

“Your Highness? Your Highness…” The youth murmured, his face lost and vacant, as if bewitched.

“Your—Your Highness, it’s time to go to the palace. You see…” Sensing the prince’s strange behavior, the eunuch grew uneasy, wanting to call for help but fearing to alarm the prince further. Swallowing nervously, he tried again to prompt him.

“You… you are Gao Miao?” The youth stared blankly for a long time before suddenly striding up to the eunuch, seizing his arm and questioning him, his voice trembling.

“Yes, yes, I am… I…” Gao Miao, the eunuch, was utterly baffled by this spectacle, his eyes wide with shock as he stammered his reply.

“How can this be? How can this be?” The young prince staggered back three steps, clutching his head, his face ashen as he muttered in disbelief. Scenes from past lives flashed before his eyes like a film—at last, the youth understood the impossible truth: he was now Li Xian, Prince of Zhou, seventh son of Emperor Gaozong of Tang, yet his mind was filled with the memories of Li Sheng, the Deputy Mayor who had died in the line of duty, as well as those of Emperor Zhongzong, poisoned by his wife and daughter. Past and present, three lives’ memories intertwined, indistinguishable, dreamlike and unreal, leaving the young Li Xian’s head throbbing and his face deathly pale.

“Your Highness, please wait. I shall summon the imperial physician at once,” Gao Miao, seeing the prince’s distress, panicked and bowed hurriedly, turning to run outside.

“Stop!”

At the threat of Gao Miao fetching a physician, Li Xian’s body jerked, his eyes dark and commanding as he thundered the order.

“Your Highness, you… you…”

Though Li Xian was known for his gentle and timid nature, there was an undeniable authority in his voice that left Gao Miao rooted to the spot, at a loss for words.

“I shall proceed to the palace now!”

Li Xian paid no further heed to Gao Miao’s words. After standing in silence for a long moment, his expression shifting, he exhaled deeply, shook his head, and with a sweep of his sleeve strode out without looking back. Gao Miao, though full of questions, dared not ask further and hurried after him…