Volume II, Big Summer Dynasty, Chapter 40: Eternal hate
There are only two roads for the Emperor of heaven and earth, each leading to a different fate: one path brings blessing, the other death. The east gate, leading to the main street Jiuwei, is where prisoners are released and distributed, a place that all must pass through. In contrast, the west gate serves as a grim passage to Jiujia (where notable former families reside), and it is the gateway where most executions take place.
Jiujing (plural, meaning a family or group platform) Taiwan (not referring to the country, but rather a platform in front of a great crowd) lies at the back, facing the cliff of Langshan (meaning wild mountains), overlooking Xuanchuan (meaning dazzling body of water) Chishui Lake in the Great Summer Dynasty. On the cliffs, nestled on the hillside, is the sacred Sheng Jin Yonghe Palace.
No prisoner escapes the ritual of censorship, criminal inquiry, and a body check. Outside the gate, a dark horse waits, ready. The tall Jianjun (meaning a man holding dual roles in the military and as a ruler of the land) approaches Yan Xun, aiming to hit his nose. Impressive and unfazed, Yan Xun mounts his horse and pushes himself back. The crown prince raises his eyebrows, a light laugh escaping his lips. Chu Qiao, also mounted, joins the march along Zhu Wu Street, following the procession. As they clear the road, the people, torn between curiosity and fear, retreat to the roadside, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Prince Yan before quickly falling in line to follow him to the platform.
The sky above is heavy with thick black clouds, rolling ominously as though pressing down on the people. Yan Xun stands calmly amidst the open road, his gaze fixed on two children. Straightening his body, he looks dignified, his breast proudly exposed through his grand Qiu's robe. One child's small frame is wrapped tightly in his robe, only a small head poking out. Chu Qiao glances back at the crown prince, Ying Ting. His eyes are clear, his figure graceful, and Yan Xun's presence flows like water between them. Yan Xun bows his head, smiling gently at her, as her small hands clasp his large fur sleeves.
Uncertainty looms, and they can only stumble forward into the storm awaiting them. The crown prince, stubborn and unyielding, raises his face, ready to face what comes.
Suddenly, a loud noise echoes through the street. The people stop and look up towards the eastern sky, where the Red River cliff of Cangshan stands. From the ancestral temple of Sheng Jin Gong, a deep bell tolls, its sound reverberating fiercely over the red earth. Thirty-six chimes are followed by thirty-six drumbeats, their sound resonating across the land.
Yan Xun's face turns pale. Chu Qiao feels his hands tremble and raises her eyebrows in confusion, casting a questioning glance at Yan Xun. But the crown prince remains silent.
The destiny of an emperor is marked by nine drum rolls, with forty-five tolls signaling the death of an emperor. Thirty-six rings mark the death of a relative. It is the emperor's decree, following a protocol in which the sacred bells toll four times, a solemn number: nine.
Years ago, the blood of the Great Summer royal family was spilled in defense of their land and people, worshiped by the Zhao family as they shared the same ancestral ties with the Yan family. Yet, ever since, a cold disdain has festered between them, one that even brotherhood cannot conceal.
As the procession reaches the Jiujing platform, banners and flags wave in the wind. Far to the north, the towering Zijin Gate comes into view, with its red walls, golden tiles, and imposing presence. The solemn nine-platform cast of black stone reflects the white snow, a somber image. Yan Xun dismounts and heads toward the platform, where a woman in court dress, accompanied by a middle-aged man, steps forward and coldly states, "Yan Shi Zi, come with me."
"Yan Tian General?" Yan Xun raises his eyebrows, looking at the man. "Shouldn't I be seated elsewhere?"
"It is Sheng Jin Palace's order that you take this seat," the woman replies.
Yan Xun looks toward the platform, disgusted by the prison's opening door. The royal standard was propped up for the Zhao princes, but today it stands for those who are no longer equals, those treated with contempt.
He mutters coldly, "Respectful? It's not enough, even if you offered a lifetime."
As Yan Xun reaches the prison's entrance, he sees the elders, court officials, and the younger princes—Jianmei, Ruofei, and Ling Ran—sitting with faces frozen like ice, indifferent to the unfolding events.
Time seems to slow. For the first time, Yan Xun stands before a prisoner from Zhu Wu Street. At that moment, the Zijin Gate opens with a resounding thud. Generals, soldiers, warriors, and even Zhuge Huai and Wei Shu Ye gather, taking their seats.
The sound of drums grows louder, the scene growing more and more ominous. Wei Shu Ye's hand trembles slightly in his sleeve, his pale wrist barely visible as he casts a knife-like gaze towards Yan Xun. Yan Xun meets his gaze with cold defiance. The two exchange a silent confrontation before Yan Xun turns away, appearing calm but tense.
The heavy clouds press down as noon approaches.
The Ministry of Punishment, responsible for overseeing the execution, signals for the ceremony to begin. The elderly Huang Qi, head of the Ministry, approaches, trembling with age, and announces, "The time for Yan Shi Zi's execution has come."
With a faint smile, Yan Xun gestures for Huang to proceed, his soldiers standing firm around him.
The drums beat louder as the sky grows darker. The towering platform looms overhead, a place of death and despair. Twenty boxes, each carried by a guard, hold the grisly remains of Yan Xun's family. One by one, they are opened, revealing heads of the once-great Yan family, a haunting reminder of their lost glory.
Afterthoughts:
This chapter paints a deeply emotional and harrowing scene of tragedy, loss, and vengeance. The fall of the once-great Yan family is not just a personal devastation for Yan Xun but a symbolic collapse of an entire legacy, one that was intricately bound to the fate of the empire itself. The use of ceremonial drums, bells, and detailed imperial protocol heightens the sense of inevitability, as though every event is governed by ancient rituals that hold power beyond human control.
What struck me most was the raw emotion emanating from Yan Xun, a man forced to witness the remnants of his family—those who once held power and prestige—reduced to nothing more than heads in golden boxes. The meticulous detail in the description of the execution process makes it clear that this is not just a punishment but a ritualistic humiliation, designed to erase any remaining shred of dignity from the fallen Yan clan.
The chapter vividly conveys the clash between honor and betrayal, tradition and cruelty. Yan Xun's transformation—from a prince bound by duty to a man consumed by rage and loss—feels inevitable in the face of such a brutal fate. You can sense his helplessness in the face of overwhelming forces, but also the seeds of a fire that will soon ignite into full-blown rebellion.
This is where the novel begins to transcend from a mere recounting of historical events or political maneuverings; it becomes an exploration of human endurance, vengeance, and the scars of history. Yan Xun's anguish resonates deeply, and it's hard not to be drawn into his tragic journey.
In ancient China, chimes, bells, and drums played a pivotal role in marking key moments, not just in ceremonies but in life and death itself. Understanding their symbolic weight adds another layer of meaning to this already heart-wrenching chapter. These sounds, once used to signal prosperity or glory in times of peace, now toll for the end of a great house.
As I reflect on this scene, it becomes clear why many find it difficult to turn the page after this chapter. The weight of history, culture, and personal tragedy converge here, making it feel like a prolonged eulogy for an entire way of life. Yan Xun's fate, shaped by forces larger than himself, leaves me in awe of his resilience, but also in mourning for the boy who had to become a man far too soon.
This is not a story for the faint of heart. It is for those who dare to face the brutality of history, the fragility of power, and the pain of loss. Yan Xun's journey has only just begun, and yet, in many ways, it feels like a lifetime has already passed.