Chapter 8: Glory and tears of widow

Spring, Year 1707 of the Thượng Dương Calendar

After months of personally overseeing the stabilization of Minh Prefecture — once a blood-soaked battlefield — Emperor Thai Canh finally felt at ease to return to the Imperial Capital. During his time there, he had ordered the reconstruction of city walls, redistributed farmlands, provided seeds to the peasants, and encouraged the people to rebuild their lives. Verdant fields began to bloom anew, and smoke once again rose from rooftops that had long lain in ruins.

Before his departure, the Emperor temporarily entrusted governance to a nephew from the paternal side, then set off with the great army to return to the Royal Palace of the Capital.

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After many days on the march, the grand gates of the imperial city gradually emerged on the horizon. Towering over a hundred feet high, they stood like a wall against the sky — a monument forged from Ezyl, a magical alloy that could only be melted by advanced fire arts. Etched across the doors were layers of talismans and blessings inscribed in the blood of court mages and monks, glimmering under the sunlight like sacred runes carved by gods.

When the gates creaked open, the thunder of war drums, galloping hooves, and rolling wheels echoed down the avenue. The army entered like heroes returned from death itself. Citizens lined the boulevard, waving flags, cheering, elders leading children to witness the scene. The banner of Dai Lien flapped proudly in the spring breeze, dancing among the sounds of flutes and zithers. Though news of victory had arrived over a month ago, today was the day the people saw their Son of Heaven return in glory.

The Emperor rode a snow-white steed, his silver war robe gleaming like starlight. As he passed, he raised his hand in greeting, his eyes sweeping over the crowds with quiet dignity. Pride and emotion stirred silently within his heart.

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Upon reaching the palace gates, he ordered the army to lay down arms and rest. Then, alone, he made his way to the throne hall.

The golden throne — shaped like a blooming lotus, the supreme symbol of imperial power — loomed at the far end like a glacier frozen in time. It had been long since he last sat there. On either side, ministers and generals stood ready, their robes impeccable, before falling to their knees in unison.

"Long live His Majesty! Ten thousand years!"

An elderly minister in a first-rank court robe stepped forward, bowing deeply.

— "Your Majesty's campaign was marked by wisdom and foresight. The enemy was vanquished, the realm restored. Peace reigns, and the empire stands firm."

The Emperor nodded lightly and smiled.

— "I thank you, loyal subject."

— "During Your Majesty's absence, we did our utmost to preserve the sanctity of the capital. All affairs were handled with care."

— "Well done. Truly, Heaven has blessed Dai Lien with a jewel like you, Grand Chancellor Ly Cach."

— "For Dai Lien, even death would be no grievance for this old servant."

The words pleased the Emperor greatly. After some exchanges, the Chancellor bowed once more.

— "Your Majesty, the victory feast has been fully prepared. Please, allow the generals and ministers to attend…"

— "I am weary today. Let the banquet be postponed to tomorrow."

— "Your word is divine command. Who dares object?"

— "Then court is adjourned."

One by one, the officials withdrew, leaving the Emperor alone beneath the cold, vast ceiling of the throne hall. He looked up at the ornate canopy above, then turned and called out:

— "Ky, where are you?"

The Grand Steward of the Inner Court, Ky, came hurrying in from outside.

— "At your command, Majesty!"

— "We are going to the Tran Manor."

Ky's face froze for a moment.

— "Your Majesty… it may not be suitable."

— "Why?"

— "The Lady Lien Nguyet is gravely ill. If Your Majesty were to go in person… it might endanger your health."

At those words, the Emperor's eyes darkened, concern seeping in.

— "Lien Nguyet is ill? That is all the more reason I must go."

— "Yes, Your Majesty. I shall prepare the palanquin immediately."

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Not long after, the Emperor's palanquin was ready. He returned to his chambers, removed his battle garb, and donned a gold-embroidered wool cloak. In his hand, he held a red silk bundle. Step by step, he ascended the palanquin, which soon departed the palace to the calls of attendants:

"Make way! The Emperor leaves the hall!"

Inside, the Emperor gazed out at the bustling capital: children playing in alleys, merchants hawking wares, the life and warmth of peace — scenes he had long dreamed of in the cold trenches of war.

Upon arriving at the Tran Manor, Ky knocked on the bronze gate.

— "The Emperor has arrived!"

The doors creaked open. A young maid, pale and weary-eyed, bowed low.

— "This way, please, Your Majesty."

They followed her through aged corridors draped in dusk and silence. Once a noble estate, the Tran Manor now lay wrapped in dust and memories. It was the former residence of General Tran Uy — a

hero who fell in battle — and home to his wife, Lien Nguyet, the Emperor's niece.

— "Please be seated, Your Majesty. I shall inform the Lady."

Moments later, the door opened. The maid reappeared, supporting a frail figure, each step measured like drifting snow.

Lien Nguyet — once a beauty sung of in poetry — now appeared haggard and hollow, her hair unkempt, eyes sunken and void of light. She tried to kneel.

— "This humble subject… Lien Nguyet… pays her…"

A sudden cough burst from her lips, streaking her kerchief with blood.

— "No need for ceremony. You two, help her sit!"

Two guards quickly supported her and set her gently on a worn wooden chair.

— "Forgive this unsightly appearance, Your Majesty… I have brought shame upon myself…"

The Emperor sat across from her, his gaze softening, sorrow unhidden.

— "What has brought you to such a state?"

She trembled, each word like blades from the chest:

— "Since my husband — General Tran Uy — perished, I've lived in grief, tormented by guilt. I once longed for death… but I have my son, Tran Si. For his sake, I clung to life. Yet sorrow has rooted itself in my bones…"

Thai Canh quietly placed the red silk bundle on the table.

— "Nguyet, this is something I've kept safe all the way from Minh Domain. It is time I return it to you."

Her eyes flickered with disbelief. The maid unwrapped it swiftly. Inside lay the hilt of a silver-gray sword, engraved with flame motifs — the hilt of Vo Luong, General Tran Uy's legendary blade.

Eyes thought long dried from countless nights of weeping welled anew. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Her trembling hands traced every familiar groove, every worn edge. She clutched the hilt to her chest as if embracing the very flesh of the man she had lost.

— "My love… you've finally returned to me…"

The room was still as a tomb. Outside, the spring breeze whispered on. But within, there was only the sound of a widow's choked sobs, mourning a ghost she had never stopped loving.