The letter had yellowed somewhat, and its corners were even stained with a few spots of blood that had long since dried and blackened.
Whenever Jiang Xun wrote, he insisted on straight horizontal strokes and perfectly upright verticals.
Just like the rigid temperament he had kept his entire life.
Yet the strokes on this letter raced like dragons and serpents.
They were steeped in panic and despair.
Jiang Yuechu lowered her eyes and silently read its contents.
[To my dear elder brother Wenda:]
[By the time you open this letter, my soul may have returned to the Nine Springs, my body turned to dust and mud.]
[I have lived an unremarkable life, alone in this world. Only these few words remain, lodged like a bone in my throat, and I cannot leave them unsaid.]
[You know me, brother. In my youth, I had ambitions to uphold the realm, but no path by which to ascend to the heavens. I squandered half my life and remained no more than an insignificant official.]
[The turn in my fortunes began on the Lantern Festival night seventeen years ago.]
[That night, demons entered the palace. The Imperial City descended into chaos, the imperial guards scattered, and flames soared into the sky.]
[I had been ordered to serve within the palace that night and happened to be caught in the disaster. Fleeing blindly in my panic, I stumbled into Consort Ming's bedchamber.]
[At the time, Her Highness Consort Ming was already at death's door, clutching a swaddled infant to her breast. Weeping blood, she begged me only to take that child out of the palace, find somewhere safe, and let her eke out a life in this world.]
[My heart softened, and I agreed... Who could have known that the late emperor would learn of