Volume One: The Assassination Attempt

Prologue: The Fallen Kingdom I

Outside the window, the sound of rain pattered softly. Half-awake, half-dreaming, Grace Bennett seemed to have returned to her homeland.

She had loved the sound of raindrops since childhood. For her, her father built a marvelous device outside her boudoir, using numerous bamboo tubes of varying thickness, covered with layers of flowers and grass. Whenever she felt gloomy and the weather was clear, the sound of rain would begin—sometimes urgent, sometimes gentle—soothing her heart. She could never tell whether her mood followed the rain, or the rain followed her mood.

This device had a name: “Rain Spirit.” Grace Bennett preferred to call it “Rainy.”

When the great general William Carter first visited, he was quite intrigued by the “Rain Spirit.” He examined it thoroughly, then burst into unrestrained laughter and said to everyone, “The actions of a fallen nation’s people are always those of a fallen nation. It’s no lie. Wu deserves to fall, and it deserves to fall by my hand.”

The soldiers, on his orders, dismantled the “Rain Spirit” completely. The general, hand on his sword, ascended the tower, pushed open the door, and strode straight into the boudoir. He stood at the doorway, sizing up Grace Bennett for a while, then sighed, “Those of a fallen nation have the look of the fallen. You, little princess, I am determined to have. No one can take you from me—not even the emperor!”

That year, Princess Grace Bennett of Wu had just turned sixteen. She had already chosen her consort but had not yet married. She had never suffered the slightest hardship, had never seen any adult man besides her father, and had never been so rudely stared at.

That year, the great general William Carter of Cheng was forty-three, a veteran of over twenty years of campaigns, having fought in more than a hundred battles without a single defeat. Under his gaze, even the emperor would avert his eyes.

Grace Bennett could not remember if anyone else was present at the time. She only remembered her overwhelming grief, torn between wanting to kill herself and wanting to kill the intruder. In the end, she did neither, as if frozen in place. All she could see was an armored belly, enormous and filling the entire room, the voice seeming to come from within it. This was almost her entire impression of the general—even after years of sharing a bed, little else was added.

That very day, Grace Bennett was sent away in a carriage, bound for Luoyang, the eastern capital of the Great Cheng dynasty, forever leaving her homeland, able to return only in dreams.

“Princess…” The voice was gentle and respectful, just as it had always been. Grace Bennett sank deeper into her dream, a smile on her lips, stubbornly refusing to get up.

“Princess.” The voice was still gentle, but now carried a note of firmness.

Grace Bennett realized that this was not Jiangdong of Wu, but Luoyang. Here, she was an adult, a prisoner of war, a concubine, a mother—she had no right to linger in bed.

She opened her eyes. Nearly eight years had passed, yet every time she woke, her heart remained in the depths of her dreams, empty and unable to accept the reality before her.

II

The great general William Carter summoned all the wives and concubines in his residence. This was a common occurrence for him; in his eyes, all the women in the household, regardless of their origins, were “spoils of war,” worthy of being displayed and shown off.

William Carter ran his household like a military camp, assigning each of his more than 370 wives and concubines a military rank: the lady of the house was a general, favored concubines were deputy generals, assistant generals, or staff officers, and the rest were captains, lieutenants, or squad leaders.

At every gathering, everyone had a fixed place. Anyone who stood in the wrong spot would be demoted, or even whipped. Thus, though the general’s residence was filled with a dazzling array of women, it was never chaotic—everything was strictly ordered.

William Carter took pride in this, once boasting, “If I put a little effort into training you, even though you’re all women, you wouldn’t lose to the same number of men.”

Fortunately, the general never truly intended to do this. He would never let his women meet men from outside, let alone risk their lives in real combat.

Grace Bennett was an exception. She was not given a “military rank.” In the residence, she was still the “Princess of Wu.” Everyone, including the general, called her this.

Princess of Wu—the words “Wu” were never omitted, to avoid confusion with a true princess of Cheng. The word “princess” was often deliberately emphasized, accompanied by all sorts of strange expressions, as if they were secretly sharing some unspoken message.

Grace Bennett had no secrets. She rarely even tried to hide her hatred for her husband William Carter and the emperor of Cheng. Yet the general relished this, saying, “All my life I’ve destroyed kingdoms and taken women. The Princess of Wu hates me? Let her hate! What can a little woman full of hatred do to me? Ha! I like her just the way she is.”

So he said, but aside from Grace Bennett, not a single other woman in the residence dared show even a hint of hatred before the general.

The many concubines stood in neat rows in the courtyard. Grace Bennett stood alone at the front right, her designated spot—different from the others, but meaningless. She was still a princess of a fallen kingdom, with no one to rely on, no power, and no influence.