“I remember.” Yue Niang’s gaze was fixed, as if being pulled by an incorporeal string, passing the long-corroded coffin, and falling onto her long-departed homeland. “I am Taiping; my father’s reign name was Gaozong, and my mother, Zetian’s, clan name was Wu. The person in there is A Wan.” She pointed at the coffin before her, her voice remaining weak, pausing without brooking intervention as she related the entirety. “A Wan?” Li Shiyi asked, disbelieving. Yue Niang nodded, the jut of her jaw showing a haughtiness of the descent from heavenly aristocrats, and said, “Zhongzong-zhaorong, [1] Shangguan Wan’er.” [2] Remaining in her slim-fitting Western-style dress, her proud sparrow’s neck adding to her resplendence, the worry deepening between her brows, it made her seem as if she had travelled for many years and become an extremely graceful and tactful person. She said, “From childhood, I was doted on by many, wearing foreign outfit, men’s clothes, with a belt and jade, and a gauze he