Jiang Changbai had witnessed death many times. The weakening cries after servants who'd taken advantage of that provided by the Prince's residence while ingratiating themselves to outsiders had been whipped; the guilty ministers who'd been beheaded underneath the scorching midday sun, their heads tumbling and rolling a distance; even her father, Prince Ling, eyes suddenly widening after hearing Song Juguang's forces had encircled the capital, body crashing against the ground with a " bang ". They'd all died, unresigned. But she'd never seen this sort of death. The old woman laid calmly on the, the light of the candles which had yet to burn out lighting up her wan face, the traces of blood around her lips not yet dried, slowly and sluggishly trickling. But her expression was incredibly tranquil, and the corners of her lips were pulled in a slight curve, a calm in the eyes which she hadn't managed to close. It seemed as if death had freed her of worl...