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Nine Days After the Dreadful Massacre
Year 1705, the Thượng Dương calendar
At last, fifty thousand soldiers returned to the gates of the Imperial Capital.
The gates creaked open with an echo of mourning.
The soldiers—battered, broken, haunted—dragged their limbs over the cold stone path that led into the heart of the city.
Even atop his horse, General Lý Trị dared not lift his head.
Wherever the army passed, only silence met them—pierced by the heavy gaze of grief and disappointment from the citizens.
Suddenly, an old woman with hair like silver ash threw herself into the road, blocking their path.
Tears welled in her eyes as she cried out:
— "Mạc Kim! Where is my son?!"
Her voice, shrill and desperate, tore through the suffocating silence.
Lý Trị jolted as if from a nightmare.
He looked at the mourning mother, his body trembling, his heart clenched in shame and sorrow.
— "Madam... many brave men have fallen on the field of battle..."
But before he could finish, the mother collapsed in sobs.
Around her, other villagers wept—mourning those who would never return.
Lý Trị stood motionless, lost in a sea of grief.
He looked around.
The world felt heavier with each heartbeat.
Yet, duty called. He must report to the Emperor at Sacred imperial palace
The army moved forward again—like ghosts marching into the afterlife.
Only upon reaching the palace gate did Lý Trị dismiss his men, descend from his horse, and walk alone into the darkened hall.
The air within the throneroom was already cold. Now it was thick with mourning, its silence pierced only by the faint echoes of lamentation.
On the high throne, His Majesty Thái Đức, the Emperor, sat in grim silence, his face carved in stone and fury.
As Lý Trị entered, he immediately bowed low: — "Your servant, Lý Trị, humbly rep—"
But the Emperor's roar thundered through the hall: — "What happened at Hoàng Phong?!"
Lý Trị flinched, cold sweat tracing his spine. — "Your Majesty... the House of Minh betrayed us. They allied with the Southern Lương and struck us from both flanks. General Trần Uy could not hold them... He ordered a retreat—to preserve the army."
The Emperor's voice was cold as iron: — "And Trần Uy?"
— "He fell... carving a path through enemy ranks to ensure our escape."
The Emperor's hands clenched until his knuckles turned white, teeth grinding in rage: — "Traitors... Their entire bloodline shall be cleansed!"
Then, after a long silence: — "Leave me."
Lý Trị bowed once more and departed.
Yet he bore one final duty.
Beneath the torn folds of his armor, he clutched a letter—scarred by ash and blood.
The final words of a fallen commander... destined for the one still waiting at home.
He mounted his horse once more, heading toward Trần Residence.
At the gates of the estate, he dismounted and knocked—each rap echoing like a funeral bell.
A maid opened the gate, startled by the war-torn officer before her.
— "I am Lý Trị. I come bearing a letter for Lady Liên."
— "Please, come in and wait."
She led him into a solemn receiving room. He sat in silence, still as stone.
Before long, Liên Nguyệt entered—a woman of renowned beauty and grace, skilled in poetry, painting, and song. Wife to General Trần Uy.
Lý Trị stood swiftly, removed his helm, and bowed deeply.
— "Thank you, my lady, for receiving me."
— "And who might you be, good sir?"
— "Lý Trị, the second son of the Lý family."
— "Ah... I have heard your name. You rode with my husband to Hoàng Phong, did you not?"
Her eyes fell on the sealed letter bearing Trần Uy's crest.
— "Why do you... possess this letter?"
Lý Trị stepped forward and offered it with both hands: — "My only purpose here... is to deliver this to you."
Liên Nguyệt accepted it with trembling hands, broke the seal, and read slowly—each word a blade:
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"My dearest Liên Nguyệt,
I write this not from fear, but from foresight.
The path of a soldier is strewn with fate's cruel surprises.
If you are reading these words, then I am no longer of this world.
Forgive me, my beloved, for breaking my vow to grow old beside you.
Live on in peace, I beg of you.
Raise our little son with love.
And if your heart allows... forget me.
Find happiness once more.
Forever yours,
Trần Uy"
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Tears flowed down her cheeks, and her legs gave way beneath her.
She collapsed upon the cold floor.
Lý Trị and the maid rushed to her side, lifting her gently onto a chair.
Moments passed. Her sobs softened.
— "Tell me, Lý Trị... how did my husband fall?"
Lý Trị's voice broke: — "He stood at the vanguard with his brothers, defying the tide of enemies, holding them back... so that the rest of us could escape. He died... for the sake of us all."
A faint, bitter smile crossed her lips: — "That was always his way... Even at the end, he lived for others."
And as tears stained the robes of the widow,
The capital sank beneath a tide of mourning.
No house, no street, no alley stood untouched by the color of grief.
And the cries of the bereaved rose...
Like a dirge to the heavens.