Traveling back to the Northern Song Dynasty: Picking up a princess as my wife

The next morning, as dawn broke, an ominous silence in Emperor Huizong's bedroom was shattered by the heart-wrenching wails of the old eunuch Wang Cheng.

"Your Majesty, how can you bear to abandon this mortal world and go alone to that unknown heaven? This old servant, without you, is like a lone boat without a helmsman. In the vast sea of ​​people, how can I find the lighthouse for survival?"

Wang Cheng's voice trembled, each word imbued with endless sorrow and despair, echoing in the empty and cold room, sounding particularly desolate.

A mournful cry suddenly rang out, like a cold wind piercing the silent night, instantly attracting the attention of the Jin guards stationed there. Their expressions tightened, and they quickly withdrew from their posts, their gazes simultaneously turning towards the source of the sound, where a chilling scene came into view.

Without the slightest hesitation, these well-trained soldiers immediately realized the seriousness of the situation. Some of them quickly straightened their armor and strode resolutely toward the camp command post, reporting what they had seen and heard to their superiors in the most concise and powerful way. A tense and oppressive atmosphere filled the air, as if even time itself had slowed down at that moment.

Soon, a series of hurried yet steady footsteps broke the surrounding silence. An official from the Jin Kingdom, with a solemn expression, hurried through the night, heading straight for the scene of the incident.

His shadow stretched long in the dim light, each step appearing exceptionally heavy, revealing the complex emotions he felt about the situation he was about to face.

Finally, after confirmation by the Jin Dynasty's imperial physicians, it was confirmed that Emperor Huizong of Song, Zhao Ji, was dead. At this time, his limbs began to stiffen, and his face was completely bloodless.

Within the imperial city of the Jin Dynasty, a gentle ray of sunlight quietly brushed across Emperor Xizong Wanyan Dan's dragon bed, softly waking him from the edge of his slumber. Upon hearing the news that arrived the previous night, the young emperor showed little emotion, as if it were merely a wisp of smoke among countless trivial matters, insufficient to shake the imperial dignity in his heart.

He slowly sat up, his gaze deep and calm, as if he could see into the essence of all things. Regarding the fall of the deposed emperor, Wanyan Dan felt little emotional turmoil, only calmly instructing the attendants beside him: "Let the Ministry of Rites and the Ministry of Works handle this matter properly. Find a quiet place outside the city so he can rest in peace, thus ending this earthly bond."

After speaking, he lay down again, closed his eyes to rest, as if everything had been settled and there was no need for further words.

In the delicate moment as dawn broke, several white-winged carrier pigeons took flight from the majestic silhouette of the Five Kingdoms City, soaring gracefully southward through the sky. This was not merely a graceful dance of nature, but also the most agile messenger in the meticulously woven secret web of the Song Kingdom's Imperial City Guard.

The Golden Feather Guards also began to closely investigate those who had recently been in contact with Emperor Huizong of Song. Although the imperial physicians said that Emperor Huizong Zhao Ji died of natural causes, the Golden Feather Guards refused to believe it and insisted on finding something out.

The news spread quietly to every corner of the Zhao imperial family like an undercurrent, prompting all the members of the clan to take heavy steps and gather in that solemn place to jointly commemorate the former emperor, Zhao Ji.

Emperor Qinzong of Song, Zhao Heng, dressed in plain clothes, his steps revealing an indescribable sorrow, also joined the mourning procession.

Gazing at his father lying stiffly on an old wooden bed, Zhao Heng's heart was filled with complex and unfathomable emotions. He thought to himself, if time could turn back, if his father had handed over that heavy imperial power to him a few years earlier, perhaps the wheels of history would have deviated from that shameful path. The Jingkang Incident, this tragedy of national ruin and family destruction, might have become a regret lightly mentioned in the history books, instead of the unforgettable pain he felt today.

Zhao Heng asked the Jin officials in charge of the funeral to send Emperor Huizong of Song's body back to Song, but they simply said it was impossible. Jin soldiers had already dug a pit outside the city and would bury Zhao Ji's body as soon as it was finished.

As for the idea of ​​keeping the coffin closed for several days, that simply doesn't exist here. It's already quite good that a deposed monarch can get a coffin for burial.

Mr. Bu Liang said to Li Zhen, "My lord, we have bribed the Jin soldiers who are escorting Zhao Ji. They will handle him gently. However, I heard from them that even after Zhao Ji is buried, there will still be Jin soldiers stationed around to prevent others from stealing his body."

Li Zhen smiled faintly, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He kept the mysterious space hidden within his heart a closely guarded secret, revealing nothing to anyone.

He secretly plotted that as long as he found an opportunity to get close to Zhao Ji's sleeping coffin, he could silently use that incredible power to gently move Zhao Ji into his private space.

Once the plan succeeds, they can quickly leave this dangerous place and head straight out of the city. There, he can retrieve the prepared car, which will act like wings, carrying them through the hustle and bustle back to Tangyin as quickly as possible.

The setting sun, like a weary traveler, slowly sank into the western horizon, tinging the sky with a faint, melancholic purple.

As the gentle yet somber twilight deepens, an ancient and solemn carriage slowly makes its way through the darkening streets, carrying a heavy burden of sorrow as it makes its way towards a quiet place outside the city.

On the carriage, an exquisite coffin lay quietly. It was not only a structure of wood and stone, but also the eternal resting place of the noble soul of a member of the Zhao imperial family. As the wheels rolled over the bluestone road, they emitted a low and long echo, as if humming a lament for the deceased.

Following the carriage, a line of members of the Zhao imperial family, dressed in plain white, followed closely behind. Their steps were heavy yet resolute, and each face bore an indescribable sorrow and reluctance. The wind gently lifted their white robes, like fluttering paper cranes, attempting to add a touch of lightness to this arduous journey.

The old eunuch Wang Cheng, a servant who had experienced many hardships, was now overwhelmed with grief. He trembled as he held onto the edge of the coffin, each step feeling like a blow to his heart. Tears and sweat mingled, blurring his vision, but could not erase the deep sorrow he felt. He occasionally let out low sobs, the sounds piercing the surrounding silence and striking the softest part of people's hearts.

Along the way, countless pieces of paper money were gently scattered, dancing in the wind like countless white butterflies or twinkling starlight in the twilight, adding a touch of transcendence and poignant beauty to the funeral procession. Each piece of paper money carried the living's boundless longing and reluctance to part with the deceased; they swirled and fell in the air, eventually returning to dust, as if telling unfinished stories.

Just as the carriage slowly approached the city gate and was about to cross the city, a burst of hurried footsteps suddenly erupted from the crowd. Li Zhen, the usually calm and reserved man, was like a leaf swept by a gale, breaking through the crowd's restraints without regard for anything else. His figure was elongated in the afterglow of the setting sun, and every step seemed to carry endless sorrow and reluctance.

He was dressed in simple clothes, the hem of which swayed gently in the wind. His face was streaked with tears, like fallen leaves wet by autumn rain. Each tear carried a deep longing for the past and endless mourning for the deceased.

He lunged at the coffin of Emperor Huizong lying quietly in the carriage, as if trying with all his might to grasp the lost warmth and to make up for the regret of not being able to see the emperor one last time.

"Your Majesty—!" His cry pierced through the bustling crowd, striking the softest spot in people's hearts. His voice contained endless sorrow and despair, like the long howl of a lone wolf in the cold night, moving people to tears.

The surrounding air seemed to freeze, and every pair of eyes was deeply drawn to this scene. Even strangers were involuntarily moved by this deep emotion, tears welling up in their eyes before finally sliding down, merging with the sorrow of the world.

In the end, Li Zhen was grabbed by the Jin soldiers less than two meters away from the carriage. His outstretched hand seemed to flash with a white light, but to outsiders, it was Li Zhen expressing his grief to the deceased Emperor Huizong.