In the first year of Jianwu, on the night of the palace coup, I nearly killed the future emperor with my own hands.
By the pond in the Cold Palace, he was covered in blood. He grabbed me by the throat and shoved me underwater. I couldn't break free or see his face. All I knew was that I had to survive.
I felt around for a rock and slammed it hard into the back of his head.
Blood stained the water red. He let go and toppled into the pond.
I thought he was dead and collapsed to the ground in terror.
But the next day, he woke up.
He sat beside my humble bed, his head wrapped in white cloth. He looked at me with a bewildered expression I had never seen before and asked, “Who are you? Did you save me?”
I looked at his face, the face of the man who had personally signed the imperial decree ordering my entire family executed.
I smiled, more meekly than I ever had before.
“Your Majesty, this servant is called Queque.”
