On the night of Chinese Valentine's Day, a beacon fire suddenly broke out at the border pass. The enemy troops pressed on the border, and Yanmen Pass was in danger. I wrote a letter all night and urgently reported to the capital to ask for help from my husband. He is the king of Zhenbei and the only person in Daliang who can lead the cavalry to rescue the siege. He wrote anxiously: "Don't be afraid, Xue, please come home soon." But three days later, the sun was blocked by smoke outside the pass, the city was running out of ammunition and food, and the reinforcements had not yet arrived. I knelt down with my gun broken, covered in blood, and one after another the carrier pigeons asked him about his whereabouts. But all he saw was that the city wall collapsed, his father and brother were stabbed in the chest with spears, and all his soldiers were killed or injured. There were ninety-nine homing pigeons, but they all disappeared into the sea. When the city was destroyed, I was covered in blood and hiding under the ruins, but I heard the caravan returning in triumph talking. During the Chinese Valentine's Day, in order to make the princess smile, the King of Zhenbei shot 99 white pigeons with his bow and arrow at the Qiuwei hunting ground. In the scroll in their hands, he tied the fox fur on her with his own hands. He said, "A trivial matter at the border is not as valuable as a princess's daughter." It turned out that my ninety-nine homing pigeons had never flown out of his hunting ground. The lives of 30,000 people at the border, and my screams of blood and tears, are nothing compared to the eldest princess's smile.
