Chapter 4: Twin Lotus Blossoms—One Yin, One Yang, Never to Meet

Song Rongzhi’s hand had already picked up the damp cloth and was moving toward her back.

Tang Chaochao instinctively tried to dodge, but then heard a sigh from him.

“Chaochao, don’t resent your father. Back then, he had no choice but to send you away.”

His voice caught with emotion, as if recalling some painful memory.

Tang Chaochao softened her body, wanting to hear more, and allowed Song Rongzhi to wipe her back. Her mother’s touch was gentle, bringing back memories of her childhood when the old Taoist taught her to bathe herself and handed her a loofah, telling her only with that could she truly clean herself.

Little Chaochao naturally believed him and began scrubbing her skin raw. At first, she cried out in pain and asked if everyone’s bath hurt this much. The old Taoist cryptically replied, “Only by enduring the bitterest hardships can one become superior.” The poor child believed him and suffered for years.

Song Rongzhi’s hands moved steadily, his thoughts drifting back sixteen years to the night she gave birth. It was a stormy night, the rain pouring down heavily, stirring unrest in everyone’s hearts. Yet she went into labor despite the weather. The household midwives were ready, so things were not entirely chaotic.

Her labor was difficult, as she was carrying twins. Her agonized screams made Tang Wu, waiting anxiously in the courtyard, even more uneasy. After delivering the first child, she showed signs of severe hemorrhaging. The sky flashed with lightning and thunder, as if foretelling misfortune.

After the first child was born, Song Rongzhi fainted. The midwives were helpless. Just as everyone despaired, a servant reported a wandering old Taoist had arrived outside. Tang Wu, distracted, initially ordered the servant to send him away, but the Taoist’s next words made him reconsider.

“Today, the general’s wife faces great peril. I can save her.”

This old Taoist was the master who had raised Tang Chaochao for sixteen years.

Invited into the backyard, the Taoist took a pill from his bosom and handed it to Tang Wu.

“This is a life-saving elixir, General. It will protect your wife and the unborn children.”

Tang Wu hesitated, but before he could decide, the midwife rushed out in panic.

“General, it’s bad! The lady is hemorrhaging severely!”

Historically, massive bleeding during childbirth was a near-certain death sentence for women.

Without hesitation, Tang Wu took the pill and rushed into the delivery room.

Strangely, as soon as the pill was forced into Song Rongzhi’s mouth, she slowly opened her eyes. Seeing Tang Wu with reddened eyes beside her, she was momentarily confused, wondering how he had entered the delivery room.

Her labor pains resumed.

Tang Wu immediately called the midwife, who was slumped outside. Soon, the second child was born—much weaker than the first, clearly frail and unlikely to survive.

The doctor shook his head helplessly after examining the fragile infant.

Tang Wu thought of the old Taoist outside. The pill had not only saved his wife but had stopped the hemorrhaging. Surely the Taoist had a way.

He carried the newborn outside. The rain still poured, and the air was biting cold. The Taoist stood under the eaves like a sage from another world. He glanced at the swaddled infant and sighed.

“Twin lotus flowers bloom as two, one yin and one yang, never to meet.”

Tang Wu asked, puzzled.

“What do you mean, Taoist?”

The old Taoist looked up.

“General, your life has been full of killing. To save one, the other cannot survive.”

Tang Wu staggered back, realizing that because of him, this was the fate of his children—and almost his wife too.

For the first time, the man who was usually resolute spoke with pleading.

“Taoist, please, save my daughter.”

The Taoist looked to the sky and saw a shooting star pass by. Then he said,

“Fate is thus; even I cannot break it. But if you entrust this baby girl to me, I can ensure she grows up safely. As for your other daughter, if she can live to seventeen, she will be free of harm from then on.”

Tang Wu understood perfectly: if the weaker one died today, the elder would live past seventeen; if the weaker survived, the elder would likely die before then.

Looking at the tiny face turning purple in the swaddling clothes, Tang Wu’s heart ached fiercely. As a father, how could he watch his child die before his eyes?

In the end, he entrusted the younger daughter to the Taoist and named her Chaochao—a name he and his wife had long planned.

The Taoist took the child and warned,

“For sixteen years, you must not see this child. Perhaps then this calamity can be avoided.”

Having said this, he turned and walked away without looking back.

Strangely, as the Taoist left, the storm ceased.

Tang Wu watched the figure disappear into the night, clinging to hope.

Perhaps if he guarded his elder daughter well, both his children could survive sixteen years from now.

Hearing this, Tang Chaochao’s heart trembled.

The Taoist was her master; no one knew better than her what he was capable of. Even with his power, he could not save both her and her sister. Thus, her sister’s death was fate.

No matter how much Tang Wu tried to protect her, her sister’s death was inevitable.

But did Tang Chaochao believe in fate? No. She only knew there was something suspicious about her sister’s death.

The Taoist had said that if her sister lived to seventeen, she would not die. Tang Chaochao was determined to find the real culprit and make them pay.

Song Rongzhi watched her younger daughter’s face grow solemn. She sighed and continued.

“Your sister was originally healthy and free of illness. You grew up safely in the mountains. Your father and I believed that no matter what, after one more year, our family would be reunited.”

Tang Chaochao, seeing her mother choke on her words, reached out to gently stroke her shoulder, urging her to continue.

Song Rongzhi placed her hand over her daughter’s and, eyes red, said,

“A month ago, the Emperor suddenly decreed a marriage: your sister was to be given to the Crown Prince as his bride.”

Tang Chaochao frowned.

“So her death is connected to this arranged marriage?”

Song Rongzhi shook her head.

“That’s only your father’s speculation. Someone didn’t want the Crown Prince to have the support of the Tang family. Perhaps that’s why your sister…”

Her voice trailed off, tears falling like broken pearls.

Tang Chaochao’s heart ached for her mother. Knowing that her parents had not deliberately abandoned her with the Taoist, she felt some relief.

But the Taoist—she clenched her fists. She would settle that score with him sooner or later.

They say those who cultivate the Tao seek freedom and ease. Yet this old man’s heart was so cruel. If he had told her the truth, she wouldn’t have harbored resentment all these years.

When she was little, every month she received a letter from the family, but she never replied. Gradually, the letters from the general’s household stopped altogether.

(The Taoist once said: “Stubborn girl, if I told you the truth, would you really stay quietly in the mountains? My good intentions, what do you understand?”)