Ngô Tuấn, the Imperial Guard Commandant, bent down. His strong hands deftly removed the heavy shackles from Chế Củ's ankles and wrists. His movements were practiced and precise. Yet, his gaze briefly flickered toward the slender and graceful figure of Princess Chiêu Hoàng, who was running toward the fence gate of Thái Hoa Palace..
She was hurriedly preparing for the long journey ahead. Her demeanor was both resolute and urgent, like a young bird poised to leave its nest, ready to spread its wings and soar toward an unfamiliar horizon.
Ngô Tuấn's mind sank into a quiet reverie, where dreams and reality intertwined, stirring an unrest in his heart. After three rounds of chess today, he would pass through the Northern Gate, leaving the citadel of Thăng Long behind, taking with him the woman he loved. He would abandon this splendid but constraining imperial city.
But to where? He had never thought of a specific destination. Perhaps a dreamy riverside, where gentle waves lapped quietly against the shore, where only he and she could live a serene, pastoral life, unburdened by the affairs of the world, heedless of fame or glory, like Phạm Lãi and Tây Thi of old time.
Phạm Lãi, the brilliant chancellor of the state of Yue, had forsaken everything—honor, career, and country—to sail with the beautiful Tây Thi on the Five Lakes, living a life of freedom. If Phạm Lãi, a highest-ranking official of the Yue state, could do it, why couldn't he, Ngô Tuấn, a mere Imperial Guard Commandant of Đại Việt?
Ngô Tuấn gave a faint smile at the whimsical comparison. But his smile carried a trace of bitterness. He knew such a dream was not as simple as the romantic tales of love. Within him, a silent storm of conflict was brewing. As a military commander of the court, he had sworn loyalty to the Emperor, to Đại Việt, to the land of Thăng Long for which he had shed blood to protect. Every sword stroke he delivered in the Vijaya campaign, every step he took on the battlefield, carried his burning devotion to king and country. Yet now, his heart whispered of a different path-a path of freedom, of love, of days unbound by the court or duty.
He wondered: Was abandoning everything a form of betrayal? Was the dream of a pastoral life with Princess Chiêu Hoàng worth sacrificing the honor of a warrior, the solemn oath he had sworn before the Emperor, before his homeland? Phạm Lãi and Tây Thi were a symbol, but also a burden. They had chosen love and freedom. But Ngô Tuấn was unsure if he dared to cross the line between duty and desired love.
Clang!
The sound of the iron shackles falling from Chế Củ's wrists onto the stone floor snapped Ngô Tuấn back to reality. He gripped the chain tightly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the prisoner before him. Chế Củ was no ordinary man. In the Vijaya campaign, Ngô Tuấn had exerted all his strength, employing every ounce of martial skill and strategy to subdue and capture him alive.
Had Chế Củ not chosen to stay behind to cover his troops' retreat, had his mind not been clouded by defeat, had he faced Ngô Tuấn in peak condition, the outcome might have been different. Ngô Tuấn knew this well. It was precisely this that made him unable to withhold his respect for the man.
But what truly astonished, even horrified him, was the action of Emperor Lý Thánh Tông the previous day. In that moment, when the Emperor bent down and extended a hand to help Chế Củ to his feet, Ngô Tuấn's heart seemed to stop. With Chế Củ's martial skills, he could have easily overpowered or even killed the Emperor on the spot.
A lightning-fast strike or a swift move would have been enough for him to escape. Yet he did nothing. He stood still, his gaze calm, devoid of any petty scheming. Ngô Tuấn couldn't comprehend it. Was it the Emperor's magnanimity and virtue that stayed his hand? Or was it because Chế Củ, a man of great honor, could not bring himself to strike down the hand that lifted him or harm the one who showed him mercy?
Whatever the reason, that act changed Ngô Tuấn's view of Chế Củ. From an enemy, he became a paragon of honor and dignity in Ngô Tuấn's eyes. The Emperor's action deepened Ngô Tuấn's admiration. A king, standing before an enemy who had once brought turmoil to the nation, chose to lower himself and raise that enemy with his own hands.
It was not merely magnanimity but a declaration of compassion and the grandeur of a true sovereign. Ngô Tuấn wondered: If he were in Chế Củ's place, would he have the resolve not to seize that moment? And if he were in the Emperor's place, would he have the courage to place such trust in an enemy?
Both men, Lý Thánh Tông and Chế Củ, were like two sides of a mirror, reflecting the noble qualities Ngô Tuấn yearned for but also making him feel small. They were emperors and great men, while he was merely a humble commander with unfulfilled dreams of love.
That was why, when he told Princess Chiêu Hoàng that Chế Củ would never kneel and pledge allegiance to the Emperor, his voice was firm, resolute as iron. It wasn't out of disdain for Chế Củ but because he understood that a man of such pride and honor would rather die than submit. It was a quality Ngô Tuấn both admired and shared. He, too, carried that same pride. And now, he stood at a crossroads in his life, forced to choose: Loyalty to the Emperor, to Đại Việt, or the call of his heart.
He nodded to Chế Củ, his voice low but clear:
"Please proceed to the hall. My authority ends here."
Chế Củ returned a slight nod. His eyes were calm, yet deep within them seemed to lie an untold story. He ascended the stone steps of Thái Hòa Hall, his stride steady, without a hint of hesitation.
Ngô Tuấn watched the prisoner's stepping figure. His heart remained torn. Faced with the choice between honor and love, he could not walk as resolutely as Chế Củ. He lingered in dreams of Phạm Lãi and Tây Thi, of a life of freedom he wasn't sure he dared to reach for.