Written After Yun Ci’s Death
I know that once today’s chapter is released, I’m bound to be overwhelmed by criticism. But Yun Ci’s ending was something I hinted at indirectly in my previous work, “Fallen Phoenix,” and it was a tone I set from the very beginning.
My purpose in writing this story was never to portray a tragic romance between people of vastly different status, nor was it to create a sorrowful male protagonist who would trade his life for another’s out of unwavering devotion. I have my own intentions as a writer.
In this world, all of us will eventually face the loss of those close to us. Perhaps many readers of “A Concubine’s Heart” are still young and have not yet experienced such loss. But in truth, those who leave us—whether family, lovers, friends, or mentors—are often good people. Some have had lives filled with brilliance, while others have passed quietly and without renown.
When we lose them, we are overcome with grief, just as Chu Xiu, Madam Xie, Shen Yu, and the others mourn Yun Ci. After all, no one can escape birth, aging, illness, and death. Yet after their passing, those of us who remain must carry our attachments to this world and continue forward—whether in solitude or in the company of others.
Thus, only now is the true purpose of “A Concubine’s Heart” beginning to emerge: it is about promise, courage, protection, and rebirth—a promise to the departed, the courage to change oneself, perseverance through hardship, and the renewal of love.
From here, the focus of the story will shift to Chu Xiu’s transformation and rise, the fate of the Yun family, the ebb and flow of the Yun, Shen, Ming, and Helian clans, and, most importantly, Chu Xiu’s new relationships and marriage. There will also be depictions of the broader era, for I want to show that the fate of every character is inseparable from the tide of their times and the unity of the nation.
Perhaps many elements in the story are exaggerated and may not be encountered in real life, but I believe this narrative will nonetheless resonate with readers, for all my inspiration springs from life itself.
No matter how many readers may abandon the story after Yun Ci’s death, I was prepared for this from the moment I began writing. I am grateful for the deep affection you have shown him. He is the character I have felt most heartache for thus far. His death, his lack of heirs—perhaps they are cruel fates, but isn’t every sudden loss of a kind soul in this world equally cruel?
At the very least, Yun Ci will live forever in the heroine’s heart, and even in the hearts of all the male characters in this story. No matter who the new male lead may be, Yun Ci will remain an insurmountable barrier in their hearts, both a source of hesitation and motivation in their love for Chu Xiu.
I myself am eager to see if I can write Chu Xiu’s new love well—reasonably, and in a way that allows readers to accept it anew. After all, she is like a flower in full bloom; none of us wish for her to remain in perpetual mourning, forever trapped in memories and sorrow.
In the end, I want to say to every woman who has experienced the pain of failed love or marriage: I hope you can find renewed love, just as Chu Xiu does. This is also my blessing for my loved ones and friends.
Once again, thank you all for your support. For someone like me who has always struggled to be ruthless, being able to write a separation of life and death in “A Concubine’s Heart” marks a step forward in my writing and an improvement in my resilience.
That’s all I have to say. In closing, I thank you once more. Regardless of what support the future may hold, I am grateful for the time we have shared together.