In recent years, his master’s temperament had changed considerably.

Ye Xiao’s devotion was genuine, of course, but in private, he dared not say so — in truth, the man had become somewhat unpredictable in his moods.

Just as had happened a moment ago: one moment showing compassion by gifting something, the next changing his mind for reasons unknown. In itself, that was nothing worth dwelling on.

The problem was that the words his master had let fall so carelessly were putting him in a most uncomfortable position.

That young lady of the Pu family was, no matter how one looked at it, still a young lady of good birth. More importantly, there was also the history between the Pu family and their side that had to be considered. His master could say whatever he wished on a whim, but Ye Xiao himself had once had dealings with the young lady’s father. After the founding of the present dynasty, to encourage population growth, the law stipulated that men could marry at fourteen and women at thirteen. If he had married early, he would now likely be old enough to be her father — to rebuke someone directly to her face about such matters, even merely acting as a messenger, was undeniably awkward.

His first thought upon leaving was to send the post station master in his place, as he had done just now. He summoned the man, but when the words reached the tip of his tongue, he found he could not bring himself to say them.

If he delivered the message himself, at most only he would know.

But if he passed it through the post station master, would that not mean one more person knowing that his master had spoken ill of the young lady?

That would not do.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ye Xiao waved his hand and dismissed the bewildered post station master, then set off reluctantly in pursuit.

Pu Zhu and A’Ju had already left the post station and were halfway back to the Yang family home when they suddenly heard a voice calling from behind. Turning to look, they were startled again — it was the scarfaced man from Li Xuandu’s side, hurrying to catch up. In a flash, a thought darted through Pu Zhu’s mind.

What was this about?

Had Li Xuandu belatedly thought to question her about the origins of the gold that Cui Xuan had handed over to him?

She was slightly on edge, watching as the man came to a stop before her — but then she saw him hand A’Ju something that looked like a money pouch. A’Ju opened it and glanced inside, then quickly looked toward Pu Zhu.

Ye Xiao said, “By the master’s orders, this is offered to assist the young lady in supplementing her household expenses.”

“I only just learned from the post station master’s words that you are the young lady of the Pu family.”

He added this by way of explanation.

So that was it!

Only then did Pu Zhu breathe a sigh of relief. She had been overthinking things.

Was this his pity at seeing a kindred misfortune — a fox mourning the death of a hare — prompting a surge of generosity?

If so, she would simply accept it.

She steadied herself. “Many thanks—”

But before she had finished the words, she saw the man raise his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“The master has another message, which he has charged me to convey to the young lady…”

Pu Zhu immediately nodded, composing herself to listen.

Ye Xiao turned his face aside, his gaze falling elsewhere, and in a flat, utterly toneless voice, rapid-fired: “A young lady should maintain a composed and dignified bearing, and guard her own purity and conduct.”

Pu Zhu’s lips parted slightly.

A’Ju was first stunned, then quickly became indignant.

Her young lady — pure, good-hearted, chaste, and virtuous — how could that man speak this way! What did he take her young lady for?

Her hands were even trembling slightly. She wanted to hurl the money pouch along with the tip she had received just moments ago right back at him. Yet she also understood the wisdom of bowing one’s head under another’s roof.

Her young lady was no longer what she once had been, with no one left to shelter her — and Ju herself even less so. If she acted recklessly, it would only bring trouble down on her young lady.

She gestured vigorously at the man, her mouth making sound after wordless sound, her eyes reddening.

Pu Zhu quickly came back to her senses, her mind clear as a mirror.

This was that Li Xuandu, mocking her over what had happened tonight.

Before this, she had only known him as a cunning schemer who had usurped the throne by treachery. She had not expected his pettiness to rival the eye of a needle.

She had spoken so many kind words on his behalf, Cui Xuan had even knelt down to apologize, and yet he still seized the opportunity to insult her.

His outward appearance was like a celestial being, yet inwardly he was this petty and small-minded.

She quickly linked her arm through A’Ju’s, which was still gesturing vigorously, and shook her head at her, signaling that there was no need to argue. She then turned to Ye Xiao, whose expression seemed to carry a trace of embarrassment, and with a smile, replied with utmost courtesy: “I shall keep it in mind. Many thanks to your master for the instruction. If I am able to reform myself hereafter, I certainly will.”

Ye Xiao was taken aback for a moment and gave her a glance.

On the way back, Pu Zhu spoke to her in gentle, soothing tones. A’Ju wiped away the tears of hurt that still reddened her eyes, and managed a reluctant smile.

A’mu, exhausted from a day’s labor, had fallen asleep. But Pu Zhu once again found herself unable to sleep.

She had not expected to encounter Li Xuandu here tonight.

In her previous life, she and Li Xuandu — this man she had addressed as Imperial Uncle, following the example of her husband — were naturally not strangers.

On many occasions — palace banquets, ancestral rites, or in the Penglai Palace of her paternal step-grandmother Jiang Shi — she had frequently crossed paths with him.

He had always scrupulously observed the proprieties befitting a clansman and imperial uncle, and she had done the same. Between them, nothing untoward had ever occurred.

Except for that one day.

Since waking in this life, she had more than once found herself wondering: if on that day in her previous life, she had not momentarily softened and done that foolish thing, what would the outcome have been afterward?

In the sixth year of Xiaochang — that is, around this same time next spring — there would be an epidemic in the regions surrounding the capital. The capital itself would also be affected, and Jiang Shi, the Grand Empress Dowager, would fall ill by misfortune. Already past seventy, she would pass away from this illness.

Three months later, the Xiaochang Emperor himself would escort the coffin, accompanying the Grand Empress Dowager’s remains to be interred at the Zhuang Mausoleum. During this journey, the party would halt at a stopping point where they would encounter an extremely dangerous assassination attempt, and the emperor himself would be wounded. The investigation that followed would determine that the assassins were connected to the Kingdom of Que, with incontrovertible evidence pointing to the likelihood that they had been dispatched by Que.

By this time, the emperor had only one remaining brother: Prince Qin. The Xiaochang Emperor, who had always treated this younger brother with great generosity, had never imagined that he would take advantage of the Grand Empress Dowager’s mourning period — when the emperor’s guard was down — to plot such a rebellion. Chilled to the heart and bitterly disillusioned, the emperor dispatched men to summon him for questioning, but he fled as a fugitive from his crime and disappeared without a trace, whereafter the emperor issued a great search order.

During that period, she, as Crown Princess, had been living at the traveling palace in the Tai Gardens to avoid the epidemic. That place was vast in expanse, with lush vegetation and a great lake and pond.

Even after the assassination attempt on the emperor, and although the epidemic around the capital had already subsided, she had not returned to the palace immediately.

It was on that very day that she, by complete chance, stumbled upon Li Xuandu hiding deep within the Tai Gardens.

His robes were stained with blood, his face white as paper, his eyes tightly shut, lying unconscious among the deep vegetation.

Judging from the fact that the wound on his back had already been carefully bandaged and the bleeding staunched, it was evident he had companions with him.

Or rather, someone within the Tai Gardens had secretly sheltered him.

Her first thought was to immediately call out for people to come and capture him, but just as she was about to cry out, she hesitated.

She recalled what she had witnessed that day in the funeral hall.

Prayer banners filling the sky, a thousand people clothed in white mourning dress.

He had knelt perfectly upright before his paternal step-grandmother’s coffin. His imperial elder brother before him, his nephew the Crown Prince at his side, and the hundreds of officials behind him — not one of them was not wailing in grief, their cries shaking the hall. He alone did not weep.

Pu Zhu had seen it with perfect clarity. He simply stared fixedly at his paternal step-grandmother’s memorial tablet, his expression vacant, the depths of his eyes blood-red, as though what was about to fall would not be tears, but drops of blood.

Because of his uncommonly beautiful appearance from childhood, there were many women in the palace who secretly admired him.

Before she arrived, Pu Zhu had heard a palace maid mention in passing that Prince Qin had already been kneeling there for a full night.

In that very moment, Pu Zhu had a feeling: amid the entire hall full of weeping and wailing, his grief alone was real.

He was so utterly alone.

This feeling of being solitary amid ten thousand people — she was actually no stranger to it.

When she withdrew, he was still kneeling there.

As if drawn by some inexplicable compulsion, she could not stop herself from quietly glancing back at him.

That retreating figure, white as snow, left such a deep impression at that single glance, that on that day, at that moment, as she stared at that pale, exquisitely handsome face lying amid the tangled weeds, after a great inner struggle, she suddenly softened.

In the end, she quietly slipped away, as though she had seen nothing and knew nothing. The next day, troubled in her heart, she made an excuse to go back and check, and found that the place where he had been was already empty. He was gone.

Perhaps he had been wrongly accused, and the assassination had not been carried out at his orders. Even if, taking the most extreme view, it truly had been his plot, the fury of the Son of Heaven would be more than the Kingdom of Que could withstand. Without Que to back him, even if he managed by some stroke of luck to escape alive, he would be like an eagle with broken wings from that point forward, no longer capable of stirring up any waves.

Letting him go would pose no threat to her husband.

And so, in the end, she finally convinced herself.

Later she came to understand that she had truly been too young then, and too foolish — utterly unaware of how grave a mistake she had committed.

After the turmoil settled, the official account held that he had fallen into the water and drowned during the pursuit. The Xiaochang Emperor then dispatched a great force to attack the Kingdom of Que. The King of Que was killed, and the remaining people of Que vanished overnight, taking their remaining wealth and abandoning the land where generations of their ancestors had lived, disappearing without a trace. This ancient realm, whose history stretched back nearly a thousand years, was thus extinguished in a single night.

After that matter was put to rest, there were no more hidden dangers within the realm, yet before peace had lasted more than a few years, the great tide of events shifted once more.

In the tenth year of Xiaochang — four years later — Princess Imperial Jinxi had by then been a widow for many years. Her eldest son had previously inherited the throne, but in this year, the young King of the Western Di died of a sudden illness without leaving any descendants; her younger son, born earlier, had also died by accident in the capital years before. With no heir, the throne passed to the nephew of the old King of Western Di.

That branch of the royal family had taken women from the Eastern Di royal clan as wives, and was closely allied with Eastern Di, with intentions of joining forces to march south and divide the Central Plains. And the misfortunes of the Princess Imperial did not stop there: after her husband and sons were dead, according to the customs of their people, she was required to marry a middle-aged nephew who had long coveted her. As a princess sent in diplomatic marriage, she did not even have the right to choose to end her own life.

Half a year later, she died of depression and grief.

In the very year following her death, the Eastern and Western Di united to attack the Central Plains. The Xiaochang Emperor entrusted the National Uncle General Chen Zhude — who had risen to prominence in recent years — with leading the army to meet them in battle.

Chen Zhude had pledged his confidence before the campaign, and moreover had led troops on several previous occasions with decent results. So this time, the emperor placed him in a position of great trust.

But this time, he was defeated. Not only did he die himself, he also allowed the Di cavalry to breach the Great Wall, and all the territory of He Xi was lost.

With He Xi fallen, it was not only He Xi that was lost — it was tantamount to losing the entire Xiyu. One arm of the empire, cleanly severed.

The outcome of that battle was utterly catastrophic. The subsequent campaigns to retake the territory also ended in failure, and what was more, territory in the northern regions adjacent to He Xi was also successively lost — more than ten prefectures and counties in all.

Just as public outrage was surging throughout the court and beyond, the situation in He Xi changed.

An army advanced eastward from Xiyu, breached Yumen Pass, and after fierce fighting, dealt a crushing defeat to the Di forces garrisoned in He Xi, recapturing He Xi in one stroke along with the northern prefectures and counties that had been lost one after another.

This army turned out to be none other than the Que warriors who, after the fall of their kingdom years before, had vanished without a trace.

Their commander was none other than Prince Qin — Li Xuandu — the man who had allegedly attempted to assassinate his elder brother and been presumed dead.

When the Xiaochang Emperor received the news, his heart ailment struck on the spot. As it happened, the palace attendants at his side had failed to bring the heart medicine, and the imperial physicians were unable to save him in time. He died that very night.

It was in this same year that Pu Zhu became Empress, yet she held the title of Empress for less than two years before everything came to an end.

The Crown Prince Li Chengyu, who had always harbored ambitions of military glory at the frontiers, naturally would not allow He Xi to remain in such a form under Li Xuandu’s control after ascending the throne. He dispatched envoys to negotiate with Li Xuandu, promising to forever pardon his old crimes and enfeoff him as King of He Xi, on condition that he lead He Xi back under the court’s authority.

Li Xuandu refused.

At this point, the young emperor finally thought of a man — a man long forgotten in a corner of the empire, the former divine general, the Marquis of Pingyang, Jiang Yi.

Li Chengyu sent envoys to see Jiang Yi, who was still raising horses on the frontier, re-enfeoffed him as Grand General, and ordered him to lead troops to suppress the rebellion and reclaim the territory of He Xi for the empire.

That year, Jiang Yi was fifty years old.

He had come at thirty-five, in the full prime of his vigor, and now that he was finally remembered, his hair had turned white as snow.

He refused the emperor’s command and spoke one sentence: “From the day He Xi fell, Jiang Yi has been waiting — yet the envoy has never come. Jiang Yi could offer his broken body to kill the Di and serve the nation, but Prince Qin is not a Di barbarian. I respectfully decline.”

When her emperor husband learned of the envoy’s report, he commanded Jiang Yi to take his own life in his fury.

She had not been in the palace at the time; upon receiving the news she hurried back to remonstrate, and ultimately persuaded him to rescind the order — yet it was already too late.

The first imperial edict had already arrived.

It was said that Jiang Yi, upon receiving the edict, without a moment’s hesitation, drew his sword across his own throat on the spot, and blood splattered three feet.

With the fall of this divine general, many in the army spontaneously donned mourning for Jiang Yi of their own accord, and no prohibition could stop them.

The consequences of this affair were without question enormous. One could even say it affected the morale and fortunes of the entire court in the period that followed.

Although Li Chengyu was deeply remorseful afterward, his pride prevented him from yielding, so he modeled himself on his grandfather Mingzong, personally coordinating arrangements and selecting talented men, dispatching forces to attack his imperial uncle. However, the first engagement did not go well, and that very night, soldiers in the military camp mutinied, killed their commander, and went over to Li Xuandu.

When the news arrived, the powerful minister Shen Yang and the Senior Princess colluded to seize the moment and cause turmoil. Shen Yang successfully forced his way into the palace. Her husband, the empire’s young emperor, thus died by violence in this manner.

Shen Yang and the Senior Princess enthroned the youngest grandson of the former Prince of Chu as the new emperor and manipulated the affairs of state, while she, under the pretext of observing mourning for the former emperor, was sent to the Wanshou Taoist Temple in Changling.

In this mountain Taoist temple where Li Xuandu had also once lived for three years, she existed like a prisoner. Half a year later, one day she heard news that Li Xuandu’s forces were closing in on the capital and would soon enter the city.

Shen Yang had coveted her beauty for many years, and had simply not dared to act before. During the half year she was imprisoned in the Wanshou Temple, he had come several times to harass her, and she had refused him with sharp words each time. The last time it became a crisis, she threatened to die rather than submit, and he left sulkily.

She had been terrified at the time, wanting to flee, but the world was vast and she did not know where to run. With no plan in mind, she thought of the old matter of having once let Li Xuandu escape.

Clinging to the last shred of hope, a trusted attendant at her side managed to evade the soldiers guarding her, and set off with her personal letter to find Li Xuandu, hoping he could lend her a hand.

But her hope came to nothing.

The trusted attendant returned later and said that Prince Qin had been found, but he was mounted on horseback, surrounded by a dense escort, marching on the road. The attendant had cried out with all his might, straining to give chase, but amid the rolling tide of horses and carriages, ceaselessly flowing, the other party had never once looked back, and swiftly rode away, leaving only a retreating figure, lofty and unreachable, growing ever more distant.

That night, she climbed alone to the top of the precipice, intending to jump to her death, yet was afraid of the pain of dying. In the end she sat beside the great boulder where Li Xuandu was said to have spent the night out in the open once, and wept until dawn.

Three days later, the He Xi army entered the capital. Shen Yang killed the Senior Princess and fled, passing through Changling, where he sent men to abduct her as a traveling companion. She struggled with all her might and fell from the back of a galloping horse, and thus she died.

Such was the whole of her past life.

One could say she had died in a manner that was quite lacking in dignity.

But then, from the age of eight onward, her life had never truly been dignified again.

During the time of being exiled to the frontier, she had endured hardship day by day. After becoming Crown Princess, in order to hold onto Li Chengyu’s heart and secure her position, she had paid a very great price.

Li Chengyu was fond of polo, so to cater to his preferences, she secretly hired someone to teach her and, at the risk of falling from the horse and breaking her neck, painstakingly trained herself in horsemanship and ball skills until she became exceptionally accomplished — even on par with men — and could partner with him on the field. He was greatly pleased, and from then on regarded her in a completely different light.

Li Chengyu pursued military glory at the frontier, so she picked up the languages of foreign peoples that she had learned a little of from her father in childhood, and later became able to converse directly and fluently with envoys from the Western Regions at state banquets, to the astonishment of all present, making him feel greatly honored.

She had also once faced grave danger, caught off guard and nearly losing her life to someone’s schemes.

In the year after she became Crown Princess, she fell ill on one occasion, and after taking medicine, bled uncontrollably, nearly losing her life. Although her life was ultimately preserved, she was from then on unable to bear children; it was later discovered that she had been harmed by someone.

This lesson transformed her, as if into a different person. In the years that followed, she successively ousted four or five women who competed with her for favor, and at last firmly secured her position, holding Li Chengyu tightly in the palm of her hand, the most favored in the rear palace.

He had naturally been caring toward her, and considering that she could not bear children, to stabilize her position, he had even adopted sons born of other consorts and given them to her to raise.

She had never wished for exclusive favor, nor did she care whether she had it. Even after becoming Empress, in order to establish a reputation for herself as a wise and virtuous consort, she would take the initiative to encourage the emperor to bestow favor upon his other consorts — of course, in the emperor husband’s presence, she also needed to let him see that she herself was reluctant, that she was jealous, yet was able to fully understand his difficulties.

The more she did this, the more firmly she held a man’s heart.

Li Chengyu was greatly taken with her appearance and told her that from the first moment he saw her, he had liked her. And in moments of deep tenderness, he said more than once that he loved her, for all eternity, and that if there were another lifetime, and they could be an ordinary husband and wife, he would certainly be with her for one lifetime, with no one else in between.

At the time, Pu Zhu had naturally appeared deeply moved, but in her heart she understood perfectly well that this was nothing more than words spoken in the moment — not to be taken as truth.

Even the most beautiful appearance would one day fade, and when beauty waned, love too would cool — such was human nature. And within the imperial palace, what was never lacking was women younger and more beautiful than she.

She did not believe in men’s pledges of undying love to her.

What she wanted was not the emperor’s love, but a stable position and a foreseeable future.

As for her own joys and sorrows — those were irrelevant, and she had no need to pour them out to anyone.

Originally she had done very well.

But all of it ended just like that, like a golden millet dream.

In this life, from the day she awoke from that high fever, she had known what she wanted and what she should do hereafter.

Li Chengyu was certainly not perfect, but in her previous life he had not wronged her. On the contrary, Pu Zhu knew that he had given of himself as best he could for her sake.

Where in this world was there a perfect husband? And even if there were, it would not be hers.

So in this life, she not only intended to once again become the Empress she had been, but also to change the fate of her previous life.

In the days since her rebirth, she had repeatedly reviewed every detail of her past life, and regarding the future, things had gradually grown clear in her mind.

Although her previous life had been full of turbulent and chaotic events, if one stripped away the complexities and analyzed the essentials, the most fatal risks and mistakes she had made could be summarized in the following few points.

The first was the loss of control over the Western Di, which directly led to the subsequent changes in He Xi and the north. If in this life she could change this situation — allowing the prince born of Princess Imperial Jinxi to firmly control the Western Di — then this hidden danger could be eliminated entirely.

The second was Jiang Yi. If she could bring Jiang Yi under her wing early on, restore this once-divine general to importance, and win his allegiance to her side, then with him present, even if the Western Di were once again to spiral out of control in this lifetime, it would not result in the grave consequence of losing He Xi and the entire Xiyu as it had before.

The third…

Pu Zhu lay with her eyes closed, her eyelashes trembling faintly.

The third was Li Xuandu.

In this life, she absolutely would not be as soft-hearted and foolish as before, allowing herself to be bewitched into letting her enemy go.

If next year the same events truly unfolded as in her previous life — if his assassination attempt failed, he was instead wounded, and went into hiding in the Tai Gardens — she would, without a moment’s hesitation, have this man who had been plotting to usurp the throne since the age of sixteen done away with, eliminating the danger entirely.