Guo Lang’s relationship with Pu Zhu’s grandfather Pu Youzhi was of a most peculiar nature — at once friendship and rivalry.

As friends, the two had studied under the same master in their youth, attending lectures side by side and sharing the same quarters, a closeness at one time as intimate as that of brothers.

As rivals, once they had entered officialdom, their political views had diverged. In matters of scholarship as well, each had published writings championing his own school of thought; thirty years ago they had even arranged a public debate at the capital’s Lantai Academy, to prove the validity of their respective schools and arguments.

That debate at the Lantai had drawn an audience of thousands — students from the Imperial Academy and scholars from the surrounding districts. It was after that debate that Pu Zhu’s grandfather rose to great fame, attracting throngs of followers and eventually becoming a leading figure of his generation in learning. Guo Lang had lost, publicly conceded defeat at the time, yet from that point on the bond between former classmates grew distant, and the two men gradually drifted apart with little further contact.

This estrangement proved a fortunate turn for Guo Lang; it was precisely because of this that when, many years later in the thirty-ninth year of Xuanning, Pu Youzhi was caught up in the case of Crown Prince Liang’s attempted insurrection and many were implicated, Guo Lang emerged without a scratch.

Not only that — benefiting from that brutal purge, he had not only taken over as Grand Ceremony Director, rising in a single step to become the foremost of the nine senior ministers, but two years later, when Emperor Xiaochang ascended the throne, was selected on the strength of his moral reputation to serve as Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince. From that point on, Guo Lang’s standing in the court became prominent indeed, gathering disciples about him, and there were quiet murmurs that his influence was approaching a parity with that of his former classmate Pu Youzhi from their shared past.

Yet in the end, he was no Pu Youzhi.

First among the nine senior ministers was an honorable rank, yet above it stood the Three Dukes — and Pu Youzhi in his day had held a place among the Three Dukes. That final step in the ascent was something Guo Lang could afford to wait for. His standing as Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince meant that as long as the Crown Prince did not commit an error as catastrophic as that of the Liang Crown Prince all those years ago, his eventual elevation to the Three Dukes was no mere fantasy.

Yet Pu Youzhi had possessed one thing further: the title of literary sage.

To spread one’s name through learning, to establish a school of thought, to win the heartfelt reverence of all scholars in the realm and be acclaimed as a supreme master — this was something he might well fail to achieve, even if the Emperor himself made him a teacher. Particularly in recent years, as his own prestige had grown, the memory of his public defeat in the Lantai debate gnawed at him more and more keenly, becoming ever more difficult to reconcile. He had never been able to lay it to rest.

Pity that Pu Youzhi was already dead, and there could never again be a second Lantai debate in which he might vindicate himself.

To achieve immortality by leaving behind an enduring legacy — this was the ultimate dream and lifelong aspiration of every scholar-official who had entered government service and possessed any ambition at all.

What constitutes an enduring legacy?

The highest is the establishment of virtue, the next is the establishment of achievement, the next is the establishment of words.

To establish virtue: to create institutions, to spread benefit broadly. To establish achievement: to rescue from adversity and hardship, to render service of value to one’s era.

These two, Guo Lang understood with self-awareness, might require the alignment of heavenly timing, earthly advantage, and human harmony — along with talent of a kind that does not arise in every generation — before such merit could be earned. He knew in his own heart that he might well never have such an opportunity in this life, nor such capacity.

What he could pursue was the establishment of words.

To become a great literary figure and sage, a leader of the scholarly community — surpassing Pu Youzhi, even exceeding him — this was the ambition Guo Lang had buried in the depths of his heart for many long years.

Now, because of that bolt of lightning that had shattered the Mingzong Temple, Guo Lang, with a sharpness of mind, connected this “portent” with his own long-held ambition. Perhaps this was an opportunity that heaven itself was granting him.

If he could seize this occasion to clear the name of his former classmate Pu Youzhi, then the matter of the Lantai defeat would be utterly beneath consideration. Not only would the luster around him surpass that of Pu Youzhi, but even the scholars and officials who had suffered by association in the case involving Pu Youzhi would feel deep gratitude toward him — and he would be acclaimed without question as the great literary figure and sage, the leader of the scholarly community.

What manner of man had Pu Youzhi been? Had he truly been the mastermind behind Crown Prince Liang’s attempted seizure of power — or had he simply been unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire between Emperor and Crown Prince, cut down by the blade that slashed between them? This point was understood in every heart, including Guo Lang’s. Yet to have his case reopened and his name cleared, if this were attempted at any ordinary time, was all but impossible — for it would mean questioning the judgment of the late Emperor.

And the reason he dared to contemplate this seemingly impossible idea at all was that he had caught the scent of a faint possibility.

The current Emperor was different from the late Emperor. He was assiduously cultivating the Crown Prince, helping him build his prestige — especially these past two years, as the Crown Prince had reached adulthood with his capping ceremony, this tendency had become even more pronounced.

So he had done one thing: he had arranged a secret meeting with General of the Left Shangguan Yong.

Shangguan Yong was the Crown Prince’s maternal uncle, one of the powerful officials at court, and the father of the deceased former Crown Princess.

Shangguan Yong subsequently went to the palace for a private audience with the Emperor, saying that with the late Emperor’s temple hall struck by lightning and set ablaze, the people’s hearts were unsettled — and moreover he had learned of another piece of news. After the death of Pu Youzhi — the convicted official of the late Emperor’s reign — his local associates had built a tomb for him, and on the same night that lightning had struck and set fire to the late Emperor’s temple hall, a great brilliance had appeared above the grave — its light blazing with the sharpness of rays. Many people in the surrounding countryside had witnessed it with their own eyes, and it had not faded until daybreak. Afterward rumors had spread everywhere, saying that Pu Youzhi had in truth died unjustly, and that this was a heavenly sign expressing indignation on his behalf.

Shangguan Yong asked the Emperor how to deal with those spreading these rumors.

The Emperor did not appear angry; he neither affirmed nor denied.

Shangguan Yong understood the meaning, and three days after leaving the palace, the memorial from Crown Prince Grand Tutor Guo Lang requesting a review of Pu Youzhi’s old case was submitted.

When the memorial appeared, the court officials were stunned. At first they fell into a frightened silence — not a single person dared speak. But once it became evident that the Emperor had not erupted in rage to punish Guo Lang, the following day officials began gradually rising in support, and within a few days more the entire civil and military court had submitted memorials saying that sentiment among the populace was rising and the people’s hearts were deeply stirred. The Emperor accordingly acceded to the popular will and issued a decree commanding the Crown Prince to oversee and conduct the reinvestigation of the case.

Crown Prince Li Chengyu had only just returned to the capital from pacifying the frontier in He Xi a few days earlier; undaunted by the weariness of the road, he immediately launched the investigation. Before long, the truth was established. The official of the Guanglu Temple by the surname Gao who had originally submitted the memorial accusing Pu Youzhi of being the mastermind behind the Crown Prince Liang conspiracy had acted entirely out of personal grudge, fabricating evidence to frame the minister. The Crown Prince presented the findings and submitted his report; the court officials were outraged and denounced the official surnamed Gao for using public power to settle private scores, deceiving the sovereign, and thereby bringing about a miscarriage of justice — causing the court to lose an able and loyal official. His crime was unpardonable.

The Emperor ordered the full extermination of the accuser’s household, extending to three clans by kinship, as a way of offering solace to the wronged spirit, as well as to serve as a warning to others. Pu Youzhi’s name was posthumously cleared, and he was granted a posthumous noble rank and honorary title. The officials who had been demoted or exiled for their association with him were reinstated one by one; the scholars among them had their status restored and were permitted to enter the civil service.

This matter had enormous impact. It became the central focus of court sessions for a time, and throughout the populace there was widespread praise: for the current Emperor’s sagacious decisiveness, for the Crown Prince’s astute competence, for the loyal and steadfast integrity of Grand Tutor Pu, for the righteous and forthright courage of Grand Tutor Guo.

After the case was closed, Guo Lang came to be regarded by the scholarly community as a man of virtue; and through his role in resolving the case, the Crown Prince earned lavish commendation from both officials and scholars. When everything had finally settled, an imperial edict was also dispatched from the capital to He Xi, summoning Pu Youzhi’s only granddaughter, Pu Zhu, to the capital to receive the court’s compensation and bestowal of honors.

This was the complete account of how Pu Zhu came to leave He Xi and return to the capital.

In her previous life it had been so, and in this life it was the same.

The day the edict arrived, the entire Commander’s Residence was in a state of excitement at the arrival of the imperial envoy.

For Pu Zhu, all of it was exactly as she had anticipated — identical in every detail to her previous life. The only difference was her state of mind.

When this turning point had arrived in her previous life, she had been completely unprepared — as if in a dream. She had felt doubled grief and regret for the misfortune of Ju A’mu, who had been worked to death only three days before; and for those strangers in the capital who had given her a new beginning, she had felt full of gratitude.

If not for them upholding justice, how could her grandfather’s name have been cleared? How could she herself have had any hope of returning to the capital?

Yet now, on the surface she too appeared full of gratitude for this imperial edict — but her actual state of mind was quite tranquil.

The Emperor’s decision to clear her grandfather’s name was nothing more than following the tide of circumstances. All those who had participated in bringing this about had each taken what they needed. Her grandfather, in all likelihood, could never have imagined that when he had died in unjust humiliation, someone had profited from it. Years after his death, others had again gained what they wanted by means of his name — only this time it was a different set of people.

In any case, in this matter every party had gotten what they needed, and all were satisfied. Naturally, this “every party” included herself as well — which was quite good.

After she had knelt to receive the imperial edict, the envoy smiled and said, “The end of the month brings the Grand Empress Dowager Jiang’s birthday celebration — a great festivity, the capital alight through the night, with an all-night lantern festival that ought to be quite a spectacle. If the young lady has no urgent matters to attend to here, you may set out with me as soon as possible. If all goes well, you might even arrive in time to see the festivities.”

Pu Zhu had planned all along to make haste.

In her previous life she had thought the same, wanting to arrive in time for the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday celebrations, just as the envoy had suggested.

But in this life her plan to go quickly was not because the Jiang clan’s Grand Empress Dowager showed her any particular special regard — on the contrary, Pu Zhu knew this legendary woman of the Li imperial house had no special feeling toward her at all, and might even have been not particularly fond of her. In her previous life, even after she had become Crown Princess, when she went to the Penglai Palace to pay her respects, the old woman would give her gifts and exchange a few words of warmth — but that was all, no different from how she treated any of the other grandchildren, great-grandchildren, ordinary princesses, and princes.

The reason she still wanted to go quickly was that right now in the capital, several families were competing against each other for the position of Crown Princess, and she needed to appear among them at the right moment. In her previous life it was early the following month — just after she had arrived in the capital — that, because the contest could not be resolved, by a curious twist of fate the title of Crown Princess had fallen to her head instead, a little like stumbling upon a lucky find.

So she could not miss this window of opportunity; she needed to appear before those people’s eyes at the right time.

The departure date was set for the next morning.

There was not much for her to pack to take to the capital — aside from everyday necessities, just a few sets of freshly made changes of clothing that had been sewn after she moved into the Commander’s Residence. As for her old clothes, she had Ju A’mu dispose of them, distributing them to the household servants.

That evening, Zhang Shi came over bringing a box of gold: in addition to repaying the money she owed her, there was also a portion that represented the heartfelt regards of herself and Yang Hong, and she asked Pu Zhu to take it to the capital.

Pu Zhu declined, and instead had Zhang Shi lead her to see Yang Hong. She knelt and bowed her head before them both in a formal farewell.

Zhang Shi hurried over to help her up, saying, “Young lady, what are you doing? Don’t prostrate yourself before us — you’ll be the death of us!”

Pu Zhu said, “Commander Yang, Madam, I was eight years old when I came here, with nothing to my name. If not for the Commander’s protection, I would likely not have survived. Now that I am to leave, paying you this formal farewell is as it should be. May the Commander continue to be an upright official from now on, keeping this land at peace — and even though I will be in the capital, I shall feel myself in some part of your glory.”

Yang Hong was struck by her respect and sincerity, and was moved. Reflecting on everything that had transpired involving him during these recent days, he felt a flood of emotions, and said, “These are auspicious words from the young lady. I will not dare to be complacent from now on. Your family has been cleared, and you are returning to the capital — this is a wonderful thing. From now on, take good care of yourself!”

Pu Zhu agreed, and coming out, Zhang Shi walked with her affectionately, saying she was not only the household’s lucky star but that her own fortunes had turned as well, and that from here on it would be wealth and greatness beyond measure — offering a stream of flattering words. Pu Zhu cut her off. “The Commander is a good man, and his official position will only grow higher and higher. Since you call me your lucky star, I will presume to say something blunt: I hope you remember the lesson from last time, and from now on be a good helpmate. When things arise, discuss them with the Commander first — do not act unilaterally as you did last time, nearly bringing trouble down upon yourselves.”

Zhang Shi’s face flushed red with embarrassment and she nodded sheepishly. “You are right, young lady, and I will remember it!”

Pu Zhu smiled and told her there was no need to walk her any further.

That evening, Ju A’mu looked at her young charge. At first she smiled. Then, as she was smiling, her eyes suddenly reddened, and tears began to fall. She quickly wiped them away, seemingly afraid of being misunderstood, and signed frantically with her hands, explaining that she was simply too happy.

Pu Zhu embraced her and said close to her ear, “A’mu, I am happy too. From now on I will certainly protect you well, and let you live comfortably together with me, enjoying the best life in this world — does that make you happy?”

Ju A’mu could not help but laugh and weep at the same time. Pu Zhu smiled and wiped her tears away, and in that moment felt a happiness she had never felt before welling up in her heart.

A’mu was so happy right now.

Having lived two lifetimes, Pu Zhu seemed only to realize in this very moment: making those one loves feel happiness — that too was a kind of happiness of the greatest magnitude for oneself.

She must work hard, and let her A’mu remain this happy always — so happy as to be moved to tears.

That night, just as she was drifting into sleep with this feeling of happiness, a figure suddenly flashed into her mind, and all drowsiness vanished at once.

She had thought of Cui Xuan — the young man who had once done her a great service.

She knew he was currently serving under Yang Hong. It had been quite a long while since she had run into him; she had only learned from Yang Hong when she asked that Cui Xuan had been promoted to squad leader only days after joining the army, and she had been very glad to hear it for his sake.

Tomorrow she was returning to the capital. If she simply slipped away without a word, that seemed somewhat ungracious.

Pu Zhu hesitated for a moment and in the end decided to have Yang Hong pass along a message for her — a simple farewell.

The next morning, she walked out of the gates of the Commander’s Residence, ready to board the official carriage that had come to take her — when she stopped in surprise.

She saw Cui Xuan. He was dressed in a soldier’s tunic, seated on the driver’s bench at the front of the carriage. Seeing her appear, he turned his head toward her with a smile and a nod.

She had not seen him for quite a while now — nearly half a year — and compared with the beginning of the year, he now seemed to have matured considerably, and had also grown notably quieter. He jumped down from his seat and walked a few steps toward her, saying only, “I heard your family’s name was cleared and that you are going back to the capital. I asked Commander Yang for permission and he allowed me to drive the carriage and see you off for one leg of the journey.”

Pu Zhu’s heart was touched.

She had not imagined that he would send her off in this way.

For a moment she did not know what to say. In the end she nodded and thanked him.

Cui Xuan turned around, climbed back up, resumed his seat, and with both hands gripping the reins fixed his gaze on the road ahead.

The carriage departed the Commander’s Residence, joined up with the imperial envoy’s party as they set out from the relay station, left the city, and headed toward the capital. The scenery along the post road soon shifted from outlying villages to open wilderness; in the distance, the shadow of the Great Wall appeared and disappeared, and the wind, carrying sand, caused the carriage curtains to billow and strike against the window frame with soft, muffled sounds.

Pu Zhu did not look back.

Repeating in this life the scene she had once lived through before — leaving the place she had inhabited since the age of eight — to say there was not even a trace of feeling would naturally be untrue.

But she felt no nostalgia. There was nothing here worth her lingering over.

Her destination lay ahead, in that capital so far away.

Her life in this new existence had only just begun.