Cui Xuan drove her carriage for three days, arriving at Jing Pass on the third day.

Beyond Jing Pass lay the boundary of He Xi, marking the official start of the inner provinces road leading to the capital.

Cui Xuan’s clothing was worn and frayed, with tufts of thread unraveling at the elbows. As he sat at the front driving the carriage, Pu Zhu had noticed this. During these past few evenings, whenever they stopped at roadside postal stations along the way, she and Ju A’mu had worked together to sew two garments. Now, at the moment of parting, she handed him a bundle and said: “Inside are two changes of clothes. My A’mu stayed up several nights to make them especially for you. Take care of yourself from here on. If you ever have the chance to come to the capital, remember to look me up so we can catch up.”

Cui Xuan gazed at the bundle for a moment, then suddenly broke into a grin and accepted it, saying: “Tell A’mu I said thank you!”

Pu Zhu smiled and nodded.

He took the clothes and walked toward his horse. After a few steps, he stopped. His figure paused for a moment, then slowly turned back and looked at her once more.

Pu Zhu watched as he walked back toward her. He said: “I privately went to find Captain Yang and asked his permission to drive your carriage and see you off. At first he refused, saying the Crown Prince held you in high regard and feared I might be reckless and cause trouble. I pleaded for a long time before he finally agreed.”

He paused, gazing at her intently: “You like the Crown Prince too, don’t you?”

Pu Zhu hesitated briefly, then nodded: “Yes. Becoming the Crown Princess is my goal.”

Cui Xuan was silent for a moment, then gave a soft nod: “I understand. Don’t forget what I told you before. From now on, no matter what happens, if it’s inconvenient for you to handle yourself and you need help, remember to find me. I will do anything for you — including killing people. Anyone you want dead.”

He spoke word by word, his tone filled with sincerity, yet also laced with a cold menace.

It was very strange — two such contradictory feelings came out of his mouth in this single sentence, and yet it seemed entirely natural.

When he finished speaking, he turned and left, mounted his horse, slung the bundle she had given him across his back, and rode off swiftly into the distance.

Pu Zhu watched his gradually shrinking figure, then turned and boarded the carriage, continuing on her journey.

The official carriage she rode was drawn by four fine He Qu horses. He Qu horses were gentle and steady, enduring and tireless, making them perfectly suited for long-distance carriage travel; they were also used in the military to carry heavy loads. At each postal station, horses were exchanged as needed.

She enjoyed the highest treatment afforded by the empire’s official carriages — even a vassal king summoned to the capital would ride no better than this.

Since the dynasty’s founding, there had been only one exception that surpassed this rank: an arrangement of six horses made many years ago, when Grand Princess Jinxi departed through the frontier pass to wed into a foreign land.

From Jing Pass to the capital, traveling at three hundred li per day, the journey would take the better part of a month. The imperial envoy wanted to arrive early enough to attend the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday celebration, and Pu Zhu likewise wished to arrive soon. Their goals aligned perfectly, and so they traveled by day and rested by night, pressing ahead swiftly. Not only did they arrive ahead of schedule, but they also shaved several days off the time it had taken her to make this journey in her previous life.

They would enter through Yongle Gate on the western side of the capital. Because they hoped to enter the city that same day, by the time they arrived, the sky was nearly dark, and a light drizzle had begun to fall. When the carriage and horses finally reached the western gate of the imperial city through the rain, they discovered the city gates were already shut.

On ordinary days the gates closed at the xu hour. Today there was still a quarter of an hour left before xu, but when the imperial envoy sent someone to call for the gate to be opened, that person came back with a look of distress on his face and reported that, in preparation for security during the Grand Empress Dowager’s upcoming birthday celebration, the gates had been closing half a shichen earlier than usual for the past three days.

“Didn’t you announce my name and say we are acting on imperial orders to escort the young lady of the Pu Family back to the capital?”

This imperial envoy was a senior eunuch, a man of considerable standing in the palace.

“I did announce your name, good sir, but those soldiers not only refused to listen — they said General Shen had issued strict orders that after dark, without special authorization, no one was to be admitted without exception. They even said that last night, the young lord of the Princess Imperial’s household came back late and was also turned away at the gate!”

The imperial envoy was furious, but upon hearing the words “General Shen,” he dared to be angry but not to speak up.

This so-called “General Shen” was named Shen Yang. Barely twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, he had already become a general of the Twelve Armies of the Southern Command, responsible for defending the imperial city. He was one of the most prominent and powerful figures in the capital at this time.

He was also the nephew of Shen Gao, the Director of the Inner Bureau. Shen Gao was the head of the palace eunuchs — and the imperial envoy’s superior.

The imperial envoy well understood Shen Gao’s position in the palace. To say he was the most trusted and favored person at the Emperor’s side would not be an exaggeration.

With such an uncle, and already occupying a high position at so young an age, Shen Yang’s arrogance naturally overshadowed everyone — especially now that he held this particular authority. The imperial envoy dared not show his anger. After thinking it over, he swallowed his pride, told Pu Zhu to wait in the carriage for a moment, stepped down from his own carriage, and went to negotiate at the city gate in person.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily and without pause against the canopy of the carriage.

Every year at this time of year, the capital’s weather was overcast and rainy. She remembered that the day she arrived in her previous life it had also been a rainy day, but since it was still daytime, she had entered the city smoothly without encountering any such obstruction.

Pu Zhu opened the window slightly and gazed forward toward the top of the city wall.

Dark sky, drizzling rain, a row of battlements stretching along the top of the wall into the distance, too far to see the end — everything was drenched and dripping.

The wind picked up. She pulled back her gaze, and just as she was about to close the window against the rain blowing in at an angle, she noticed that on an open stretch of ground by the roadside not far away, there was a group of people standing in the rain who appeared to have just arrived and were also waiting to enter the city.

They had about a dozen horses with them. At first Pu Zhu thought they were horse traders, but looking again, she knew she was wrong.

Driving the horses were seven or eight men dressed like common soldiers from a border commandery. Among them stood another man — though wearing ordinary plain clothes, he was tall and broad-shouldered, his back notably straight. Standing among the others, he carried an invisible, restrained air, like a sword still sheathed.

This man was turned sideways to Pu Zhu, at some distance. The sky was nearly dark, and with the rain and the dim light, Pu Zhu couldn’t make out his face clearly. She could only tell he was middle-aged, though his temples were already streaked with white.

The rain quickly soaked everyone. Those near him covered their heads with their hands, whispering anxious complaints. He alone continued facing the city gate, his figure standing perfectly still in the howling wind and slanting rain.

When she first caught sight of this middle-aged man’s profile, Pu Zhu felt a flicker of recognition.

As the wind-driven rain quickly grew heavier, the man seemed to cherish the two horses beside him — both with white crescent-moon markings on their foreheads. He removed his own outer garment and draped it over the back of one of the horses.

A nearby soldier, seeing this, quickly followed his example, removing his own clothing and draping it over the other horse’s back.

The clothes were already soaked through and offered no real protection from the rain. The man, heedless of the rainwater dripping from his hair, wiped the water from the horse’s forehead, then raised his head once more to look toward the city gate, his brow furrowing slightly.

In that moment when he lifted his head, Pu Zhu’s heart suddenly lurched — a loud, excited pounding.

Not even when she first saw Li Chengyu — her husband from her previous life — no wait, not even when Li Xuandu himself had appeared before her had her heart pounded this hard.

It was Jiang Yi!

Of all people, it was him!

Though in her previous life she had only seen him when she was still a child, she had never forgotten his face and bearing.

The middle-aged man before her looked far more weathered and careworn than the mighty war god she remembered from childhood — even his temples had gone white. Yet she recognized him at a single glance.

She had no idea how he could be appearing here at this particular moment.

She had absolutely no idea that he had ever come to the capital at this time!

But soon, it came back to her.

For the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday celebration, the Grand Stable, which oversaw all the empire’s horse farms, had from the beginning of the year been ordering fine horses from every region to be sent to the capital as tribute. The empire’s three horse farms located in border commanderies had, over the course of several months, successively sent tribute horses on multiple occasions. Excluding those that had died along the way from unfamiliar conditions, poor care, or illness, nearly a thousand horses had ultimately arrived. Among them, the Upper Commandery Horse Farm had separately sent a pair of white-browed treasure horses — said to be descendants of the heavenly sweat-blood horses, extraordinarily magnificent.

In themselves they were just a pair of prized horses. The reason Pu Zhu had remembered them from her previous life was that on the day of the birthday celebration, Jiang Shi had personally selected this pair of horses to draw the phoenix carriage that would carry her from Penglai Palace to Chang’an Palace to receive the ceremonial greetings of the assembled officials.

Pu Zhu had previously only heard people say that the pair of treasured horses had come from the Upper Commandery Horse Farm, but no one had ever mentioned who had escorted them into the capital, and she had never thought to wonder about it.

Now she finally knew — it had been Jiang Yi himself!

At first Pu Zhu felt very surprised, but thinking about it more, she understood.

It was said that Jiang Yi deeply respected his aunt Jiang Shi. Jiang Shi was turning seventy this year. To celebrate her birthday, he had personally escorted the prized horses to the capital — this was not hard to understand. Even judging by her previous life, it seemed he had only delivered the horses and then returned to the Upper Commandery, without participating in the birthday celebration itself.

He was merely someone delivering horses. But this was a gesture of the heart — and with his heart’s gesture made, he could no doubt feel at peace.

Through the carriage window, Pu Zhu looked at the profile of the man who had once been the great General, the Marquis of Pingyang.

Rainwater still seeped unceasingly through his silver-streaked temples, rolling down that resolute face.

She quickly pushed open the carriage door and ordered her attendants to take the oilcloth kept in the carriage — used to guard against heavy rain blowing in through the windows during the journey — and carry it over to him, to shelter the prized horses from the rain.

Her attendant looked blankly at that unremarkable-looking group of men and horses, baffled, but obeyed the order and ran over, extending the oilcloth.

Pu Zhu watched as Jiang Yi hesitated briefly, glanced back in her direction, then accepted it and draped it over the backs of the two prized horses.

She closed the window and looked no more. Very soon, she heard a voice drift in from outside the carriage window.

After securing the two prized horses he always took such careful care of, Jiang Yi stepped through the puddles on the ground and came to the side of the carriage. He spoke with respectful courtesy: “Many thanks for your kind generosity. Jiang Yi is deeply grateful. May I ask your honorable name? Once I have delivered the horses to the Grand Stable, I will return this to you — returned in full, exactly as it was.”

Pu Zhu suppressed her racing heartbeat and answered through the window in a calm voice: “My surname is Pu. My grandfather is the late Lord Pu, who was posthumously granted the title of Duke Zhaowen just last month. When I was small I had the good fortune of meeting you once, and just now I recognized you. Thinking you might have some need, I took the liberty of having it sent over. As a child, I often heard my father speak of the great general’s renowned name. My father said that when he was on a diplomatic mission to Xiyu, he had received the great general’s escort and protection. This niece is grateful and has held it in her heart ever since. To encounter you here today is like seeing a paternal elder — it is my good fortune. I could not presume to accept such thanks. Moreover, it is not a precious thing at all — when you are done with it, please dispose of it as you see fit. There is no need to make a special trip to return it.”

Outside the window, silence fell. Pu Zhu quietly peered through the gap in the carriage window and saw Jiang Yi standing in the rain, his gaze directed toward her side of the carriage, his expression appearing greatly surprised, as though he had not yet come back to his senses.

Her heart was even more stirred than before.

She had never imagined that on her very first day arriving at the capital — before she had even entered the city, outside the city gate — she would encounter what could be called the person she most longed to meet in this entire lifetime! Not only had she encountered him, but she had also smoothly managed to strike up a conversation with him and leave him with an impression that was, at the very least, not a bad one!

What had been a somewhat heavy mood from the bad weather and the fatigue of the journey instantly lifted, and her spirits were restored in a flash!

Was this perhaps a favorable omen, foretelling that her life in this lifetime would go as she wished — complete and fulfilled?