The Prince Qin estate had been bestowed upon Li Xuandu by the late Emperor when he was fourteen years old.

As a beloved youngest son of the late Emperor, the estate’s location was particularly fine — situated at the center of Chengfu Lane in the northern part of the city. In terms of its grounds and layout, it was among the grandest of the many great mansions in the capital. The front halls were broad and imposing; the rear garden was full of pavilions, terraces, and covered walkways, with artificial rockeries and flowing water everywhere, and fragrant flowers and trees throughout. It was said that when the estate first opened, the late Emperor had specially ordered the inner household to build a falconry yard within it, sending keepers and supplying it with a full array of purple eagles, white falcons, grey hawks, and hunting hounds — all for the young prince, who loved the hunt.

Those days of splendor had long since been swept away by the winds and rains of time. The estate had barely been occupied for two years before it lost its master, and for many years had sat empty. More than a few influential families in the capital had cast covetous eyes upon it and tried to make it their own, but the Emperor of Xiaochang, ever protective of Prince Qin, refused them all without exception. Now that Prince Qin had returned to the capital and a wedding was approaching, the entire estate — inside and out, front and back — had been thoroughly swept and cleaned; the dilapidated parts had been repaired and renovated; servants stood ready at their posts. In preparation for the wedding, the estate manager Li Jin from the Prince Qin estate in Xihaihe Commandery and a eunuch who had served at the prince’s side from childhood — a man called Luo Bao — had both arrived in the capital.

The new chamber for Prince Qin and the princess consort had been set up in the Qiong Garden of the rear eastern wing. Passing through freshly whitewashed walls, entering the garden gate and crossing a winding gallery, one came upon a row of garden rooms — this was the place where the wedding ceremony would be held tonight, and where the prince and his new consort would reside in the days ahead.

The ceremonial ladies had already arranged the joint-feast setting inside.

On the table were a golden tray and golden wine vessel, a pair of ceremonial cups, and a washbasin filled with water for the ritual handwashing — along with a ladle, a black lacquered square box containing chopsticks and a set of silver implements, and two neatly folded snow-white towels.

Pu Zhu followed the lead of the Princess Consort of Prince Duan, who was guiding her, and climbed the steps. She passed through a corridor lined on each side with maids holding fans and candles, entered the main room, and at the Princess Consort’s instruction came to a stop and stood in place. She heard the Princess Consort of Prince Duan say with a smile: “Prince Qin may remove the face cloth.”

She held her breath, her eyes fixed on the floor just in front of her feet beneath the face cloth. She saw a patch of crimson male robes appear at the edge of her view and knew that Li Xuandu had come to stand before her. She had not even noticed him move — yet in an instant the light before her brightened.

Li Xuandu had already removed her face cloth. A maid with a tray immediately stepped forward. Pu Zhu watched him set the face cloth down quickly, then turn toward his own position — he went to stand on the east side of the ceremonial table and waited for the ritual to begin.

His gaze had not once rested upon her. Not even for a single moment.

Pu Zhu had long since prepared herself to be treated coldly. When she had gone to find him the day after learning of the betrothal decree, he had not even shown his face.

But to be cold to this degree — to take the face cloth from her, the two of them facing each other at arm’s reach, and still not spare her a single glance — even she was taken somewhat aback.

It seemed she had still underestimated the depth of his contempt for her.

She composed herself and, following the ceremonial lady’s guidance, was led to the west side of the table.

Once they were standing opposite each other, she could not help but look at him again.

His face held no expression. His gaze rested on the Princess Consort of Prince Duan.

In ordinary times, his dress was simple. She remembered especially that rainy dusk — the first time she had gone to Ziyang Temple to find him — when she had seen him sitting alone in his quiet room, robes disheveled, drinking wine before the window in the wind and rain.

That image of dissolute, crumbling beauty had been carved deep into her memory. Even now when she called it to mind it felt like yesterday, impossible to erase.

Tonight he was very different. He wore a deep crimson royal prince’s ceremonial robe, with a small patch of white plain gauze collar visible at his neck — matching her own inner robe. His lean waist was cinched with a gold-filigreed jade belt.

Nearby stood a lamp-tree taller than a man, every branch alive with flame. He stood tall and upright, the firelight playing across him — his features luminous and beautiful, suffused with the air of rare and noble eminence.

As Pu Zhu looked at him, a thought suddenly surfaced in her mind, quite unbidden.

In her previous life, he must have taken an Empress eventually. She simply did not know who the woman was — the one who had stood across from him on a night like this one, going through the same ritual of the joint ceremony.

Pu Zhu suddenly felt very curious and regretted dying so early. Had she managed to hold on just a little longer, she might have found out…

Lost in a faint reverie, she suddenly noticed him seem to sense something. His gaze swept toward her, and he furrowed his brows, fixing her with a stare.

She startled and immediately pretended nothing had happened, swiftly shifting her gaze to look at the Princess Consort of Prince Duan as well.

The Princess Consort of Prince Duan commanded the ceremonial steward to enter. The steward led seven or eight maids inside. They carried the ceremonial feast dishes in a single file and arranged the food in each vessel before Prince Qin and the princess consort according to the proper ritual order.

“Please be seated,” the master of ceremonies announced.

Pu Zhu had experienced this ceremony in her previous life.

The joint-feast ritual for a Crown Prince’s wedding was much the same as for a royal prince — and now that she was going through it again, though she could not claim to be fully at ease, she had a general sense of what was expected. And having just been caught out staring, she dared not let her mind wander again. She held herself with propriety and, following the ceremonial guidance, knelt and sat beside Li Xuandu.

The ceremonial steward also knelt. Taking a small gold implement from the box, he cut two slices of meat from the same piece, placed them on two separate plates, and presented them before Prince Qin and the princess consort. A maid took a ladle and scooped water from the washbasin, helping Prince Qin and the princess consort to wash their hands in preparation for sharing the ritual meal.

As Pu Zhu washed her hands, she noticed that Li Xuandu extended only his left hand — his right hand hung at his side, as if it were not quite convenient to use.

She took note. She accepted the white towel offered to her to dry her hands, then accepted the pair of gold-tipped silver chopsticks handed to her, and glanced at him again.

Behind him, a young eunuch a few years his senior came tiptoeing forward, crouching low and taking small quick steps. He knelt at Li Xuandu’s side and, on his behalf, used the chopsticks to pick up the slice of meat and feed it to him. It seemed he had been standing just outside during the ritual, waiting to attend — and must have heard what was happening inside the chamber as well. His face was expressionless as he stepped past Pu Zhu, who was still kneeling on the floor, and went to stand before Li Xuandu, carefully removing his sash and outer robes, helping him change into the inner garments for sleeping.

With the sleeve of his ceremonial robe pulled back, Pu Zhu finally saw. His right hand was injured — wrapped in gauze — but it had not been visible at first, hidden by the inactivity and concealed by the wide ceremonial sleeve.

How had his hand come to be injured, on the eve of his own wedding of all times?

Pu Zhu was afraid of being caught again, and dared not look further. Suppressing her curiosity, she lowered her head and ate the slice of meat on her plate.

The meat was sacrificial white pork, without seasoning of any kind — bland and flavorless, and prized, no less, for being fatty.

Fortunately, there was only one slice.

She did not chew it. Fighting down nausea, she swallowed it with some difficulty. Then she raised her eyes again and saw that he had already finished eating and was sitting upright — looking straight at her with a cold expression. When she raised her eyes, he looked away toward the Princess Consort of Prince Duan.

Next came the drinking of the wedding wine.

The ceremonial steward poured wine into the cups of both. The newly wed couple rose, bowed to each other across the table, sat down again, took the wine, and drank — and with that, the ceremony was complete.

The Princess Consort of Prince Duan came forward smiling to offer her congratulations to them both. The ceremonial ladies then led the newly wed couple respectively to remove their formal crowns and ornaments, bathed their hands lightly, helped them change into more comfortable wedding garments, led them back out, and once all was finished, withdrew with everyone in tow. The doors were closed, and the vast chamber was left with only the newly wed couple.

The wedding candles blazed brilliantly in the room, as bright as full daylight. The two of them still stood facing each other across the table, and neither said a word.

Though she had told herself countless times that everything this evening would go smoothly, and felt certain it would — now that the ceremony was truly done and they had become husband and wife, left alone facing each other, Pu Zhu found herself once again gripped by a wave of nervousness and awkwardness she could not quite suppress.

She was wondering whether to wait for him to speak first, or to open her mouth herself, when she saw him simply abandon her where she stood and stride off toward the inner bedchamber.

His manner was cold, walking away and leaving her behind — but it actually dispelled the awkward atmosphere that had been hovering between them.

Never mind. Let him be contemptible. She had hardly intended to make herself likable. She had lived this way in her previous life, and thinking back, it had been exhausting. Fortunately she would not need to do so this time around.

Once they had reached an agreement and she had given him a son, from then on — when they appeared in public they would be Prince Qin and his consort; in private they would each go their own way. How clean and simple would that be?

She steadied herself and followed him into the inner bedchamber.

Li Xuandu moved quickly. He was already seated on the bed, which was spread with a deep red brocade coverlet. He kicked off his boots with his good hand, picked up a scroll with his left hand, rolled over onto the bed, propped himself against the headboard, and began to read.

Pu Zhu sat down before the dressing table and opened the carved bronze mirror case, making a show of examining her face in the mirror — in reality using the reflection to covertly observe the man behind her. After a while, seeing that he appeared to be absorbed in reading, she gave a small cough and rose, walking toward him. She stopped beside the red and silver gauze canopy of the bed curtain and said softly: “Does Your Highness need anything to eat? If you are hungry, I can have something sent in. What does Your Highness usually like to eat?”

“No need.”

The man on the bed did not raise his eyes from the scroll in his hand. He answered with a single brief reply.

Pu Zhu paused for a moment. Her face, bare of cosmetics, showed a faint smile. She said: “Your Highness, I never imagined — from that first brief encounter at the Fulu relay station in He Xi, to this day’s strange turn of events. It truly seems fated. I wish Your Highness to know that regardless of what came before, from this day forward, I will fulfill my duties as your princess consort. I am simple-minded by nature, and if in the future I fall short in any regard, I hope Your Highness will correct me in good time.”

Li Xuandu’s eyes still had not left the scroll. He said coldly: “You certainly come to terms with things quickly.”

Pu Zhu was brought up short.

This opening on the wedding night had gone entirely beyond what she had anticipated.

She decided to change her approach.

Her gaze fell on his injured hand and she asked with concern: “Your Highness, what happened to your hand? Where were you hurt?”

She had barely expressed concern for him before his manner shifted strangely.

This whole evening, from the moment she had entered the inner bedchamber, he had not once looked at her. Yet now he finally lifted his eyes from the scroll, looked over at her, and with a slow, almost languid tone — a half-smile on his lips — said: “Pu-shi, I did not die last night. I trust that has disappointed you. Had I truly died, you would not have needed to come and marry me.”

Pu Zhu was genuinely startled. Her eyes widened in astonishment: “Your Highness — what do you mean by that? I’m not quite sure I understand.”

Li Xuandu was the sort to madden a person — he had said half a sentence and Pu Zhu was waiting for the other half, but she saw the corner of his lips press together, and he simply ignored her again and went back to reading his book.

She had already noticed earlier — the book he was reading was the Zhuangzi. Inwardly she dismissed him: here was a man who had harbored ambitious schemes for the throne since the age of sixteen and taken part in an attempted coup, now forced to lie low — yet he was posturing as a Daoist devotee. Of course, this thought could not be allowed to show on her face.

Seeing him leave his words half-spoken, she truly could not contain herself any longer. She went to the bed and reached out and took the scroll from his hands.

His hand was now empty. He looked up at her suddenly, brows furrowing, his expression clearly displeased.

Pu Zhu paid no attention, set the Zhuangzi to one side, and said: “Your Highness, please do not take offense — if you have something to say, say it plainly. I know Your Highness holds me in great contempt. But now that we are husband and wife — as heaven has ordained — we ought to set aside old prejudices and deal with each other openly. I would not presume to claim we shall treat each other with the courtesy of honored guests or that I shall carry your meals reverently to you — but only through such openness can we, in the future, be united in purpose and act as one. Is that not so, Your Highness?”

Li Xuandu looked at her. Suddenly it seemed he had heard something amusing — and he actually let out a quiet laugh.

This was the first time, in all the time Pu Zhu had known him, that she had seen him laugh.

He was handsome to begin with. Laughing, his beauty was even more compelling.

But Pu Zhu was in no mood to appreciate his looks. She felt utterly baffled and was about to ask — when she saw him stop laughing, nod, get up from the bed, walk to a chest cabinet against the south wall, take something from it, and turn back to set it on a nearby narrow table.

In the candlelight, Pu Zhu saw that it was a broken sword with dried blood on the blade.

She was confused, and raised her eyes to look at him.

Li Xuandu put both hands behind his back and said coldly: “Pu-shi, I had thought you merely greedy for wealth and status — not truly malicious. I had not imagined that the cruelty of your heart, the depth of your scheming, and the thickness of your skin would all prove to be of a kind rarely encountered in my lifetime. Consider this an eye-opening experience. You had no wish to marry me, and so you sent someone last night to carry out the assassination. What a pity — it disappointed you, as I did not die. Do you think that because the He Xi youth had his face covered, I would fail to recognize him?”

“I honestly thought, from the time I encountered you at the He Xi relay station, that I had done nothing to wrong you…”

He paused, fixed his gaze upon her, and a trace of contempt flickered across his brow.

“Even if this time I am in the wrong — for making it impossible for you to become Crown Princess and forcing you to marry me — I would imagine the offense is not so great as to deserve death…”

He continued to speak, but Pu Zhu was no longer listening.

There had been an assassination attempt on him last night? And Cui Xuan had done it? How was that possible?

But he said “He Xi youth” — if not Cui Xuan, then who else could he mean?

“Your Highness, what did you say? It was Cui Xuan? What happened to him? Where is he now?”

Could it be that last night he had been killed in retaliation, or captured?

She was seized by enormous shock and horror. She lost control and called out, cutting off his torrent of accusations — and after asking, saw Li Xuandu close his lips, his gaze slanted sideways at her, a cold and mocking silence on his face. All at once she came to her senses.

No matter what, she would never have expected that Cui Xuan would go and make an attempt on his life without a single word. It was plain as day — Li Xuandu’s wounded hand must have been the result of last night’s assassination attempt.

Now things had taken a truly bad turn.

Pu Zhu had previously thought that Li Xuandu’s contempt for her was the worst of it, and that everything else could be turned around. But now, because of last night’s assassination attempt, the situation had clearly taken a sharp turn for the worse.

In his eyes, she was not simply “greedy for wealth and status” — she was “malicious and cruel,” someone who had used extreme measures to try to eliminate him because he had blocked her path to becoming Crown Princess.

Though Pu Zhu could acknowledge that she had once had such a plan. But in her original schemes, he had been her enemy. Did enemies not kill those who stood in their way? To eliminate an enemy was the natural order of things — that could never be wrong.

But now, circumstances were completely different. Li Xuandu was no longer her enemy — he was the ally she wished to bind herself to in blood. And at a critical moment, this of all things had to occur, a complication arising from nowhere.

The fact that he had not already picked up that broken sword and run her through with it showed that he had exercised considerable restraint and self-control. Yet here she was, standing right before him and asking after Cui Xuan’s fate — no wonder he had reacted that way.

Pu Zhu knew she had lost her composure and said the wrong thing. She did not dare press further about Cui Xuan’s whereabouts. With difficulty she suppressed the anxiety and worry churning in her heart, stepped forward, and explained: “Your Highness, might you have mistaken the person…”

Seeing his expression icy and glacial, she did not hesitate for a moment. She gathered her skirt and dropped to her knees before him: “Even if it was truly Cui Xuan who did this, I ask Your Highness to hear my explanation. I had no knowledge of this and could not possibly have arranged it. I am nothing more than a person who has suffered hardship since childhood, who fears poverty and craves comfort and luxury. Everything I did before — all my schemes to marry the Crown Prince — arose from exactly this kind of thinking. Now that the imperial decree has been issued, even if I had dared to take the risk of eliminating Your Highness, would the Emperor have recalled the decree and made me Crown Princess instead? Once a decree is issued, all my paths are cut off.”

She stopped for a moment and carefully glanced up at him. He was still standing with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at her from the side without deigning to face her directly.

She made her voice even softer.

“Before Your Highness, I dare not hide anything. I admit that when I first heard the decree I was deeply aggrieved — but in the days of waiting before the wedding, I made inquiries about Your Highness, and found that Your Highness is a man of rare and exceptional gifts — one who could never be content as a mere fish in a pond. I have two wishes in this life — which Your Highness should also know. The first is wealth and comfort; the second is to bring back the remains of my late father. As long as I follow Your Highness and fulfill my duties as your princess consort, I believe Your Highness would not treat me poorly. Given this, why would I stir up trouble by attempting to assassinate Your Highness before the wedding? What is more, the Grand Empress Dowager’s eyes see all. What could escape her notice? If Your Highness had truly been killed in an assassination, could the Grand Empress Dowager sit by and watch? Had I truly acted this way, even if it had succeeded, she would never have allowed me to live in this world. In short — what benefit was there to me in assassinating Your Highness?”

She finished speaking and remained kneeling, head bowed, still.

The inner bedchamber fell into silence. In her ears there was no sound at all — a stillness so complete it was as if she could hear her own heartbeat. And perhaps she truly could — the sound of her own heart pounding.

After a moment, she quietly glanced at the hem of his robe — motionless. She could not tell what he was thinking. The anxiety about Cui Xuan’s fate pressed on her heart, and she spoke again, choosing her words carefully in a low voice: “As for last night’s assassin — if Your Highness says it was Cui Xuan, then it must have been him. I dare not argue otherwise on his behalf. But I imagine he also had reasons that left him no other choice. Would Your Highness tell me what has become of him? Or rather — allow me to go and ask him, so that I may give Your Highness a clear and thorough accounting!”

A moment later, a voice reached her ears: “Raise your head!”

Pu Zhu immediately obeyed and raised her head to look at him.

Li Xuandu’s expression remained cold. He looked at her and said: “Conduct yourself well from this day forward. And there is no need to put on a show of warmth before me.” Then he called out toward the outside: “Bring my sleeping robe!”

That same young eunuch who had helped him eat during the joint-feast ceremony entered at once — evidently he had been standing just outside the whole time waiting to attend, and must have heard all the sounds from within the inner chamber. His face was expressionless as he stepped past Pu Zhu, who was still kneeling on the floor, and went to stand before Li Xuandu. Carefully he removed his sash and outer robes, helped him change into the inner garments for sleeping. Li Xuandu then got into bed. The eunuch meticulously covered him with the quilt, lowered the bed curtain, then turned, passed once more before Pu Zhu, and withdrew without a sound.

Pu Zhu guessed that this must be the eunuch called Luo Bao — the one who had accompanied Li Xuandu to keep vigil at the imperial mausoleum for three years in his youth, and was certainly among his most trusted people. He was dismissing her from attention so completely, not even bothering to avoid the eunuch’s presence. And the servant followed the master — Luo Bao’s manner toward her was clearly no warmer.

Pu Zhu knelt for a while longer. Her knees ached terribly. She turned to look toward the bed.

Through the lowered, still hanging curtain of deep red brocade, she could faintly make out the outline of Li Xuandu lying inside.

She rose from the floor, rubbing her aching knees, and turned over his parting words in her mind. She knew that the matter of the assassination attempt had, for the moment, been more or less put behind them — so she too went to the bed, gently lifted the curtain, and peeked inside.

Li Xuandu lay on his back on the outer side, eyes closed, breathing even, expression serene — as if he had already fallen asleep.

The inner bedchamber held only this one bed. The night was long, and she had nowhere else to sleep.

She carefully climbed in and lay down on the empty inner side, closed her eyes, but the thoughts in her mind would not stop turning for even a moment.

He had still not told her what had become of Cui Xuan. Had he died on the spot, been captured, or — as she most hoped — managed to escape?

Setting aside the worry over Cui Xuan, she turned over her original plan once more in her mind.

This wedding night had gone catastrophically and inexplicably wrong, full of unexpected turns, completely diverging from what she had imagined.

Given the clearly unspent fury that still simmered in him, tonight was obviously not the right moment to lay everything out openly and discuss their future.

Fortunately, there was no great urgency.

She would take it one step at a time — wait a few days, see how things went, wait until his mood improved somewhat, and then speak with him. That would be better.