What did he say?

He had no intention of usurping the throne?

She would sooner believe the sun rose in the west and roosters could lay eggs than believe a single word of this from his lips.

Keep acting. Go ahead and act. No matter how well he performed, he might be able to fool everyone else — but how could he possibly fool her?

Pu Zhu was taken aback for a moment, then laughed coldly to herself. She thought it over, then rose from the seat cushion where she had been kneeling, stepped around the large incense burner that stood between them with its threads of smoke still rising, and came directly before the cloud-patterned bed. She smiled and said: “Your Highness, the first time I saw you in He Xi we were complete strangers, yet you generously gave me money, and thereafter helped me on several occasions. Though I never said so aloud, I was grateful in my heart and wondered when I might repay even a fraction of it. Right now I come to you, holding nothing back, completely trusting and relying on you. To show my sincerity, I have, so to speak, laid open my very heart to you — and I am eager to weather the storms ahead together with you from this day forth. I, a mere woman, have gone so far. Your Highness, why must you still be so evasive, unwilling to admit it?”

Li Xuandu fixed his gaze on the flawless, luminous face before him. After a long moment he said: “On what basis do you conclude that I am bent on usurping the throne, and that if I deny it, I am simply being evasive and too cowardly to admit it?”

The delicate red lips of the Princess Consort standing before the cloud-patterned bed gave a small curl, and a look of contempt flashed across her face that she could not quite conceal. Then he heard her say: “That whole system of heavenly principles, loyal ministers, and filial sons — I saw through it long ago. It is nothing but a means of deceiving people, a mind-control technique to make all under heaven willingly submit to being driven. Never mind others — I cannot speak to their cases. But if not for the bolt of heavenly lightning that happened to strike at just the right moment in the fourth month, my grandfather’s unjust conviction and false charges would likely have sunk forever to the bottom of the earth. Who today would still remember him? Even I understand this principle — Your Highness, with your heaven-endowed brilliance, why would you bind yourself in your own cocoon? You carry the blood of the late Emperor — it flows through your veins. Furthermore, I have heard that the late Emperor once had the intention of passing the throne to you. Your Highness, your aspiration to reach the pinnacle of power is only natural and right. And moreover…”

She paused briefly.

Naturally she could not say she knew of her past life’s events. But if she wanted to cite concrete facts, it was not difficult. His old history — did she not know it from childhood?

She said: “Moreover, Your Highness — when you were only sixteen years old, you weighed your options and took part in the coup attempt. You simply had bad luck that time and it did not succeed. I do not believe Your Highness is the kind of person who collapses after one setback. Now Your Highness cultivates the Dao as a means of lying low and sharpening your edge, giving the Emperor no handle to move against you — truly a rare and wise person. With wisdom and the capacity to endure, what could you not accomplish? Yet now that the Emperor has become aware, the difficulty of accomplishing great things grows greater — that much, Your Highness must already know in your own heart. But I believe in Your Highness, and am willing to devote all my strength to help Your Highness achieve this great undertaking!”

Pu Zhu had great confidence in this speech of hers, and as she spoke, envisioning the prospects of the future, even she herself grew slightly excited.

As she spoke, Li Xuandu kept his gaze fixed on her.

A gauze jacket and a long skirt, black hair dark as ink, the golden gleam of the snake hairpin at her temple — probably because of the excitement, a faint rosy flush had risen to her cheeks, and her beautiful eyes were unusually bright. The whole person, illuminated in the nearby lamplight, seemed to radiate a shining, brilliant light.

The words that came from those red lips sounded so extraordinarily convincing — who could fail to be moved, and still stubbornly refuse her willing approach?

Li Xuandu looked, and looked — then suddenly let out a short, brief “Pft” of laughter.

His laughter was brief and light. Once it was done he immediately lowered his face, as though not wishing her to know, desperately trying to hold it in — but very soon, as if he could no longer contain it, his shoulders began to shake with the movement of laughter. Then his laughter grew louder, and finally he simply raised his face and burst into loud, helpless laughter that would not stop.

Pu Zhu stared at Li Xuandu who had suddenly burst out laughing, bewildered, trying to wait for him to finish laughing first before asking. But his laughter would not stop. He laughed and laughed until at last it seemed he could not contain himself, and raised his injured hand to pound the cloud-patterned bed several times.

In Pu Zhu’s impression, Li Xuandu — though somewhat mercurial in temperament — was mostly cool and restrained most of the time. To lose his composure in laughter like this, as he was doing at this very moment — this was something Pu Zhu had never encountered before.

She stared at him wide-eyed, her ears filled with the sound of his great laughter. At first she thought he was simply mocking her, but as she kept listening, or perhaps it was her imagination, she seemed to hear within his laughter a few notes of bleakness and bitter sorrow.

A creeping unease slowly rose inside her. She suddenly noticed that the bandage wrapped around his injured hand was slowly seeping through with a thin, vivid thread of blood at the palm. Her heart contracted. She could bear it no longer, went up and grabbed hold of his arm, stopping the movement.

“Are you mad? Stop laughing!”

She cried out.

Li Xuandu’s laughter finally subsided. He turned his face to look at her.

Pu Zhu stared back at him steadily.

The distance between their two faces was close enough to touch. Pu Zhu sensed his breath almost reaching her cheek.

Perhaps it was the heat from closed windows, perhaps it was because the wound had been jostled — she saw a fine layer of cold sweat had also risen on his forehead, and the corners of his eyes were faintly red.

“Wisdom, and the capacity to endure…”

He repeated her words softly, and gave a nod.

“I thank you for thinking so highly of me and placing such high hopes on me. It is a pity that my answer is still the same as before.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you. You may go back.”

He looked at her and said this calmly. Then, gently, he removed her two hands that were still tightly clutching his right arm.

Pu Zhu had absolutely no idea how she managed to turn around and make her way back.

She was in utter distress.

No — not merely distressed; she was truly in a state of anxious panic. Once the door was shut, she was like a cat with its tail scorched by fire, pacing back and forth alone in the room. The anxiety worked on her until her chest was stifling, and at its worst she felt she could barely breathe.

What was going on? She had spelled everything out so clearly, yet why was he still refusing to admit it? Had she gotten something wrong?

And could it be that the events of this lifetime, because of her own arrival, were no longer exactly the same as her past life — that he truly had no intention of usurping the throne?

This thought frightened her badly enough to send her into a flutter of agitation, and hot sweat broke out on her.

She immediately rejected this idea and kept urging herself to calm down. At last she went to open the window, and with the night wind blowing in, breathed in great gulps of air. After some time she gradually steadied herself, and her mind began to work again.

Although just now he had simply refused to admit his ambitions and schemes, the things a person has done cannot be denied.

If he had no ambitions, why, at the age of sixteen, had he taken part in the coup attempt led by the then-Crown Prince Liang? It had to be understood that, given the official position he held at the time, one could say that his authorization seal was more important than his own head.

In past lives, she had never participated in court politics, but she did know that the Northern Division Commander’s authorization seal had always been kept personally by the holder of the position — guarded with the utmost care. How could he possibly not have known this? Without his permission, how could such a vitally important seal have reached the hands of his deputy general?

Then there was the assassination attempt that had taken place the following spring in her past life. At the time, as Crown Princess, she had gone with Li Chengyu to pay a call on the Emperor on the very night he was attacked, and had seen with her own eyes that the Emperor’s face was white as paper, his wounds severe. The evidence was ironclad — if he had not planned it, who else could it have been?

To plan a scheme of assassination targeting the Emperor — from the preparations beforehand, through the entire course of the action, to the countless details afterward, plus the need to prepare a backup plan in case of failure — what meticulous planning this would require, what tremendous forces would need to be mobilized. She herself had never orchestrated anything of the kind, but even just imagining it, she could see how immense the scope of it was. Now, with less than half a year remaining before that event, he was saying he had no intention of usurping the throne.

A person who had no intention of usurping the throne would defy all under heaven to do such a thing?

If she had not been reborn and come back, she might truly have been deceived by him.

So then why was he flatly denying it? What on earth was he considering — was it her attitude that had not been sincere enough?

Pu Zhu closed her eyes and began to recall, from the very first word she had spoken to him this evening, slowly tracing through the whole process in her mind. Suddenly her heart gave a jolt, and she opened her eyes wide in an instant.

She had it!

This was such a momentous matter, and she was no more than a stranger who had been his wife for only a day and a night. How could he possibly trust her on her word alone, let alone rashly hand over everything he held to someone like her?

What if this was a trap the Emperor had set up through her — a trap within a trap? Would he not be like the old geezer who hanged himself — thinking life too long?

It was entirely her fault for being too hasty. The encounters at Changan Palace that morning had put her under pressure, leaving her without the patience to wait for the right moment, and she had recklessly brought it up to him.

If she had been in his position, she too would not possibly have trusted so quickly someone who had previously regarded her with distaste.

The more she thought, the more certain she was. She was consumed with remorse.

The mistake had already been made — she had to find a way to repair it.

What she needed most right now was not to force him to admit he harbored treasonous intentions, but to eliminate his wariness toward her as quickly as possible.

And how to make him lower his guard against her?

Thinking it through, it seemed difficult but was actually simple. Based on Pu Zhu’s own experience: nothing more than a thick skin, unafraid of rejection, showing more care, engaging in more exchange — demonstrating her goodwill and sincerity to him — and once familiarity had grown, words would come more easily.

Having thought it through, the energy she had lost came rushing back.

Nanny Huang had told her to win Li Xuandu’s favor, so that he would stop being on guard against her — enabling her to probe his secrets.

This old serving woman, though despicable, had made one point that Pu Zhu fully agreed with.

She regretted having been muddled-headed enough to listen to him and simply walk away just now.

Did that not firmly establish the impression that she approached him when useful to her, and turned and left when not? It made her out to be exactly that kind of person.

She genuinely would not accept being described that way.

She was truly being wronged. A person like her — she absolutely would not admit to being that.

Just now, in truth, she had been too confused inside, and he had also told her to leave. She could not stay without leaving — what else could she have done?

The most pressing thing now was to hurry back and explain to him, so as not to create a misunderstanding that would affect their relationship going forward.

Pu Zhu immediately returned to the dressing stand, looked in the mirror and straightened her makeup, then came once more to the quiet room. The candles inside were still burning, but there was no sign of the man. Luo Bao was also nowhere to be seen.

Pu Zhu called over the maidservant keeping night watch and asked where the Prince had gone. The maidservant pointed toward the end of the corridor and said she had earlier seen the Prince walking in that direction.

He had not returned to his rooms to change clothes. In his undressed state, he could not very well have gone outside. Pu Zhu guessed he must be somewhere in the back garden of the Prince’s Mansion, and so had the maidservants lead the way with lanterns held up to light the path, and went searching for him through the courtyards and corridors along the garden walkway.

Through Qingwang Pavilion, past Quliu Pavilion, by Yucui Pool — she searched through several scenic spots, and still could not find him. Standing at last at a three-way fork in the path, unsure which way to go, she spotted an elderly serving woman coming from the left — someone who looked like a night-watch door keeper. The woman came up close, bowed to her, and she asked offhandedly whether she had seen the Prince.

The old serving woman pointed toward the northwest corner and said: “His Highness seemed to have gone to Hawk Terrace.”

Pu Zhu was pleased and headed in the direction the woman had indicated. She walked to the end of the path and found a wall blocking her way, with a door in it that looked rather dilapidated.

The door was half open. She walked through, and there was a passage that extended straight ahead, leading toward a vague dark outline of a corner tower silhouette at the end, sketched by the night.

She had only entered the Prince’s Mansion the night before, and today had not moved about exploring it during the daytime. She was not familiar with the layout of the mansion at all. But having just searched through the garden, she found it full of decorative rocks and flowing water, full of scenic beauty everywhere, with signs of someone having tended it. Only through this door — having walked no more than an arrow’s flight — there was already wild grass growing over the path, and that wild grass had spread beyond control. Walking a few more steps, even the path ahead was buried under it.

There was not the slightest sound anywhere around her. Only the rustling of her skirt brushing through the wild grass as she walked. Apart from the small pool of light cast by a few lanterns the maidservants held to illuminate the ground at their feet, everywhere else was pitch black, with what appeared to be dense overgrown trees on all sides.

One could see that this had once been a grove, now untended for many years. The tree canopies, mixed in height, had grown together into one mass. Nearby rocks and stones had toppled and fallen to the ground, and everywhere was thick, untamed wild grass.

Yet just separated by a wall, the rest of the Prince’s Mansion lay on the other side — and within it was this desolate and overgrown corner.

The maidservants were growing more and more timid, huddling together. All of them looked as though they wanted to turn back, but the Princess Consort had not spoken, and they dared not move on their own.

As its name suggested, this place had once been used for keeping hawks and hunting dogs. But with no master for so many years, and being off in a secluded corner, preparations for the wedding had presumably overlooked and not cleared it out.

Pu Zhu was also beginning to doubt whether the old serving woman had mistaken the place.

What would Li Xuandu come to a forsaken place like this for?

She raised her eyes and looked ahead, and suddenly noticed a faint light floating in the darkness at the far end of the path.

The maidservants had seen it too, and grew all the more frightened. Hong’er said in a trembling voice: “A will-o’-the-wisp…”

Pu Zhu’s back also began to crawl, yet she did not wish to show weakness before her maidservants. She steeled herself and looked again, and felt it resembled a lantern. She hesitated a moment, then hardened her resolve and ordered them to keep going. Very soon they drew close enough to make it out clearly, and she quietly let out a breath of relief.

It was Luo Bao, standing at the side of the path with a lantern in his hand. Seen from a distance, he did indeed look like a speck of ghostly fire floating in the air — they had been frightened for nothing.

Luo Bao heard movement behind him, turned his head and saw the new Princess Consort had arrived. He hurried over to bow in greeting: “Why has Your Highness the Princess Consort come here?” His tone carried a note of surprise.

Pu Zhu found him disagreeable no matter which way she looked at him, and said coolly: “Is His Highness here? I am looking for him about something.”

Luo Bao said in a low voice: “His Highness is up on Hawk Terrace taking the cool air.” As he spoke, he pointed toward a raised terrace at the end of the path.

Pu Zhu told the maidservants to wait where they were, took up an eight-sided silk gauze ruyi lantern herself, and walked toward the terrace. Arriving at the base of it, she went around a half-collapsed remnant wall, and stopped in her tracks.

The patch of dark clouds that had been obscuring the moon chose that moment to drift away. The moonlight finally brightened somewhat and fell upon Hawk Terrace, cool as water. She saw Li Xuandu lying face up on a set of high stone steps, his arm resting over his forehead and eyes, an empty wine jar discarded at the foot of the steps. His left hand pressed over his face, his injured right hand hanging quietly down from the side of the steps — as if, drunk, he had already fallen asleep.

Pu Zhu looked at that figure, stepped through grass that reached to her calves, and slowly drew near. When she was almost to that stretch of stone steps, her foot caught on a rock buried under the grass. She stumbled and lurched, and the lantern in her hand slipped from her grip for a moment and dropped to the ground.

The lantern went out, leaving the ground before her even darker.

She gave a start, held her breath, and looked tensely toward the reclining figure ahead in the moonlight. For a moment she did not dare go any closer.

“What have you come here for? Go back.”

After a moment, the reclining figure still lay perfectly still, but his voice reached her.

Though his voice sounded distant and remote, it was enough to give Pu Zhu the courage to keep going.

She made her way across the patch of ground buried in wild grass and stepped onto the first stone step leading up to Hawk Terrace.

In the moonlight, the stone steps gave off a faint, phosphorescent white glow — they appeared to be carved from white marble.

One could imagine what this place had once been: hawks crying out, hounds baying, hawk-keepers and dog-handlers coming and going — what a bustling scene it must have been. Yet now it had inescapably fallen into ruin. Between each level of the steps grew thick moss, slippery underfoot.

Pu Zhu gathered her skirt, carefully treading on the steps, and at last came to Li Xuandu’s side.

He still lay as before — his arm covering his eyes, not having moved.

The night was already deep. The lingering autumn heat of the day had retreated, and Pu Zhu could clearly feel that the hem of her skirt had been dampened by the dew in the wild grass. Her silk socks were also damp, clinging wetly to the skin of her feet — both wet and cold and quite uncomfortable. Yet he was wearing only that thin, straight-collared robe, and his feet had not even a pair of socks — just a pair of wooden sandals.

“Your Highness, the night dew is heavy. You should go back to rest as well. Your hand is already injured — if you catch cold on top of that, it will be no small matter.”

Pu Zhu crouched down and settled herself onto one of the steps below him, and softly urged him.

Li Xuandu did not move, nor did he answer her. He continued to lie there, his arm covering his eyes.

Pu Zhu gathered her thoughts and spoke again: “Your Highness, just now I did not mean to walk out on you. I opened my heart to you, yet you would not trust me. At the time my mind was in too great a turmoil, and I feared that insisting on staying would only invite more of your distaste — so I had no choice but to go back first. Returning, I reflected on it, and the fault was mine. I understand your hesitation. From now on I will not press you again. I will use my actions to show you my sincerity…”

As Pu Zhu spoke, her gaze fell on his face.

The hazy, diffuse moonlight seemed to have cast a veil of pale light over his face as well.

A desolate terrace, wild grass, crumbling rocks and ruined steps — and beside her, this man lying still on the stone steps, as if sleeping quietly. Her new husband of just one night…

It must have been the moonlight’s fault. A feeling she had never experienced before rose within her — a tender pity. She felt this place was too desolate and forsaken, enough even to draw out ghosts, and she could not let him stay here alone. She had to get him back.

As though moved by some invisible force, she reached out and, with tentative fingers, gently closed her hand around his injured hand where it hung down from the step.

Her fingertips touched his wrist. She felt that his skin was ice cold, as if no trace of life remained in it.

The tenderness and pity in her heart grew even stronger. At first she had been timid, but finding he lay completely still, letting her hold his injured hand without so much as moving, his other arm still covering his eyes without any sign of resistance — she took heart at once. Her boldness surged up in an instant.

She quickly arrived at a daring decision. She let go of his hand, climbed over to him, and with a tentative dip of her head, brought her warm red lips softly down and pressed them gently against his mouth.

He still did not resist. Nor did he push her away.

She felt that his breath carried a hint of wine, but apart from that breath — which was at least warm — his entire person, including his lips, was both damp and cold.

She felt all the more tenderness and sorrow for him. Emboldened further, she simply removed the arm that was covering his eyes and forehead, opened her lips, and covered his mouth with hers, kissing him gently, with a feeling of wanting to console him.

His breathing grew hotter and hotter — so hot it was almost scorching — and the wine-tinged breath came in bursts against her cheek. Pu Zhu felt her heart beating wildly, her mind and spirit in a strange flutter. Then Li Xuandu suddenly opened his eyes. She was startled, stopped short, and, her boldness deflated, quickly pulled her lips away from his. She raised her head, held her breath, and looked at him wide-eyed.

In the moonlight his face was rigid, and both eyes stared straight at her.

Pu Zhu was frightened, and moreover felt ashamed and embarrassed. She hurriedly began to explain her behavior just now: “You should go back too, Your Highness. If you will not go back, I cannot sleep either…” As she spoke she realized that she was nearly leaning against his chest, and quickly moved to shift herself aside. Unexpectedly, as soon as she moved, a sharp pain hit her right shoulder — he had reached out and grabbed her.

Pu Zhu let out a low cry of surprise. She was dragged upward by him, and he turned over too.

Now Pu Zhu was truly panicking.

The stone steps beneath her were both hard and cold, making her very uncomfortable. But this unfamiliar side of him frightened her even more. She did not dare struggle too violently.

“Your Highness, it is time to go back…” Her voice was trembling slightly, her breathing in disarray.

He said not a word, and pinned her firmly beneath him on the steps, as though she were nailed in place.

Pu Zhu quickly stopped struggling.

She closed her eyes. What difference does any man make? she thought.

Though this place was uncomfortable, and she disliked the way he was treating her, doing such things tonight had been within her plans all along. She had thought the chance was lost for this month, but to her surprise the situation had reversed itself. Although the hour auspicious for conceiving a son according to that little booklet was almost up, perhaps her luck was good — she might still succeed in getting a son this one try.

She became compliant, and not only stopped resisting, but gently stretched out her jade arms and drew him to her by the neck. Just then, something unknown at the foot of the steps darted swiftly past, and the wine jar rolled off the steps with a clunking, tumbling racket.

Pu Zhu felt the man pressing down on her suddenly stop.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing rapid, and she slowly opened her eyes. He had both brows tightly knit, looking down at her, perfectly still.

“Your Highness…”

Her bright eyes were half lidded, her voice a gentle murmur. She reached out to press his head down toward her, wanting to kiss him on the lips once more.

He had done other things to her just now, only never kissed her mouth. This left her feeling somewhat displeased.

Li Xuandu turned his face aside. A moment later, she heard his low, husky voice sound in her ear: “I have no intention of contending for the throne. You must think this over clearly first.”

Pu Zhu was stunned.

This time, she had a feeling — a clear, unmistakable feeling.

He had not deceived her. He had spoken the truth.

The arms with which she had been tightly embracing his neck lost their strength without her willing it, and finally fell away.

He quickly released her and sat up by himself. He straightened his clothes, then said in a low voice: “Get out.”