All of this had come so fast — so fast that she had been caught completely off guard.

He had been fine just now — just as she had always known men to be. He had pressed her beneath him, doing what men do at such moments…

Then suddenly, without warning, this had happened.

He did not want her anymore. And he had told her to get out?

Pu Zhu did not get out. She could not get out.

Her arms and legs had gone soft as cotton, her whole body without strength — she could not even climb up, but could only lie there on her back askew on the stone steps, in the same position as when he had released her, staring blankly at the figure of the man sitting with his back to her.

All around was silence. Not the slightest sound. Then a gust of night wind came, and in her ears rose the faint whispering rustle of the treetops swaying in the wind. She also felt a wave of cold hit her shoulders and chest, and only then realized that her own clothes were still undone.

She quickly pulled together the collar that had slipped off her shoulders, covering her chest. Clarity returned, and she gave herself a quiet shake. She must have reacted badly just now, and gotten herself into this trouble.

Looking at his silhouette, she froze inwardly, and hastily scrambled up to reach toward him, grabbing hold of his sleeve with both hands.

“Your Highness, listen to me — I…”

Li Xuandu suddenly stood up. That cuff of his sleeve was pulled from her fingers as he rose.

Pu Zhu sat on the steps and watched helplessly as he descended the steps in a straight line, passed through the court of wild grass, his figure rounded the remnant wall, and disappeared from sight.

From beyond the remnant wall, carried on the wind, came the sound of Luo Bao speaking. His voice was very low, too indistinct to make out the words — it must have been something like asking whether they were going back. Very quickly, along with the fading sound of retreating footsteps, Pu Zhu’s ears returned once more to silence.

He had left just like that — left her behind and walked away.

Clouds drifted once more over the moonlight, and the surroundings grew dim and eerie again. She had been left on the white marble steps of Hawk Terrace. She felt the cold of the autumn night, yet she did not want to go back, and could not move her legs.

She slowly bent her knees, wrapped both arms around her legs, and curled her body into a ball, and let her mind wander.

She knew now. She finally knew. Li Xuandu had not deceived her — everything he said was true.

The one who was wrong was her.

Because of what she had lived through in her past life, she had already formed assumptions too deep to shake — she had stubbornly believed him to be a man of soaring ambition who had long harbored the intention of usurping the throne. This belief had caused every thought and action she had taken in this life to be carried out under this premise.

Now, looking at it from a different angle, if he truly had no designs on the throne, then his being drawn into the case of Crown Prince Liang all those years ago must have been because of some hidden circumstances unknown to outsiders.

Likewise, the assassination that had occurred in the spring of the following year in her past life — could it be that things were completely unlike what she had known in that life, where he had orchestrated it? Could it instead have been a massive scheme hatched by another party involved in the incident, deliberately directed against him?

Everything she had known about the assassination had come from what the court publicly announced in her past life. Now that she thought about it, was there another possibility? After Jiang Shi died, the Emperor, freed of all restraint, decided to immediately eliminate Li Xuandu while his wings were still not fully grown — to cut off all future trouble at the root.

Emperor Xiaochang valued his reputation above all else. If he wanted to eliminate his own fourth imperial brother, he needed a legitimate justification. Having Prince Qin arrange for people to attempt to assassinate the Emperor right on Jiang Shi’s funeral procession route — this was truly a masterstroke. It was both a great act of disloyalty, and a great act of unfilial piety. As Emperor, removing a treasonous criminal who was both disloyal and unfilial — who under heaven could say a single word against the Emperor for it?

The same event, viewed from a different position, had a completely different face.

The thought struck Pu Zhu with such force that cold sweat broke out on her. The night wind blew in gusts. Her gauze jacket pressed tight against her back, and she felt her body growing colder and colder, even as her mind grew colder and sharper.

She had truly been wrong before — wrong from the root, and badly wrong at that. No wonder she had suffered defeat after defeat in front of Li Xuandu.

Fortunately, she had realized this so early. Though the situation was poor, there was still time and opportunity left for her to correct it. And most fortunately for her, in her past life, in the end Li Xuandu had still returned — returned to claim the throne he had said he had “no interest in,” and became the final victor.

She closed her eyes, buried her face against her knees, and thought through how she should proceed from here.

It was clear that what she needed to do next was to change the way she interacted with him. She should stop trying to be clever and approach him again to talk about some “cooperation” — instead, she should wait. Wait for him to be pushed to a point where he had no choice but to consider rebellion.

That moment would come in the spring of next year, when Jiang Shi passed away.

Only when Jiang Shi was gone would the Emperor act against him without restraint.

Now she was far more willing to believe that at his core, behind all that unbridled freedom, Li Xuandu was a through-and-through loyal minister and filial son. He himself could cultivate the Dao and regard life and death with equanimity — but he could not simply stand by and do nothing about the Que nation on his mother’s side.

Only when Jiang Shi was gone, when the Emperor was pressing him with no room to retreat, would he be forced to face the possibility of resistance.

So starting from tomorrow, what she needed to do was gradually improve their relationship, and wait patiently for the critical juncture that would come in the spring of next year. When the Emperor carried out his scheme, exactly as he had in her past life, he would certainly make use of her — this piece he had planted at Li Xuandu’s side. At that point, when Li Xuandu had no way out, she could help him turn the tables and use the scheme against the schemer. If they could kill the Emperor outright — truly finish him off — then despite the different route taken, the destination would still be the same as what she had originally hoped for.

The maidservants had been waiting outside the remnant wall all along.

The Prince had left of his own accord, yet the Princess Consort had not come out after a long time. Several of them were uneasy. They whispered among themselves, debated, and finally went in together around the remnant wall to look for her. They saw her sitting alone at the top of the steps with her arms around her knees, her small figure curled up like someone in deep contemplation. They hesitated for a moment, then timidly called out to her: “Your Highness, it is getting late — time to go back…”

Pu Zhu slowly raised her head, opened her eyes, stood up, and stepped carefully down the steps one by one. Once she reached the bottom she stopped, and told the maidservants to find the lantern she had accidentally dropped into the wild grass. Once it was found and relit, it lit the way, and together they went back to the main sleeping chambers.

As she had expected, Li Xuandu had not returned. He was still in the quiet room.

He would be spending the night there this evening.

There were only a few hours left until dawn. Pu Zhu had no plans to go disturb him again just yet.

He certainly would not want to see her immediately. She too needed to think everything through more carefully.

That night she lay alone under the deep crimson bed curtains, waiting quietly until dawn came. Once she rose, she gave orders for the mansion estate manager Li Jin to go and summon Imperial Physician Ding again, and went herself to lead them over.

Imperial Physician Ding hurried to Li Xuandu’s side and bowed, saying: “Your Highness, the Princess Consort said Your Highness’s injured hand was torn open in the night. The Princess Consort is worried, and has sent me here again to examine it. Could Your Highness please come inside so I may take another look?”

Li Xuandu glanced at Pu Zhu, then turned and went inside.

Imperial Physician Ding immediately followed him in. Pu Zhu also entered the quiet room and stood to one side, watching as the physician attended to his injured hand.

The wound on his palm — stitched closed — was swollen, weeping with threads of blood, and looked alarming. She felt her skin prickle and could barely bring herself to look directly at it.

The physician finished treating it and repeatedly cautioned him to be careful and not let the wound be jostled again. Pu Zhu saw the physician out, then came back. She found Li Xuandu searching with one hand through the scripture cases along the wall, looking through the scriptures.

Pu Zhu said to Luo Bao: “You go out — move far back!”

The palace attendant quickly complied and withdrew.

With only Pu Zhu and Li Xuandu remaining in the quiet room, she closed the door, and looked steadily at his back: “Your Highness, after I went back last night I thought for a long time, and finally understood. Before, it was I who was too calculating, judging others by my own standards, and had completely misjudged you. Now I believe you. Since I have married you, from now on I will do my duty properly as your Princess Consort. As for what comes in the future, I leave it to fate and will not seek to force anything.”

Li Xuandu’s hand paused for a moment. He did not turn around, and did not respond. Then he continued searching through the scriptures.

Pu Zhu lowered her voice further and said: “This morning that Nanny Huang asked me why Your Highness had stayed in the quiet room last night and not returned to the bedchamber. I made up a reason and dismissed her. After all, with someone keeping watch, and the two of us being newly wed — Your Highness remaining in the quiet room would raise suspicions. I hope Your Highness will be willing to bear a little discomfort. No matter how unwilling you are to see me, you must still return to the rooms to rest at night. Otherwise Nanny Huang will make trouble for no reason.”

Li Xuandu still showed no reaction.

“That is all I wished to say. Whether Your Highness heeds it is Your Highness’s decision. I dare not compel you, nor do I dare to intrude further on your time. I will go back first.”

She made a slight bow toward that figure, turned, and walked out of the quiet room.

As it was only the day after the wedding, by convention no one would come to call on them. The Prince’s Mansion was quiet and still. Pu Zhu walked the full circuit of the mansion’s back garden. Passing by the door that led to Hawk Terrace, she found the door now firmly locked.

In the light of day, everything that had happened behind that door the night before felt like a dream — an exceedingly unpleasant dream.

The whole day passed without incident. But Pu Zhu did receive two pieces of news.

One came from Penglai Palace: Jiang Shi was going to An’guo Temple to burn incense and make a vow in two days’ time, and asked her to prepare and go along, since she had nothing better to do.

The other came from Shen Yang’s wife, Xiao Shi.

Xiao Shi had her servants deliver an invitation card, saying that the fifteenth of the month was her birthday. It happened to be the season when golden chrysanthemums were blooming, and she would be holding a birthday flower banquet at her own Cheng Garden — ostensibly to celebrate her birthday, but in truth a gathering to appreciate the flowers and enjoy one another’s company. Having long admired the Princess Consort of Qin and wishing to become better acquainted, she was taking the liberty of sending this invitation card. If Her Highness the Princess Consort should grace them with her presence, the Cheng Garden would be honored beyond measure, and so forth.

Xiao Shi was of distinguished birth. The Xiao family had been an eminent family in the previous dynasty, and in the present dynasty, having rendered meritorious service in following the founding emperor, they had similarly enjoyed great imperial favor. During the reign of Taizong, a member of the family had even entered the imperial harem, though through unfortunate fate she had no children and died young. By this current generation, as the family had produced no outstanding sons, the Xiao family had gradually lost its former glory — but this was only relative to families like the Shangguan and the Chen clans. Among the ordinary noble families of the capital, mention of the Xiao family still made it one of the top ranking households, and no one would dare look down upon them.

In her past life, Pu Zhu had had no private dealings with this Xiao Shi who had married Shen Yang. She had only encountered her a few times in the palace. From what she remembered, she had been quite beautiful and dressed with distinction. Because of her husband’s position, she had also been granted the title Marchioness of Teng, and among the high-ranking ladies of the capital, if one were to speak of who commanded the most attention — apart from Princess Imperial Li Lihua, there was no one who could compare with her.

Of course, the reason she drew attention was also because she and Li Lihua were sworn enemies. It was said she detested Li Lihua intensely and, because of this, had aligned herself with Empress Shangguan. She kept company with Empress Shangguan, the wife of Chen Zhude, Lady Gan, and that circle of people.

Pu Zhu looked at this invitation card that gave off a faint, subtle fragrance, and frowned slightly.

Anything connected to that Shen Yang — her first instinct was to want nothing to do with it. And moreover, given Empress Shangguan’s dislike of her, this Xiao Shi ought not to have had dealings with her.

She tried to fathom what Xiao Shi’s intent might be in sending her this invitation, and could not make sense of it for the moment.

Pu Zhu decided to set it aside for now. After all, there were still a few days before the birthday flower banquet.

Such social engagements were also not obligatory. When the time came, if she decided not to go, she could simply decline under the pretext of having gone with the Grand Empress Dowager to the temple, and that on return she was observing a vegetarian fast and praying for blessings.

Her thoughts were not on this Xiao Shi right now.

The day passed, and at the hour of pig, Li Xuandu finally returned to the rooms.

Pu Zhu had not yet gone to bed — she had been waiting for him. Seeing him return, she let out a complete sigh of relief, smiled, and stepped forward to help him change his clothes.

That evening when she bathed, she had noticed that a few red marks on her chest had still not faded — all left from the night before on Hawk Terrace.

Right now, however, he had no wish for her to come near. She reached her hands toward him, and he moved aside slightly.

Pu Zhu did not insist. She called Luo Bao inside to help him change clothes.

The two of them shared the bed that night.

Pu Zhu had barely slept the night before, and now that she had thought through her plans for going forward, she was no longer despondent as she had been the previous night. Li Xuandu had also, as she had hoped, returned to the rooms.

Without any worries on her mind, tired out besides, she lay down at Li Xuandu’s side and very quickly fell asleep.

She slept soundly all night. The next morning, no one called her to rise, and she slept until the sky was already fully bright. When she woke, Li Xuandu was nowhere to be seen on the bed, and she, rolling over in her sleep, had migrated from the inner side of the bed and encroached on some of his sleeping space.

This bad habit had formed in He Xi. In winter the cold had been bitter, and she and A’mu shared a bed. As she slept and grew cold, she would unconsciously roll toward A’mu and cuddle against her for warmth. Now she suspected that her sleeping manner had once again annoyed him, and moreover she was worried she might have reached out in her dreams and instinctively embraced him, mistaking him for A’mu. She was filled with regret about it. But such a thing was not easy to ask about directly, and she could only privately warn herself that in future she must be more alert when sleeping, and correct this bad habit as soon as possible.

Besides A’mu, no one in this world could let her reach out to them for warmth in her sleep when the cold came over her.

She lay on the pillow daydreaming, her heart growing sad, when there was a knock at the door. A maidservant was outside, asking about getting up.

The Guo family was now like her own family of origin. Today she and Li Xuandu were to go to the Guo family’s residence — this was the courtesy of returning to the bride’s family for a visit.

She pulled herself together, got out of bed, washed and dressed herself, ate a little something in haste, and was told that Li Xuandu was already waiting for her. She draped a red cape around her shoulders that a maidservant handed her and hurried out.

Li Xuandu was properly dressed and groomed, standing on a set of steps in the courtyard, seemingly gazing at the dawn glow in the distance. Seeing her come out, his expression was calm. He said nothing, and simply turned to walk toward the exit.

Pu Zhu followed him. The two of them, followed in silence by their retinue of elderly serving women and maidservants, left through the main gate of the Prince’s Mansion. As usual, she rode in the carriage and he rode on horseback. They arrived at the Guo family residence. Guo Lang came out to receive them in person, escorted Li Xuandu into the study, while Pu Zhu went with Yan Shi to the inner room to talk.

Yan Shi smiled warmly and made small talk with Pu Zhu for a while, asking if she had settled in at the Prince’s Mansion and how the Prince was treating her, and so forth. Pu Zhu answered each question in turn. Then she said: “Since I came back to the capital, I have been fortunate to receive the shelter and protection of the Grand Tutor and Madam. Even for going out as a bride, I left from here. I have no close relatives of my own. In my heart, the Grand Tutor and Madam are my own senior kin — my only support. Please accept my bow of gratitude.”

Her words were heartfelt and sincere. When she finished she bowed down to the ground.

Yan Shi inwardly approved. She quickly helped her up, held her hands, let out a string of sighs, then quietly ordered everyone waiting in the room to withdraw and stand far back. Then she smiled and said: “You regard me as a close elder, and I regard you as my own granddaughter. There are a few words I don’t know if I should say or not.”

Pu Zhu immediately said: “Please speak plainly, Madam. I know Madam speaks entirely for my own good.”

Yan Shi said: “It is good that you have such foresight. I will be blunt then. If you are wise, you should know that the Prince of Qin on the surface appears brilliant and distinguished — favored by the Grand Empress Dowager, and with the Emperor seemingly cherishing their fraternal bond. But that cannot withstand the petty people all around who are jealous and envious of talent. The world is unpredictable, and I truly worry for your future.”

She said only half of what she meant, and in extremely veiled terms. Pu Zhu guessed that she was hinting at something, but wanted to know what she actually meant to say. So she went along with her words and adopted a worried expression: “Madam speaks very truly — when have I not worried about the future? But what can I do?”

She grabbed Yan Shi’s hand tightly: “I will not deceive Madam — my heart is in great distress. I am already the Princess Consort of Qin, and there is no changing it now. As for what the future holds, I am at a loss. I beg Madam to point the way for me, and help me!”

Yan Shi had finished testing her. Reassured, she patted her hand and comforted her: “Do not worry too much. It is not necessarily going to go badly — perhaps the Prince of Qin is blessed by fortune and everything goes smoothly in the future. That is what the Grand Tutor and I hope for as well. You are like my own granddaughter — if we both flourish together, then flourish; if we suffer together, then suffer. How could I stand aside and ignore your lot in life?”

Pu Zhu was nearly moved to grateful tears, bowing her head and choking with emotion: “Thank you for your affection, Madam. This kindness will never be forgotten as long as I live.”

Yan Shi gave a light cough: “It is all right. So I would like you to quietly keep an eye out for me going forward…”

She leaned close to Pu Zhu’s ear and said in a low voice, then finally added: “This Xiao Shi — I think she means you no good. You should watch out for her in future.”

She whispered one final thing into Pu Zhu’s ear — a piece of information — then pulled back.

Pu Zhu instantly understood.

It turned out that Guo Lang and Yan Shi, afraid that if Li Xuandu should rebel in the future they would be implicated as well, had been entertaining the idea of manipulating her into serving as their informant — so that they could be forewarned and make their own preparations in advance.

As for whether, if that day truly came, the Guo family would throw their support behind Li Xuandu this half-son-in-law of theirs and join a rebellion, or whether they would use their informant’s tip-off to draw merit by exposing the plot and exonerate themselves — that would be hard to say.

Truly fitting of Guo Lang and his consistent ways.

Pu Zhu laughed coldly to herself. Outwardly she assumed a grateful expression, nodded, and said: “I remember. I will listen to Madam’s words. If there is any news, I will immediately report it to Madam.”

Yan Shi smiled and nodded, inwardly certain that this granddaughter of the Pu family — with no one to lean on, no one to depend on — would henceforth be utterly devoted to following her lead. She also quietly let out a breath of relief.

Pu Zhu took the opportunity to make a request: “The people around me now are all useless. Among the servants in Madam’s household, there is a Nanny Wang — she attended on me before and we got along somewhat. Could Madam spare her for me? If I have any news in the future, she could also serve as a convenient go-between for passing messages.”

Yan Shi had also been thinking about exactly this problem. The few maidservants and serving women the Guo family had given Pu Zhu as part of the wedding trousseau were either too young or too dim-witted. So she agreed at once.

Pu Zhu smiled in thanks. The two of them, after the frank exchange of the moment before, had grown closer than before. They chatted amiably for a little longer. Then she suddenly thought of Xiao Shi, who had inexplicably sent her an invitation card. Knowing that Yan Shi was a person who knew everything about everything — there was almost nothing happening among the powerful and noble families of the capital that she did not know — she wanted to find out more about Xiao Shi’s situation, so she mentioned in passing that she had received an invitation to the birthday flower banquet.

“I grew up in He Xi from a young age — I am afraid that if I go, I won’t fit in, and people will laugh at me.” She put on a look of worry and complaint.

Yan Shi frowned, then leaned close to Pu Zhu’s ear again and quietly said something, finishing with: “This Xiao Shi — I think she means you no good. You should watch out for her in future.”