Today, at the very end of the mao hour, Pu Zhu was to set out with Jiang Shi to visit Anguo Temple for prayers. In order to arrive on time, counting the time needed to wash and dress, plus the journey to Penglai Palace, she had to be up by the start of the mao hour.

Afraid she might oversleep, she had told a maid to knock on her door at the right time.

The knocking came as promised, early in the morning, with the sky outside the window still barely beginning to lighten. The hardships she had endured from childhood were so deeply carved into her that they might as well have been branded onto iron—not even the ten years of wealth and comfort in her previous life had ever given her a sense of genuine security from within. Half asleep and half awake, she seemed to be back in He Xi, drowsily thinking it was time to get up and go to work at the relay station, feeling miserable and wanting nothing more than to keep sleeping—but if she didn’t get up, A’mu would have even more work to do.

When would she finally be able to live a stable, wealthy life together with A’mu…

“A’mu.”

She sighed in her dream, called out in a muddled voice, and instinctively nuzzled her face against her…

Wait. Something seemed off.

A’mu’s chest was warm and soft. This one… it was warm, yes, but why was it so hard?

There came several more knocks on the door.

Pu Zhu froze—and jolted fully awake. She snapped her eyes open, and found herself embracing Li Xuandu, burrowing into his arms.

That was embarrassing enough on its own. What made it even more mortifying was that he was already awake.

The morning light filtering through the bed curtains was dim, but enough to make things out. Pu Zhu saw him staring at the arm she currently had planted across his lower abdomen, his expression taut and strange.

There was no chance of pretending to be asleep now.

Pu Zhu swiftly withdrew her hand, scooted to the inner side of the bed, grabbed the blanket, and pulled it over her burning face, leaving only her two eyes peeking out.

“I didn’t mean to… I thought you were my A’mu…”

Her voice was barely louder than a mosquito’s buzz. She wanted nothing more than to pull the blanket over her head entirely.

Li Xuandu’s lips gave a barely perceptible twitch. He sat up abruptly, turned, and swept the bed curtain aside to get off the bed.

The crimson curtains trembled behind him. Through the fabric, Pu Zhu heard his cool, indifferent voice: “Get up. Don’t be late.”

He would also be going along today, escorting Jiang Shi on her visit to Anguo Temple.

Pu Zhu watched his blurry silhouette through the curtain as he stood with his back to her. She sensed that his words held no particular anger—perhaps he was magnanimous enough not to hold it against her. She let out a small breath of relief, answered “Oh,” and hurriedly climbed out as well.

The two of them were attended by their respective servants for washing and dressing. By the middle of the mao hour, as dawn turned pale, they set out for Penglai Palace.

The Grand Empress Dowager’s outing this time was a spontaneous decision to burn incense and offer prayers—not a grand religious ceremony—so the group was small: only her closest attendants, and aside from Huaiwei and Princess Imperial Ningfu, just Pu Zhu. Anguo Temple had been closed to other visitors since the day before, and the Imperial Guard had sent men to stand watch along the route. This morning, Imperial Guard Commander Han Rongchang personally led his troops to wait at the palace gate to escort them. When he spotted Li Xuandu arriving from a distance, he rode over to greet him, clasped hands and bowed, and exchanged a few pleasantries.

Nearby, the curtain of a carriage was lifted, and from behind an embroidered screen of gold thread on a dark green ground, a beautiful woman’s face appeared, her expression carrying a smile that was pleasant to behold.

“Brother-in-law Han, thank you for your trouble today.”

Pu Zhu nodded in greeting of her own accord.

She had long since stopped holding a grudge against him for her accidentally ending up married to Li Xuandu.

What was done was done—blaming him to death wouldn’t change anything.

Besides, Pu Zhu held a measure of genuine respect for him in her heart. In her previous life, when Emperor Xiaochang had sent Chen Zhude as commander to meet the Di forces in battle, Han Rongchang had also taken part. After Chen Zhude was defeated and killed, leaving He Xi lost, it was Han Rongchang who had taken emergency command, leading several thousand soldiers to hold Jing Pass—the gateway to the inner regions—withstanding wave after wave of Di assaults, until reinforcements finally arrived. By then he had died of his wounds.

When the news reached the capital, everyone was stunned, and not a soul dared utter another word of mockery about him. He had redeemed, through a glorious death, the greatest humiliation of his lifetime.

Compared to Li Xuandu, who had grown more irritable and unpredictable of late, Han Rongchang found this lovely, smiling little Princess Consort who greeted him so warmly far more agreeable. He was a little flattered by her warmth, and quickly said, “Sister-in-law is too kind. It is my honor to escort the Grand Empress Dowager and sister-in-law to offer prayers.”

Pu Zhu smiled and let the curtain fall back into place, and the carriage continued toward the palace gates.

Han Rongchang watched the carriage go, then muttered a complaint to Li Xuandu: “I invited you to drink the other day—why didn’t you come? If not for me, how would you have ended up with such a fine Princess Consort? Lovely to look at, and apparently so gentle-natured too—she’s truly the finest I’ve ever seen in my life…”

Before he could finish, Li Xuandu, stone-faced, turned his horse and rode past him.

For today’s outing from the palace, Jiang Shi had one carriage and Pu Zhu and Ningfu shared another. Huaiwei had originally been meant to ride with Jiang Shi, but at the last moment he had run to the back instead, and Jiang Shi let him be. When the eastern sun rose fully and all the female officials, maids, and palace attendants from Penglai Palace had taken their places in the smaller trailing carriages, the whole procession set off toward the temple.

Anguo Temple was an imperially commissioned royal temple, its abbot holding the title of National Preceptor. The abbot came out with his monks to receive Jiang Shi at the mountain gate, then escorted her through the Gate Hall and the Hall of the Heavenly Kings to the Main Hall of the Great Hero.

Jiang Shi directed everyone to withdraw outside the threshold. After washing her hands, she stepped into the hall alone.

The interior of the Great Hero Hall was dim, fragrant with incense smoke, deep and solemn. Pu Zhu stood outside the threshold and watched the silhouette within from a distance. The old woman held a stick of incense in her hands and knelt devoutly on the prayer cushion, motionless for a long time, as if silently offering prayers. When her prayers were finished, she bowed three times, then rose and placed the incense in the censer before the Buddha. Only then did she withdraw.

After Jiang Shi had paid her respects, a senior monk of the temple who was deeply versed in Buddhist teachings, Master Dazang, held a sutra recitation for her in the Dharma Hall. Li Xuandu, Pu Zhu, and Li Hui’er had the honor of attending.

Master Dazang entered the Dharma Hall to the chanting of the monks, and took his seat on the lotus throne. Li Xuandu went on behalf of the Grand Empress Dowager to pay reverence before the master’s seat—prostrating himself with both arms on the ground in a full bow, then rising and returning to his place, seated across from Pu Zhu.

Master Dazang began to expound on the sutras. Pu Zhu listened for a short while, finding the teachings profound and impenetrable. The master’s voice was clear and sonorous, seemingly scattering flowers from the heavens, yet she could find no way in—like reading a celestial text. After a little while, she inevitably began to feel drowsy. But she noticed that not only was Jiang Shi listening with focused attention, Li Xuandu sat ramrod straight and attentive, and even Li Hui’er beside her was listening with earnest concentration. Her mind wandered. Then, just as her thoughts were drifting, she happened to catch Li Xuandu’s glance in her direction. Perhaps because she felt guilty, she was certain he was mocking her—her heart flushed with shame, and she drove away the sleepiness, struggling to listen.

The recitation lasted an hour. When the noon bell sounded, the morning session came to an end, with another session planned for the afternoon.

Jiang Shi smiled and expressed her gratitude to the master, instructing Li Xuandu to respectfully see him off in her stead. Then she turned to Pu Zhu and asked whether she had gained any insights from listening to the scriptures.

With Li Xuandu present, Pu Zhu dearly wanted to offer something profound, but her mind was empty. To say something wrong would only make things worse—so she could only bow her head in embarrassment and answer honestly: “I am too simple-minded—I understand not a word of Buddhist teachings. I have truly failed the master’s profound teachings and the Grand Empress Dowager’s fond hopes.”

Li Xuandu, his face stiff, turned his head to one side, and his shoulders appeared to give a subtle, almost imperceptible tremble.

Jiang Shi let out a startled laugh and said, “Never mind. Even these great sutras are things I only half understand—how much more so for you. The teachings of Buddhism may be abstruse, but at their root, they simply guide people to distinguish right from wrong and strive for perfect goodness. Yet how many in this world can truly achieve that? If, when the time comes, one’s good deeds outweigh one’s wrongs, and one has no shame before one’s conscience, that is enough to attain Buddhahood. You are still young—with more experience in life, you will come to understand gradually.”

Pu Zhu still found it all rather bewildering, but hearing those words gave her a feeling like cool spring water pouring over her head—utterly refreshing. It was the first time since the age of eight that someone had spoken to her with such patient guidance. And being in this sacred space made the feeling all the more solemn and beautiful. She respectfully assented, resolving that she absolutely must listen attentively in the afternoon session and not let herself doze off again and give a certain someone more cause for ridicule.

Female Official Chen came to invite them to the meal. They ate the vegetarian food provided by the temple, then Li Xuandu went to the front hall, and Pu Zhu and Ningfu retired to the meditation room at the rear hall that had been prepared for female guests to rest during the midday break.

Huaiwei had been in the capital for several months now. Jiang Shi, reluctant to send him back and seeing that he himself did not wish to leave, had arranged for civil and martial tutors to come to him, requiring him to spend two hours each day in the palace reading and then practicing archery and riding, only allowing him to play afterward. Today’s outing was like a breath of fresh air for him. Jiang Shi, knowing he couldn’t sit still, had not made him sit through the sutra recitation, only reminding him not to cause trouble. He had first followed the great monk wandering through the temple, striking the bell and tapping the chimes, and in that spacious compound he had played freely all morning. At noon he ate a little vegetarian food and could not possibly sleep. He went to the front hall to find Han Rongchang and asked to ride, pointing out that the autumn hunt was coming up and the Emperor had already promised to take him along to broaden his horizons—if he didn’t practice his riding now, was he supposed to run on foot chasing deer and rabbits during the hunt?

His argument was entirely sound, yet Han Rongchang knew the boy was precious, and if he were to fall it would be more than he could answer for. Using his guard duties as an excuse, he passed the boy off to Li Xuandu. Li Xuandu tested his riding skills, found him a gentle-natured, smaller-built mare, and since there was nothing pressing to do at midday, he personally took him down the mountain to practice.

Pu Zhu and Li Hui’er were resting in the same meditation room. With the matter of the appointment with Cui Xuan weighing on her mind, she exchanged a few idle words with Li Hui’er, then told her to rest first, saying she wanted to go pray at the Guanyin Hall in the rear courtyard. She left the maids behind and headed to the Guanyin Hall with Nanny Wang, offered her prayers, and passed through to reach the rear gate of the temple grounds.

A squad of Han Rongchang’s men was stationed at the rear gate as well. When the Princess Consort of Prince Qin appeared, saying she had heard the rear mountain had fine scenery and wished to take a walk to aid digestion during the midday break, how could the Imperial Guards dare question her further?

Pu Zhu told the guards not to follow, and walked directly toward the old pine tree nearby. When she was almost there, she suddenly heard footsteps behind her and assumed it was Cui Xuan, turning to look.

A young man was coming swiftly out from a small path through the pine forest to the side, striding toward her with urgency, several attendants standing not far behind him.

But this person was not the Cui Xuan she was waiting for—it was Crown Prince Li Chengyu, dressed in informal clothes!

Pu Zhu was taken aback and stopped in her tracks.

Li Chengyu’s expression was one of great agitation. He reached her quickly and extended his hand, reaching to take hers.

Pu Zhu’s eyes were quick and so were her hands—she stepped neatly aside, and his hand closed on empty air. It hovered there in midair as he gazed at her, his smile fading slowly, giving way to a bitter smile as he spoke in a low voice: “Are you blaming me? Blaming me for not fighting for you with His Majesty, for not making you my Crown Princess?”

Pu Zhu was inwardly dismayed—yet she also understood clearly that this confrontation was one she would have to face sooner or later.

It was entirely her own doing. After all, she had been the one to start it.

She had just not expected it to come so quickly and so suddenly.

Well, since Li Chengyu had come to her himself, this was as good a chance as any to speak plainly with him.

Pu Zhu gave Nanny Wang—who was watching in astonishment at her and Li Chengyu—a meaningful look, signaling her to step back.

Nanny Wang came to her senses and quickly retreated to a distance.

Pu Zhu was thinking of how to speak to him when she asked: “Your Highness, how is it that you have also come here today?”

Li Chengyu said, “I heard that the Grand Empress Dowager was coming to the temple today and bringing you along, so I came in disguise, hoping to see you once. I had just planned to have a monk pass word inside, when I happened to run into you coming out yourself.”

He finished his explanation, and his expression grew urgent once more.

“Let me explain—it was not that I intended to let you down. Things happened too fast. By the time I learned of it, Father Emperor had already issued the imperial decree, bestowing you in marriage to…”

He paused, biting down, and said, “…betrothed you to Prince Qin. I thought of going to Father Emperor at the time, begging him to rescind the decree, but as Crown Prince, there are many things not in my own hands. I hope you understand. I know you have suffered a tremendous injustice. I came to see you today especially to let you know: I have never forgotten the promise I made to you before. Please bear with it for now. One day, I will bring you back, and give you everything you desire, and share with you all the glory of this realm!”

Pu Zhu felt a wave of bittersweet sadness.

Who would have known that Heaven would arrange things this way, making all her careful planning amount to nothing? If only everything had gone as she had planned, she would by now already be Crown Princess.

Never mind. That road was now closed. She would think of it no more.

Pu Zhu said, “Your Highness, things being as they are, our fate is finished. Let us each keep well from now on. Please, Your Highness, do not let old matters weigh on your mind. Your Highness’s affection is more than I can bear…”

Li Chengyu’s expression grew agitated once more.

“I will not hear you speak like this! Do not lose heart. Given time, I will certainly bring you back to my side…”

He made to reach for her hand again, only to be avoided once more.

The flicker of excitement that had briefly crossed Li Chengyu’s face vanished again. He stared at her, then said abruptly: “You were not like this toward me before. What has come over you?”

Pu Zhu could not help thinking of her previous life.

At sixteen she had become Crown Princess, and at twenty-six she had died. She and Li Chengyu had been together for ten years. He had not treated her badly. Even if she could not summon any heart-wrenching love for him, after so many years together, they had developed something like the warmth of family.

Now that things had come to this pass, she felt some guilt toward him—but there was truly nothing she could do. And she did not want to keep him dangling any longer.

Pu Zhu said, “I will not hide it from Your Highness any longer. In the past, I was greedy for wealth and status, and hoped Your Highness would take me away from He Xi and lift me out of hardship—that was why I deliberately drew close to you and worked to win your favor. Your Highness is right to despise me, and if you hate me, I brought it on myself. I only beg that you not continue to be deceived by me.”

Li Chengyu looked genuinely shocked. Pu Zhu waited for him to rage and denounce her, but instead he said: “I don’t believe you! Are you afraid of Father Emperor, and saying this to make me give up hope? Or is it Li Xuandu?”

His voice suddenly rose.

“Yes—it must be him! He has forced you to say this! I know you have no choice. From the moment we met in He Xi, I have regarded you as the rarest of kindred spirits—I have not been able to stop thinking of you. I only hate that I can do nothing right now, that I am powerless to protect you. My words remain the same: wait for me. One day…”

Pu Zhu was frantic. She quickly looked around, cutting him off.

“Prince Qin has nothing to do with this! Your Highness, surely you understand—on the day the imperial decree arrived bestowing me in marriage, the fate between Your Highness and me was severed. Please take care of yourself. We are near the rear gate here, and I am afraid someone may come. Please go quickly, Your Highness, lest someone recognize you—that would be to Your Highness’s detriment!”

Li Chengyu stared at her, his expression one of bitter pain, and still he seemed unwilling to leave. At that moment, from somewhere in the forest came a series of faint, dull thuds, as if a woodcutter were at work among the trees.

“There is someone in the forest! Your Highness, please go quickly!” Pu Zhu urged him again in a low voice.

Li Chengyu gave her one last look, clenched his jaw, turned, and strode away along the mountain path he had come by, his attendants following close behind.

From the look of him, he still seemed unwilling to accept it, and still did not believe her honest words.

Pu Zhu pressed down the turmoil in her heart and looked toward the direction in the forest from which the sound had come, guessing that it was perhaps Cui Xuan who had made the noise.

A moment later, sure enough, she saw Cui Xuan step out from behind a thicket of dense trees and make his way toward her.

At first glance, Pu Zhu had a feeling that in just these few months, Cui Xuan seemed somehow different from before.

She could not say exactly what was different—it was only a vague, subtle impression.

Pu Zhu went a few steps to meet him, nodding in greeting: “You came? How is your wound?”

Cui Xuan said it was nothing to worry about. He stopped before an old cedar tree, fixed her with a look for a moment, then said abruptly: “Didn’t you say before that you meant to marry the Crown Prince?”

Pu Zhu was taken aback, then said, “An imperial decree is hard to defy. Being Princess Consort of Prince Qin is no bad thing.”

She did not want to linger on this topic with Cui Xuan, and quickly added: “Cui Xuan, the reason I arranged to meet you today is to tell you—I am deeply grateful to you for helping me out of loyalty, but this matter was not worth such a great risk to yourself. It is fortunate you were not seriously hurt. Otherwise, how could I ever be at peace? Please, in the future, never put yourself in danger like this again—it is not worth it!”

She paused: “I did tell you before that I wanted to become Crown Princess—but since that has not come to pass, and I am now Princess Consort of Prince Qin instead, that is well enough.”

Cui Xuan was silent. He fixed her with a strange look, a look entirely foreign to Pu Zhu, and it made her uneasy. The sense that he had somehow changed grew ever stronger.

Ever since he had been brought to the capital because of her, through that accidental chain of events—what exactly had happened to him along the way?

She hesitated. “Cui Xuan, what’s the matter with you?”

Cui Xuan said, word by word: “My lady, as long as it brings you power—supreme power—would you follow anyone with single-minded devotion, no matter who they are?”

Pu Zhu was startled. “Cui Xuan?”

Was this still the Cui Xuan from He Xi that she knew?

How had he come to say such a thing to her so suddenly?

Though she had to admit that what he said was the truth. In the past it had been Li Chengyu, now it was Li Xuandu—and in both cases, it had been exactly like that.

Such piercing words, had they come from anyone else—whether Li Xuandu or Li Chengyu—she would not have felt the slightest sting.

But coming from Cui Xuan’s mouth, this interrogation made Pu Zhu feel a measure of shame, and a measure of sadness as well.

She did not want to pursue this with him any further. She looked away from his gaze fixed upon her, glanced toward the direction of the temple’s rear gate to collect herself, and said quietly: “That has nothing to do with you. I have been out here for some time and must return immediately. I believe you understood what I meant earlier—in the future, please, never put yourself in danger on my behalf. And if you do not wish to stay in the capital and want to return to He Xi, I can help you. Once you are back, I will write to Uncle Yang Hong and ask him to promote you…”

Cui Xuan cut her off. “Go back to He Xi for what? To eat sand all my life? Thank you for the thought, but no.”

His tone was cold, carrying a chill like the edge of a blade.

Pu Zhu paused, then nodded. “If you don’t want to go back, that is fine too. As for Li Xuandu—he has not pursued the matter of that night’s assassination. You may return to the garrison without worry.”

She glanced at him, suppressing the unease rising in her heart. Then she added: “The capital is not like He Xi. Please take care of yourself from now on. If there is ever anything where you need my help, don’t hesitate to come find me.”

Today she had arranged to meet Cui Xuan partly with another thought in mind—she had intended to ask him to help her search for A’mu’s whereabouts.

But she had dismissed that idea.

Since he had decided to remain in the capital, she could not let this old friend from He Xi be drawn further into the trap the Emperor had laid.

“I should go back now…”

Cui Xuan suddenly fixed his gaze on something behind her, and Pu Zhu quickly spun around to look.

A slight figure in pale yellow was drifting toward them from the direction of the temple’s rear gate, now nearly upon them.

Princess Imperial Li Hui’er had arrived with two maids in tow.

She seemed to have spotted Pu Zhu and Cui Xuan among the sparse trees, and had stopped by the path, watching with an expression of some uncertainty.

On the other side, Nanny Wang saw her too, and hurried over to greet her, trying to divert her attention.

Pu Zhu caught a flicker of something frighteningly familiar in Cui Xuan’s eyes—a hint of killing intent—and was startled. She immediately said in a low voice: “What are you thinking? She is Princess Imperial Ningfu! She and I get along well—even if she saw, it is of no consequence. Go quickly—I will handle her!”

Cui Xuan looked at her for a moment, said nothing, lowered his head, turned, and strode quickly deeper into the forest. His silhouette vanished swiftly behind the shadows of the trees.

Pu Zhu steadied herself and quickly turned around, gesturing for Nanny Wang to step back. She went forward herself, smiling: “Why have you also come out, Princess Imperial?”

Li Hui’er said: “Just now I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I would go to the Guanyin Hall and pray together with Fourth Aunt. But when I arrived, you were not there. I was worried, so I came looking…”

She turned her head, glanced in the direction Cui Xuan had left, hesitated, and did not dare ask more.

Pu Zhu drew her to the side of the path and said quietly: “Did you see just now?”

Li Hui’er bit her lip and said softly: “Fourth Aunt, don’t be angry with me. I didn’t do it on purpose. I won’t tell anyone.”

Pu Zhu smiled. “Actually, it is nothing at all. He is a friend I made in He Xi—loyal and righteous, and I regard him as a brother. He came to the capital not long ago. I had some business with him, so I met with him briefly.”

At a distance, Li Hui’er had not seen the person clearly. She had vaguely glimpsed a handsome-faced, slightly dark-skinned young man beside Fourth Aunt, and had assumed that Fourth Aunt, newly wedded, had arranged a private meeting here with someone out of personal feelings. Her heart had been in anxious turmoil. But now, seeing Fourth Aunt speak of it so openly and calmly, she immediately believed her and inwardly sighed with relief, her face lighting up with delight. “So that is what it was! I understand. Fourth Aunt, rest easy—I won’t say anything. It would only cause unnecessary trouble.”

Pu Zhu smiled, gave her hand a light pat, and took it in hers. Together they walked back, soon reaching the rear gate.

The guards stationed at the rear gate had watched the Princess Consort go out without letting any of them follow, and then shortly after, the Princess Imperial had also gone out. Somewhat uneasy, they had been about to send someone after them, when they saw the two return hand in hand with their attendants. Relieved, they hurried over to welcome them.

Down the mountain at that moment, Li Xuandu was riding alongside Huaiwei. Seeing that the hour was about right, he told him to rein in his horse, and instructed the accompanying Ye Xiao to escort the young prince back to the temple.

Their horses had worked up quite a sweat. Li Xuandu led his to the bank of a nearby stream to drink. While the horse drank, he heard in the distance what seemed to be the faint sound of hoofbeats. He focused his attention, determined the direction, and looked toward the sound. In the distance, on the mountain road leading down, several riders were galloping past at speed.

The young man leading them wore informal clothes and a traveling cap, but Li Xuandu recognized him at a single glance—it was Crown Prince Li Chengyu.

What was he doing here today? And dressed like this?

The Crown Prince and his company swiftly urged their horses down the mountain and disappeared from sight.

Li Xuandu looked toward the direction from which they had come. That was where the rear of the temple grounds should be.

A dark, cold look passed through his eyes. He had not wanted to involve himself—but after a moment’s hesitation, he could not help it in the end. When the horses had drunk their fill, he led his mount and made his way over, arriving shortly at the rear gate, where the guards came forward to pay their respects.

Li Xuandu smiled pleasantly and asked: “Did anyone come by here just now?”

The guards shook their heads and said no.

Li Xuandu glanced at the gate. “Did anyone go out?”

The guards nodded. “The Princess Consort went out earlier, saying she wished to see the scenery. We did not dare stop her. Then the Princess Imperial also followed her out, and they returned together shortly after.”

Li Xuandu nodded, told the guards to keep careful watch at the gate and not let anyone in or out, and then turned and left.