To be honest, at first, Pu Zhu did not feel good about it at all.

She had assumed he was ill, but had never expected him to inexplicably want to do this sort of thing with her — and so urgently at that. From her perspective, it was utterly bewildering.

What she would most likely remember for the rest of her life was what had happened just a few nights before: she had drunk too much wine, her spirits had been low, and in a moment of weakness she had sought his affection — only to receive his response in return.

Something about not being fellow travelers, about things that ought not to happen, and that was that.

She knew he had been in the military camp outside the city tonight, celebrating the victory with the Que Kingdom soldiers. How had he suddenly returned — and now wanted to do with her the very thing he himself had called “something that ought not to happen”?

She quickly understood: he had come to her to vent. He charged forward recklessly, as though he meant to tear her apart and swallow her whole, carrying with him a terrifying ferocity.

She could not resist, so she had no choice but to accept, forcing herself to relax and adapt to him as quickly as she could to spare herself unnecessary suffering. But even so, it had been a long time since the autumn hunt — they had not been together since then — and so it was inevitably painful and difficult. She let out a low cry of pain.

He stopped, lying on top of her, breathing hard, motionless.

Pu Zhu recovered quickly, and then felt that he seemed to be under tremendous suppression — his entire body taut, his muscles stiff and rigid as though contorted. The tips of her fingers could even clearly feel the swollen, clustered masses of muscle along his back.

Outside, the weather was freezing; inside, the charcoal brazier she had lit was not particularly hot, and he had also stopped moving — yet burning sweat continued to drip like rain from his forehead and neck, one drop after another, falling without stop onto her face and chest.

Unable to help herself, she quietly licked at one drop that had happened to fall on the corner of her lips.

Slightly salty. Faintly bitter. Like… the taste of the tears she remembered crying as a small child.

She was lost in thought for a moment. In the end, she reached out both arms and wrapped them around his taut shoulders and back. Because of the sweat, it was slippery, and she had to hold on tightly or she would lose her grip.

As though feeling her soothing embrace, he gradually seemed to relax, becoming entangled with her, his movements growing tender in turn.

This made Pu Zhu feel far more at ease. When he turned fierce again, she lost control, letting herself sink with him into the pleasure of the body.

Looking at him, he seemed to lose himself completely in this afterward.

Well then — since things had turned out this way, she could not let herself be too shortchanged…

She thought vaguely, her eyes closed.

After it was over, a long while passed before the heart that had been leaping and thudding gradually quieted. She raised a hand, languidly wiping the fine perspiration from her brow, and opened her eyes — only to find that the man lying beside her had already fallen fast asleep!

His eyes were closed, his breathing deep, his expression serene and peaceful. He was sleeping soundly.

Pu Zhu stared at his sleeping face for a moment, and suddenly felt irritated — she couldn’t quite say why, perhaps resenting that he had so quickly abandoned her and fallen asleep on his own, while she still had things on her mind.

But seeing him sleep so deeply, she could only suppress the urge to push him awake. She gently removed the arm he still had wrapped around her body, pulled the blanket over him, braced her lower back with her hand, carefully climbed out of bed, slipped on her clothes, went out, and opened the door.

Luo Bao was standing outside the door, still as a wooden statue. When he saw her appear, he immediately came back to life and, before she could even speak, said he would have someone bring hot water.

Pu Zhu felt a slight flush of embarrassment, paused for a moment, then stopped him and glanced back inside, confirming that Li Xuandu was fast asleep. She lowered her voice and asked: “Where did His Highness return from tonight? Why was he in such a state?”

Luo Bao hesitated, then felt her gaze on him and a chill ran down his back, as though snowy air were creeping under his collar. He immediately said: “He came back from the Que King’s side. As for why he was in such a state, this servant truly does not know.”

Pu Zhu told him to bring the water, then go rest — no need to attend further.

She soaked quietly in the hot water, letting it cleanse her aching body, eyes closed in thought, until the water slowly turned cold. Then she rose and returned to bed.

He was still lying there asleep, sleeping deeply — he had not even changed his position by half, as though in the next moment, even if the world collapsed around him, he would not wake.

She and he were simply not made to go together — Pu Zhu was more and more convinced of this. When he could not sleep well, she slept very soundly. When he slept peacefully, it was her turn to lie awake.

Just like tonight.

And the consequence of not sleeping well was almost always that she slept in the next day.

The next day was the very day they were to set out for the return journey to the capital. When she finally woke, he was already gone. It was not early. Remembering that she still had to accompany him to bid farewell to the Que King, she immediately got up, washed and dressed, finished tidying up, and hurried out.

He was standing at the window in the outer room, impeccably dressed, gazing out at the snow scene beyond the window, looking refreshed and energetic — a completely different person from the ghastly, frightening figure that had stood in the doorway the night before.

The moment she saw him, she was reminded of last night.

“I slept late and wasted time — I’ve kept you waiting long.”

She averted her gaze as he turned to look at her, and spoke.

He paused briefly.

“It’s fine — it’s not that late. Let’s go.”

His tone was even and calm. He finished speaking and walked out, as though nothing had happened the night before.

When they arrived at the Que King’s quarters, Pu Zhu followed Li Xuandu in paying their farewell respects to the elderly man.

The Que King sat in his chair and bid the two of them rise, instructing them to take care on the road. Then he looked toward Pu Zhu and said: “Little girl, I think very well of you. I entrust the rest of my grandson’s life to your care — I am grateful for your trouble.”

Pu Zhu looked at the gaunt, frail old man before her — a man who had spent his life a hero, only in the end to be defeated by illness and injury, his days now numbered — and for some reason, she thought of her own grandfather.

This first meeting would likely also be the last. Hearing him speak to her this way, she felt a pang of sadness in her chest and came close to tears, but she forcefully held them back, and replied with respectful courtesy: “Elder Grandfather-in-Law speaks too highly of me. What trouble is it to me? If I can be of even a little assistance to His Highness at home, that is only my duty.”

Li Xuandu glanced at her and said nothing.

The Que King nodded and smiled, then continued: “Between heaven and earth, human life passes like a white steed flashing past a gap in the wall — in an instant, it is gone. We are born, we live, we die. In my youth I read Zhuangzi but did not grasp its flavor; now that I have grasped it, I have long since made my peace. Birth, aging, sickness, death — these are the common lot of humanity. The only thing I still cannot let go of now is the future of the Que Kingdom…”

He paused, his expression turning grave.

Pu Zhu guessed that he was perhaps about to say something not meant for her ears, so she rose, about to excuse herself and withdraw. The Que King waved his hand, indicating she need not leave, and continued: “In the year when the Que Kingdom and the Li Dynasty first formed their alliance, I was in the full vigor of youth, my ambitions soaring to the sky. The scene of swearing that oath with the Grand Empress Dowager of the Jiang clan feels as though it were yesterday — yet now, in the blink of an eye, I have grown old and decrepit, with little time left.”

“Grandfather-in-Law!” Li Xuandu’s voice trembled slightly.

The Que King continued: “The Grand Empress Dowager is the most remarkable woman I have encountered in my entire life. For as long as she lives, for as long as I live, I will not permit the Que people to harbor even a fraction of disloyal intent toward the Li Dynasty. The one who attempted to assassinate you may not have been that Left General. The Dongdi seek to use this to cut off the Que people’s retreat and force them to submit entirely to the Dongdi. The Li Dynasty’s Emperor may indeed be faithless, but the Dongdi are the true enemy of the Que people. Xuandu, hear me well: henceforth, whoever dares to speak a single word about submitting to the Dongdi, I will have them put to death for treason. I have already said this before your uncle, and last night, the Dongdi envoy was driven out!”

Pu Zhu was startled. She had not expected that such things had occurred last night. The Que King was truly not treating her as an outsider — he had spoken so openly in front of her.

Li Xuandu lifted the hem of his robe and knelt before the Que King, kowtowing with great solemnity, his voice choked with emotion: “Thank you, Grandfather-in-Law! Your grandson has no way to repay you. May Grandfather-in-Law enjoy glory and longevity, year after year, today and always.”

The Que King’s eyes grew faintly moist, but he quickly smiled again and said: “Rise! When you return, remember to convey my regards to the Grand Empress Dowager on my behalf. Tell her that, despite her fond remembrance of me, though my teeth have loosened, my ambitions remain, and my loyalty is unchanged. To be of assistance to the Grand Empress Dowager in relieving her worries is the greatest honor of my life.”

Pu Zhu was moved, involuntarily imagining the scene of Madam Jiang and the Que King forging their alliance in the prime of their youth. Though she could not witness it with her own eyes, she found herself quietly yearning for that time.

Li Xuandu said: “Your grandson has taken note.”

The Que King nodded with a smile: “Go now. Your grandfather-in-law won’t see you off.”

Pu Zhu followed Li Xuandu in their final farewell to the Que King and came out. Seeing him silent, she naturally said nothing either.

She returned first to her quarters, thinking over what the old Que King had just said, while tidying things up in preparation for their departure. Li Xuandu went to take his leave of the others.

Pu Zhu had everything packed and carried out, and was doing a final check to make sure nothing had been left behind, when Nanny Wang hurried in and leaned close to whisper in her ear: “My Lady, just now I happened to see something. His Highness was in the courtyard when the royal granddaughter came rushing up to him — she caught him alone to say their private farewells. I couldn’t hear what they said from where I was, too far away, but I saw the royal granddaughter give him something — looked like a jade pendant. I thought about it, and decided I should still tell you, My Lady.”

Pu Zhu paused: “You’re sure you saw correctly?”

Nanny Wang said: “Absolutely certain.”

This Nanny Wang had followed Pu Zhu from the Guo family and remained loyally devoted to her ever since. Having inadvertently witnessed that scene just now, she felt uneasy and had hurried over to report it.

On the covered walkway leading toward the guest quarters, Li Xuandu looked at Li Tanfang, who had called out and quickly walked toward him, and stopped.

Li Tanfang appeared not to have rested well the night before, her eyelids slightly swollen.

Li Xuandu hesitated, then said slowly: “I have mistakenly delayed my cousin for many years, and truly feel guilty in my heart. In the future, if you ever need anything, just come and tell me — as long as it is within my power, I will do everything I can to help.”

Li Tanfang gazed steadily at the man before her — the man she had cherished for years, whom she had once been certain would be her future husband.

A few days ago, he had still not given his reply to her father regarding his promise of marriage. Her aunt was convinced it was Madam Pu, the princess consort, who was obstructing it. But Li Tanfang had an intuition — perhaps it was he himself who was unwilling to accept.

If he had long harbored affection for her as well, she knew in her heart that things would not look the way they did today.

But it had already been so many years. To be told to simply give up just like that — how could she be willing? So she, too, had indulged in a moment of foolish self-deception, telling herself that her aunt’s words were correct — that he surely would want her. Whether in terms of feeling, or in terms of the assistance the Que Kingdom might one day offer him, he had no reason not to marry her.

By the same logic, this marriage alliance was not only advantageous to him; for the Que Kingdom in its current situation, it was equally important. Whether it was her father, her uncle, or the nobles of the Que Kingdom — all of them hoped he would use this marriage to prove that his promises to them were sincere.

So she had gone to speak with Madam Pu, the princess consort.

She had been somewhat apprehensive at first, worried that this young princess consort — who still looked rather inexperienced — would be too attached to her feelings for him, or, out of wariness toward herself, would not agree so readily.

She had not expected that the two of them would be so immediately aligned, with the princess consort accepting willingly and without hesitation.

With gratitude and relief in her heart, she had continued to wait for his final reply.

Then last night, he had finally given his answer — and it was a refusal.

She could no longer deceive herself.

He truly felt nothing romantic toward her.

Many years ago, when she had first fallen for the young Prince Qin who galloped down the main avenue on horseback, too many things had already occupied his attention. In his heart, he had never left any corner for her.

In his eyes, she was only his cousin. If he absolutely had to marry, he would marry — no more than that.

And now, even that chance was gone.

Li Tanfang pressed down the reluctance rising in her heart. Seeing Li Xuandu watching her with a look of guilt in his eyes, she smiled and said: “Elder Brother need not blame himself — it was my own misunderstanding. I sought you out, Elder Brother, because I wished to return something to you.”

She took out a small pouch and extended it toward him.

“After you were sent away to Wuyou Palace back then, this was something left behind at your princely mansion. I happened to see it at the time, and on my own initiative, kept it safe for you. It has been with me all these years. Today, I can finally return it to its rightful owner.”

Li Xuandu took it and opened it, tipping out what was inside.

It was an old keepsake of his — a jade qilin pendant strung on a red silk cord threaded with gold.

He was momentarily stunned. He held up the jade pendant and gazed at it for a moment, then closed it in his palm, slowly tightening his grip around the warm, smooth jade. He closed his eyes, then opened them, and smiled: “Cousin, your thoughtfulness — I will remember it for the rest of my life. I must go ahead now. Take care of yourself from here on. And remember what I said — if there is anything I can help with in the future, just ask.”

He gave Li Tanfang a nod, turned, and walked away.

On this side, Pu Zhu had been momentarily lost in thought when she saw Luo Bao come rushing in to announce that everything was ready and to invite the princess consort to set out.

She gathered her thoughts and walked out.

Outside the royal palace, Li Xuandu bid farewell to his two uncles who had come to see them off; Pu Zhu asked Madam Wu and Li Tanfang, who had come out to send them off, to please return inside. Then she boarded the carriage, and they set out, departing the Que Kingdom.

This trip to the Que Kingdom had been brief in time, but for her it had been full of gains. That night, the party pressed on along the road until they reached the sheltered camping spot they had used on the way there, where they set up tents to rest.

The tent she and Li Xuandu occupied still had a bonfire burning outside it, as though the scene from that night was being replayed. Only the people were no longer the same. On that night, she had even shed tears over the few words Li Xuandu had said to her. But now, she had long since become a cool, detached observer. She could see him sitting alone by the bonfire, his hand clasping what appeared to be the jade pendant, his head lowered, his fingers slowly caressing it — a look of deep reverence on his face.

Pu Zhu laughed coldly in her heart, glanced at him a few more times, lowered the tent flap, and lay down by herself on the soft bed that had been spread inside the tent. Finally, she saw him lift the tent flap and enter.

Li Xuandu rubbed his hands together, lifted the lid of the warming brazier, peered inside, then turned toward Pu Zhu, who had her back to him, and said softly: “Are you cold? I’ll go add some more charcoal.”

“No need. It’s not cold enough to kill anyone.”

Pu Zhu replied with cool indifference, then sat up and pointed to a low stool opposite her.

He paused, set the brazier lid down, and slowly sat on the stool she had indicated. He saw her sitting cross-legged on the bed, covers piled at her waist, arms folded across her chest, watching him with a cold stare. He hesitated, then said: “About last night — I…”

“I’m not asking about that.”

Pu Zhu cut him off. “Regarding your cousin — is there not something you need to tell me?”

She spoke word by word, clearly. Then, seeing he still said nothing, his expression gradually taking on a somewhat strange look, she continued: “Prince Qin, Your Highness — even if I am invisible in your eyes, my status is awkward, at the very least, as of now, in other people’s eyes, I am still Princess Consort of Qin. You made a quiet promise to your mother’s family to marry your cousin one day. Even if I had no objections, at the very least, you ought to have informed me.”

Li Xuandu stared at her for a moment, then suddenly said: “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed — I turned it down.”

Pu Zhu almost thought she had misheard. She shot upright to her knees on the bed: “What did you say?”

“I know you hoped I would marry her, so that you could later make use of the Que people’s power to pursue your plans — and if things went well, you might truly be able to achieve what you desire. I wanted to satisfy you as well, but this is something I cannot agree to. Please don’t blame me.”

His tone was even, but listening to it, it clearly seemed to carry a note of mockery.

Pu Zhu’s mind was briefly in turmoil. She met his gaze for a moment, then slowly sat back down.

From what he said, it seemed as though he knew about her conversation with Li Tanfang that day?

“You were right there by the stone pavilion that day?”

He gave a faint, noncommittal sound of acknowledgment, and a barely perceptible cold flash crossed his brow.

Pu Zhu felt a flicker of embarrassment, but then she reflected: this matter had been raised first by that cousin of his — the one who was “not even fit to carry her shoes” — not by herself. She quickly steadied herself and said evenly: “I was doing it for your own good. Besides, when she came to seek me out and speak with me about this, even if I had ten thousand objections in my heart, I had no reason to refuse.”

Li Xuandu fell silent.

Pu Zhu felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze: “What are you looking at me for?”

“In your heart, could there truly be even a little bit of unwillingness?”

He looked at her and asked slowly.