The sounds of fighting persisted through the night, the ceaseless thundering of hooves continuing without pause, until daybreak, when the commotion finally began to subside.
Near dawn, an unknown party sent soldiers to stand watch around the women’s encampment, but even so, rumors were already spreading early that morning—two personal handmaids of the wife of the Grand Chamberlain Zhu had happened to go out together to relieve themselves at the height of the chaos the previous night, and had not come back. Just moments ago, word came that their bodies had been found right beside the latrine, apparently killed by stray soldiers during the night’s fighting—their state too gruesome to describe.
Terror spread through the encampment like a plague.
What exactly had the fighting been about last night? The Empress Dowager’s coffin was still lying in state here; could the funeral procession continue? And the Emperor—why had he still not appeared to issue orders?
More news trickled in: Guo Lang, Chen Zhude, Marquis Yao, and other important officials and high-ranking officers of the court had been summoned one by one out of the encampment. The anxiety of Guo Lang’s wife, Lady Gan, and the others went without saying; various speculations ran rampant.
By midday, the encampment had still not been released, and there was not even food to eat—everyone was left to make do with whatever dried provisions they had brought along. Some of the noble ladies who were accustomed to lives of silk and luxury began to complain; Princess Ningshou Li Qiongyao tried to leave and was barred, which sent her into a rage. Princess Imperial stepped forward with a smile to smooth things over—when suddenly a contingent of soldiers marched straight into the encampment and came to take away Noble Consort Hu.
Noble Consort Hu erupted in fury and rebuked them loudly, but the soldiers were like wolves and tigers, allowing no argument, and carried her off by force.
What manner of person was Noble Consort Hu? After the previous year’s autumn hunt, she had grown ever more beloved in the Emperor’s eyes, and her son Prince Liu’s standing had quietly come to rival even the Crown Prince’s. After the Shangguan family fell into trouble, quite a few people in the capital had quietly begun placing their bets on Prince Liu.
That Noble Consort Hu, a person of such standing, should be forcibly hauled away before everyone’s eyes by soldiers like this—what did it mean?
The encampment, which had just moments ago been filled with complaints and curses, fell into dead silence. The smile on Princess Imperial Li Lihua’s face could no longer hold; she gazed in the direction of the Emperor’s great tent, her eyes shadowed with hidden worry. The other ladies all fell silent as well and began quietly waiting for what would come next.
When darkness fell at last, a terrifying piece of news arrived: Prince Liu, in order to seize the Crown Prince’s position, had planted spies in the imperial presence to monitor the Emperor’s thoughts. When the Emperor discovered this the previous night and was enraged and on the verge of punishing Prince Liu, Prince Liu’s faction, driven to desperation, had joined forces with elements of the inner guard to commit regicide, and then attempted to assassinate the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince had been compelled to rise and fight back, and had finally had Prince Liu executed according to law. Guo Lang, Chen Zhude, Marquis Yao, Shen Yang, and the others had all knelt before the Crown Prince, pledging their support as Emperor. The new Emperor declared that in order to prevent the remnants of Prince Liu’s faction from causing further harm, everyone was to remain in place for the time being and continue guarding the coffin while awaiting further instructions.
The entire encampment erupted as if a bomb had gone off.
Empress Shangguan, who had been ill when they set out and had not showed her face since spending the night in her tent, and Crown Princess Consort Yao Hanzhen—who first knelt on the ground and wept aloud toward the direction of the Emperor’s great tent, urged repeatedly by those around her until she was finally helped to her feet—wiped her tears and, surrounded by a crowd of attendants, went toward Empress Shangguan’s quarters.
Princess Imperial Li Lihua stared in the direction of Empress Shangguan’s sleeping tent, her expression deeply unpleasant.
She had not expected this—that the Crown Prince, who had seemed to be in such a precarious position just recently, would seize power so suddenly and unexpectedly.
Whatever the truth of the matter, the Emperor was dead, and Prince Liu was dead. Even if the great officials harbored doubts, pressed by the situation at hand, none dared at this moment to refuse to acknowledge Li Chengyu’s status.
All that remained was a word from the Penglai Palace, and then the succession would be legitimate, the great heritage duly inherited.
The thing she had feared most had come to pass, without the slightest warning—overnight, the sky above had suddenly and dramatically changed.
What had truly happened last night she could not fathom. But that the Crown Prince was by no means innocent—on that point there was no doubt whatsoever. And yet the whole affair, though it seemed sudden, if one thought carefully, did have traces that could be followed.
The Shangguan family had been building its influence for decades; within the palace and without, its connections and networks ran deep as the roots of a great tree. The Crown Prince, moreover, was the rightful, legitimate heir—incomparably so compared with the Hu family and Prince Liu. With Shangguan Yong now imprisoned, if the Shangguan clan truly fell, what were the remaining members to do?
Just at the time of the Empress Dowager’s funeral, with hundreds of officials following the Emperor to lodge at this waystation outside the city, if Li Chengyu had schemed to take power by force, this was indeed the ideal opportunity.
The Emperor had truly underestimated the Crown Prince. But then, to be fair—even Li Lihua herself, had she not done the same? In her wildest dreams she had not imagined that in the midst of the Empress Dowager’s funeral escort, in the middle of the journey, something so earth-shattering could occur.
If there was anyone to blame, blame the Emperor—for having harbored thoughts of deposition, yet being indecisive and slow to act. He should have seized the moment of the Shangguan Yong affair and moved decisively, cutting away every last member of the Shangguan faction at a stroke. Then the Crown Prince, even if he had wished to act, would have had no one to respond to him, and things tonight would certainly not have gone so smoothly.
Li Lihua privately reviewed the whole thing, cursing the Hu family for their lack of self-awareness—for not knowing their own shallow roots, yet reveling in arrogance and over-reaching ambition, pressing Li Chengyu too hard, and thereby provoking this catastrophe.
With Empress Shangguan now suddenly elevated to Empress Dowager, what good days could possibly lie ahead for her?
Shen Yang—calculating and deep as he was—though compelled by circumstances to follow the crowd and lie low today, what plans might he have held in reserve?
What opportunity might they find in the future to rise?
Li Lihua could not help but let her gaze drift toward where the wife of Prince Duan was lodging.
Since the previous night, no one from inside that tent had come out.
Never before had she felt such an urgent wish that her fourth brother, Li Xuandu, would be able to hold on—please, not fall as easily as Prince Liu had.
If he could keep Li Chengyu’s attention occupied, then in the future Shen Yang would have the opportunity to act.
Pu Zhu had heard the news from the wife of Prince Duan.
The wife of Prince Duan was greatly shaken and sighed repeatedly.
Pu Zhu, thinking of what she had witnessed the previous night, felt the initial terror in her heart gradually dissolving—replaced by a strange, ineffable feeling about fate.
In this life, ever since she had saved Cui Xuan and Yang Hong in He Xi, the path she walked and the varied people she encountered along the way—each person’s fate, including her own—had all already veered far from what it had been in her previous life.
In her previous life, Emperor Xiaochang had died of illness after later learning that Li Xuandu had not perished after all, and had even recovered He Xi.
Now he had died at the hands of his own son.
In her previous life, Li Chengyu had been respectful and filial toward the Emperor, even suppressing his passion for music for years, refusing to touch a stringed instrument because the Emperor disapproved of such things.
In this life, he had committed parricide.
To say nothing of Cui Xuan.
Or Li Xuandu.
Thinking of Li Xuandu, Pu Zhu felt a blank bewilderment come over her.
The blade that had hung over her head was gone, but the one above his had not disappeared—indeed, it might be sharper now than ever before.
But everything had already broken completely free of what she had known in her previous life.
Under these circumstances, what would become of him?
Did he still have a future?
She was lost in thought when a maidservant walked in, alarm written on her face, saying that an officer outside was requesting that the Princess Consort of Prince Qin come out to speak.
The wife of Prince Duan and Li Hui’er immediately thought of Noble Consort Hu, who had been taken away by soldiers that day, and were greatly alarmed. The wife of Prince Duan immediately went out, and in the darkness of the night she saw a dark-skinned young man in the dress of a low-ranking military officer standing there. She said coldly: “Who sent you? Go back and tell your master that the Grand Empress Dowager’s own person is in my keeping! The Princess Consort of Prince Qin is going nowhere!”
The young man said quietly: “Please, my lady, ask the Princess Consort to come out. She knows me…”
Pu Zhu had already recognized the voice—it was Fei Wan, one of Cui Xuan’s men.
She hesitated a moment, then finally walked out, told the wife of Prince Duan not to worry, saying it was an old acquaintance, and let Fei Wan lead the way. She followed him out of the encampment and to a nearby corner sheltered by trees, where she saw Cui Xuan standing there.
She stopped.
Cui Xuan walked quickly up to her and asked: “Last night, inside the great tent—was it you?”
Pu Zhu looked at him.
He was in full battle armor, stained through with blood. She looked at him for a moment.
“What makes you so certain it was me?”
Cui Xuan hesitated, then said quietly: “One of the Crown Prince’s spies planted in the imperial presence was discovered by the Emperor yesterday on the road and seized. The Crown Prince was greatly alarmed—I suspected something major might be about to happen. Fearing you might be caught in the fighting, I had Fei Wan quietly keep watch on you. He told me today that last night, deep in the night, you were secretly summoned into the Emperor’s great tent.”
Pu Zhu recalled how he had not blinked once when he killed the Emperor, and a complicated feeling stirred within her.
“Why was it you?” she asked quietly.
Cui Xuan was silent at first, as though he had not understood her question, but quickly realized what she meant.
His tone was even as he said: “I have no family, no home. I am a man with nothing to lose. What is there to fear?”
“Are you not afraid that once things settle down afterward, he will not suffer you to live?”
Cui Xuan said: “He has walked this road, and ‘settling down’—that may be a long way off. The Shangguan family bears such charges, with evidence clear and irrefutable; in the future he cannot possibly rely on them heavily. Guo Lang, Marquis Yao, and their sort are useful enough for making a great show of things—but what else can they really do for him? Military men like Chen Zhude—which of them truly submits to him? He may want to be rid of me, but that depends on how capable he proves himself. Moreover, what man of ambition, living in this world, does not seize the moment and stake everything? If he goes forward trembling in fear of what lies ahead and shrinking from what may follow, what difference is there between that and death?”
Pu Zhu said quietly: “I understand. But why did you call me out here? To kill me and silence me?”
Overhead, pale moonlight fell softly, casting its light on Cui Xuan’s face—blood not yet washed away.
“Whatever you may think of me, in my heart”—he pointed to his chest—”you will always be the young mistress I knew back in He Xi.”
His tone was natural, entirely without artifice.
Pu Zhu found herself at a loss for words.
Cui Xuan did not wait for her to speak, and immediately asked: “Now that the Crown Prince has become Emperor, are you willing to submit to him?”
Pu Zhu was startled, then instinctively shook her head.
Cui Xuan nodded: “Then you cannot stay here any longer. He may send people to take you away. I will send you back to the capital right away—you enter the Penglai Palace and seek its protection. That way, he cannot touch you for the time being, and we can decide what comes next later.”
Pu Zhu caught an unusual note in his words and felt a small shock in her chest. She immediately pressed him: “What do you mean?”
Cui Xuan gave no answer, only urged her to come with him, and turned to go.
Pu Zhu did not move. She looked at his retreating back: “What about Li Xuandu? Where does he figure in your plans? He only went to the imperial mausoleum on orders—he will be able to return soon.”
Cui Xuan stopped and slowly turned around.
“He will most likely not survive.”
Pu Zhu’s heartbeat lurched, and then began to race wildly.
“You are talking nonsense!”
“The Emperor had been growing increasingly displeased with the Crown Prince and the Shangguan family and had intended to depose him, but he worried this might unsettle the court and even cause upheaval—thus giving Li Xuandu an opening. He resolved to seize the opportunity of the Empress Dowager’s funeral to eliminate him. There is a dangerous stretch of road near the mausoleum; he planned to have him killed on that stretch and toss the body below, then report it as an accidental fall—and even if the Penglai Palace did not believe it, there would be nothing they could do after the fact.”
“Shen Gao is dead, and one of his closest subordinates has gone over to the Crown Prince’s side and revealed this. The Emperor was absolutely determined to have him die; the arrangements were thorough, and not a single detail of the plan had leaked beforehand.”
“He will die without question.”
He looked at Pu Zhu and spoke those final words in a flat, indifferent tone.
Pu Zhu stood there, a wave of cold washing over her in wave after wave.
He had left in such haste, bringing only Ye Xiao and two other attendants.
She suddenly stepped forward and turned to go.
“Where are you going?” Cui Xuan stepped in front of her and blocked her path.
“I’m going to find the royal husband Han and ask him for help!”
“He is a man who is bound to die sooner or later. What is more, he should already be dead by now! Why put yourself to this trouble? You would do far better to come away with me now—if you leave it any later, I am afraid even going will no longer be possible!”
Pu Zhu clenched her teeth—teeth she could not keep from trembling—and forced out the words one by one through the gaps between them: “Cui Xuan, I am grateful for your help, and I cannot ask you to go and save him. But I beg you—do not block me from trying to find a way!”
Cui Xuan stared at her, his expression turning somber and dark. He gave a cold snort. “And if I refuse to let you go? Even if he does not die this time, in the future the Crown Prince will still go after him. In the end, it will likely fall to me anyway. I have no wish to keep creating trouble for myself!”
Pu Zhu suddenly reached out and drew his sword from his waist, then swept the blade across one of her own wrists.
Blood immediately welled from the broken skin and began to flow.
“What are you doing?”
Seeing him lunge toward her, she swiftly stepped back, then redirected the blade to hold it flat against her own throat.
“Cui Xuan—if in your heart you truly still think of me as the young mistress from He Xi, then do not stop me!”
Cui Xuan’s expression was one of utter astonishment.
The corners of his lips slowly pressed tight together. After a moment, his voice came out rigid: “You would go to such lengths—for him?”
She said nothing.
Cui Xuan looked at her—pale-faced, the blood from her wrist dripping down, falling and falling without ceasing—and at last slowly nodded: “Fine. I’ll carry your message for you. I know where the royal husband Han is!”
As he spoke these words, the expression on his face shifted slightly, as though something in it was in pain.
Pu Zhu closed her eyes, then opened them. Seeing him step toward her as though to look at her injury, she held the pain of her wrist and said with heartfelt gratitude: “I am sorry to have put you through this. Please go quickly! I am all right—I can deal with it myself!”
Cui Xuan stopped, jaw set, and turned to call Fei Wan over, telling him immediately to lead trusted men to escort her back to the capital and to the Penglai Palace. Fei Wan agreed, and was just about to take Pu Zhu and go when suddenly more than ten people came charging from the opposite direction. At their head was the seventh son of the Shangguan family, who cut off the road before them in a single motion.
The seventh Shangguan son first offered Pu Zhu a bow in salute, respectfully saying: “Please do not be alarmed, Princess Consort. His Majesty is worried this place is not safe, and has sent me to escort the Princess Consort to a more suitable location.” He straightened, then commanded his men to train their bows on Cui Xuan and barked: “Cui Xuan, I knew long ago that you and His Majesty were not truly of one mind! And sure enough—you have the audacity, you treacherous wretch, to betray His Majesty and secretly send away someone His Majesty wants! You shall die for this!”
Cui Xuan signaled to Fei Wan to protect Pu Zhu and fall back, his eyes locked intently on the seventh Shangguan son. He let out a sharp whistle, and from the shadows some twenty or thirty steps behind him, more than ten armed men surged out from the darkness, crossbows in hand, holding the opposing side at a standoff.
The seventh Shangguan son’s face shifted slightly at this sight. He started to retreat behind his archers, when Cui Xuan suddenly launched himself forward with explosive speed, moving in the blink of an eye. The seventh Shangguan son had barely turned when Cui Xuan was already behind him, sword pressed against his throat.
The seventh Shangguan son had always prided himself on his noble birth and had long harbored deep jealousy of Cui Xuan; today with the new Emperor’s ascension, though he did not know the details of what had happened, he knew that Cui Xuan must have rendered great service in the affair—and besides envying him, he feared above all else that Cui Xuan might displace the Shangguan people in the new Emperor’s favor. He had intended to use this opportunity to get rid of a rival and a future threat. He had not expected Cui Xuan to have men hidden in the dark, and he had walked carelessly into his grip. His face went white with fright, and his voice shook: “Cui Xuan, how dare you do this! And let me tell you—I have a contingency plan ready! I already sent one of my men back ahead of me! If I don’t return within the time it takes one stick of incense to burn, His Majesty will know exactly what kind of man you are! If you’re smart, hand the Princess Consort over to me right now, and I’ll call my men off. We’ll go forward together, build our achievements together, all as one!”
Pu Zhu was desperately anxious and desperate with worry, and thinking of Li Xuandu—who might at this very moment be exactly as Cui Xuan had described, already dead—she fell into an abyss of despair, and tears slipped silently down her face.
Li Xuandu would certainly not die so easily. Impossible. He had to still be alive.
As long as Cui Xuan could get this message to the royal husband Han, a man of that kind of loyalty would find a way to help, no matter how difficult things were.
Her heart was consumed by nothing but this one thought. She immediately wiped away her tears, pushed past Fei Wan, and went forward. Her voice came out cold as she addressed the seventh Shangguan son: “I will go with you. But I will tell you this—Cui Xuan and I are merely old acquaintances from childhood, and in this chaos I was afraid and asked him to shelter me. Even if the Emperor knew, what would there be in that? Your meddling only makes you look petty!”
She finished speaking and turned to Cui Xuan, holding his gaze in one long, deep look—everything she wished to entrust him with condensed into that single glance.
The expression on Cui Xuan’s face had gone rigid, utterly fixed. The hand gripping the sword pressed so hard that the knuckles cracked.
The seventh Shangguan son finally let out a breath of relief. He gave Cui Xuan a look of triumph, straightened his collar, and said to Pu Zhu with exaggerated courtesy: “Princess Consort, please—”
At that very moment, from within the dense darkness ahead, another figure appeared, moving through the night mist, striding toward them with long steps. Coming close, this person pushed forward the man he had been holding by the scruff and sent him stumbling toward the seventh Shangguan son, saying: “Is this your man? I came to collect my wife and happened to run into him—he seemed to be stumbling around lost, so I brought him here to find his master!”
The man crashed to the ground and kowtowed to the seventh Shangguan son over and over, begging for his life. He was the very man the seventh Shangguan son had sent ahead to carry word.
The seventh Shangguan son stood there in stunned silence, not daring to make a sound.
Li Xuandu had come.
He had not died. He had come here, to this place.
The moment Pu Zhu caught sight of that familiar silhouette emerging from the darkness, she went rigid. She could barely believe her own eyes. Only when he had drawn close and she could see clearly that it was truly him did a surge of joy flood through her heart, and her eyes burned.
Through her tears she watched him walk toward her and stop in front of her. He said quietly: “Shall I take you to the Penglai Palace first?”
His tone carried a faint note of inquiry.
Her throat choked shut; she could not make a sound. She could only nod, and with that nod a string of tears fell from her eyes.
Li Xuandu glanced at her, took hold of one of her hands, and clasped it. As he led her past the silently watching Cui Xuan, he paused briefly and said: “Do you need my help?”
Cui Xuan’s eyelid twitched; his eyes locked hard on the seventh Shangguan son’s now bloodless face. He said through gritted teeth: “I’ll handle it myself!”
Li Xuandu gave a slight nod and, without further pause, led Pu Zhu away.
From behind them rose the clamor of crossbow bolts and clashing blades.
A plain green-felt small carriage stood by the roadside, unobtrusive. Ye Xiao served as driver and was waiting.
Li Xuandu lifted her up into the carriage, then bent and stepped inside himself, sat down, and pulled the door shut.
The carriage wound through an open space and, leaving the main road that had long since been cordoned off behind it, took a back path and drove at speed toward the capital.
From a corner of the carriage compartment hung a dim horse lantern, casting the small space in a faint amber glow. The only sound from outside was the rumbling and creaking of wheels over the road surface, which made this small space feel all the more still.
Pu Zhu’s heart gradually settled. She suddenly heard Li Xuandu’s low voice at her ear: “I have put you through a fright again. It is truly my fault—I am really too useless. To say nothing of anything else, even protecting you properly is an empty promise.”
Pu Zhu looked up to find him gazing down at her, a faint shadow of chagrin seeming to rest in his brow. She quickly wiped the remnants of tears from her face, shook her head, and asked: “Was it true what Cui Xuan said—that the Emperor intended to have you eliminated at the imperial mausoleum?”
Li Xuandu gave a sound of acknowledgment, his expression even, as though such things had long since ceased to surprise him.
“He forgot that I spent three years keeping watch there; I know that place. When those men tried to lure me onto that road, I was already on guard. They should not have chosen that spot. I dealt with it, and when I came out, I heard that something enormous had happened on the road here—I thought you might have need of me, and so I hurried over. The wife of Prince Duan said you had been called away by a dark-skinned young man, so I went to find you…”
The carriage compartment was truly narrow; he sat there with only a small gap between them, leaning one shoulder against the compartment wall, and now that things had quieted, in the dim lamplight, he looked faintly tired.
“Li Chengyu is Emperor now—that much seems settled. He moved so quickly to have someone go to you…”
He leaned slightly to one side, his eyes on her, and stopped.
Pu Zhu felt a pang in her heart, but showed nothing of it, and dropped her gaze: “I have more faith in your future.”
Li Xuandu seemed startled at first, then let out a low laugh—his shoulders shaking slightly with it—and finally managed to stop. He nodded and said: “Zhuzhu, in my present state, I would not be overstating things to call myself a stray dog without a home. From here on, circumstances will only grow more difficult than before. I am truly grateful that you still think so well of me—and I mean that. I only hope that going forward, I, Li Xuandu, will be worthy of what you expect of me…”
The road was a back path, rough and uneven; the carriage wheels lurched over a rut in the ground, and the whole carriage jumped. Her body tilted forward.
Li Xuandu reached out and steadied her. His gaze suddenly fixed, and came to rest on one of her wrists.
After getting into the carriage, Pu Zhu had deliberately used her sleeve to cover the injured wrist. Now, with the jolt of the carriage, the wound had slipped out from under the fabric. Seeing that he had noticed, she quickly pulled her hand back—but it was already too late; he caught it and pulled back the sleeve, revealing that stretch of skin where the blood had not yet fully dried, and looked up: “What happened here? Was it cut by a sword?”
Pu Zhu said: “Earlier, for self-protection, I took Cui Xuan’s sword, but I was clumsy and flustered, and accidentally cut myself here. It doesn’t hurt much…”
Li Xuandu apparently believed her. He frowned slightly, pulled aside his robe, and tore a strip from the white cloth of his undergarment. Carefully, he wrapped it around her wrist to stanch the bleeding. When he had finished bandaging it, he no longer leaned sideways against the compartment wall as he had before, but sat up straight, and said gently: “There’s still some road before we reach where we’re stopping. If you’re tired, rest against me for a while. Don’t worry—things should be quiet for the time being.”
A thin warmth moved through Pu Zhu’s heart like a thread. She nodded, tilted her head, and rested it lightly on his shoulder, and slowly closed her eyes.