In a blink it was the Lantern Festival. That evening the palace held a family banquet, and when it was over, darkness had fully fallen. Li Xuandu had drunk a few cups too many and was slightly flushed; Empress Liang, worried about him making the journey back to Prince Qin’s Manor after leaving the palace, urged him to stay the night. Li Xuandu declined graciously. Seeing he was unwilling, Empress Liang did not press the matter and told him to take care on the road home. As the Crown Prince was heading back to the Eastern Palace, it was along the same route, so he accompanied his fourth brother out of the palace.

The two brothers walked side by side along the palace corridor.

Tonight was the Lantern Festival, and to suit the occasion, the corridors on either side were hung with lanterns of every variety crafted by skilled artisans. After dark, the lanterns were lit—a full panorama of flowing light and brilliant color, extraordinarily beautiful.

The brothers strolled along enjoying the lanterns as they talked; after exchanging a few words, the Crown Prince brought up the matter of the marriage negotiations that had recently caused such a stir.

He looked at his younger brother and said with a quiet smile: “Yuli’er, tell your elder brother the truth—did you tamper with things at the Imperial Astronomer’s office that day?”

Li Xuandu laughed too.

Before his Crown Prince elder brother, he had always kept almost nothing hidden, from the time he was small to the present. Now that his little scheme had been seen through, he was quite forthcoming in admitting it: he said that on that day he had gone privately to find the Imperial Astronomer and threatened him. The Imperial Astronomer, afraid that if he failed to comply, things would not go well for him in the future, had gritted his teeth and cast precisely that hexagram.

The Crown Prince could not hold back a peal of laughter and pointed at him: “You! From the time you were small you were a troublemaker, and you’re this big now and still haven’t changed your ways. Such willfulness! When you were your age, both I and your two other elder Imperial Brothers had already taken consorts and married. That’s a fine thing—why won’t you?”

Li Xuandu rubbed his head and grinned: “I can’t compare with you and the Crown Prince brothers. Elder Brother, you said it yourself just now—I’ve been wild since I was small. Tell me to take a consort and marry now, and it’s as good as lashing myself with chains. I’d rather roam free for a few more years. Besides…”

He paused, met his elder brother’s concerned gaze, let the smile drop from his face, and said: “Crown Prince Elder Brother, you know what I’ve wished for since I was small. The Eastern Di is not yet destroyed. I have no heart for starting a family.”

The Crown Prince nodded: “I know your wish. But this time, if you truly didn’t want to marry, you could simply have come to Elder Brother—Elder Brother would have found a way to help you. Creating a scene like this on your own—if Father learned of it, it wouldn’t look very proper.”

Li Xuandu said: “I did think of asking Crown Prince Elder Brother to help, but then I thought of how busy you are every day. This is a small matter for me—I didn’t want to trouble you—so I just went off and made a scene. Father already knows.”

“Father knows already?” The Crown Prince was slightly surprised.

“Yes.” Li Xuandu nodded. “After the Imperial Astronomer affair came out, I went to see Father and spoke my heart plainly. Really, I also knew that this trick of mine could never actually hide it from Father. He questioned me, so I admitted it—that I had tampered at the Imperial Astronomer’s. Father was indeed very angry at the time, and he scolded me. But fortunately, in the end he only punished me by making me kneel till past midnight; then he said he was sick of the sight of me and told me to get out of the palace—he didn’t want to see me anymore! So I got out, and for those several days before today I hadn’t entered the palace. Only tonight, because Mother Empress sent someone to summon me, did I make a trip back.”

The Crown Prince was taken aback, and then burst out laughing and pointed at his brother: “You! You! You’re the only one Father can’t do anything about! If it were me, or your second or third Elder Brothers…”

He stopped, laughed, and shook his head.

Li Xuandu grinned and said: “How could I compare with you, Crown Prince Elder Brother? Anyway, I’ve been without any proper bearing since I was small—Father long ago gave up expecting anything of me. If he were truly going to hold it against me, he would have been driven to his grave with anger long since.”

The Crown Prince shook his head with a smile, then thought of what he’d been hearing these past days, and asked offhandedly: “Elder Brother heard people say a while ago that when you ran into Second Brother’s people in the Southern Market that day, you had a young child with you. Who was that child?”

Li Xuandu’s mind conjured the image of the little pipsqueak from the Pu household. Thinking that he, at his age, had been keeping company with such a tiny little girl, he felt somewhat embarrassed, and naturally didn’t want anyone to know—not even his most respected elder brother, whom he’d looked up to since childhood. So he answered vaguely: “You know I used to go out to play a lot—just a child from some ordinary family I got to know at the Southern Market polo ground. We happened to get along well too. I saw her get knocked down that day and couldn’t stand it, so I struck a bit harder than I should have.”

The Crown Prince had only been asking in passing; this was nothing of great importance. Taking the answer at face value, he said: “I see. But you’re nearly sixteen now—you should also work on tempering this quick temper of yours. Don’t be so impulsive when things happen, understand?”

Li Xuandu respectfully replied: “I’ll remember it. Thank you for your guidance, Crown Prince Elder Brother!”

The palace gate arrived. Li Xuandu asked him to stop here.

The Crown Prince offered a final word of advice: “If you encounter something troublesome like this again in the future, just come find Elder Brother—no need to hold back. Elder Brother will do his best to help you.”

Li Xuandu grinned: “Understood!”

The Crown Prince gazed at his younger brother, smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, told him to head home and rest early rather than staying out late, and sent him off.

Li Xuandu gave his word, and left the palace.

The Crown Prince watched with a smile as his brother’s figure on horseback disappeared into the distance, then turned and made his way slowly back toward the Eastern Palace.

And as for this night—the Lantern Festival—lights transformed the whole city, a sea of lanterns in every direction. The streets were packed with people coming to view the lanterns: men and women, young and old, a thronging, bustling crowd.

Li Xuandu had barely ridden his horse out of the palace when a group of young men who had been waiting long since at the entrance to the imperial boulevard spotted him and surged toward him from all sides, surrounding him, all calling out with grins: “Your Highness, you’ve finally come out of the palace! Much longer and we would have snuck someone in to pass a message to summon you!”

This group of young men were all beautifully dressed—sons of great families who normally followed Li Xuandu about in his amusements, many of them young men from the Imperial Guard. Every year at the Lantern Festival, the young man who lost the martial competition at the Imperial Guard training sessions before the New Year would foot the bill; they would reserve the most luxurious restaurant in the capital, the Cuizi Tower, watch the lanterns and drink wine and revel through the night—this had become a fixed tradition.

Li Xuandu agreed immediately, and turned his horse toward Cuizi Tower. In a moment, amid the dreamlike play of lantern lights along the street, a group of young men in fine clothing rode golden-bridled horses with jade saddles, their spirits high and bold; talking and laughing, they galloped off with a roar—and in an instant their figures vanished into the night and the lantern-glow.

It was, as they say: peacetime without war, youth in the bloom of wealth—what better season to enjoy life’s pleasures.

Li Xuandu went with that band of companions who clustered around him toward the restaurant. Riding his horse past a bridge, he suddenly noticed a small girl being held in someone’s arms at the foot of the bridge, watching the flower lanterns. The little girl was delighted and clapped her hands with joy.

His thoughts seemed to catch on something; he suddenly remembered the Winter Solstice, when he had sent the little Pu pipsqueak home, and how just before he left she had chased after him and said she wanted him to take her to see the lanterns on the Lantern Festival.

He hesitated, then reconsidered: she was only a small pipsqueak, and besides, so many days had passed since then. She had surely only said it offhandedly at the time—she had probably forgotten all about it long ago.

With that thought, he quickly put the matter out of his mind. He arrived at the restaurant, and together with the others he climbed up to the high upper hall.

The hall was ablaze with lanterns; fine wine and delicacies were laid out, the music of pipes and flutes played, singing girls and dancers filled the room. It was lively beyond description. Yet somehow, even surrounded by all of it, Li Xuandu’s thoughts kept drifting elsewhere. Watching the time grow later and later, he glanced at the darkness outside, thought for a moment, then made an excuse to step away. He went to the outer room and called Luo Bao over, ordering him to run an errand immediately—go to the Pu household, check at the back gate, and see whether that little girl was actually there waiting.

Luo Bao was feeling lazy and disinclined to go. He was also greatly puzzled; he had never imagined that Prince Qin would suddenly send him off on an errand like this. Taking advantage of the high spirits of the festival, he muttered quietly under his breath: “It’s just a small child… surely His Highness isn’t actually planning to take her out to see the lanterns…”

Li Xuandu flushed with embarrassment and indignation and gave him a kick: “Do as you’re told—what are you mumbling about?”

Luo Bao staggered with the kick, performed a nimble roll on the ground, and immediately leaped back to his feet; he covered his backside with one hand while saying: “Yes, yes, your servant understands—His Highness is just afraid the little child took you seriously and is waiting a long time. Your servant will go right away and check…” and saying this, he rubbed his backside and scurried off down the stairs at a trot.

Li Xuandu watched him go, and then turned and went back inside. Roughly half a quarter-hour later, he saw Luo Bao return. The man was standing at the entrance to the main hall, craning his neck to look in his direction. Li Xuandu excused himself and went out again, asking: “She’s not there, right…?” Before the words were fully out, he saw Luo Bao’s eyes darting repeatedly to the area right beside him. He followed Luo Bao’s gaze—and there, behind one of the carved wooden lattice panels of the main hall entrance, a small head was peeping out, two bright, dark eyes staring in through the lattice as though gazing at everything inside.

Inside the main hall, the singing and music were at their height, a roaring peak of revelry. Exotic dancers from the Western Regions—pale-skinned, full-figured, clad in splendid, low-cut robes—twirled in dance to the music. Several of his half-drunk companions had joined them in exuberance: some beating drums, some swaying arm-in-arm with the dancers, laughter ringing out, everyone lost in unrestrained pleasure.

Li Xuandu was so startled that every drop of wine he’d drunk tonight seemed to turn to hot sweat and pour from his skin.

He lunged forward in one swift step, reaching out and clapping a hand over the little girl’s eyes so she couldn’t see, then grabbed her and hustled her away at speed to an adjoining quiet room used for brief rest. Once inside, he set her down and closed the door. Then he turned around, brows knitted, and demanded in a low voice: “I only told you to go and look! Why did you bring her here?!” The more he thought about it, the angrier he got; he reached out to grab the man’s ear.

Only then did Luo Bao realize he had misunderstood what he’d been told to do. Quick-eyed, he covered his ear and leapt backward, dodging the hand reaching toward him, then immediately dropped to his knees with a thud and cried out his grievance: “Didn’t His Highness tell your servant to go and look? You didn’t explain clearly—your servant is thick, and thought you truly meant to take the little child out to see lanterns. When I got there, sure enough she was there, so I brought her…”

Stuck with such a dense servant, Li Xuandu was furious and exasperated. He turned his head and saw the little girl had already pushed the door open on her own and was poking her head out through the gap, her two eyes still apparently straining to stare at the main hall across the way. Helpless, he ordered Luo Bao to keep an eye on her, then quickly strode inside and offered his apologies to the company, saying that something had suddenly come up and he couldn’t stay—let everyone continue, he needed to go first.

Though the others were rather disappointed, seeing his expression was serious, they dared not press him to stay, and all rose to see him off.

Li Xuandu told everyone not to bother seeing him out; then, shielding the small pipsqueak at his side with his sleeve—concealing her as best he could—he slipped out through the restaurant’s back exit, brought her to a spot with fewer people, and let go of her. “Why did you actually come out?” he asked.

Though it was the Lantern Festival, Meng Shi had no interest in viewing lanterns without her husband at home. She had thought that if her daughter made a fuss about wanting to go see the flower lanterns, she would accompany her; but since her daughter hadn’t said a word about it, Meng Shi had simply let the matter be. After dark, she had instructed the household steward to leave the back gate open a little later than usual so the servants could go out to view the lanterns and return before a set time, then had taken her daughter and retired to bed early as usual.

Pu Zhu had trusted her instincts: she felt that Li Xuandu tonight would probably not really come to take her to see the lanterns. But she couldn’t quite give up hope, and besides, she hadn’t seen him for over half a month and missed him a little—she wanted to try her luck. Once Mother had settled down to sleep, she pretended to fall asleep quickly herself, waited until the serving girl sleeping in the outer room also dozed off, and then quietly got up and slipped out to the back gate to wait.

She had waited a long time. Watching the sky grow darker and darker, and sure enough, he had not come—she was about to lose heart—when, unexpectedly, Luo Bao appeared. She had still thought Li Xuandu was finally willing to take her to see the lanterns, and had followed along in high spirits, only to discover it was all a misunderstanding.

Pu Zhu thought of what she had just seen in the main hall, and simmered with indignation.

Just you wait, Li Xuandu. Never mind not bringing her to see the lanterns—he’d gone to a place like that to frolic and have his fun.

She held in her anger and smiled sweetly: “Brother Prince Qin, what were you doing in there? So it turns out you like those dancing girls?”

Li Xuandu hastened to say: “Don’t talk nonsense! Nothing of the sort!”

Pu Zhu’s heart sounded a small hmph, then she blinked: “Then—before I arrived just now—did you hold any of them?”

Being interrogated like this by a small pipsqueak.

Li Xuandu found the situation simultaneously funny and irritating, and declared: “Of course I didn’t!”

Only then did Pu Zhu feel a little better in her heart. “I want to see the lanterns!” she said.

Li Xuandu put on a stern face: “Did you sneak out again while the servants were asleep?”

Pu Zhu said quietly: “Mother misses Father and has no heart for lanterns. It only comes once a year. I waited for you tonight for a long time and thought you’d forgotten.”

Li Xuandu looked down at her. In his mind he filled in the scene: a single, solitary little figure sitting on a doorstep, waiting with such patient longing. Unexpectedly, his heart softened. He thought for a moment, and said: “Then we’ll look for a little while. Just a little while—and when we’ve seen enough, I’ll take you home. No dragging your feet.”

The small pipsqueak broke into a look of pure, overjoyed happiness, her big eyes shining and sparkling with light, and she nodded her agreement over and over.

Li Xuandu’s mood, without his quite realizing it, also lifted, and he smiled along with her, telling her to follow him.

The small pipsqueak was very obedient, staying close at his side the whole way, hopping and skipping through the flow of lantern-watching people.

Li Xuandu bought her all kinds of toys, and sweets and candy figurines. At last they came to a place where walking lanterns—lanterns that rotated with moving pictures inside—were on display; the crowd ahead was too thick, and she wanted to see too, but she was too small and short; she jumped and jumped with all her might but couldn’t see over the heads.

Li Xuandu stood to one side, and simply could not bear to watch this go on. He picked her up, lifted her high, and let her look to her heart’s content.

Honestly speaking—setting aside the experiences of her past life, even in this lifetime, as a small child she had seen Lantern Festival lanterns before. But tonight, with him beside her, Pu Zhu truly felt as though she had returned to her childhood. All evening long, everything she looked at seemed wonderful to her.

Having finished with the walking lanterns, Li Xuandu—at her insistence—also took her to watch a conjurer. Without realizing it, they had wandered through several streets. This little body was still very small after all, and her two legs gradually began to ache.

She didn’t want to walk anymore. She stopped and said: “Brother Prince Qin, I can’t walk.”

Li Xuandu reached out his hand, intending to carry her—but unexpectedly she shook her head: “Carry me on your back.”

Li Xuandu was rendered speechless, but could only lower himself, crouching down.

Pu Zhu came running over happily and flopped onto his back, her two small arms wrapping tightly around his neck. He held up the small body draped across his back with both hands, as she directed him this way and that.

Having climbed onto his back, the little pipsqueak turned shameless, and refused to come down again.

The night was deepening; the people on the streets who had brought small children were gradually fewer, but the young men and women seemed to grow ever more numerous, laughter and voices ringing out all along the way.

Pu Zhu too was gradually growing drowsy; her cheek rested against his still somewhat lean but firmly muscled back, her nostrils full of the scent that belonged only to him. A deep sense of peace came over her. Without knowing it, drowsiness crept in, and slowly she closed her eyes.

Li Xuandu carried her on his back until they reached a stall selling flower lanterns. He saw a rabbit lantern there—red eyes, three-petaled mouth, its look charmingly foolish—and it immediately called to mind the image of her pouting with red-rimmed eyes when she was wheedling him. The more he looked, the more it resembled her; he suppressed a smile and asked the one on his back if she liked it.

After a long moment, there was no answer.

“Young sir, your little sister has fallen asleep,” the stall-keeper pointed out with a smile.

Li Xuandu held his breath and slowly shifted the small person from his back to hold her in his arms. She had indeed truly fallen asleep, her eyes shut, the long fringe of her lashes fanned down, a smear of candy floss still clinging to the corner of her mouth.

Looking at her sleeping face—so serene and sweet—nestled in his arms, Li Xuandu felt something in his own heart settle into a calm peace.

He told Luo Bao to buy the rabbit lantern; he himself took off his outer robe and wrapped the small person in his arms from head to toe, and carried her back toward her home. When he reached the area near the back gate, he lightly patted her small cheek to wake her, then passed her the rabbit lantern. He turned to help her push the door—only to discover that the door had already been bolted from inside.

In the end, at Pu Zhu’s guidance, he came to the base of one of the perimeter walls of the Pu household. He had her climb back onto his back, and carried her as he scaled the high wall, vaulted over—furtive as a thief in the night—and brought her to the courtyard outside where she slept.

He watched that small figure disappear, then waited in the dark for a little while longer; hearing no stir from inside, he knew she was familiar enough with this to manage smoothly, and must have slipped back to her room safely. Only then did he trace his path back and vault the wall outward. Under Luo Bao’s stunned gaze, he clasped his hands behind his back and strolled away in notably cheerful spirits.

Pu Zhu slipped back into her room, placed the rabbit lantern he had given her beside her pillow, letting it keep her company as she slept. She looked at the rabbit, couldn’t help reaching out a finger to poke its round, rosy three-petaled mouth, then smiled to herself in secret, and slowly closed her eyes.

That night’s dream was a river of glowing light. The next morning, she woke and looked at the rabbit lantern by the head of her bed, savoring the memory of walking through the streets with him to see the lanterns last night, and her mood was fine.

Now, she only hoped her father would return home safe and sound as soon as possible.

In the time that followed, she did not run into Li Xuandu again. But on the day of his sixteenth birthday, her mother—wanting to express gratitude for the way he had brought her daughter back from outside the city gate that day—sent a standard birthday gift to Prince Qin’s Manor. Unexpectedly, a few days later, he came in person; besides calling on Pu Zhu’s grandfather, he also came to convey his thanks to Meng Shi.

Meng Shi was very pleased. After he left, she could not stop singing his praises, saying Prince Qin was modest and unassuming, and utterly charming.

On this visit of his, Pu Zhu had no chance to speak with him alone, but her heart was sweet all the same. Seeing that her mother liked him so much made her even happier.

Whatever Li Xuandu was actually thinking, in her heart, he had come to pay his thanks for her sake. Otherwise—with so many families sending gifts on his birthday—had he gone to personally thank any other household besides theirs?

He had not.

Peaceful, happy days passed by, one after another. Pu Zhu also counted on her fingers, day by day, waiting for her father’s return.

In the fourth month, her father finally came home from the Western Regions, just as she had wished.

On this trip, her father not only returned safely—he had accomplished something of great significance.

On his way back, he had been ambushed by a large force of Wuli troops. Fortunately, he had taken precautions in advance; not only did the entire diplomatic delegation emerge unharmed, he turned the tables and captured the Wuli prince who had led the ambush. Now he had returned not only with a hostage, but with a joint letter bearing the signatures of more than ten Western Regions kingdoms. The kings of each nation were willing to submit as vassals of the Li dynasty, requesting that the Li dynasty formally establish a Protectorate to deter the Eastern Di and provide shelter to those kingdoms that refused to submit to the Eastern Di.

This set off a fierce debate in the court. At first, one side of the debate still consisted only of a small faction—Pu Yuanqiao, Jiang Yi, and a handful of others—who used this incident as a breakthrough point and argued forcefully for opening the Western Regions. Then the fourth Imperial Prince, Prince Qin, quickly joined their camp and became one of its driving forces. It was said he leveraged his relationship with the Emperor to repeatedly lay out the advantages and disadvantages of opening the Western Regions, along with contingency strategies for various situations that might arise in the future—laying out his arguments point by point, with solid reasoning and evidence.

As the court debate progressed, quite a few officials who had previously been neutral gradually perceived that the Emperor’s attitude seemed to be softening, and one after another they joined the minority faction. The two sides slowly came to an even balance of strength.

Two months later, the Emperor went to the Penglai Palace to visit Empress Dowager Jiang, and when he returned, he seemed to have finally made up his mind. He issued an imperial decree: the court, in accordance with the popular will of the Western Regions kingdoms, had decided to formally establish the Western Regions Protectorate to secure the borders and govern the various nations. Jiang Yi was appointed as the first Protector-General; Pu Yuanqiao, being familiar with Western Regions affairs, was appointed as Deputy Protector-General. The fourth Imperial Prince Li Xuandu, because he himself had resolutely petitioned for the assignment—and though the Emperor was privately reluctant—was in the end granted his request: the Emperor agreed to let him go out through the pass along with the others to gain practical experience.

The date for the party to set out westward was also set: it would be at the end of the eighth month of that year, after the Emperor’s birthday celebration. That left fewer than three months.

On this day, an honored guest came to the household. Crown Prince Li Xuanxin of the current dynasty. The occasion was that Grandfather had fallen ill with a cold these past few days; because of his advanced age, the Emperor was sympathetic and had given him leave to rest, even sending the Crown Prince to inquire after him.

Pu Zhu’s feelings toward the Crown Prince were complicated.

She felt some sympathy for him, and could even understand the act he had committed in his previous life—using his younger brother’s trust to deceive him, forcing him to take his side in storming the palace.

But in the Crown Prince’s final moment of defeat, when he had no choice but to take his own life—he had still refused to release his younger brother, unwilling to open his mouth and speak out to clear his name, insisting on pulling him down into ruin together.

That was something Pu Zhu could not condone.

So toward the Crown Prince, she simply could not bring herself to feel any goodwill.

If a person truly cared for a loved one—even if he made a grave mistake in a moment of confusion—at the very end of his life, could he bring himself to drag that loved one down into hell alongside him?

The young Prince Qin of that previous life had not died in the end, but the torment of those years—to say it was worse than death was no exaggeration at all.

The present Emperor’s suspicion was certainly a major cause of the Crown Prince’s tragedy; but the Crown Prince himself was also not entirely without fault.

When one was at the center of the vortex of power, to preserve human feeling and family love was, admittedly, one of the most difficult things in the world. It was precisely for that reason that Li Xuandu’s innocent heart—which had endured hardship through that first lifetime and yet never changed—was all the more rare and precious.

Pu Zhu swore to herself that she would protect this young man as he was now.

In this lifetime, because of her own intervention, the direction things were heading had already changed enormously. But she still did not dare to let down her guard. Because the great event that had occurred in this very year in the previous life had not only altered Li Xuandu’s fate—it was also intimately bound up with her own grandfather, and with herself.

She kept a careful eye out. While Grandfather received the Crown Prince in his study, she quietly slipped to the west window of Grandfather’s study and, using the advantage of her small and slender frame, hid herself behind a clump of banana plants in the corner of the wall, and eavesdropped on the conversation inside.

The content of the Crown Prince’s conversation with Grandfather began with nothing out of the ordinary.

He inquired after Grandfather’s health and conveyed the concern of the Emperor and of himself, then very naturally moved on to the hot topic of the day in the court: the establishment of the Western Regions Protectorate.

Over these past months, thanks to Father’s achievements on this mission and his persistent efforts, Grandfather had gradually been won over by his conviction, shifting from opposition at the outset to cautious approval.

His shift in stance had itself been a key factor in drawing a number of other officials to change sides along with him.

The Crown Prince also expressed his own anticipation for the prospects of formally establishing the Western Regions Protectorate, and added that his fourth brother would soon be accompanying General Pu to the Western Regions; young in years and impulsive in action, he would trouble the General to look after him when the time came.

Grandfather said it was no trouble. Then Pu Zhu saw the Crown Prince’s figure appear at the window, as though he were gazing out at the scenery of the courtyard garden.

She made herself as small as possible and held completely still.

The Crown Prince looked around on both sides, then closed the window; his figure disappeared behind it.

Pu Zhu held her breath, pricked up her ears, and continued listening with all her might. She could just make out the Crown Prince’s voice drifting out.

He sighed and said he wished he too could go and render meritorious service like his fourth brother, but was constrained by his position and could not go.

His voice was full of sorrow and regret, and then gradually grew lower; Pu Zhu could no longer hear clearly what he was saying. Only a short while later did she hear Grandfather’s voice coming out again.

Grandfather said: he was the Crown Prince, the very foundation of the nation. What he bore on his shoulders was a responsibility even more important than opening the Western Regions. Hold fast to his position, fulfill his duties, guard his words and actions, and apply himself diligently without respite—so long as he could do these things, the Emperor would never arbitrarily move against him.

After a brief silence inside the study, Pu Zhu heard the Crown Prince say he would take the Grand Tutor’s words to heart, would not let him down, and would do his utmost.

He lingered a little longer, and then took his leave and departed.

Having heard this conversation between him and her Grandfather with her own ears, the sense of unease in Pu Zhu’s heart only grew stronger.

Although the Crown Prince had given his word to Grandfather like that, she had no way to be certain that before Li Xuandu left the capital, the Crown Prince would not still take action as he had in his previous life.

She was even more worried: if the Crown Prince still chose to take desperate risks, it would inevitably implicate her Grandfather.

Though Li Xuandu was still only a young man now, his conduct carefree and unruly, the essence of a person’s character does not change.

In terms of his essential character, he was perceptive, bold, capable of bearing great responsibility—someone who could be trusted and relied upon completely.

That very night, she made up her mind: she would find an opportunity as soon as possible to meet with him and warn him. He must be on his guard against the Crown Prince.