In the end, Situ Sheng was left dangling between one state and another, until he could only press his forehead to hers, take hold of her damp little face — sweet as candied fruit — and say in a low voice: “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Linlang’s eyes were a haze of soft allure as she wrapped herself around his broad arms: “You can’t even endure this much… can you truly bear to be apart from me for months?”

Since ancient times, when human and fox spirit have done battle, it is always the one with greater willpower who wins.

Unfortunately, when it came to this little fox Chu Linlang, Situ Sheng had never once claimed a victory.

In the end, it was he who surrendered first, agreeing to take her along — and only then was he allowed to savor that exquisite taste fully and to his heart’s content.

Though they were going together, they could not travel together.

Situ Sheng’s journey north was officially in the capacity of military inspector, and under that title he could not bring family members along — much less Linlang, a woman who in others’ eyes held no official status relative to him.

And so they planned to travel the same road but in separate conveyances, departing separately yet not too far apart, so they could look out for each other. And when they stopped to rest, the two could take advantage of the evening glow and walk together for a while.

Linlang’s reason for going north was entirely above reproach — to explore commercial opportunities. After all, for a merchant, traveling north and south was hardly unusual.

For this northern journey, Linlang made thorough preparations, purchasing three large axle carriages and additionally hiring several coachmen to take turns driving.

This way, Sui Qiye would not need to work himself so hard — he could simply sit in the carriage and oversee from there.

Before setting off, Linlang went carefully through all the details of the shop’s affairs one more time.

Recently, the gold mine upstream to the northwest had been located and surveyed, and the government was about to take it over for extraction. Once that happened, the water source upstream could be cut off at any time — meaning the business of panning for gold along the riverbeds and sandbanks had at most another couple of years before there would be very little gold left to sift.

Fortunately, Xia Qingyun had already managed to sell off most of the land by now. That round of land transactions had brought Linlang considerable income again, and had also allowed Xia Qingyun to add a number of new trading vessels to the fleet.

With more silver in hand, whatever business ventures lay ahead could be pursued with confidence — and there was capital now to absorb mistakes, no longer needing to tread so carefully as when she had first arrived in the capital.

Reckoning by the days, her mother, whom she had sent ahead to Lingnan, should by now be more than halfway along the journey. She only hoped her mother would be able to settle in contentedly on her own down there.

She hoped that after returning from the north, everything would be going smoothly — and that she would be able to find the time to go visit her mother…

As she was lost in these calculations, a carriage drew up and stopped in front of her shop.

Linlang closed the account book, and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of a mother and daughter just entering the shop. As the shopkeeper and the assistants were in the back storeroom taking inventory, Linlang stepped in to greet the customers herself.

But the moment she came face to face with the mother and daughter, Linlang froze.

Because these two were acquaintances of a sort. The younger woman was none other than Yin Xuefang — the same Yin Xuefang who had once come to the Zhou household in Suizhou in person, presenting herself to serve as a concubine.

It turned out that after Yin Xuefang’s setback in Suizhou, she had returned home utterly dispirited, convincing herself that she and Zhou Sui’an shared a deep bond — and that it was only because of Chu Linlang’s scheming and the things Madam Chu had said to Madam Zhao that Madam Zhao had changed her mind. Whenever she fell into low spirits, she would take out the letters Zhou Sui’an had written to her and read them over carefully, savoring them, finding in them a bittersweet romance like the tale of the Cowherd and the Weaving Maid, divided by the vast River of Heaven.

To desire something one cannot have naturally creates more persistent longing than if one had obtained it.

Though her mother Liu Shi had arranged for matchmakers to introduce her to other eligible parties, none of them, in Miss Yin’s eyes, possessed Zhou Sui’an’s talent and brilliant prospects.

Particularly after she heard that Zhou Sui’an had advanced smoothly in his career, been posted all the way to the capital and taken up an official position there — her yearning grew all the deeper, and she could no longer bear the thought of an unremarkable country husband.

Added to this, she was burdened with the reputation of being a widow who brought ill fortune to husbands, and so very nearly two years had been wasted away.

But just a few days before, Madam Zhao and Liu Shi had somehow rekindled their old friendship and renewed their connection.

And so Liu Shi had received an invitation, and brought her daughter Yin Xuefang with her to the capital to visit her friend.

Being newcomers to the capital and not wanting to arrive empty-handed, mother and daughter had been making their way through the shops along the street, intending to buy some gifts to bring when they called.

By some remarkable coincidence, they had walked right into their old acquaintance Chu Linlang. Miss Yin’s mother, Liu Shi, had long since heard about the dissolution of Madam Chu’s marriage — yet this unexpected encounter was still more than a little awkward, and she was momentarily at a loss for words.

Miss Yin herself was equally awkward, and managed a “Greetings, elder sister!”

Chu Linlang couldn’t help but think of the last time she’d met this Miss Yin — and the verbal sparring over whether Miss Yin ought to call her “sister-in-law” or “elder sister.”

The bygone past of it all made her laugh involuntarily.

Just as mother and daughter were turning to hurry toward the exit, Chu Linlang caught Miss Yin’s wrist — then, without the slightest trace of awkwardness, with the warmth and familiarity of greeting a relative, introduced them to item after item in the shop.

Such gracious and thorough attention left Liu Shi and Miss Yin so embarrassed that they couldn’t very well leave without buying something.

Chu Linlang had a sense of their circumstances as well, and made no attempt to take advantage. The items she selected for them were all well-suited to giving as gifts, and moderately priced.

Just as mother and daughter were hurrying to pay and get out, Zhou Sui’an came rushing in from outside, drenched in sweat from searching.

It turned out that today he had gone to the city gate to meet the Yin family’s carriage, and in the marketplace they had somehow gotten separated. By the time he finally tracked them down, he found the mother and daughter’s carriage parked right outside Chu Linlang’s shop.

Zhou Sui’an felt he might as well have died on the spot. He could only dash into the shop — and found, to his dismay, that Linlang was there too.

He would rather not have walked in at all. He stood there in acute embarrassment, unable to open his mouth.

But Chu Linlang’s smile was perfectly composed, and she didn’t say a word that might have put Lord Zhou in an awkward position in front of Miss Yin.

When Liu Shi and Yin Xuefang went out and boarded their carriage, Chu Linlang noticed that Zhou Sui’an seemed in no hurry to leave. She had a spare moment and took the opportunity to ask him about Yuan’er’s studies recently.

Zhou Sui’an gave her an honest account — Yuan’er had been attending the girls’ school all along without interruption.

Upon hearing this, Chu Linlang nodded in relief. The Zhou household had so many unpleasant goings-on. As long as Yuan’er hadn’t been caught up in it and had her studies disrupted, that was what mattered.

Zhou Sui’an glanced over at Yin Xuefang, who was leaning out of the carriage window looking his way, and felt he needed to offer some explanation to Chu Linlang. He spoke with some difficulty: “Madam Xie has not fully recovered from postpartum complications after the birth — the physician says her constitution has been somewhat damaged, and she may not easily conceive again… When Liu Shi heard and asked after the situation, my mother invited her to come visit the capital…”

With these words said, Chu Linlang understood the general picture.

The Zhou household had now lost two children in succession, and the concubine Hu Shi had also gone.

And so Madam Zhao, growing anxious, was falling back on old tunes — thinking again of her friend’s widowed daughter.

It made sense. Originally, Madam Zhao had been maneuvered by Linlang’s clever arrangements into developing reservations about the Yin family — afraid of being implicated through connection to that discredited uncle. But now that the deposed prince’s matter had been settled and laid to rest, there was no longer any need to worry about that. Madam Zhao had presumably decided to pick up where things had left off, bringing Yin Xuefang back as a concubine.

Yet hearing of this round-and-round turning of the wheel, Chu Linlang still felt it was something no decent person ought to be capable of. The child Xie Youran had delivered had died — how much time had even passed since then? And yet this mother and son were already arranging to take on a new concubine?

She looked at Zhou Sui’an and found herself at a complete loss for words.

Under her clear, sharp gaze, Zhou Sui’an had the feeling of being utterly transparent — and fell back, as was his habit, on deflection: “This is not my doing… it is my mother who won’t listen to reason…”

Chu Linlang felt something between exasperation and amusement, and said evenly: “Lord Zhou, I am no longer your wife. Why explain yourself to me?”

Zhou Sui’an felt he genuinely needed to make things clear — because this time he truly had not known anything about it; his mother had arranged it all and only told him afterward.

But he had forgotten that the person standing before him had long since ceased to need to bear with everything he did. Chu Linlang interrupted him with mild resignation: “Lord Zhou — only a donkey turns a millstone blindfolded, going round and round in the same circle, led wherever someone pulls it. I have already walked very far ahead. What goes on in your household is truly something you need not explain to me.”

With that, she gave a polite curtsy, turned, and went back into the shop.

Leaving Zhou Sui’an standing alone in the street, slowly turning over her words in his mind.

Yes — it had been nearly two years since he and Linlang had dissolved their marriage.

He had heard many things about Linlang in the time since. She had brought her mother out from the Chu family home. She had opened a shop in the capital. She had purchased a villa on the city’s outskirts. It was said her business operations in the northwest had grown very substantial.

For bravely saving fellow travelers during the oasis incident, she had been exceptionally honored by the Emperor with a sixth-rank title — “Lady of Xinmei” — and was allowed to tend the sacred lamp at the imperial temple, had been received by the Empress Dowager on multiple occasions.

He had once promised Linlang that someday he would let her wear the ceremonial phoenix crown and receive an imperial honor, entering and exiting the palace in dignity.

Yet this woman had left the Zhou household, made her own way without leaning on any man, and had fulfilled every promise he had once made to her — herself.

…She had indeed walked very far ahead.

Zhou Sui’an even found himself suddenly recalling why, in their youth, his ever-timid and irresolute self had somehow mustered the courage to act — even without telling his mother — to help her escape from the Chu family home, binding their fates together.

It was not only because of Linlang’s youth and beauty. It was more because she had always carried a kind of vitality about her, which inexplicably roused the sluggish, stagnant parts of him.

She always knew clearly what she wanted and what she ought to do.

Unlike him. Without someone pushing him forward, he stopped in his tracks, going round and round in the same place.

Now, with both official duties and family affairs piled on top of each other in a chaotic mess, he even had the feeling of a man adrift, losing ground with no clear sense of where the sliding would end.

A donkey on a millstone — was that not exactly him?

Zhou Sui’an stood motionless in the street, hearing Yin Xuefang’s repeated calls of “Brother Zhou” from the distance, and wondered in a daze — what would it take for him to break free of the rope that kept him plodding in endless circles?

As for Chu Linlang — once she had settled all the shop’s affairs to her satisfaction, she was able to pack her things and set off one after the other with Situ Sheng on the road northward.

Her former home in Lianzhou had been near the northern borderlands, but this journey’s destination lay even farther north than that.

The road was arduous, yet anything but dull. Situ Sheng came north in the capacity of military inspector, and so at every military garrison and prefecture along the route they had to stop and handle official matters.

In the gaps between travel and the completion of official business, Situ Sheng would come to find Chu Linlang — in plain clothes, traveling incognito — and the two would sample street food in the local towns, sightsee, and pick up things that caught their eye.

Linlang told him he needn’t go to the trouble of coming to keep her company — she could perfectly well find ways to pass the time on her own. But every time, Situ Sheng still found ways to carve out time to come and walk with her.

This was something Linlang had never felt during any journey she had taken before.

In the past, when she traveled, she had to take care of an entire household — keeping track of the itinerary, watching over the luggage, managing all the minutiae of boat and carriage. No matter how beautiful the scenery along the way, she never had the presence of mind to take it in.

But this time, the itinerary was set by Situ Sheng. Her carriage simply needed to follow. Every time they arrived in a town, the inn accommodations had already been arranged by Situ Sheng. Even what to eat at each of the three daily meals was handled by Lord Situ, who had Guanqi go and buy it and bring it to her.

With nothing to manage, this hands-off mistress of her own affairs found herself discovering for the first time that a journey away from home, when every detail was attended to, could truly feel this carefree and pleasant.

Today they had come to a formation of stone peaks — a natural landscape shaped over years by the relentless force of fierce winds.

The evening sun had not yet set. With everything bathed in a deep vermilion glow, Situ Sheng took her hand and climbed with her to the top of the tallest stone peak, looking out into the distance — the desert scenery, and the oasis not far off, all spread out before them.

Chu Linlang was utterly struck by this scenery she had never before laid eyes on. At such a moment and such a sight — no wonder scholars and poets felt the irresistible urge to compose verse.

Even someone like herself, who had little interest in literary pursuits, felt a surge of feeling and an unstoppable impulse to improvise something.

And so, in a moment of inspiration, the talent of Rongling Girls’ Academy found herself reciting a verse: “The vast desert, golden like coins — reach out and grab, and all you get is sand. The sun at the horizon is like a sesame cake — what shall we have for dinner tonight!”

Having completed her verse, she stretched her neck back and looked up at the tall man beside her: “My lord, how does this servant’s poem fare?”

Situ Sheng would never deflate Linlang’s enthusiasm, nor would he ever mock her for having limited literary skill. He contemplated the verses with every appearance of genuine deliberation, and said: “Full of imagery. Full of imagination. A fine poem indeed.”

Linlang had composed the verse with a playful spirit — yet she hadn’t anticipated that this man would keep a straight face through such shameless flattery.

She couldn’t help looking at Lord Situ with a new and impressed respect. No wonder this gentleman had been steadily rising in the court’s ranks — that ability to speak utter nonsense with a completely composed expression was truly not something any ordinary person could cultivate.

And the praise didn’t stop there. Situ Sheng even called for Guanqi to bring ink and paper, and prepared to inscribe Chu Linlang’s “masterwork” on a carved stone tablet that many poets and scholars had already left their marks on.

Goodness — Linlang had only been in a playful mood, dashing off a doggerel verse on a whim. How could it be inscribed in a place like this for all to see? If this sesame-cake poem were written there, her name — Chu Linlang — would be a cause for embarrassment across the generations.

Seeing that Situ Sheng was actually about to write it, she quickly reached out to stop him.

Only then did Situ Sheng finally allow himself to laugh out loud: “Shall I refine it a little and then write it?”

He thought for a moment, then gave Linlang’s “deeply meaningful” doggerel a light touch of polish, and inscribed on the rock: “Vast sea of sand runs warm with gold, / The crimson sun blazes brilliant and bold. / With you, beneath the fading light, / Hand in hand, we lose ourselves in endless sky.”

The inscription was signed: “Written by the Hermit Linlang.”

Chu Linlang read it through. Though she wasn’t sure what connection this elegant verse had to her original composition, there was nonetheless something that made her feel inexplicably that this was a poem they had created together.

Inscribed here between heaven and earth — how precious was that?

Linlang stood quietly looking at it, then couldn’t help turning and pulling Situ Sheng into an embrace, pressing a kiss to his cheek in the fading warmth of the sunset’s last glow.

Though this outpouring of affection came suddenly, Situ Sheng received it naturally, wrapping his arms around the soft warmth nestled against him, returning her kiss with wholehearted fervor in this unfamiliar, windswept wilderness.

In this vast and unpeopled space, Chu Linlang no longer needed to suppress herself, no longer needed to fear discovery of her closeness with this man.

This feeling… was something very easy to become addicted to.

She found herself, in being tended to by Situ Sheng, growing ever more greedy. Even the intimate entanglement of the nights no longer felt sufficient. She wanted to stand at his side in the light of day too.

Chu Linlang quietly tightened her arms around the man’s waist — pulling him close, not wanting to let go.

She didn’t even dare imagine — if the day ever came when she was forced to part from him, how she would face that.

This feeling was deeply uncomfortable — making one fear both gaining and losing — and yet it was utterly, willingly accepted.

After days of continuous travel, Situ Sheng at last arrived at Ying County in the north — the place where the third prince’s trail had reportedly been found. The local prefectural and county officials all came out to receive him.

As for the person who had pawned the bracelet — his name was Chen San. His grandmother had apparently been the elderly woman on the traffickers’ boat who had taken the bracelet.

That woman was no longer living. But after a careful interrogation of her family members, her son recalled that his mother had brought home an infant at the time, which she had sold to the butcher in the neighboring village for ten taels of silver.

The infant was now known as Gu Youjin, thirty-three years of age this year, who had inherited his adoptive father’s trade and was also a pig butcher.

When Gu Youjin’s parents were brought before the county offices, one look at the situation was enough to frighten them badly, and they confessed at once that their child had indeed been sold to them by a trafficker from the neighboring village for ten taels of silver. They had purchased the boy only because they had no heir and needed someone to carry on the family line.

That the child was adopted was beyond question — all the elders in the village had known it from the beginning.

Moreover, the swaddling cloth and the infant clothing the child had been brought in were still preserved. When these were produced and compared against the descriptions in the case file from the time of the third prince’s disappearance, the patterns matched exactly.

When Situ Sheng led his men to meet Gu Youjin, the man was bare-chested and slaughtering a pig. He waved his cleaver and asked in a rough voice whether they had come to buy meat.

Situ Sheng said nothing, but carefully examined the face packed thick with layers of fat.

Working in a butcher’s household meant never running short of lard and offal. Gu Youjin had reached middle age and had put on a remarkable amount of weight — his belt barely managed to hold up his trousers, and his eyes had the blunt, slow look of a simple country man.

With a face so thoroughly distorted by excess, it was impossible to tell how much, if at all, he resembled His Majesty.

Yet all the evidence pointed to this Gu Youjin, and Situ Sheng had no choice but to bring him back to the capital first and let His Majesty see for himself.

Gu Youjin, finding himself being taken away by a group of officials and soldiers, was frightened out of his wits, and in a trembling voice asked: “Honorable officers — I haven’t broken any law. Why are you taking me away?”

Situ Sheng could only offer a concise explanation: “A certain nobleman once lost a child long ago. We wish to invite you to meet them and see whether you might be the child they lost.”

Gu Youjin had, in fact, known for a long time from the talk of village folk that he had been adopted. Seeing the situation, he was overcome with sudden delight, and asked Situ Sheng in rapid succession whether his birth father was a high official, where his family home was, and how much fertile land and livestock he owned.

Situ Sheng had no desire to say more: “There is no need for impatience, sir. In due time you will learn everything.”

When Gu Youjin was respectfully escorted to the relay station inn, Chu Linlang observed him through the window, and felt as though both her eyes had been splattered with flying grease.

She was momentarily speechless — not because of any superficial judgment by appearances, but because she couldn’t help thinking of Tao Yashu, newly married and waiting in the Third Prince’s Manor.

Could it be that her refined, accomplished good friend had been married off to someone like…

Chu Linlang could hardly believe it. She waited for Situ Sheng to come back to the room, then quickly asked: “Could there be a mistake? After all, so many years have passed…”

Situ Sheng looked at her steadily and said in a measured tone: “All the evidence points to the fact that he is the infant the elderly woman brought back. And the clothing and swaddling from that time are all items from the Crown Prince’s estate, and according to the case file His Majesty provided me, the third prince had a birthmark on his left leg — which also matches. So it should be him, without question.”

The descriptions recorded in the case file were not enormously detailed. But Situ Sheng reasoned that searching for an imperial son was like a lost property notice — one would certainly not record every single identifying feature in full. There might well be details the Emperor had kept private, which only His Majesty could verify in person.

Chu Linlang’s heart sank lower with every word she heard. She asked again: “And is he married, with children?”

Situ Sheng nodded: “Married a woman from a neighboring village, with three children.”

Chu Linlang found herself completely without words. She said numbly: “Then… what is to become of Yashu?”

Situ Sheng said nothing. He only turned and looked down toward the inn yard below.

That Gu Youjin had apparently eaten halfway through his meal, then come outside to squat on the doorstep and continue eating from his bowl. After a loud belch, he stood up, walked over to a young serving woman employed at the inn, and began making small talk for no apparent reason.

“Little miss, how old are you? What does helping out here pay? I’ll tell you, I happen to be a lost child from a rich family. One day when I go back in glory, you come work for me — a fine-looking girl like you, it’d be a waste to keep serving others…”

Whatever the young woman said back to him, Gu Youjin laughed so hard the folds of fat under his chin wobbled in every direction.

Situ Sheng watched for a while, then said quietly: “If you were the Emperor — and the son you had longed for these many years turned out to be in this state — what would you do?”

Chu Linlang glanced at Situ Sheng and understood what he meant.

The reason the Emperor had been thinking of the third prince so persistently was largely because the third prince was the child of the woman he had loved most dearly — not simply a matter of paternal love. Otherwise, with so many children in his palace, some of whose names the Emperor could not even recall, why had he not been moved to shower any of those children with equal attention?

If the third prince, Liu Yi, had turned out to be a man of fine bearing and exceptional learning — someone who even looked something like the beloved departed — it would have been worthy of all those years of longing.

But now, the third prince retrieved at such great cost was a fat, greasy-faced butcher of shallow understanding. Likely one look from His Majesty would be enough to sever every thread of feeling entirely.

A third prince so wholly unsuited to public presentation — even if the Emperor acknowledged him, whether he could ever be announced to the world was far from certain.

And so her worry about Tao Yashu being bound in marriage to a butcher was perhaps premature.

The most important task of Situ Sheng’s journey was to retrieve the third prince. Now that he had been found, they naturally had to return to the capital without delay.

But before departing, he took Linlang along and made time to go see Li Chengyi, who was stationed in the north.

When Li Chengyi heard Situ Sheng had come, he came out of the military camp in person to receive him, then accompanied him as they climbed up onto the city walls together.

The position where the Jin forces were currently stationed was called Tengchuan — not very far from Negative Waters, the place where General Yang Xun had suffered that catastrophic defeat years ago.

Negative Waters was now in the Jing Kingdom’s hands. Standing on the city walls, one could just faintly make out a winding river in the distance.

Situ Sheng gazed in the direction of Negative Waters and closed his eyes. Beyond the cold, piercing wind of the frontier, he could feel something else — a foul, bloody stench carved into memory, and the endless, unbroken sounds of slaughter.

He had been so young then — helpless, hiding in a supply wagon’s barrel of dried fish, pressing his hands over his mouth as he listened to the killing outside. Never could he have imagined that when he at last tumbled out of that barrel, his grandfather’s headless body would be lying right there before him.

“Lord Situ, are you…” Li Chengyi’s low cry of surprise broke through his painful memory.

Situ Sheng slowly opened his eyes, and found that his hand was gripping a flagpole planted in the city wall. The solid wooden pole had been cracked down the middle by the force of his grip.

He released his hand and said evenly: “I only recalled the shame of Negative Waters and felt my spirit unable to settle. I have made a fool of myself before General Li.”

Li Chengyi came to understand, and said with deep feeling: “What true son of Great Jin could ever forget the shame of Negative Waters? Only, it is a pity that in those years, the old General Yang was deceived and fell into an ambush at a moment of inattention…”

“That is not so!” Before Li Chengyi could finish, from somewhere behind them came the sudden sound of an aged and weighty voice.

Situ Sheng turned to look, and saw Old General Li and a lean, slightly-built elderly man of medium height standing there together behind them.

The one who had spoken was this unfamiliar elder.

Li Chengyi, seeing his father arrive, went quickly to pay his respects, and asked at the same time: “Might I ask, this gentleman is…?”

Old General Li made the introduction: “Come, Chengyi — this is the father of Lord Liao Jingxuan of the Ministry of Works. He was also a comrade of mine in the army in years gone by. You may address him as Uncle Liao.”