Su Luoyun steadied herself, then slowly picked up her brush and continued writing.

For now, the only option was to endure the time, waiting for the villain’s subordinates to come and collect him — to take away this plague god. Su Luoyun prayed inwardly that this man was not some river pirate or mountain bandit. Otherwise, this entire boatload of cargo would truly be a fat, dripping lamb ripe for the slaughter.

She was, in truth, very frightened. But things had come to this pass, and fear was useless. Ever since losing her sight, she had several times despaired so deeply that she had wished to die. Yet now, just when she had found a reason to keep living, misfortune had come crashing down from nowhere, leaving her held captive on a broken-down vessel.

Still, having weathered the capriciousness of fate, she found she could calm her heart far more quickly than before.

Apart from the first few pages, which had been slightly marred by her unsettled mind, the remaining pages grew steadily better as she wrote on.

Before long, Xiangcao came carrying hot tea to look in on her young mistress. She entered without noticing anything amiss, and said to Su Luoyun, “Elder Miss, do rest a while. Your characters now are truly no different from before you lost your sight — write too much and your wrist will ache again.”

Hearing Xiangcao come in, Su Luoyun felt no relief at all. She feared that Xiangcao might notice some telling trace of what had happened and provoke the bandit a second time, so she said lightly, “I am going to sleep shortly. Do not come in and disturb me.”

Xiangcao heard this, promptly helped her lie down, and then went out.

Su Luoyun did not fall asleep. She knew she was alone in a room with a man — how could she possibly rest peacefully? So she simply rose, felt her way to the small ventilation window barely the size of a palm, and stood there quietly, tilting her head to listen intently to the sounds of the waves around the boat.

Had anyone looked just then, they would have seen a slender and graceful silhouette — the loose strands of hair at the girl’s temples lifted and stirred by the crisp wind, lightly brushing against her fair cheeks.

She did not know it, but the man, light on his feet and utterly soundless, had slipped out and was now standing before the small writing table where she had been working.

On the topmost sheet of paper was a line copied from a poem by Gao Zhu: “While life holds wine, one ought to drink deep — not a single drop has ever reached the Yellow Springs…”

He raised an eyebrow: Did this girl believe her end was near, and feel regret at never having tasted the full beauty of the world?

Just then, the girl standing by the window with her head tilted in listening suddenly stilled and spoke: “From the sound of the water… it seems a boat is drawing near. Good fellow, look and see — is it the one coming to meet you?”

No one answered her. But before long, she heard what seemed like something falling into the water — it must have been him leaping in and swimming toward the vessel that had come to receive him.

Su Luoyun could not be certain. She tried asking again, and still no one replied.

Only when she moved about through the cabin and could no longer catch any scent of blood was she finally certain that the ghostlike man had left the boat.

Not fully at ease, Su Luoyun called Xiangcao in and asked whether a boat had come near just now. Xiangcao said that indeed a boat had been following theirs, though it had already sailed away.

Only then did Su Luoyun truly set her heart at rest. How the man had made contact with his subordinates remained an unsolved mystery — but this matter, she could not disclose to anyone. He must have been certain that she would cherish her reputation as a young woman, which was why he had not killed her to silence her.

Yet thinking of how she had fallen into danger this time because her father had rushed ahead and abandoned her without a second thought, Su Luoyun’s sightless eyes filled with a frost-cold chill.

She had never expected much of her father’s affection, but Su Hongmeng always managed to surpass her imagination, striking her in the face with yet another blow, forever lowering the floor of what she could endure.

The river waters churned and rolled on, just like the emotions within her that could not easily be stilled…

* * *

As for the boat that had been following the Su family’s vessel — it had indeed sailed away.

By now, that boat had reached the shallow, mist-veiled lake of Huaixi County, near the capital.

In the ship’s cabin, a stocky man with a short beard stood deferentially beside a curtain. Behind it, a tall man was changing out of his clothes.

The short-bearded man went by the name Qingyang. He seemed to have a great deal pent up, suppressing it once, then twice, until he could suppress it no longer and said: “Young master, what you did today was truly reckless. Though you admire that rebel Cao Sheng and share a deep private friendship with him, he has after all taken actions in opposition to the imperial court. If you become too entangled with him, I fear…”

The young master had come out of the capital this time with several sons of noble houses to go fishing and enjoy themselves in Huaixi County. But unexpectedly, he had happened to see the prison cart transporting his old acquaintance Cao Sheng — and had then, that very night, secretly made arrangements to create a diversion and, at great personal risk, rescued Cao Sheng himself.

Such conduct, while full of the chivalrous spirit of the rivers and lakes, was far too dangerous! Thinking of how the young master had ended up alone and isolated in the midst of the chaos, Qingyang felt a fresh wave of dread wash over him.

The man was in the process of bandaging a wound on his shoulder, and replied with unconcerned indifference: “Someone leaked intelligence about this operation! Fortunately you and the others arrived in time and cut down the informant who had been heading to the capital to report…”

Qingyang immediately said with alarm: “Young master, if that is the case, does your situation not give cause for grave concern? Why not seize this opportunity to quickly leave the capital of Wei — so as not to be held over a barrel by someone…”

The tall man turned slightly at this.

His features were deep-set and defined. Because his mother was of a foreign people, his appearance seemed to blend a faint trace of exotic heritage. The lamplight cast shadows across the side of his face, its clean lines like something carved by a woodworker’s blade — a high, straight nose bridge, and beneath thick brows, black eyes sharp as a hawk’s. His long hair, still half-damp, clung to his face, carrying a certain untamed wildness of the borderlands; and at his thin lips there curved a faint, cold, contemptuous smile.

“Father King sent me into the Wei capital as a hostage. If I were to leave, Daliang Province would be plunged into the fires of war… Leave?” Han Linfeng said coldly. “The world is vast — where are people like us to go?”

Thirty years ago, the state of Great Wei had been drawn into war with the northern tribes. The Wei Emperor Xianzong, who had championed the cause of war, had grown reckless with ambition and taken to the field himself, only to be encircled at Qiutai for a full twenty days — a humiliation recorded in the historical annals as a national disgrace.

While besieged, he had been compelled to write an edict abdicating in favor of another, exchanging it for the relief troops that came to his rescue.

After Emperor Xianzong returned in disgrace, his uncle Han Xu, borne aloft by the new faction at the Wei court, took his place. Han Xu ascended and became Emperor Xuanzong of Wei. He ceded twenty provinces of northern territory and brought the war to a timely end.

From that point on, Han Xu’s line became the legitimate imperial succession.

Though he had usurped the throne in the chaos, he had his nephew the emperor’s abdication edict, so the name was proper and the title justified. He turned around and bestowed upon the bedraggled returning Xianzong the honorific title of Holy Virtue Grand Emperor.

The new emperor then banished the crown prince who should rightfully have ascended — sending him to the barren wasteland of Liang Province to live as an idle wanderer, the Prince of Beizhen.

In this way, uncle and nephew had conducted a peaceful transfer of the throne, all harmony and accord — it made for quite a pleasing entry in the history books.

It was only that Liang Province was hemmed in by treacherous mountains, with major fortified towns keeping watch all around it — like a tortoise trapped inside a jar. Emperor Xianzong had been forced to abdicate against his will, and harbored a festering resentment in his heart. In the second year after the abdication, he fell gravely ill and died in the capital, with no children or grandchildren at his bedside to see him off.

And so, by the generation of Han Linfeng’s father, Han Ren, the late emperor’s descendants had been left to grow idle and dissolute in the territory of Liang Province — most of them worthless young wastrels.

Following the old custom, each new generation’s king was required to send the son who would one day inherit the royal title into the capital. The stated reason was to cultivate learning and experience the atmosphere of the capital — but in truth, it was simply to hold a hostage, and to observe and test the boy’s character. Should there be even the slightest disturbance in Liang Province, this son would be pushed forth onto the sacrificial altar.

Two years ago, Han Ren had sent his legitimate eldest son, Han Linfeng, into the capital, beginning a five-year period of study.

It was precisely because of his delicate and awkward circumstances that the attendant Qingyang had broken into a cold sweat over his young master’s bold conduct.

Fortunately, boarding the Su family’s boat had afforded him an escape. But the young master needed to quickly return to the companions who had come out of the capital with him, and tidy up the loose ends of what had followed.

Qingyang still felt somewhat uneasy, and asked again: “Could those people on that boat leave behind any future trouble?”

He was referring to the Su family’s boat. If it became known that Shizi had aided the rebel Cao Sheng, the stakes were enormous — the entire household of the Prince of Beizhen in Liang Province would be plunged into crisis, and harsh measures would be unavoidable.

His young master, who had always been decisive and swift in all matters, paused for a moment, and then said: “It is of no consequence. She does not know who I am.”

Hearing his young master say this, Qingyang pressed no further, and simply picked up the nearby garments to help his master dress.

The long robe embroidered all over with peonies was extravagantly eye-catching, its style flamboyantly concealing Han Linfeng’s powerful build. His jet-black hair was twisted into elaborate fine braids and gathered up, then crowned with a gold headdress. Over his handsome face was dusted a fine powder ill-suited to his nature, and his lips were dotted with rouge red.

His features were already distinctly sculpted and strikingly handsome — once every trace of masculine vigor was concealed, what remained was an air of refined, noble delicacy, faintly androgynous.

This was the fashionable look of the capital’s wealthy young men. In these prosperous, peaceable times, knowing nothing of care or sorrow, young gentlemen painted and powdered their faces just as women did — an age of blurred distinctions between the sexes.

Han Linfeng’s expression was impassive as he looked at the copper mirror, where a pale-faced, hollow-eyed young wastrel now gazed back at him. Suddenly the thin lips pulled apart in a cold, derisive laugh… In that instant, the delicate softness dissolved — it was as if some bloodthirsty beast had been crouching in wait, coiled and ready, about to burst skyward in a single great leap…

What a pity the smile lasted only an instant before it faded into nothing.

Once dressed and groomed, Han Linfeng silently crossed the gangplanks between the boats and came aboard another large pleasure barge moored on the lake. A roguish, carefree smirk hung at the corners of his mouth; he swirled the wine cup lazily in his hand, and with elegant ease reached out to cup the soft cheek of a beauty who had thrown herself into his arms — blending seamlessly into the songs and dancing and festivity filling the ship’s cabin.

The noble guests who had been drinking all night long were by now hopelessly, sodden drunk; some had even leapt into the lake to frolic and swim with the beauties there.

No one had noticed that Han Shizi had slipped away for the entire night. They simply assumed he had run off to a nearby boat with some singing girl he had taken a fancy to, to while away the hours in pleasure.

After all, Han Linfeng was exactly that sort of dissolute wastrel — the Prince of Beizhen’s Shizi, known to everyone in the capital’s circles of revelry and amusement: a good-for-nothing who did nothing but eat, drink, and play, utterly without learning or industry!

Yet in the midst of the cup-swapping and drinking, Han Shizi turned his head to gaze toward the lake surface shrouded in morning mist. What flashed through his mind was neither the languid music before him, nor the earlier scene of flickering blades and mortal peril — but rather a slender, jade-like figure, seated alone before a table, her pale hand holding a bamboo brush, moving it with serene composure.

The wound on his shoulder still throbbed faintly with pain — yet without a moment’s hesitation, he drained the entire cup of wine, and murmured quietly the ancient verse that girl had copied out: “While life holds wine, one ought to drink deep — not a single drop has ever reached the Yellow Springs…”

The tranquil and untroubled scene in his mind — one that had seen through life and death with equanimity — was clearly entirely at odds with him. Once he had swallowed the rich, mellow spirit in the cup, Han Linfeng swept that gentle silhouette out from his thoughts.

* * *

Setting aside the songs and merriment aboard that pleasure barge, the clinking of cups and the bustle of toasting — when the two Su family boats arrived one after another at the capital’s dock, Su Hongmeng finally thought of Su Luoyun, left behind on the second vessel, and waited for her a brief while.

Su Guiyan had been worrying about his elder sister all along. Had he known earlier that their father had ordered people to set sail and leave her behind, he would never have boarded.

So when he saw Su Luoyun disembark, Su Guiyan immediately rushed over, intending to take his elder sister’s arm and help her to the carriage. But the moment he took her hand, he cried out in shock: “Why are you so cold? Xiangcao, didn’t you prepare a hand warmer for Elder Sister?”

Xiangcao said with embarrassed guilt: “All of our things in the room were loaded onto the first boat early on. In the carriage there is only a chest with a few garments. There was one hand warmer to keep Elder Miss’s hands warm — but halfway through the journey, the charcoal in it had already gone cold. There was only a cooking stove that could still be used to make food and boil water. And that boat was a cargo vessel — a bit drafty…”