The news of General Sun’s death in battle and the Regent Prince’s personal campaign to the front spread through the capital together, stirring it up like cold water poured into a pan of hot oil. Add to this the students who had remained in the city waiting for the examination results to be posted — outspoken and bold as they were, they threw fresh fuel onto that fire, and the clamor grew so heated it seemed as though a single stray spark might ignite a blaze reaching the very heavens.

Yet all that clamor stopped at the gates of the Sun family’s residence.

The Sun family’s matriarch sat in the main hall dressed in plain white, calmly and methodically instructing the stewards of every rank as they came and went before her.

Not a trace of grief showed on her face. Her composure was unsettling in its completeness.

Wu Shi entered from outside. The sight made her nose sting. She pressed the corner of her eye to compose herself before stepping forward. “Old Madam, everything has been accounted for — not a single item missing.”

“You have gone to such trouble.” Sun Furen gave her a nod. “Several daughters-in-law from the branch families have also come to help — there are enough hands. You have already been busy here for half the day. First Young Lady’s kind intentions are received, but please go and rest.”

“Do not send me away. First Young Lady is the head of household — whatever she has asked me to do, I would not dare leave undone.” Wu Shi noticed there was no one else in the room just then and took the tea from the maidservant’s hands, passing it to the old madam herself as she said softly, “You must pace yourself. Even weeping would be better than holding it all in. Holding it in damages the body.”

“A clay pot is always broken at the well; a general is always fated to fall on the battlefield. From the day he was stationed at Guya Pass, I had already prepared my heart for this. That he was able to live to see fifty was already a great kindness from Heaven.” Sun Furen looked down and ran her fingers over the jade bracelet on her wrist, a gentle smile crossing her face — and in that smile one could still glimpse traces of the great beauty she must have been in her youth. Yet fate had not been kind to her. It had first taken her daughter, and now it had come for her husband.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached them, and both women composed themselves and looked toward the doorway.

“Old Madam, the Crown Prince has arrived.”

Emotion finally broke through Sun Furen’s composure. She pressed her hand against the armrest and rose quickly to go and meet him. She had just reached the door when she saw the Crown Prince and Shizi walking over together in long strides — one in black, one in white, both of them thoughtful in the extreme.

Before Sun Furen could prostrate herself, the Crown Prince had already come forward with both hands extended to support her. “Please accept our deepest condolences, Maternal Grandmother.”

Sun Furen gripped his hands tightly. Her lips trembled. She collected herself before she could speak. “Your Highness is too kind.”

“Those words shame me, Maternal Grandmother.”

Gu Yanxi stepped forward at this point. “Please accept my condolences, Sun Furen.”

The moment she saw him, Sun Furen’s eyes lit up with sudden intensity. “I have heard that the Regent Prince will lead the campaign personally.”

“Yes. I depart for Guya Pass in two days.”

Sun Furen immediately bowed deeply before him. “I have a request that I am unworthy to make. Please grant it.”

Gu Yanxi quickly stepped aside to avoid receiving the bow. “Please speak freely. There is no need for such ceremony — this prince cannot accept it.”

Sun Furen raised her head, her gaze burning and direct. “Please — bring my husband home.”

Gu Yanxi felt his throat catch, his voice rough as he replied: “General Sun died in service to this nation. Bringing him home is this prince’s rightful duty.”

“I… am grateful.” Sun Furen broke into a smile of pure relief. She had no other wishes. She only hoped that he could rest in the land that had raised and nurtured him, so that when she herself departed this world, they could lie together in the same ground.

The Crown Prince’s eyes had reddened. He turned away, his voice hoarse. “I will go and offer incense to Maternal Grandfather.”

Though the remains had not yet been brought back, the Sun household had still erected a mourning hall, with General Sun’s own garments on display as the offering. Eminent Monk Boruo led the great monks of Dazhi Temple in chanting sutras for his passage into the next life. The wisps of incense smoke only deepened the air of grief.

In the entire capital, only this one corner had nothing to do with the clamor outside.

Gu Yanxi had the preparations for the campaign to attend to and took his leave after paying his respects. The Crown Prince stayed on, however — his actions telling all present: General Sun was Daqing’s hero. There was no crime to speak of and no charge to be levied.

This pressed down the many voices that had been rising, and even those who still had things to say knew to lower their tones.

On the night before the campaign, Gu Yanxi returned the late Hua Jingyan’s handwritten notes. Hua Zhi took them and ran her fingers over the cover, her voice sounding somewhat light. “I had some dried meat prepared. It will be sent to you separately — not with the provisions convoy, which travels too slowly. I will keep having more made and sent afterward.”

“Good.”

“I will keep watch over the subsequent provisions convoys to make sure nothing is shorted. If you need anything, write to me.”

“Good.”

“As for the palace…”

“Ah-Zhi.” Gu Yanxi cut her off. He walked closer and crouched down before her, looking up to meet her eyes from below. He froze. Every word he had meant to say slipped from his mind. He had never seen Ah-Zhi look like this — eyes adrift and hollow, as though her very spirit had wandered somewhere beyond reach.

“Don’t be afraid.” The words left his mouth before he had thought them, and even he was startled by them. Then understanding arrived all at once, and with it a tenderness so acute it hurt. He pulled her into his arms and said again: “Don’t be afraid. Ah-Zhi. Don’t be afraid.”

Nestled softly against his shoulder, Hua Zhi had the feeling of coming to understand something she had not understood before — she had been afraid all along, hadn’t she? How could she not be? This was an age in which wars were filled by human lives, and she did not know whether Yanxi’s life would be among those asked for.

She was afraid he might not come back.

She was afraid this might be the last time they would see each other.

She was afraid of the world fracturing and falling apart. Afraid of becoming a rootless wanderer. Afraid of failing to protect the elderly and the young in her household. Afraid that all the warmth and richness of the world around her now might one day become a scene of ruin.

There were so many things she feared, and yet the greatest fear remained: that he might not come back.

If he did not come back, everything else she feared would become real. If he did not come back, the road ahead — however long or short it turned out to be — would be hers to walk alone.

How could she not be afraid? She was not a clay figure without heart or feeling — and even clay figures feared being shattered.

The two of them held each other through the night, though it was impossible to say who was leaning on whom, or who was drawing warmth from whom.

Until morning came.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Ah-Zhi’s brow — she had her eyes closed, pretending to sleep. Gu Yanxi carried her back to bed and tucked her in carefully, bending close to her ear to whisper: “Wait for me to come back.”

Hua Zhi gave no response. She might as well have been truly asleep.

Gu Yanxi bowed his head. This time, the kiss fell on her lips — a still, quiet moment of closeness. Then he looked at this face for one long, deep moment. He turned and walked away.

Hua Zhi did not move. Tears fell without a sound from the corners of her eyes.

She heard the door open. Heard it close. Heard his footsteps growing distant. She curled herself into the blankets. The covers rose and fell with quiet trembling, yet still there was no sound.

After a long while, she flung the covers back and sat up. She walked to the door and reached for the handle — only then realized her clothes were in disarray. She turned back, ran to the wardrobe, pulled it open, grabbed the first garment within reach and started pulling it on. At that moment the door opened. She looked back. It was Ying Chun.

Ying Chun saw her young lady’s face streaked with tears and was so shocked she dropped the basin in her hands. She crossed the room in three steps and steadied her, her own voice already breaking. “Young Lady, you…”

“Change my clothes. Ying Chun — change my clothes.” Hua Zhi touched her hair. “And my hair. Hurry.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it right now — don’t panic, Young Lady.”

The other maids who had heard the noise came rushing in. Ying Chun stepped in front of the young lady to shield her from view and called out instructions: “I slipped and dropped the basin. Go and fetch fresh water. Have someone tell Steward Xu: Young Lady is about to go out. Have a horse prepared.”

Hua Zhi’s hoarse voice corrected her: “Not a carriage. A horse.”

“Yes. I will pass word immediately.”