Li Gu and his seventh elder brother Li Weifeng both stood in the shade of the trees, waiting for their adoptive father to finish his imperial audience.

Even from a distance, one could tell they were different from the eunuchs.

The eunuchs stood with heads bowed, shoulders rounded, backs slightly hunched — the posture of servants.

The two adopted sons of Li Ming, Military Governor of Hexi, were both tall and long-limbed, with lean, powerful builds. They stood motionless as green pines, straight-backed and firm. The vigor and martial bearing of northwestern men could be glimpsed in that posture alone.

The brothers were ranked by the order in which Li Ming had adopted them, not by age — but Li Gu was only nineteen that year, several years younger than his seventh elder brother, and therefore somewhat leaner in build.

A wide belt of linked rings cinched a slender waist — supple and unyielding.

The martial air of these young generals was so overwhelming that the little eunuchs nearby held their breath, hearts pounding with excitement at the sight. They thought inwardly: if only their own manhood had remained intact, would they too have looked something like this?

But then the eyes of one young eunuch drifted to the imperial guards posted outside the imperial garden, and the thought deflated at once.

These inner palace guards were all drawn from the sons of noble families in Yunjing City — every last one of them possessed of an intact manhood — yet none of them had this sort of commanding presence. Even standing there gripping their long halberds, armored and silver-bright at first glance, a closer look revealed that their backs were not straight, and their waists not upright.

After a while, they would shift their weight, moving a leg, changing the distribution.

It was not only the eunuchs who noticed. Li Ming’s two adopted sons had naturally taken in every detail of the guards’ posture. A look of contempt flickered in Li Weifeng’s eyes.

“Embroidered pillows,” he said in a low voice.

“Seventh Brother, do not speak carelessly,” Li Gu said, glancing at him with a warning look.

The guards were standing far off, but there was a little eunuch quite nearby who might have overheard them talking.

Li Weifeng glanced at the young eunuch, saw his head bow even lower and his back hunch even more, and gave a disdainful curl of his lip.

Both of them were true sons of the northwest, and both were visiting Yunjing for the first time. The city had dazzled and overwhelmed them at first sight with its splendor and extravagance — but what followed immediately was a pervasive sense of softness and indulgence that made these northwestern men, forged in dust and blood, furrow their brows.

Li Gu’s gaze suddenly froze and was drawn toward the distance.

Li Weifeng followed his line of sight. Far off in a long corridor, three figures in official robes, each carrying a case on his back, were being led by a eunuch toward some destination.

“Imperial physicians,” Li Gu said abruptly.

Li Weifeng asked the little eunuch: “Are those the imperial physicians?”

The young eunuch, bowing, replied: “Yes.”

Li Gu could not stop him in time — Li Weifeng had already asked point-blank: “Which noble personage has fallen ill?”

At that, beads of sweat broke out on the little eunuch’s forehead.

Li Gu and Li Weifeng had both come from common backgrounds, chosen for their valor and taken in as adopted sons by Li Ming. Li Ming had twelve sons in total. Apart from his fourth son, Li Hao, who was his own flesh and blood, the remaining eleven were all adopted.

Taking in brave young men from among his soldiers as adopted sons was a common method these military governors used to cultivate talent.

Of Li Ming’s eleven adopted sons, only the three he had taken in early on had received a proper education.

Li Ming had long struggled with the matter of heirs — for many years his household had been empty of children — and so he had taken three boys from among his relatives to raise beside him, intending that once they were a little older, he would observe their character and abilities and choose the finest among them to formally adopt as his heir to carry on the family line.

Unexpectedly, after he had been raising them for two years, a concubine bore him a son.

Young children were fragile and easily lost to illness, and so Li Ming had not sent the three adopted boys back home, but raised them alongside his biological son, personally overseeing their education — while never again raising the subject of formal adoption. Once his biological son passed the age of five and was truly established, the idea of adoption became like drifting clouds.

As the years passed and the children grew, Li Ming continued to seek out brave young men from within his army each year and take them as adopted sons, gathering them around him. To these adopted sons, however, he no longer lavished the careful cultivation he had once given the three earlier boys — which had, as a matter of course, diluted the significance of those three.

This was, one might say, a strategy that achieved two aims at once.

Li Weifeng was the seventh among the brothers and Li Gu the eleventh — both soldiers by background, with little formal education. “Prying into forbidden palace matters” — forget knowing what it meant; they had never even heard the four words of the expression.

All Li Gu sensed was that his seventh elder brother’s blunt, open question had been most improper.

The sight of the little eunuch breaking out in a cold sweat only confirmed that he had been right.

“Never mind — you need not say anything if it is inconvenient,” Li Gu said to the young eunuch.

The young eunuch understood at once. He let out a quiet breath and bowed. “This servant is grateful for the general’s consideration. This servant dares not speak carelessly of forbidden palace matters. Fortunately, His Majesty is in good health, and at this very moment he is receiving Li the Lord in the imperial garden.”

Li Gu understood with a single hint. He studied the little eunuch for a moment, then said: “I am the eleventh son of the Lord, Li Gu. How shall I address you, Sir?”

The palace was glutted with eunuchs — just those of the fourth rank and above numbered in the thousands. This little eunuch was no more than an odd-jobs attendant who stood at the outer perimeter like a human post, unlikely ever to catch a glimpse of the Emperor’s face, and certainly not the sort of person any official would spare a glance for.

For a general as commanding and impressive as Li Gu to actually take the initiative and ask his name — the little eunuch was so overwhelmed he could barely contain his joy, and suppressed the excitement in his heart with some effort before bowing and answering: “This servant is Fuchun.”

A typical servant’s name — all fortunate and auspicious characters, pleasing to the master’s eye and easy on the tongue.

Li Gu nodded and called out: “Sir Fuchun.” Then he said no more.

Even so, Fuchun’s heart was quietly delighted. Though he was a eunuch, he had come from a respectable family in the capital region — it was only because they had been ground down to such poverty they could no longer survive that he had been castrated and entered the palace. He was not the sort of person who had entered through crime. Deep inside, he still harbored the naive fantasy of striding the world with a blade at his hip, seeking glory and a marquisate on horseback.

In daily life he was cautious and restrained, indulging that fantasy only in dreams — but these past two days, seeing Li Gu and Li Weifeng, two strapping seven-foot men, imposing and magnificent, the very image of the self he dreamed of becoming, he could not help feeling a surge of longing.

This was not a good place to chat, so Li Weifeng stood bored for a moment and, feeling a pressing need, said to Fuchun: “I need to use the — ” He caught himself. “The clean room.”

Though he had corrected himself just in time and not said “the outhouse,” the phrase “use the clean room” still made Fuchun’s head throb. He beckoned, summoning from a little further off a still younger eunuch, and instructed him: “The general needs to freshen up — show him the way.”

Rough soldiers talked about going to the outhouse the way they talked about anything else, and Li Weifeng had already been laughed at enough times in Yunjing City these past days that he had forced himself to swap “outhouse” for “clean room.” But even in the palace, apparently, even “clean room” was too vulgar.

He went off in a huff, following the little eunuch.

Li Gu withdrew his gaze, still standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

Fuchun hesitated for a moment, then suddenly stepped forward.

Li Gu’s gaze swept over him.

“There is, as it happens, no noble personage who has fallen ill,” Fuchun said quietly. “Three days ago, His Majesty’s most beloved Princess Baohua awoke in a fright from her afternoon nap. She has been eating and drinking poorly since then, and His Majesty has been sending imperial physicians every day to attend to her.”

Prying into forbidden palace matters was of course not permitted, and divulging forbidden palace matters was of course even less so — in theory. In practice, transmitting information was a vital and lucrative source of income for those within the palace.

Of course, one could never do it the way Li Weifeng had just done — openly asking to someone’s face. One had to be at least a little discreet.

A person as rough and unruly as Li Weifeng — even if offered money, Fuchun would not necessarily have dared sell him information. Li Gu, however, was someone Fuchun genuinely wished to be close to, and so, without being asked, he had offered this as a goodwill gesture.

The four words “Princess Baohua” reached his ears, and Li Gu gave a slight start.

A scarlet skirt like fire, laughter like silver bells, an exquisitely beautiful face wearing an expression of artless innocence — the image flashed before him in his mind.

When she walked, her steps were light as a butterfly drifting on the breeze. She would hum a little tune to herself, then suddenly spin around, lift one leg, and begin to dance. Three dance steps, and then she would resume her quiet walk, graceful and willowy, full of elegant beauty.

Outside, a girl who walked and skipped like that would be taken for a madwoman. But in this palace, every person present — eunuchs, guards, palace maids alike — wore a smile on their lips and a fond, doting look in their eyes. The young guards especially had an expression of barely restrained eagerness, and had they not been on duty at Hanliang Hall at that very moment, they might well have broken into loud cheers.

Li Gu and Li Weifeng had been waiting in the covered walkway on the other side of the courtyard at the time, and even from across that distance, they had both stood transfixed. Only when the vivid scarlet figure disappeared through the entrance of Hanliang Hall did the two of them come back to themselves as if from a dream.

Li Weifeng had asked at once: “Who is that?”

A eunuch had answered with a smile at the corner of his mouth: “That is our Princess Baohua.”

He had emphasized the word “our,” biting down on it with particular pride — and in his eyes, the faintest trace of disdain for two country bumpkins from the northwest.

The four words “Princess Baohua” had been engraved in Li Gu’s heart ever since.

His lips moved, then pressed together again. He swallowed the question he had nearly spoken aloud: Is she all right?

After they had left the palace that day, Li Ming finished discussing serious matters with them, and Li Weifeng asked: “My Lord, when you were in your imperial audience, how did it happen that a princess barged in?”

Li Ming stroked his beard with a smile. “That is Princess Baohua, born of the Empress — the apple of His Majesty’s eye, the pearl in his palm. She has arranged a new dance and could not wait to perform it for His Majesty. Ah, Princess Baohua has the bearing of an immortal — I have heard that her dancing can summon a hundred birds to pay homage to the phoenix. What a pity we were not fortunate enough to witness it.”

Li Gu thus learned that Princess Baohua was the only surviving child of the late Empress, who had already passed away. The Empress had been renowned for her talent and learning even before her marriage, and had later been taken as the Crown Prince’s consort and then elevated to Empress, sharing a bond of deep and harmonious love with the Emperor — she was celebrated by all as a virtuous Empress.

Unfortunately the Empress had never produced a son, and the effort of giving birth to Princess Baohua had damaged her constitution. She had lingered in illness for many years and had passed away while the princess was still young.

Li Ming himself had struggled with the matter of heirs, possessing only one son and one daughter. The Emperor was far luckier, with seven sons and four daughters — yet among all those children, only Baohua had been born of the late Empress’s own body, and was truly regarded as the pearl in his palm, cherished and doted upon beyond measure.

The Emperor had not established another Empress, and the rear palace was governed by Noble Consort Shu. It was said that all four consorts treated Princess Baohua as their own child and were afraid of showing her even the slightest insufficient affection.

She was a girl beloved by ten thousand — a daughter of heaven.

There were more than enough people who cared for and cherished her. It was not Li Gu’s place to worry about her.

Li Gu pressed his lips together, held back the foolish question, and instead fished out a silver ingot and placed it in Fuchun’s hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Fuchun bowed in thanks and quickly tucked the silver ingot away at his waist.

A short while later, Li Weifeng returned from his errand and found Li Gu standing there with his gaze fixed on the dappled play of light and shadow on the ground, lost in thought.

The imperial physicians had gone. Xie Yuzhang reclined on the large daybed, leaning against a bolster pillow, her mind elsewhere.

“You must eat something. This pickled cucumber is an ordinary thing of the common people — something I would never usually let you eat — but it aids the appetite. I had someone go especially to a restaurant in the Eastern Market to buy it. Try a piece — ahh —”

At that long, coaxing “ahh —,” Xie Yuzhang opened her mouth on instinct, and a small slice of pickled cucumber was placed inside. It carried a fresh fragrance, a gentle sourness, and indeed it did stimulate the appetite.

Seeing her eat, the one who had been feeding her smiled.

Xie Yuzhang raised her eyes. Before her stood a young woman in the bloom of youth, with full, rounded cheeks and calm, quiet eyes. The gaze she directed at Xie Yuzhang was full of boundless tenderness.

This was Lin Fei — only sixteen years old, not yet battered and broken by the hardships of the frontier.

It was almost unbelievable. Xie Yuzhang had clearly died, and yet the moment she opened her eyes, she had returned to this particular year — when she was thirteen — before any of the suffering had begun.

She had spent a full three days before she could accept this reality. And then she had been forced to confront an even more terrifying possibility — would she have to live through everything she had suffered, all over again?

This horrifying thought left her stricken with dread and unable to eat.

Lin Fei had coaxed and coaxed, feeding her a few bites of food and forcing her to drink half a small bowl of white congee. Only when Xie Yuzhang shook her head slightly did she hand the bowl to a palace maid and settle down beside Xie Yuzhang, saying in a soft voice: “If you truly have no appetite, why not say something to Noble Consort Shu and have us go to the imperial estate at the western mountain to escape the heat? The fresh air would do you good.”

Xie Yuzhang shook her head again, then leaned forward and rested her head on Lin Fei’s lap. Looking out through the open latticed partition toward the inner courtyard, she asked: “Did anyone enter the palace today?”

Since the day she had been seized by the nightmare, the princess seemed to have become a different person entirely. She, who was ordinarily the most carefree and smiling of people, now had eyes full of nothing but worry. Lin Fei was bewildered and at a loss.

Xie Yuzhang paid no attention to music or dance, did not arrange rehearsals, and only kept asking what people had entered the palace. This was not particularly difficult to find out. With Xie Yuzhang’s favored status, though Lin Fei was not even the most junior female official, she moved freely throughout the palace as the princess’s most intimate attendant — as long as she did not appear before the Emperor, she was fine.

Her grandfather had died remonstrating the Emperor, crashing his head against a pillar in the throne hall, thereby incurring the imperial wrath. Though the Emperor had permitted her to remain beside the princess, he had not permitted the lowly-status mark to be removed from her name, nor would he allow Xie Yuzhang to give her an official palace post. Whenever the Emperor came to Zhaoxia Palace, she would slip away.

Lin Fei stroked Xie Yuzhang’s hair — black and cascading as a waterfall — and in a gentle voice relayed the news she had gathered: who had entered the palace, which madam had come to pay respects to Noble Consort Shu, and so on.

Xie Yuzhang closed her eyes. She cared nothing for which madam had come to pay respects to whom. What she truly wished to know was: had the Mobei Khanate’s envoy delegation arrived in the capital? When would her dreadful fate begin to play out again?

Beside her ear was the soft murmur of Lin Fei’s voice. Apart from that, Zhaoxia Palace was so quiet one could have heard a pin drop.

In the old days, her father the Emperor had praised Zhaoxia Palace for its “genuine delight” — those little palace maids who dared laugh freely even before the Emperor — yet at this moment, every one of them had herself well in hand, walking with light and careful steps.

Every person sent to her had been carefully selected. Even the truly artless and girlish ones had three parts shrewdness hidden beneath the surface.

Xie Yuzhang thought with bitter self-mockery: it seemed that from beginning to end, the only one who was truly naive and foolish in all of Zhaoxia Palace had been herself.

Lin Fei’s voice drifted to her ears: “The Military Governor of Hexi was received by His Majesty again today. He wore a reddish-brown robe this time — still just as unstylish as ever, and short and stocky as ever. Everyone laughed.”

These military governors — each one propped up his own military strength, held his own territory, and one after another would eventually rebel. Every single one of them was the sort of figure who could stamp his foot and make the roof beams shake, yet here they were, being mocked by ignorant palace maids for wearing outdated fashions, for not following this year’s trends in Yunjing City.

Xie Yuzhang thought of her past self — one of those ignorant people — and felt it was at once terribly laughable and terribly sad.

Then she froze.

Who had Lin Fei just mentioned?

She shot upright. “Who? Which military governor?”

“The Military Governor of Hexi,” Lin Fei said, blinking. “Li Ming. The one you said looks like a short, round gourd.”

Xie Yuzhang went completely still.

Yes — Military Governor of Hexi, Li Ming! She had actually met him in Yunjing before all of this. Time had passed so long that she had forgotten. Now she remembered. Before the Mobei delegation had even arrived, she had already met him.

She had seen how short he was, how stocky, how garish and unfashionable his clothes were. She had burst out laughing right then and there.

How utterly, utterly ignorant and laughable that had been.

Those men who had shaken the world — what did the force of power they held have to do with how they looked, or whether their clothing kept up with the latest fashion?

“Did Li Gu also enter the palace?” Xie Yuzhang asked abruptly.

Lin Fei looked at her in complete confusion. “Who is Li Gu?”

Xie Yuzhang was struck dumb.

Who was Li Gu?

He should at this point have been one of the Military Governor Li Ming’s adopted sons — and among his twelve sons, not yet distinguished or remarkable.

Later, when the world fell into chaos, he had risen from Hexi and contended for the realm.

The founding Emperor of the Da Mu dynasty — ferocious, unyielding, valiant, and renowned throughout the land!