The steppe new year arrived quickly.

Before it did, Ashina said to Xie Yuzhang, “I hear you are a fine dancer. Dance for me at the celebration.”

But Xie Yuzhang replied, “No one is worthy of seeing my dancing except the Emperor of China and the Heavenly Khan. When the Khan has truly become my husband, I will dance for you and you alone.”

She spoke with complete self-assurance, as though stating what was only natural. It made Ashina think of who she really was — a true princess of the Central Plains, and the most noble of all, born of the Empress herself. Only a princess of genuine and lofty rank would speak with such pride.

In the past several centuries, the steppe had taken in a number of “princesses” — but the people of the steppe had always understood well enough that most of them were nothing more than women from the imperial clan.

Ashina thought of how many khans had come before him, and yet only he had ever wed a true princess. Something deep within him swelled with pride. He found Xie Yuzhang’s haughtiness all the more endearing for it, and indulged her without reservation.

“Very well.” He laughed warmly, running his fingers through her dark hair with anticipation. “Then grow up quickly.”

The new year celebration on the steppe lasted five days. The sacred fire burned without pause for all five.

In truth, though, beyond the ceremonies of the first day, the remaining days were the steppe’s two great annual trading fairs.

One was held at the new year, and one at the midsummer festival in the sixth month. Because of the weather, the midsummer fair would be livelier than this one, drawing more people.

Over these past months, news had spread throughout the steppe that the Heavenly Khan of the Ashina clan had taken a princess from a Central Plains dynasty as his wife. And people also knew that the Princess had brought many fine things from the Central Plains with her.

The khans and chieftains of every tribe, great and small, came to the royal encampment for the new year. They brought gifts and goods.

First they marveled and exclaimed over the Princess’s beauty and presented their offerings, then sent their shrewd stewards to negotiate with the Princess’s household steward over what goods they might exchange for the fine things the Princess held.

Xie Yuzhang said to Yuan Yu, “Don’t be reluctant to part with these things. They’re nothing more than embellishments on top of what we already have. What we need are things that will let us live here with genuine security.”

Yuan Yu smiled. “Your Highness is right. Besides, we have our craftspeople.”

The sugar-making enterprise still needed time — it needed raw materials and a proper workshop, and would have to be built up gradually. But the beekeeper had already begun work on raising bees. Each category of artisan was a more precious asset than any material goods.

Through this celebration, Xie Yuzhang traded away the luxury items she carried and took in large numbers of cattle, sheep, horses, and slaves. On the steppe, she became a wealthy woman.

She was the wife of the Heavenly Khan Ashina — no matter how wealthy, she would never become a target for plunder. But Xie Yuzhang had never relaxed her attention to the training of the guard.

“What do you think of where we stand now?” she asked Wang Zhong.

Wang Zhong said, with a note of shame, “There’s no comparing us to the General’s people.”

By “the General” he meant General Li — the future lord of an empire. By “the General’s people” he meant the Feihu Army, whose might resounded the length and breadth of the land.

“Who asked you to compare them with him!” Xie Yuzhang put her hand to her forehead. “Can we defend ourselves on the steppe or not?”

Wang Zhong did not entirely understand Xie Yuzhang’s concerns. They were stationed at the royal encampment of the Heavenly Khan Ashina — about as safe a location as one could find on the entire steppe. And yet Xie Yuzhang’s demands of the guard were so exacting.

Wang Zhong scratched his head, but answered honestly: “A good deal stronger than before. But since we haven’t tested ourselves against others with real blades and real blood, it’s hard to say.”

That was a fair point. Armchair soldiering was worthless — Li Gu had also said that a soldier had to be tempered with real blades and flowing blood.

“The opportunity will come,” Xie Yuzhang said.

Time moved swiftly, and by the fourth month, the steppe had finally warmed enough that thick padded jackets were no longer needed.

Xie Yuzhang and Lin Fei had kept a close watch on Yuan Yu throughout the entire fourth month. It passed without incident — Yuan Yu never so much as vomited or had an upset stomach, let alone suffered the severe symptoms they had feared. He had not even sneezed once — and he had always been a man of robust health, having in his youth traveled with merchant caravans through the great desert and across the steppe.

Xie Yuzhang and Lin Fei finally confirmed it: in her previous life, Yuan Yu had died within less than half a year — and it had not been fate. It had absolutely been the work of human hands. Ma Jianye’s hands.

Ma Jianye had not died undeservedly. Not in the slightest.

Xie Yuzhang’s only regret was that she had left the body on display for just three days. What she truly should have done was have the man flayed alive.

He had sold Xie Yuzhang to Xia’erdan and then taken his men to defect to Wuwei. Having shaken off his original mistress, he had also attached himself to the strongest faction. On top of that, Xia’erdan would surely have rewarded him generously for his role in the whole affair.

Xie Yuzhang now began to wonder — had the scheme to offer her to the lecherous Jiang Jingye been Ma Jianye’s idea as well?

That scheme, whichever way she looked at it, had been driven by an extreme malice toward her.

And yet Ma Jianye was nothing but a minor Proclamation Section regimental commander. Who would ever have thought that such a small figure had caused so much harm in her life, and pushed her down into lower and lower depths so many times?

It was almost beyond belief.

At the end of the fifth month, Ashina launched an expedition against a certain tribe. Xie Yuzhang petitioned to send her forces with him. Wang Zhong led one hundred newly trained cavalry to fight under Ashina’s command, and they returned with the main force half a month later.

Of the one hundred cavalry, seventeen had been lost — the highest casualty rate among all the units that had ridden with Ashina on the campaign. It was a painful number.

But the men who came back alive had different eyes.

These soldiers had been baptized by blood and fire. They had seen the law of survival on the steppe with their own eyes, and had begun the transformation from farmers to warriors.

Even if they could not go from sheep to wolves, they could no longer be the meek, passive lambs that anyone could slaughter at will. At the very least, they would be wild sheep with hard horns who could fight back.

Xie Yuzhang had never expected them to become formidable soldiers — building a fighting force was not that simple. If it were, the central government of Great Zhao would not be so feeble. From five hundred people of mixed backgrounds, producing two or three hundred competent cavalry would already be a blessing from the gods.

“Competent” and “elite” were still a world apart.

In the great upheaval that would sweep through the land in the years to come, they would not amount to much at all.

What Xie Yuzhang wanted was this: in the period after the old Ashina died, when the steppe shattered into chaos and Jiang Jingye drove Wuwei into desperate flight — in that window of time — for these men to be able to protect every last person who had come with her on the marriage alliance.

She had brought them from Yunjing to this place. She intended to bring them back to Yunjing as well.

All of them. Together.

After this battle, Ashina announced the tribe’s decision to migrate back to their ancestral homeland.

The people of the tribe erupted in cheers.

“The lake at our ancestral lands has filled again!”

“The sacred mountain has gone quiet!”

“We’ve been away for years — we can finally go back!”

In the people’s telling, the ancestral homeland sounded like a place of paradise.

Xie Yuzhang said, “It is simply the original home of the Ashina clan. By the standards of our Central Plains, it could be called a land of dragon origin. The sacred mountain is a fire-breathing mountain — a volcano — and there are many hot springs there. Because the winters are warmer than other places, fewer cattle and horses freeze to death. The clan considers this to be the blessing of their ancestral gods. But every so many years, it becomes unusually hot — the lakes dry up, the hot springs boil, and the land becomes uninhabitable. The clan migrates outward, stays somewhere else for a few years, and once the heat of the ancestral homeland subsides, they can return.”

Lin Fei understood at once. “That’s a volcano and geothermal activity.”

She had broad learning and great knowledge. “There are probably earthquakes as well. The earth-dragon beneath a volcano is a fire-dragon — when the fire-dragon turns over, the hot springs boil and the ordinary lakes dry up. When the earth-dragon goes back to sleep, all returns to normal.”

She had said the same thing in their previous life.

Xie Yuzhang rested her chin on her hand. “Exactly. So when you see through it, it’s nothing remarkable. But the clanspeople believe those lands carry the blessing of their ancestral gods — that living there for several years bestows them with divine favor, and their lives and their herds will prosper. There’s nothing so extraordinary about it. It simply means fewer cattle and horses freeze to death in winter.”

Lin Fei laughed. “Only the nobility here are literate, and how many nobles are there? The written tradition is far weaker than in the Central Plains — there’s a great deal of ignorance. What would you expect them to understand? Only Abazha has accumulated more knowledge, and with no one to discuss it with, he’s always trying to find me for a conversation, going on about those precious sheepskin scrolls of his.”

“If you find him tiresome, just ignore him. You’re not his student, and you’ll never become a shaman,” said Xie Yuzhang.

In this life, she had no need for Lin Fei to work and scheme on her behalf, cultivating relationships with the powerful and influential. She hoped Lin Fei could live in a way that did not go against her own heart. All the distasteful things that had to be done regardless — Xie Yuzhang would handle them herself.

“How could I find him tiresome?” Lin Fei also rested her chin on her hand, with a faraway look in her eyes. “Surrounded by a group of people with no love of learning — I understand that loneliness of his.”

“…” Xie Yuzhang stared at her, eyes wide, for a long moment. “I have been reading seriously!”

Lin Fei tilted her head. “Have you? How far have you gotten?”

Lin Fei was really only teasing Xie Yuzhang. In the past, Xie Yuzhang had been restless by nature, devoted only to music and dance. She threw herself into learning dance with complete obsession, but getting her to read books meant watching her grow listless and deflated.

Xie Yuzhang said, “The Records of the Wu Dynasty, Biographies of the Princesses — I’ve gotten to Princess Yingde.”

Lin Fei looked mildly surprised. “You’ve gotten to her.”

Xie Yuzhang nodded. “She was truly remarkable. Among all the princesses of every dynasty in the biographies, I’ve never seen a more extraordinary princess given in marriage.”

But Lin Fei’s expression sobered. “Princess Yingde is admirable, but do not take her as a model.”

She went on: “To say nothing of the rest — her husband, the Bilge Khan, once commanded one hundred thousand soldiers to surround the border city while the last Emperor of the former dynasty was making a tour of inspection there. It seemed he was about to capture the Emperor alive…”

Xie Yuzhang had read this part, and she continued, “She secretly sent envoys with a false report of unrest in the north, deceiving Bilge into withdrawing, and so the Emperor passed safely through the crisis.”

Lin Fei said gravely, “But she ruined Bilge’s great enterprise. On that point alone, the Khan would have been completely justified in beheading her. When we read history, we only read of the achievement by which she saved the Emperor. We have no idea how she averted the crisis that then fell on her own head, or what price she paid to save the Emperor. But one can imagine it was no easy thing. It would not have been light.”

Xie Yuzhang sighed. “Yes. If someone ruined one of Ashina’s plans like that, Ashina would never forgive that person. She was as good as dead. I really cannot think of any scheme or stratagem that could have let her escape with her life — or perhaps I am simply less clever than Princess Yingde.”

“And you should know,” Lin Fei reminded her, “she was put to death by the founding Emperor of your own dynasty. Even the last Emperor’s wife submitted and pledged allegiance to the Xie clan — and yet she alone refused to yield, resolved to restore the fallen Wu to its former glory. And so she died by the blade of your ancestor.”

Lin Fei took her hand and said sincerely, “Zhuzhu, I don’t know why she, a woman sent to marry into a foreign land, was so devoted to the fallen Wu dynasty. I don’t know whether, when she died, she felt her life had been worth it. But… Zhuzhu! Great Zhao is not worth it!”

Xie Yuzhang looked at her steadily.

Lin Fei knew these words were treasonous, but she was going to say them anyway.

“Zhuzhu, Great Zhao is not worth you doing something like that! The Xie family is not worth you doing something like that!” She held Xie Yuzhang’s gaze and told her: “You are the most important thing. You must be well — always put yourself first. In this world, there is no one and nothing that deserves the kind of sacrifice Princess Yingde made for Great Wu. No one!”

But Xie Yuzhang smiled.

“A’Fei, you’re wrong,” she said. “There is. There truly is.”

Lin Fei’s brow furrowed. “Who? What kind of person?”

She could not imagine what sort of person in this world Xie Yuzhang would consider worth sacrificing herself for as recklessly as Princess Yingde had for Great Wu. She would never wish to see such a thing come to pass.

Xie Yuzhang looked at her, her gaze soft and warm.

What I gave you back then was nothing more than a superior’s easy generosity — something I could offer without it costing me anything. A single drop of kindness, and yet you repaid it with a spring. They say that an endless cycle of grievances brings nothing but more grievances — but between you and me, it has always been kindness repaid with kindness, without end. In our previous life, you repaid me. In this life, it is my turn to repay you.

She reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Lin Fei’s ear, then smiled lightly.

“I won’t tell you.”