What exactly happened that night, no one could say with certainty. In any case, Xia’erdan and Xie Yuzhang each had their own account of events.

Xie Yuzhang wept and said: “I was leaving Zhadayali’s tent with my handmaiden when I realized I had left the golden blade behind. As the Khan’s golden blade is something I never part with, I sent the handmaiden back to retrieve it. Since it was a festival, I had let the guards go and drink, and only had one person with me. He said he needed to relieve himself urgently, so I let him go. It was at that very moment that Xia’erdan suddenly appeared, covered my mouth, and began dragging me toward a deserted area…”

Xia’erdan was covered in blood, his fury barely contained: “It was obviously you who led me there!”

Xie Yuzhang looked at him through her tears with furious eyes: “What would I gain by enticing you? Do you have the standing of Wuwei or Tuqitang? Or the youth and good looks of Dielitele or Nishu? You are nothing but the son of a lowly slave woman!”

Xia’erdan’s face turned ashen.

He truly could not fathom how he had ever wronged Xie Yuzhang, to have made her go to such elaborate lengths to trap him.

That evening, Xie Yuzhang had walked in on him while he relieved himself. Though nothing improper was said outright, her expression and her gaze had been unmistakably enticing. She was not very old, and he had never seen her display such alluring behavior before — who would have imagined she could be so captivating. For a moment, his mind had been consumed by desire; disregarding that she was his father’s wife, he followed her to a secluded place.

What he had not anticipated was that Xie Yuzhang, taking advantage of his drunkenness and his lowered guard, would stab him with her dagger. He cried out and shoved her away — and then her guard appeared out of nowhere and knocked him to the ground.

She then screamed loudly, drawing a crowd, and accused him of attempting to violate her in his drunken state.

There was simply no way to make himself believed. Why would no one take his word for it?

And truly, the assembled crowd found it impossible to believe Xia’erdan’s version of events — because Xie Yuzhang’s account was simply far too convincing.

Of all Ashina’s many sons and grandsons, if Xie Yuzhang could not keep her desires in check, with her beauty she could have drawn any one of them to her — so why on earth would she choose Xia’erdan?

Just as she herself had said, Xia’erdan was neither the most powerful nor the most handsome — his looks took after his slave mother, and he had come out too delicately featured and slight of build, which was not in keeping with Mobei standards of attractiveness.

Yet the two she had specifically named — Dielitele and Nishu — were grandsons of the Khan of similar age to herself, and were universally regarded among the younger generation as the ones who most resembled the Khan. The old Khan had been imposing and magnificent in his youth, a renowned beauty on the grasslands in his day, and two tribal princesses had once come to blows over him.

This detail seemed insignificant, yet it struck with subtle precision at something deep within people’s hearts.

Zhadayali stood among the crowd. Hearing Princess Zhao bring up her husband and son in a single sentence, she could not help but furrow her brow. She glanced over at her husband and son — yet she found that both of them wore expressions that were somehow peculiar.

A kind of pleasure, restrained with effort, carefully kept from showing.

Others might not notice, but she was their wife and mother — she knew them far too well to miss it.

“Zhadayali!” The old Khan suddenly called her name in a loud, demanding voice: “Was Baohua at your tent tonight, and did she leave my blade behind — is that correct?”

That part, at least, was entirely true. Zhadayali said: “Yes.”

She pressed back a “however” that sat just beneath her tongue.

However — the time between when Princess Zhao left her tent and when she cried out to bring people running was not entirely inconsiderable.

Why would she…? What grudge could she have against Xia’erdan?

But in the light of the torches, the old Khan stood with his beard and hair seeming to bristle with fury, like a wrathful deity. This matter had touched one of his most deeply guarded sensibilities, and Zhadayali understood that perfectly well. She had been married into the Ashina clan for so many years — she knew the old Khan very well indeed.

Furthermore, Princess Zhao Xie Yuzhang had consistently shown cool indifference toward Wuwei and the other princes of real influence, and had never been seen keeping company with Dielitele, Nishu, or any of the other young grandsons who had already come of age in such matters — she mixed only with the younger ones. There had never been any word of her having any dealings with Xia’erdan whatsoever.

Such suspicions, even if voiced, would likely find no support from others.

She was wise enough to say nothing further.

The old Khan let out a thunderous shout and strode forward, sending a kick flying at Xia’erdan — who was already covered in blood — that sent him tumbling through the air.

That single kick made Xia’erdan spit blood.

“Get out!” The old Khan roared like an enraged lion. “If I see you again before dawn, it will be the hour of your death!”

Xia’erdan’s face went deathly pale. He scrambled backward on all fours, hauled himself to his feet, and fled, swallowed up by the darkness of the night.

Ashina Khan’s nineteenth son Xia’erdan was, on this festival night, driven out from the tribe. Taking with him his several wives and children, his handful of followers, a group of slaves, and his cattle, sheep, and belongings, he left the seat of the Khanate’s power under the cover of night.

Xie Yuzhang threw herself into Ashina’s arms and wept softly: “I will not go wandering about on my own anymore. I will never let my guards leave my side so carelessly again.”

“There’s no need for that! This was not your fault!” Ashina said, his face dark with fury, his voice booming. “I would like to see who dares touch you again — I will put an end to him! Chiguxie — send them all away!”

Xie Yuzhang wept softly.

Chiguxie leapt forward to restore order and drove the onlookers away.

Ashina personally escorted Xie Yuzhang back to her tent.

“You are my, Ashina Silifa’s, wife,” he said, resting his hand on her head. “You need fear nothing.”

In the darkness of the night, Xie Yuzhang stood motionless.

It seemed… she had heard him say that before. But when had it been?

The memory was veiled in mist — blurred and indistinct.

She returned to her own great tent with her handmaiden — Wanxiu — and her guard — Wang Zhong.

Inside the tent there were no other handmaidens, only Lin Fei, who had long since set up a ceramic pot over the fire pit and brought the water to a boil. Seeing them return, she said: “Come, take it off.”

Xie Yuzhang unfastened the dagger that never left her side. Lin Fei reached out to take it; Xie Yuzhang drew back: “You need not touch it.”

She drew the dagger herself and threw it into the ceramic pot along with its dark fish-skin sheath, letting it boil in the scalding water.

Lin Fei brought over a copper basin and soap: “Everyone wash your hands.”

Xie Yuzhang and Wang Zhong both washed their hands. Wanxiu, though she said “I did not touch him,” washed her hands along with them all the same.

Each person washed three times.

Xie Yuzhang asked: “Have those things been disposed of?”

Lin Fei said: “The moment you set off for Zhadayali’s tent, I took them and burned them.”

While Xie Yuzhang and Lin Fei spoke, Wang Zhong and Wanxiu did not make a sound.

Why did Xie Yuzhang need to be rid of Xia’erdan?

There were only four of them in this tent. That meant that, aside from Lin Fei, the two of them were now the people Xie Yuzhang trusted most of all.

Wang Zhong asked not a single question. Wanxiu uttered not a word. They had truly earned that trust.

Wang Zhong stayed to help dispose of the soiled water before taking his leave. Lin Fei and Wanxiu tidied up afterward, but then noticed Xie Yuzhang sitting before the fire pit in a daze.

The orange-red flames danced and leapt, casting their light over her unfocused expression.

“Ah…” she suddenly let out a soft, low sound — something between a sigh and a murmur.

Lin Fei, worried that something had gone wrong with the plan, asked quietly: “What is it?”

Xie Yuzhang seemed not to hear her. She spoke softly to herself: “So it was then…”

It was then that the news of Da Zhao’s fall had finally reached the royal court.

Xie Yuzhang had been gripped by terror.

Governess Xu had dressed her in full splendor and brought her to Ashina’s tent, whispering into her ear: “From now on, the only one you can rely on is the Khan. Go then — make him cherish you. Try your utmost. You can do it!”

It was on that very night that the old man had rested his hand against her cheek and said: You are my, Ashina Silifa’s, wife — you need fear nothing.

Of course, that night, he had also claimed her.

For him, taking his own wife was the most natural thing in the world.

But Xie Yuzhang had always loathed the matters of the bedchamber.

All other women envied her for having the Khan’s favor, for being summoned so often to serve at his side in the night. Only she herself found those nights unbearable.

Exhausted, endless, her bones feeling as though they might fall apart.

That revulsion had carved itself so deeply into her mind that it had blurred and obscured everything he had ever said to her.

Xie Yuzhang stared blankly at the flickering flames, wearing an expression Lin Fei could not read.

Zhadayali returned to her own tent, where the beautiful slave women attended to her as she washed and changed.

Her tent held many such beautiful slave women, all prepared for Wuwei. She permitted them to bear him children, and those children of lower birth — born of slave women — were all raised by her.

When the girls grew up, they could be married off as part of political alliances. The boys would become fierce warriors under Dielitele’s command.

“Go and see what Wuwei and Dielitele are doing,” she said to one of the slave women.

Her most trusted elderly handmaiden came to attend to her, and remarked with feeling: “One truly could not have imagined it — that Xia’erdan would be so audacious as to dare lay hands on Baohua Khatun.”

How dearly the Khan loved this beautiful and youthful Central Plains princess — anyone with eyes could see it.

Zhadayali glanced at her. She clearly had not the slightest doubt about Princess Zhao’s account of events, and believed it entirely.

No one thought it possible that Princess Zhao had gone to seduce Xia’erdan of her own accord. It was simply inconceivable.

Zhadayali looked away and said: “Baohua is a clever woman.”

The handmaiden agreed: “Indeed she is — the way she manages her people is so capable, it quite reminds one of you in your younger years.”

No, Zhadayali thought — when she called her clever, she did not mean in that regard.

But she said nothing.

After a little while, the slave woman returned and pressed her forehead flat against the felt carpet: “Prince Wuwei has summoned someone to attend him.”

Zhadayali understood — her husband had undoubtedly summoned a beautiful slave woman.

“And Dielitele?” she asked.

The slave woman pressed her forehead even tighter to the carpet: “Prince Dielitele has also summoned someone to attend him.”

The color of Zhadayali’s eyes deepened to something dark and still.

She waved for the handmaidens and slave women to withdraw, and sat alone gazing at the fire.

Princess Zhao, Baohua Khatun — she was a clever woman.

She had never at any moment shown the slightest flirtatious provocation toward her husband or her son.

Yet standing openly before the Khan, with a single remark, she had planted a restless seed in the hearts of both father and son alike.

Such skill, Zhadayali thought — it truly did have something of her own manner in her younger years.

More than half a month later, some who had departed with Xia’erdan quietly returned and attached themselves to others.

They also brought back word of Xia’erdan’s fate: after leaving, his wounds had quickly festered and he had developed a high fever. He had gone to take refuge with a tribe connected to one of his wives’ families, where a shaman had performed rituals to dispel the taint — yet he died all the same.

— In the days before, Xie Yuzhang had soaked the blade of the dagger in the foul liquid from the rotting, maggot-ridden carcasses of vermin. That night, she had drawn that dagger across Xia’erdan several times. Though none of the cuts were fatal — all of them light wounds — every single one had drawn blood.

Xia’erdan’s death had been entirely within her expectations. She was not the least bit surprised.

Another debt from her past life had been repaid.