That Zhang Shi could become Empress was not because she herself was so exceptional — it was because of the Zhang family and the old Yunjing party standing behind her. So long as they supported her, she could be Empress.

Compared to the future Empress, Fuchun was, to put it frankly, a nobody.

Though by now the entire inner palace regarded Fuchun as the foremost indispensable attendant at the new Emperor’s side, Fuchun himself was clear-eyed about his position.

The iron-willed Emperor who had risen through battle had never truly regarded him as one of his own.

He enjoyed hearing Fuchun occasionally mention “what Princess Baohua used to do,” but beyond that, there was no deeper trust or favor.

A truly powerful palace eunuch was not built like this.

A truly influential attendant was one who held the complete trust of the ruler — one who knew all the ruler’s secrets, who participated in and carried out the ruler’s most private and delicate affairs — someone the ruler regarded as his left hand, his right hand, or a blade.

Fuchun yearned to become such an attendant.

Today, he saw his chance. He knew this was a gamble, and if it went wrong, he could be utterly destroyed.

But then, had riches not always been won through risk?

“This servant… doesn’t want to say.” Fuchun wept. “Though Princess Baohua was a princess of the former Zhao, the Princess was so kind to this servant — she had even arranged to have me transferred to the Zhaoxia Palace, but when she learned she was to leave for a marriage alliance, she refused to let me come. Such a good-hearted person — to be spoken of in such a way. This servant, this servant…” With that, he began to weep softly.

“Fuchun.” Li Gu’s voice was dark as still water. “What did she say?”

Fuchun choked back tears: “She said, she said…”

Zhang Fen had lived her entire life within the embrace of power. She understood better than anyone why she was to become Empress.

To her, the matter was already settled and beyond change. And speaking within her own rooms, with only the maids she had brought into the palace, she was not without a certain reckless overconfidence.

Having finished mocking Lin Fei, she continued: And then there is our Princess Baohua — the legitimate-born daughter of the central palace, once spoken of as what? The Pearl of Yunjing. Hmph, and where is she now? Married off to that kind of place, sullied by some old man, and then passed from father to son in a second marriage. Oh, the Consort of the Mobei Khan — what a precious and noble fate that is.

She finished speaking and broke into a bright, girlish laugh.

“Sullied by some old man, and then passed from father to son in a second marriage” — Fuchun repeated these words with a tone of particular venom. When he finished, he pinched his voice to mimic a woman’s light, tittering laughter, all while tears streamed down his face. The effect was deeply unsettling.

His voice fell. The hall fell silent.

Fuchun stood bowed at the waist, his face turned toward the floor, not daring to look up and read the Emperor’s expression. His heart was hammering.

He thought: it all comes down to this moment.

A long silence passed. Then Li Gu’s low, heavy voice came: “Get out.”

In an instant, Fuchun felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him. His heart turned to ice.

The boat had capsized.

Li Gu spoke again: “Get out!”

Every ounce of the courage Fuchun had mustered before this gamble crumbled into nothing, replaced entirely by fear — fear of the Emperor’s wrath, and fear that if word of today got out, he would face the Empress’s revenge in time to come. He retreated in panic.

Li Gu stared at the imperial writing table, feeling as though something inside him was surging upward, threatening to erupt.

The world was impermanent. She had married; he had taken wives. She was far away in Mobei; he had marched south. Though his mind had sometimes wandered toward the future, in these years before him, he had also tried to live well. He had striven to do what was right — to be a worthy lord, a steady and generous husband, an attentive father.

And yet someone had to go and ignite the fire he had buried deep in his chest.

Li Gu did not know that in another life Xie Yuzhang had lived through, another version of himself had once happened to overhear Zhang Fen say these very words.

In that life, Emperor Li Gu had caught the wrist of the fallen princess in a palace corridor and spoken his feelings plainly.

That princess had only lowered her head and said nothing — a silent refusal.

He had understood. He had sighed, murmured “too thin,” and the rest of what he had wanted to say would not come. He released her wrist.

He then went to the Empress’s central palace, dismissing the attendants’ announcement out of habit, and walked in quietly — only to hear his Empress laughing her light, girlish laugh, mocking the fallen princess for being passed from father to son in a third marriage, for being sullied by an old man.

That moment had been a thorn lodged in the Emperor’s heart for many years.

His expression had darkened on the spot; he had rebuked her sharply, telling her to mind her words and conduct, and ordered her to copy out the Women’s Regulations three times as punishment. And then — nothing more.

Even in anger, what could he have done?

One was his wife, the Empress, the mother of the nation. The other was a fallen woman from whom he had never exchanged more than a handful of words in his entire life.

Any husband of clear mind, any wise and undeluded ruler, could only have done as much.

He couldn’t even punish her with confinement to quarters as he might some other consort — he still had to uphold her dignity as the mistress of the central palace.

But that had all been Xie Yuzhang’s past life.

In this life, Zhang Fen was not yet Empress.

And in this life, Xie Yuzhang had become, in Li Gu’s heart, a forbidden place — a thing that could not be touched.

In this life, just as she had said: she had pushed so hard for this outcome. In the end… something should surely be different.

Fuchun had barely retreated in panic, his foot not yet across the threshold, when a thunderous crash erupted from behind him. He spun around in alarm.

Outside, Bantou heard the commotion and within a breath had charged in with the palace guards.

But there was no assassin in the hall — only the overturned rosewood imperial writing table, and the Emperor standing beside it.

The Emperor’s expression was colder than ice.

The Emperor said: “Have her removed.”

The pronouns were the same in spoken form, and Bantou did not know who Li Gu was referring to. He looked to Fuchun for guidance, wondering inwardly — could it be Fuchun he meant to dismiss? That didn’t seem right.

On Fuchun’s face, however, there flickered a smile of indescribable meaning — gone in an instant. He immediately said: “As you command!”

Li Gu added: “Have them all removed. This Emperor’s inner palace has enough people!”

Fuchun’s excitement surged. He called out loudly: “By imperial decree!”

Li Gu said: “Bantou, go with him!”

Bantou was still trying to understand what they were going to do, but Fuchun had already grabbed his arm and was pulling him toward the door.

With that look on Li Gu’s face, Bantou instinctively did not want to stay behind, though he had no idea what had happened. He went with Fuchun without further question.

Once outside, Bantou grabbed Fuchun and demanded: “What’s going on? Where are we going?”

Fuchun’s eyes shone with light as he seized him: “To do something great!”

His boat had not capsized. Far from it — he was riding the wind, about to sail as a master of the waves.

Handling this matter well for the Emperor tonight would secure his place in the Emperor’s inner circle for good — leaping in one bound from outsider to trusted confidant.

That night, Yunjing was destined to know no peace.

After the palace gates had been locked for the night, they opened again. Twelve carriages carried twelve young ladies, escorted — or one might say ushered — by the inner guards, back to their families.

Twelve households lit up their lamps once more and fell into commotion. Soon, carriages set out from those households toward other residences — in some cases, several at once. More and more people were being roused.

Inside the palace, Li Zhenzhen was woken by the noise and asked: “What is the matter?”

A palace servant reported: “His Majesty has had the young ladies all sent out of the palace.”

Li Zhenzhen was immediately wide awake. “What happened?” she asked.

No one knew what had happened. The young ladies who had been sent home in the middle of the night were more bewildered than anyone.

They had all gone to bed for the night, and then Fuchun — together with the inner guards — had come to rouse them and put them in carriages. Some had asked; they were told only: “Acting on orders.”

The one who had been designated as future Empress, Zhang Fen, was the loudest, demanding to know whose orders these were — Li Dа Niang’s or Cui the Seventeenth’s?

The inner guards replied: “By His Majesty’s orders.”

Zhang Fen refused to believe it and began to protest.

The commander of the palace guards drew his blade and cut down a tree in the courtyard with a single stroke, then said bluntly: “These are His Majesty’s orders.”

That silenced everyone.

In the days they had spent inside the palace, they had heard certain stories.

The Wang and Huo clans — two old prominent families of Hexi — had been exterminated by this very inner guard commander. Not a single soul had survived. Old, young, women, children — all killed.

Those orders, too, had been given by this Emperor.

The young ladies fell quiet and dared not argue further. Besides, it wasn’t just one of them — they were all being sent out together. This was no individual matter; anything that needed to be said would have to be handled by their families.

Once home, when their parents and clan elders asked in shock what had happened, each one told the full story.

“I truly don’t know what this is about — all of us were sent out together, all twelve at once!” Zhang Fen repeated again for emphasis.

Her mother was beside her; her father and grandfather faced her.

Zhang Fen was more aggrieved than anyone: “That inner guard commander with the surname Hu was utterly disrespectful to me. He showed me no deference whatsoever as future Empress…”

Zhang Gong’s expression went dark: “Hold your tongue.”

The girl had been sent back. Talk of Empress or no Empress was beside the point now. What had seemed an iron certainty, Zhang Gong no longer dared to assume.

Moreover, the inner guard commander, Hu Jin — known by his nickname Bantou — was someone of deep trust with the new Emperor. Zhang Fen’s desire to make things difficult for him was sheer overreach.

Zhang Gong suppressed his anger and said: “Prepare the carriage. I am going to the palace.”

On the imperial boulevard he encountered several other carriages, all hurrying toward the palace.

But the palace gates were locked. From the wall above, inner guards called out: “His Majesty has retired. Unless the matter concerns urgent military intelligence, all lords are asked to return tomorrow.”

Zhang Gong refused to believe the Emperor was truly asleep after pulling a stunt like this. But clearly the Emperor did not wish to see them, and there was nothing they could do.

The men gathered briefly before the palace gates, consulted one another, and ultimately decided to return and speak with the Emperor the following day.

Beyond these parties, many more were stirred from their rest that night.

Yang Changyuan sat with several brothers, two sons, and a few nephews in the study, waiting for news.

“The Emperor refused to see anyone?” he asked.

A servant replied: “Chancellor Zhang and the others were all turned away at the palace gates. They were told His Majesty had retired.”

Yang Changyuan and the others exchanged glances.

Yang Changyuan’s second uncle asked: “Huaishen, you know the Emperor well — do you have any read on this?”

Yang Huaishen said helplessly: “How would I know what goes on inside the palace? But…”

Everyone looked at him. Yang Huaishen said: “Eleven… His Majesty has always been able to conceal his emotions completely. This time is unusual.”

Sending twelve young ladies back in the dead of night was, without question, a display of severe anger.

Those assembled had had some dealings with the new Emperor by now and knew Yang Huaishen’s assessment of him to be fair — which made the matter all the more baffling.

What — or who — could have driven this decisive, iron-willed Emperor to act with such sudden impulsiveness?

Yang Huaishen’s elder brother, Yang the First, said: “Whatever the reason, the matter of the Zhang woman as Empress seems likely to have changed.”

Yang Changyuan tucked his hands into his sleeves: “Let it change. It doesn’t much affect us. Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

When Bantou learned they were to send all the young ladies back, he was briefly stunned. These were the future Empress and imperial consorts.

Fuchun said: “His Majesty’s orders — you heard them yourself.”

Bantou had indeed heard them in person — Li Gu had said “have them all removed” and “this Emperor’s inner palace has enough people.”

Once he was certain these truly were Li Gu’s orders, Hu Jin’s mind settled.

He had followed Li Gu for some years now and had long ago established one principle for himself: never question Li Gu’s orders — simply carry them out.

A handful of young women. A bit of noise. The one who was supposed to be Empress had a particularly arrogant air about her.

But Hu Jin had waded through rivers of blood. Apart from Li Gu, there was truly nothing in this world he feared. He had drawn his blade then and there to silence them.

Even so, Hu Jin was not entirely without his own thoughts. Something had clearly happened with Li Gu. He had overturned even his writing table — that rosewood imperial writing table that took several men to move.

Such a degree of fury — the last time Hu Jin could recall seeing anything like it was when a household woman connected to the Fourth Young Master had a brother who delayed a military operation. Li Gu had beaten him savagely with a whip.

When Li Gu’s temper erupted, even the Fourth Young Master, Li Qi, had fallen silent and dared not plead for mercy.

Hu Jin kept his wits about him. After safely escorting all twelve young ladies back to their respective households, he turned around and went straight to the Marquis of Beiying’s residence, dragging the soundly sleeping Li Weifeng out of bed.

“What?” Li Weifeng’s eyes went wide as saucers. “He drove all the young ladies away?”

“Yes, yes, yes — go check on him! He’s furious, absolutely furious — he even overturned the table, that rosewood one!” Hu Jin pushed him toward the door.

Li Weifeng thought for a moment, then fell back onto the bed, yanked the blankets over his head: “I’m not going. What does it have to do with me?”

Hu Jin said: “What do you mean it’s not your business? When has he ever been this angry before? If not you, who?”

“Not going!” Li Weifeng said, obstinate under the blankets. “I handle battles and nothing else. Go find someone else.”