I had come all this way alone — and it was only the tie to my family, and the trust I placed in them, that had sustained me throughout.

And now, with the truth’s arrival, that sustaining force had finally crumbled.

In my heart, that world of perfect, unblemished glass — a world that had lost all its luster from the night of our wedding — had at last fallen from the highest heavens to the dust of the earth, shattered into a thousand fragments at my feet. From here onward, even if the palace halls stood unchanged, even if their splendor never dimmed, the flying crimson and the dripping jade, the winding waterways and drifting cups, the brilliant discourse and clear poetry that lived in my memory… none of it would ever again be what it once had been.

Everything — everything was already different.

Never in all my life had I wept so utterly without dignity.

When my grandmother passed, I had been truly grieved — yet even then I had not understood that the world contained another kind of sorrow, one that could pierce a person through to the very heart.

At that time there had still been Zidan. There had still been family… but now there was only a stranger’s embrace.

That night, I could not remember what I had said, nor what Xiao Qi had said.

I remembered only this: that I wept in his arms like a child.

Curled against him, enveloped in his scent, I gradually grew still — and then I had no desire to move, no desire to open my eyes…

When I woke, it was already the following morning. Xiao Qi had slipped away quietly at some point during the night.

I lay on the bed, my hands still wrapped around the riding cloak he had draped over the coverlet. No wonder I had hazily thought he was still beside me in my sleep.

Suddenly the heart felt empty, as if something had been lost.

The maids attended to my washing and meal in silence, and I let them do with me as they would, gazing off into nothing, my heart a blank.

A round-faced, bright-eyed little maid came forward holding the medicine bowl in both hands, kneeling on one knee before the bed to present it.

This small girl was not yet as tall as I had been before my marriage.

I looked at her and felt a pang of gentleness. I raised my hand to let her stand.

She lifted her head, stood carefully — and as she did, the tray tilted, and the medicine bowl overturned entirely. The medicine splashed across half my body.

The maids all fell into a panic, crowding forward in a rush to clean up, each crying out that she deserved to die.

The little maid was prostrate on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly, so frightened she could not speak.

“Rise.” I said helplessly, looked down at the stain on my clothes, and sighed. “Hurry and prepare a bath for me.”

Looking at the trembling, fearful maids before me, and thinking of my own situation, I could only bow my head and smile bitterly at myself.

We were all young women of much the same age — others lived lives as fragile as insects, yet still strove to go on. What reason did I have to give up on myself?

After my injuries, I had not left my bed — each day, someone came to wash me with a cloth. It had been many days since I had bathed properly.

It was fortunate that the north was cool; if it had been the heat of summer, it would have been far harder to bear.

All these days, I had not looked carefully at myself in a mirror. I did not know what I looked like now.

Even if my family had abandoned me, even if others did not love me… I still had to love and care for myself.

In the swirl of steam and mist, I tilted my head back and smiled — and let the tears be swallowed up by the warm vapor.

No one would see my tears. They would only see me smiling and in full bloom, just as I had been after the wedding — as I had smiled my way through those days, so I would smile my way through what lay ahead.

There was no hot spring water infused with orchid petals, no finest-quality soaps and powders — only a simple wooden tub and billowing hot water. Clean and unadorned, at least it was fresh and clear.

Once I had washed off the dust and weariness, I felt lighter in body and clearer in spirit.

Looking at the clothing the maids brought in, I had to laugh despite myself. One after another — richly embroidered, vivid, and lavish, each more stunning than the last — and yet there was not a single one I could wear.

“Who prepared all of this?” I picked up a long garment of bright crimson embroidered with peonies and gold thread, then looked at the dark-green jade bracelet in the lacquered tray, and smiled in astonishment. “Am I to dress like this and go onstage to perform?”

The round-faced little maid’s cheeks flushed crimson. She started to kneel down to beg forgiveness.

“Never mind.” I raised my hand to stop her and had no more desire to look at the pile of ornaments. “Just find something plain and simple.”

I turned and walked out, hair still loose, and made my way slowly to the mirror.

The woman in the mirror was dressed in a robe of pure white silk, her long hair hanging loose — ink-black silk draping down from both shoulders.

A pale complexion, clouds of dark hair, the same fine arched brows as before — the face in the mirror was still my face. Only the jaw was more pointed now, the face paler and thinner than it had been.

And yet those eyes — still deep-set, still long-lashed — something about them was different.

In what way different, I could not say. I only felt that the dark pupils of the woman in the mirror seemed to hold a haze of fine mist — and the clarity that had once lived in them was gone.

I smiled. The woman in the mirror smiled too. And yet those eyes held not a trace of a smile.

“Princess Consort, does this suit you?” The little maid came in carrying clothing, her head bowed timidly.

I turned and looked — and could not help but feel pleased. She had picked a wide-sleeved robe of sky-blue silk with a gauze cape of undyed fabric — understated and graceful, just as I liked.

“What is your name?” I asked, looking her over as I dressed and made up my face.

She kept her eyes lowered and did not dare to meet mine. “This servant’s name is Yuxiu.”

“How old are you?” I asked her casually, lifting a jade hairpin to loosely bind up my still-damp hair.

“Fifteen,” she said, her voice thin as a mosquito’s.

My hands paused. I fixed my gaze on her and felt a pang of sorrow in my heart… fifteen years old — exactly my age at that time.

Looking more closely at this girl — she was not quite so prettily doll-like as Jin’er, yet her features were delicate and bright, and there was a lively quality about her.

Thinking of Jin’er brought that ache back to the surface, a sorrow I had just barely pressed down… Though she was my maid, we had grown up together from early childhood, and the bond between us was unlike that with any other. And now I could barely look after myself, drifting like a fallen leaf on the wind — with no idea where she had been blown to.

A suffocating heaviness settled over my heart.

In silence I walked to the window — and saw, in the courtyard outside, a patch of brilliant light. Sunlight filtered through the shade of the trees, slanting in through the window in fine, scattered threads.

To think — it was already late spring, nearly summer.

“It is stifling in here. Walk with me outside.” I dismissed the other maids and kept only Yuxiu at my side.

Stepping out the door, a gentle breeze met my face. Warm sunlight spilled over me. Before me: tall columns and sweeping eaves, deeply green trees in the courtyard. The sense of openness was immediate and welcome.

“Princess Consort… please put on an outer robe — it is cool outside.” Yuxiu came hurrying after me, holding an outer robe, her face full of worry.

I glanced back at her and felt a warmth in my heart — but only smiled and said, “At this time of year, who still wears an outer robe?”

In years past, I had always loved summer best. In the capital, the heat was stifling, and every year when late spring came in the fifth month, the ladies of the palace would change into gauzy, flowing robes. As they moved, their wide sleeves would drift and their ribbon sashes would lift in the wind — each one like an immortal descended from some jade garden.

As I spoke of such things, Yuxiu’s face lit up with a look of pure longing.

As we walked, I took in the courtyards and connecting corridors around me — mostly plain and unadorned, simple in construction, seemingly a common enough compound, yet with a sense of understated breadth and scale. It had something of the feel of an official’s offices. “Is this truly His Highness’s residence?” I turned to ask Yuxiu.

Yuxiu thought about it for a moment, then gave a hesitant nod. “His Highness is usually here.”

I nodded. A general picture formed: Xiao Qi had always used government offices as his residence and had not built a separate private estate. I had heard that he came from humble origins and had plain and simple habits — and so it seemed it was true. If it were my brother, he would never endure accommodations so spare.

I was curious and asked without thinking, “What does His Highness usually do when he is in the residence?”

“His Highness is away most of the time. And even when he comes back, he is often busy until the middle of the night.” Yuxiu tilted her head and thought for a moment. “Oh — His Highness often plays chess with General Song. And sometimes he reads alone, practices his sword, or drinks wine… nothing much else.”

As Yuxiu spoke of Xiao Qi, her face was full of reverence, and gradually she grew a little more talkative.

I bowed my head and hid a quiet smile, finding that man wonderfully rigid — to spend his days like that, in such relentless, cheerless routine.

“Are there not even any singers or female entertainers in the residence?” I said with a casual laugh — and before the words had even finished leaving my mouth, a woman’s laughter rang out from somewhere ahead.

I stopped and looked up — and from the corridor ahead, several women came around the corner.

The moment they saw me, they froze in place and simply stared.

The first woman hurriedly knelt down, calling out “Princess Consort” — and at that, the others hastily dropped to their knees in a row on the ground.

I studied them closely. The two women at the front were dressed as household ladies: one wore a narrow-sleeved top in apricot red, her features vivid and pretty, her figure slender and graceful, the ornaments in her hair trembling; the other was dressed more plainly, slightly younger, her features particularly fine.

That manner of dress, so different from an ordinary maid — one glance told me all I needed to know.

Something in my chest was squeezed hard. For a moment I could not speak, and felt my throat go tight.

Of course… How had I forgotten this.

The woman in apricot red actually spoke before I could. “Xing’er pays her respects to the Princess Consort.”

Even as she spoke, she tilted her eyes upward to look at me — her gaze swept across the hem of my robe, and in the moment she lowered her head again, the jade hoops at her ears turned in a flash of soft, clear light.

Those earrings brought to mind the dark-green jade bracelet I had seen earlier — they seemed to be from the same set.

I understood at once. I had now a fair idea of who it was that had prepared all those lavish clothes and ornaments for me.

“Xing’er?” I said with an easy smile. “Have you been the one attending to my daily needs since I arrived?”

She lifted her gaze slightly. “It is this servant’s duty — I only hope the household staff were not too clumsy and caused the Princess Consort any discomfort.”

Such agility — speaking almost as a mistress of the house would to a guest. The ease of it astonished me past measure, and I very nearly laughed aloud.

Seeing that I only smiled and said nothing, she seemed to grow a little bolder, and simply lifted her head and looked at me directly.

The moment she met my gaze, she was struck still — and was too slow in covering the look of startled admiration that crossed her face.

“Quite a lovely little maid.” I gave a slight nod and smiled. “I happen to be in need of someone sharp-minded near me. Tomorrow you can come and attend alongside Yuxiu.”

Xing’er’s face flushed red. She raised her chin and said stubbornly, “I beg the Princess Consort’s pardon — but Xing’er serves in His Highness’s rooms.”

I had already half-turned away — and at those words I turned back slowly, my gaze cold. “Is it me you are addressing?”

Xing’er stiffened. Her shoulders trembled; her pretty face went white as chalk.

I turned a frown toward Yuxiu. “Is there not a single rule in this household?”

Yuxiu straightened and gave a crisp reply: “Reporting to the Princess Consort: by the household’s rules, when a superior asks a question, a servant may respond; when a superior is present, servants must not raise their eyes to look directly; when answering a superior’s question, one must use the self-address ‘this servant’…”

The rows of maids on the ground exchanged glances, their bodies shrinking lower and lower, foreheads nearly touching the floor.

Xing’er’s face was flushed with mortification and fury. She pressed her lips together, head bowed, shoulders faintly trembling.

The finely-featured young woman behind her quickly prostrated herself and said, “This servant deserves punishment — this servant and the others had no intention of offending the Princess Consort. We beg the Princess Consort’s forgiveness.”

I looked her over, then said in a mild tone, “I appreciate a quick-witted maid. Tomorrow you come along as well.”

Regardless of their kneeling and pleading, I swept my sleeve and walked away.

Rounding the corridor, out of sight of others, Yuxiu could not help but burst into delighted laughter. “This is wonderful — with the Princess Consort here, she’ll never get to put on airs again!”

I stopped. I turned back with a sudden coldness and let my expression fall.

Yuxiu met my eyes, shrank back, lowered her head, and dared not say another word.

I too pressed my lips together and said nothing. In my chest, though, something like a mass of cold ice sat heavy — in that moment, the breath in my chest surged and churned, and it was a long time before it stilled.

This was something I should always have known. What household did not keep a few concubines? — least of all a man like him, of such rank and power, a man in his prime living far from home. Never mind a prince — even a minor official kept three wives and four concubines. Let alone someone of extravagant standing such as my own brother.

Before he married my sister-in-law, my brother had already kept three beloved concubines; my sister-in-law came with four bridal handmaids who became his side-consorts; and after my sister-in-law died of illness two years later, though my brother never took another formal wife, he gradually took in several more beautiful women.

My mother, a Grand Princess of the blood, had accepted after she married my father that he would take in one concubine… The woman of the Han family had died before I was born; after that my father never took another concubine, and he and my mother lived in devoted affection.

All of this was entirely commonplace… And yet whether I thought of my brother or my father, whether I counted all the men in the world who kept concubines — none of those reasons could quiet the churning within me, and I could not distinguish what I felt: anger, or heartache, or something else entirely.

Since coming here and meeting Xiao Qi, I had grown less and less able to understand myself.

In the past I had occasionally thought about it — that he had spent so many years away, and perhaps kept concubines elsewhere — and at those times I had only felt: the affairs of others, what did they have to do with me?

He was only my husband in name — a partner my father had acquired, using me as a bargaining piece, to secure an ally.

At that single thought, I could no longer hold back the hollow, bitter laugh that rose to my lips. My chest stung sharply — a pain pressed to the very extreme.

I pressed one hand against a corridor pillar, the other against my own chest, and laughed on to myself.

Yuxiu was frightened and came hurrying to support me. “This servant spoke wrongly — please, Princess Consort, do not be angry, do not harm your health!”

“Who said I am angry.” I shook off her hand. I could only laugh — and gradually, as I laughed, the tears came.

“Princess Consort, you are…” Yuxiu was at a loss, on the verge of tears herself.

Looking at the anxious expression on her face — she seemed truly worried for me and afraid — it only made me ache the more.

I leaned against the corridor pillar and looked around in a daze at my surroundings — here my husband waited, here my royal residence waited, attendants and servants in abundance, all within call — and yet there was only this one little maid who truly cared about what I felt.

The scene before me grew more and more unfamiliar the longer I looked at it. Suddenly, I wanted to go home.

But where was home… the capital? Huizhou? Or this place?

All at once, boundless desolation — a cold that reached through the bones.

I suddenly ducked my head and covered my face. I forced back the misery in my heart with every ounce of will I had, and let Yuxiu call my name as she would, without once lifting my head.

And then she suddenly yanked at my sleeve and dropped to her knees behind me.

I turned — and at the far end of the corridor, Xiao Qi stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Several officers behind him quietly withdrew to one side.

As I watched him come striding toward me, I lost myself for a moment — and had no time to wipe away the tears.

He was not in military dress — only a broad-collared, wide-sleeved robe of deep black, his hair bound high, which made him look all the more clear-cut and imposing.

“What are you doing here?” He frowned, but his voice was gentle. “The north is cool. Mind you do not catch cold.”

Hearing those words of concern, the sting in my chest only grew sharper. I turned my head away and said indifferently, “I thank Your Highness for your concern.”

He frowned and looked at me. For a moment neither of us spoke.

Beyond the courtyard wall, a breeze moved through, lifting the sash of my robe to flutter softly, letting in a coolness through the fabric.

He looked at me deeply, as if he had something to say — and yet in the end he said nothing.

I smiled, faintly, and turned and walked away.

Back in my room, I had indeed caught a slight chill. Sitting with my eyes closed, rubbing at my temples, I could feel a headache coming on.

I had wanted to nap for a little while — yet when I closed my eyes there was no desire for sleep. Xiao Qi’s silhouette swept across my mind, and then my parents’ faces, and back and forth again.

I thought suddenly of my aunt, and remembered her words — that without my family’s protection, I would have nothing.

And indeed, now that the family’s shelter was gone, I was drifting alone, with nothing — my very life and fortune, even whether I lived or died, all of it held in one person’s hands.

From what point had it begun, that I was no longer the beloved princess showered with every indulgence — no longer the pampered, willful little daughter at my parents’ knees — no longer the A’Wu that Zidan had always cherished and kept cupped in his hands… All of that was gone, and would never return.

From the moment I stepped into the wedding hall and became the Princess Consort of Prince Yuzhang, my fate had been sealed: all my life, I would stand at this man’s side, bearing his name, led by him into an unknowable future.

Long winds of the frontier, cold moon over the northern wastes — in this far-off wilderness, all I had was this man.

If he was willing — perhaps he would build for me an entirely new world.

If he walked away — would my entire world collapse again in an instant?

I shifted restlessly on my pillow. A tear slid down into my hair at my temple.

In this world, even one’s own parents could turn and walk away. What person existed who would truly never leave?

His words from last night still echoed faintly at my ear — I could not forget him saying, “From this day forward, you are my Princess Consort — the woman who walks through this life by my side. I will not allow you to be weak.”

If it were possible — I wanted to believe him. To believe his word of this life… this life was still so long.

And in this life, between us — it seemed it was not only the two of us after all. There were still all those others in between, those people and things that had nothing to do with me.

Nothing to do with me — or so I had thought.

Until that living, breathing woman stood before my eyes — his concubine, his woman… and how could she have nothing to do with me?

As I drifted in and out of my thoughts, muffled voices began to carry from outside. Each one that reached me only irritated me further.

“Who is making noise out there?” I sat up, frowning, and smoothed my hair.

Yuxiu hurried to report: “Madam Lu has brought Xing’er and Yuzhu to wait outside for the Princess Consort.”

I let my face cool, and for the first time spoke sharply to the servants. “Has this household any rules whatsoever? My sleeping quarters — and people are wandering in and out as they please?”

The maids all dropped to their knees in a row, too frightened to respond. Yuxiu said timidly: “Reporting to the Princess Consort — Madam Wu says she comes by His Highness’s spoken order, bringing the two ladies to wait here. She insisted on waiting here for the Princess Consort to wake, and this servant… this servant did not dare to refuse.”

There was another Madam Wu now. The frustration that had gathered in my heart all this while turned into a nameless fire. I was actually curious to see how many unruly servants there were in this place who had no regard for me, this Princess Consort in name only.

“Relay my words: let those who were making noise come kneel in the courtyard and wait.” I lifted the curtain and rose, and dressed and put on my face.