That night, the moon was hidden and the stars were sparse. The wind threaded through the mountain walls — sheer and blade-sharp as a sword — carrying with it something like the mournful wail of ghosts. A young soldier on patrol along the city wall shuddered and felt a pair of eyes watching him from the forest; frightened, he quickly covered his own eyes and repeated in his heart: don’t take me, don’t take me…

Suddenly, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin and almost fell from the wall — only a pair of hands grabbed and held him. The soldier looked up, heart still pounding, and saw standing before him the only woman in Jianmen: Adjutant Ren. Beside her was her inseparable, ever-present admirer — oh, her fiancé now, he supposed…

The soldier realized the hand on his shoulder had not belonged to a ghost, let out a long breath, and then remembered to salute: “Reporting to Adjutant Ren.”

Ren Yao looked at him coolly: “It is patrol hour. Why are you dozing off?”

The soldier felt very wronged: “I wasn’t dozing off, Adjutant. It’s just — it’s so dark down there, and I was afraid of ghosts…”

Ren Yao glanced dispassionately down from the wall. The mountains lay hidden in darkness; only scattered points of light glimmered along the walls of Jianmen Pass, like a lone vessel on a night sea — unsteady, silent, and alone. Her expression remained stern: “You enlisted in the army. You don’t fear death — and yet you fear ghosts?”

The soldier dared not raise his head. Compared to the humorless Adjutant Ren, her fiancé was far easier to talk to. Jiang Ling clapped the soldier on the shoulder and asked: “How old are you?”

The soldier said plaintively: “Seventeen.”

Ren Yao startled: “Your family sent you to enlist at seventeen?”

The soldier nodded timidly: “Yes. My parents are getting on in years, and no matter how hard they work the fields, they never bring in much grain. If I enlist, I can at least save the family one mouth to feed.”

On learning the soldier was so young, the scolding words caught in Ren Yao’s throat — she wasn’t sure she should say them. Jiang Ling smoothly drew the conversation elsewhere: “You’re still so young — no wonder you’re afraid of ghosts. Do you see those two peaks ahead, shaped like the blades of a sword? They say they were formed from the sword of an immortal who vanquished demons and evil. That’s how this place got the name Jianmen Pass. Even if there are ghosts in the world, none of them can get near Jianmen. You can set your mind at ease. Just stay alert on duty from now on — don’t let your attention wander.”

The soldier had never known the name of Jianmen Pass carried such a story, and nodded respectfully. His expression finally relaxed, and he asked curiously: “Adjutant, it isn’t your shift tonight. Why are you up here?”

Jiang Ling said: “I and your Adjutant Ren couldn’t sleep, so we came up the mountain to look at stars… all right, to be honest, she was worried something might happen these last few days, and came up specially to have a look.”

Jiang Ling noticed the daggers Ren Yao was shooting him and quickly corrected himself. When Ren Yao and Jiang Ling heard that the throne had changed hands again, they had both felt their hearts lurch. They had lived through the Junzhou incident and knew the Military Governor of Jiannan already harbored treasonous ambitions. Now that the court had a new Emperor, would the Military Governor use this as a pretext to stir up trouble?

Ren Yao could not set her mind at ease. These past few days, even on her days off, she always made a round along the walls. Jiang Ling had no choice but to rise in the middle of the night and keep his wife company at the risk of his own rest.

The soldier heard that Ren Yao had come up voluntarily to patrol in the middle of the night, and looked at her with admiration: “Adjutant Ren, you’re so dedicated.”

Jiang Ling responded cheerfully on her behalf: “She certainly is.”

With his quick, lighthearted chat, Jiang Ling dissolved the serious atmosphere of what had been heading toward a dressing-down. Faced with such a young boy, Ren Yao could not bring herself to say much, and simply reminded him curtly to stay alert and watch the base of the wall, then grabbed Jiang Ling and walked away.

Once they were out of earshot, Ren Yao gave Jiang Ling a sideways look: “Since when do I know anything about an immortal’s sword outside Jianmen Pass?”

Jiang Ling chuckled, clasped his hands behind his back, and strolled along the wall with a light, bouncing step: “It’s something I said to a child. Should you take it seriously? Besides, whether immortals exist in this world or not — isn’t that something people decide for themselves? When things go badly, it’s ‘Amitabha’; when things go well, it’s ‘the human will can triumph over heaven.’ If it gives someone peace of mind, why quibble about whether it’s true?”

Ren Yao remained unsatisfied: “That’s still deceiving him. Young as he is, once he’s on the battlefield he’s a soldier. If he’s still afraid of ghosts, how will he fight?”

“Everything needs time. Besides — when you were seventeen, weren’t you afraid of ghosts too?”

Ren Yao stopped short, all her retorts jammed at once. Jiang Ling recalled the old days with growing amusement: “Do you still remember — when we first met, you were so frightened at the sight of a corpse that you couldn’t even walk? When you came back to your room that night and found a dead man in your bedroll, your legs went completely weak. When I tried to pull you up, it took me an enormous effort before I could drag you to your feet.”

Ren Yao listened with clenched teeth, swung her fist, and went for him. Jiang Ling burst out laughing and dodged. The two chased each other along the city wall, and Ren Yao herself felt a faint surprise.

So — they had already known each other for so long. She still remembered their first meeting: she had thoroughly disliked this good-for-nothing wastrel. And now she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. Looking back at all those years at seventeen, it all felt as distant and hazy as a dream.

She could not say exactly when it had changed, but at some point she had stopped being afraid of ghosts, stopped being afraid of corpses, stopped being afraid of all manner of strange and unsettling things. If the current Ren Yao were to return to Feihong Mountain Villa, she would certainly not react the way she had back then.

And yet — what Ren Yao felt most grateful for was precisely that girl of seventeen. Had the seventeen-year-old Ren Yao not refused to be outdone, not charged forward boldly and recklessly, seizing every opportunity and hurling herself at it headlong — how could she ever have become who she was today?

It turned out it was not that she had stopped being afraid of ghosts. It was that she had grown up.

Ren Yao’s heart stirred with quiet feeling. Earlier, when Jiang Ling said they had come up to the wall to look at the stars, she had denied it without mercy. But now, the two of them walked along the solid, familiar wall, the sky and earth vast and boundless beyond all edges. The summer night wind passed through the mountains, cool and faintly damp, carrying the moisture particular to Jiannan, and Ren Yao found herself with a small regret that tonight there were no stars.

Ren Yao raised her head and looked up at the sky, trying to find a single scrap of anything poetic — but there was only a wide expanse of black. Jiang Ling noticed her movement and offered: “It’s all right. No stars, but there are fireflies. Look down there — doesn’t it look like stars drifting through the trees?”

Ren Yao followed the direction of Jiang Ling’s gesture and looked down from the wall. Within the dark green shadows, points of light did indeed drift and wander — but as Ren Yao watched the paths of those lights, something felt wrong.

Why were the fireflies weaving back and forth like that? Ren Yao fixed her gaze on the direction of their flight, and her heart gave a violent lurch.

Something was wrong. The spaces those fireflies were circling around — they were clearly the outlines of a human shape. Ren Yao’s heartbeat accelerated rapidly. She kept her composure and pretended not to have noticed, and with one hand quickly tugged at Jiang Ling.

Jiang Ling was just wondering why Ren Yao was pinching him again, and turned back to reason with her — but saw that her expression was wrong. They had been together long enough; Jiang Ling quickly read her lips: there are enemies in ambush below the wall.

Not daring to turn back immediately for fear of alerting whoever was below, the two made a show of playing and joking, laughing and talking as they retraced their steps. The young soldier was staring intently into the darkness when he saw Ren Yao and Jiang Ling return, and asked in confusion: “Adjutant, why are you back?”

The torchlight swept across the wall, and the soldier saw that Ren Yao’s complexion was terrible. Ren Yao kept her composure and with her very first words, she dropped a thunderbolt: “There are enemies in ambush below the walls. Can you hold this position until I bring reinforcements?”

The soldier was stunned, his mind completely unable to process what was happening. Jiang Ling clapped the soldier on the shoulder and pointed toward the towering, sky-piercing peaks of Jianmen in the darkness, and said: “In the old days, an immortal’s sword watched over this land. Now, it’s your turn. You don’t need to do anything — just stand here, keep your eyes on that gate, and don’t alarm whoever is outside. That’s enough. Adjutant Ren and I will go and call for help, and we will be back very soon.”

The soldier looked into Jiang Ling’s bright, dark eyes, and into the fire-lit face of Adjutant Ren — hard and firm and unyielding as iron. A hot feeling rose in his chest. He didn’t know where he found the courage, but he heard himself say: “Adjutant, please go ahead without worry. I will guard the gate.”

Words were pale things at a moment like this. Jiang Ling looked at him with sincere eyes and said, with the gravity of a promise: “We are in your hands. We will come back with reinforcements.”

The soldier stood on the wall. After Ren Yao and Jiang Ling departed, time seemed to slow to a crawl. He stared into the darkness; the base of the wall was pitch black, yet he seemed to make out many human shapes crawling across the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to the wall and rising to their feet. Without realizing it, his fingers tightened around his spear. The sounds around him suddenly seemed ten times louder; the cicada chorus from below the wall was relentless, one after another, setting the heart on edge.

The soldier tried with all his strength to keep his focus, but the more anxious he was, the more irrelevant thoughts forced their way in. He thought of his aging parents, of his elder sister who had married into the neighboring village — he wondered if his father’s leg still ached, wondered how his sister was faring in her husband’s home…

The thought had not finished forming when a cold gust swept toward him. The soldier nearly thought it was the wind from the feather duster his sister used to chase him around with as children — but this time, the feather duster never fell. Instead, a tremendous force yanked him off his feet. He hit the ground hard and before he had any idea what had happened, could only lie there, dazed, watching as Adjutant Ren swung a spear that was nearly as tall as she was. The wind from its tip whipped through the night air with a piercing cry; she swept the spear through half a rotation, and at the moment the spearhead snapped around, the arrow that had just been loosed came hurling back with the force of something that could pierce a mountain. There was a sharp, wet sound, a scream from out of the darkness, and then a heavy thud as a body hit the ground.

Jiang Ling rushed onto the gatehouse platform, pulled the soldier to his feet, and asked: “Are you all right?”

The soldier shook his head without thinking, and then realized — Adjutant Ren had just saved his life.

Adjutant Ren looked slight and fine-featured; apart from being a darker complexion, she was no different from an ordinary woman. Yet when she wielded a spear, she was like this.

Everything had happened in the time it takes a spark to fly. The enemy below, realizing their ambush was exposed, abandoned all pretense and rushed the wall, shouting in a language the soldiers could not understand. Ren Yao watched the base of the wall with cold eyes and said: “Enemy assault. Light the fires. Beat the war drums.”

News that the former Military Governor of Jiannan, Mu Yunping, had been assassinated while returning from an inspection spread, and the southwest was thrown into an uproar. Mu Yunping’s former subordinates began to suspect one another and act for themselves; the once-solid Jiannan Circuit quickly fractured into pieces. Prince Yong joined forces with the Military Governor of Longxi — using a combination of inducing surrender and surrounding cities — and within a month, Mu Yunping’s former subordinates defected one after another. The cities and troops of the Jiannan Circuit were brought back under court control.

Only after the fires in every corner of the Jiannan Circuit had been extinguished and communications could flow again did word finally reach everyone: one month earlier, the Tibetan forces had seized the chaos in Jiannan as an opportunity and launched a surprise night attack on Jianmen Pass. Without reinforcements and without any support, Jianmen Pass had held on alone for an entire month.

Marquis Pingnan Ren Yao, with a single spear, cut down enemies without number. The Tibetan soldiers mounted dozens of charges, and none managed to set foot within Jianmen Pass. On the bloodiest day of battle, the corpses along the thirty-li corridor outside the Jianmen fortress were piled upon corpses — there was scarcely any ground to stand on. The cliff walls rose sheer for a thousand spans and the sky narrowed to a single thread of light; even the crevices in the stone were soaked through with red. Ren Yao had at first held the line at the break in the Sword Range; as the fighting continued she fell back step by step, but even when she had been pushed back to the very gate of Jianmen fortress, she had not let a single Tibetan soldier break through the line. The scattered few who slipped through were all finished off by the soldiers behind her.

Jiang Ling stood behind her — the most reliable companion in battle. When advancing, he covered her flanks; when retreating, he finished off any who broke through. Through advance and retreat alike, they were never parted.

The battle at Jianmen Pass shook the court and the public once again. Some old people began slowly to remember that the first Marquis Pingnan had made his name by standing his ground during a siege, refusing to retreat even after suffering a hundred arrows. After so many years, the reputation of the Ren family spear rang out once more across the battlefield. Even those who knew nothing of spearmanship came to know it: the Ren family spear pressed forward with sharp force, retreated with swift speed — still as a mountain when at rest, explosive as a thunderclap when in motion — a style that was unbending and grew fiercer the stronger the opponent became.

This time, the title of Marquis Pingnan had passed to the granddaughter of the old Marquis — Ren Yao.

For such a fierce, powerful style of spearmanship to be wielded by a woman provoked waves of praise throughout the court, lauding Ren Yao’s loyalty and righteousness, declaring that she had not disgraced her ancestor’s legacy. By now, Chang’an had at last found time to turn its attention outward. The Emperor published the evidence of Mu Yunping and Prince Qiao’s treasonous collusion, and used the opportunity to revoke the military posts of Mu Yunping’s relatives and allies, and to richly reward the meritorious soldiers of the battle at Jianmen Pass. With the Jiannan region’s authority still in a vacuum, Ren Yao’s military rank rose rapidly, and there were signs that she would absorb the remnants of Mu Yunping’s former power.

After receiving the imperial decree, Ren Yao took her grandmother and set out from Jianmen Pass toward Yizhou. The decree had arrived urgently, and she had no time to bid proper farewells to her comrades; she set out in haste. As she passed through the narrow gorge of Jianmen, she could not help but look back at the sheer cliff walls and the majestic fortress of Jianmen behind her.

In barely half a year, she had gone from a condemned subject banished to the frontier to a meritorious hero of great loyalty and valor. How absurd, the twists and turns of one life.

Grandmother had been right. The old horse that seemed a loss had been no loss at all. There was no need to brood over momentary gains and losses; she only needed to always be her best self. Wherever she fell, she would rise from that same place.

“Ren Yao.” Jiang Ling was helping Ren Yao’s grandmother into the carriage and waved to her from ahead. “Time to go.”

Ren Yao waved her spear in a flourish, then slung it behind her back with the ease of greeting an old friend, and quickened her steps: “Coming.”

Her stride was light and quick as she went toward her loved ones and her companion, unafraid, heading straight into an uncertain future.

·

By the sixth month, the Jiannan rebellion had been largely pacified. In those six months, Chang’an had been consumed with the change of thrones, the elimination of the remaining factions of Empress Wei and Princess Anle, and had had no time to attend to the outlying provinces. It was entirely because Li Huazhang had held things in check that Jiannan had not descended into complete chaos.

By the time the court was finally free to turn its attention to the matter of the Jiannan Military Governor, the situation in Jiannan had largely stabilized. The Emperor looked over the densely packed battle reports and sighed: “The Second Son is a good child. If not for him, the revolt of Prince Qiao would have caused immeasurable suffering to the common people. He has worked hard outside these many years. Summon him back quickly. As his uncle, I enjoy ease here in Chang’an while my nephew toils outside — how can such a thing be? There is no shortage of places for him here in Chang’an; when he returns, he can share some of the burden with the Third Son.”

The court’s summons was quickly delivered to Shangzhou. Since the Emperor had given his command, Li Huazhang did not dare to delay; he finished settling the remaining affairs in Jiannan, then set out with Ming Huashang to return to the capital.

Traveling was exhausting. Unwilling to tire Ming Huashang too much, Li Huazhang planned to return to the residence first to rest for a night, and then enter the palace to have an audience with the Emperor the next day. Their return to Chang’an was therefore very low-key, not alerting anyone. After the convoy passed through the Changxia Gate, it proceeded quietly toward the Prince Yong’s residence.

Even so, they had underestimated how swiftly news traveled in Chang’an. The two arrived at the residence at midday, and by mid-afternoon the gate attendant was already reporting a distinguished visitor.

Li Huazhang was initially inclined to decline to receive anyone, but Ming Huashang persuaded him: “She is your aunt, after all. It would be improper to turn her away. We should see her.”

Li Huazhang looked at her — pale-faced yet still thinking on his behalf — and said, resigned: “Very well. I’ll go and see her. You don’t need to come out if you’d rather not receive a guest.”

Ming Huashang’s gaze flickered. How did he know she didn’t want to see Princess Taiping? She looked at Li Huazhang — even just returned from a long journey, his complexion was still snow-white, without a trace of travel dust. His figure was tall and upright, a jade belt cinching his sea-blue round-collar robe at the waist. He was the very image of jade resting in still water, of a pure wind floating among returning snow.

He was watching her too. His eyes were as calm and clear as a lake — there seemed to be something in their depths she could not quite decipher. Ming Huashang chose not to look too deeply, and smiled: “All right.”

Li Huazhang changed his clothes and went to the front hall. Princess Taiping had already drunk half a cup of tea. With the power she now commanded, few people dared to keep her waiting — but Princess Taiping showed not the slightest impatience. Seeing Li Huazhang enter, she smiled and rose to greet him: “Second Son, you’re back. Let your aunt take a look at you — you seem thinner still. You’ve suffered, haven’t you, out there these past months.”

Li Huazhang sidestepped Princess Taiping’s reaching hand and bowed to her properly: “I pay my respects, Aunt. Following the court’s orders is no hardship.”

Princess Taiping’s hand found only air. She was momentarily taken aback, then unobtrusively withdrew it, and said with a smile: “You child — still so punctilious. We’re family; there’s no need to be so distant.”

“I would not presume.” Li Huazhang remained indifferent and composed. “Please, Aunt, be seated.”

Princess Taiping smiled and returned to her seat with an unhurried air. Once both of them were settled, Princess Taiping picked up her teacup, let her slender, tapered fingernails drift over the surface of the tea, and said, as though in passing: “Second Son — now that you’ve returned, what are your plans?”

Li Huazhang said: “No particular plans. I will follow the court’s arrangements in all things.”

Princess Taiping smiled: “You child — isn’t the court arranged by people? In my view, now that you’re back, you should stay and not go again. What province could compare to Chang’an? When Empress Wei transferred you to Shangzhou, I was very displeased. But the Third Son was confused and blindly trusted that wife and daughter of his — and in the end, didn’t those two destroy him? After what I’ve been through, I’ve understood at last: power must be held by people you trust. Otherwise, if something happens, there’s no one to turn to.”

Li Huazhang fell quiet for a moment, then abandoned the pretense of pointless sparring with Princess Taiping and asked directly: “Aunt, whatever it is you want to say, please say it plainly. My wife is unwell, and I would like to return to her side soon.”

Princess Taiping’s smile stiffened briefly. Li Huazhang was always like this — direct and blunt, with no feel for pleasantries. She lowered her eyes and smiled, and since there was no point in wasting time, said without further preamble: “I still say the same: what are your plans for the future? Surely you don’t intend to spend your whole life as a frontier prince, fighting for the court and solving its crises?”

Li Huazhang raised an eyebrow and countered: “What would be wrong with that?”

Princess Taiping lifted her eyes. The light in them was sharp and calculating: “Are you truly content? Your abilities are inferior to no one’s. Why should you rank below others, subject to another’s orders all your life? Your grandfather was an Emperor, your grandmother was an Emperor, your father was Crown Prince, both your uncles have reigned — have you never thought that you too could rule all under heaven?”

Li Huazhang looked steadily at Princess Taiping. She took this for a sign that she had moved him, and pressed further: “Don’t worry — I will help you. Unless I am mistaken, the Xuan Xiaowei should be in your hands. I had originally assumed that with your mother’s death and the tiger-seal missing, the Xuan Xiaowei would inevitably scatter and disperse, and I could take them for my own use. But though the Xuan Xiaowei kept a low profile, there was a clear order within them — and from that I guessed the tiger-seal had changed hands. The identities of your mother’s most trusted people were not entirely clear even to me; I had long been searching for who that person behind the scenes was — and it turns out it was you.”

Princess Taiping let out a short, self-deprecating laugh: “To think your mother trusted you so completely — all those years I had so confidently believed she relied on me most of all. Perhaps this was destiny. The Xuan Xiaowei was established by me, and now it is in your hands. It seems heaven has ordained that we should cooperate. Your mother left the Xuan Xiaowei to you, which shows she regarded you as her heir. We should join forces to reclaim the imperial throne, and not disappoint your mother’s expectations.”

Princess Taiping grew animated as she spoke; the light in her eyes blazed, her ambition fierce and ardent, almost tangible — almost too intense to look upon directly. Li Huazhang averted his gaze, and let out a contemptuous laugh.

How familiar this scene was. Back in the first year of Jinglong, in the Shangyang Palace, the Empress Regnant had said something very similar to him. Different person, different time, different place — the one thing they had in common was that neither truly acknowledged him. Both wished only to use him.

The Empress Regnant had wanted to use him to restore her dynasty to power. Now, Princess Taiping wanted to use him to topple the Crown Prince. A man who held no right of succession, yet bore the glorious name of the beloved Crown Prince’s heir — a name celebrated throughout the empire, held aloft reverently by the entire court — what a conveniently useful instrument he made.

Li Huazhang suddenly felt overwhelming exhaustion. When he had once read history, he had thought those rulers who fought over power and profit while caring nothing for the welfare of the realm must have had poor character, shallow learning, or no honest advisers around them. Now he understood: it had nothing to do with character. The moment a person ascended the throne, they were transformed into a monster of power.

He had watched with his own eyes as his grandmother and his uncles took that road. Now, it was his aunt’s turn.

In his ears, Princess Taiping was still going on eagerly; she grew more and more agitated, seized Li Huazhang by the arm, and said: “This time you have achieved great merit in Jiannan — this is the perfect moment. Tomorrow I’ll accompany you into the palace to see the Emperor. You won’t need to say much; I will speak on your behalf and request that you be granted…”

Li Huazhang cut her off: “Aunt — that won’t be necessary. Resolving the Jiannan Military Governor’s crisis was the combined effort of many people; it was far from my achievement alone. Without Xie Jichuan here in Chang’an speaking on my behalf and delivering the imperial decree to mobilize troops in time, without Ren Yao and Jiang Ling holding back the enemy at Jianmen Pass, without the full assistance of the Military Governor of Longxi, and without my wife removing my greatest concern from behind, the Jiannan crisis would not be what it is today. That Mu Yunping and Prince Qiao caused no greater disaster is a stroke of immense fortune. But such fortune will not favor the Tang Dynasty every time. At the root of it all, it was the scheming of the imperial family that led Mu Yunping to get involved in a struggle for the throne among imperial sons, and what followed was him being driven into a position where rebellion was his only option. All of this disaster originated with the Li family; the Li family owes an apology to all living under heaven. What right do I have to demand that the court award me?”

Princess Taiping raised an eyebrow, unable to follow Li Huazhang’s thinking at all: “Nothing unmanageable happened in the end, did it? Why torment yourself with guilt? I have never met anyone so uneager even to claim their own credit. Don’t worry — with me here, I will not allow anyone to steal your merit.”

The “someone” in Princess Taiping’s remark could, broadly speaking, be taken as a reference to the Crown Prince. Li Huazhang had no more patience remaining; his expression turned cold: “I have no use for your aunt’s kindness. The Crown Prince, though young, has strategic vision and handles affairs with discipline — he will be an excellent ruler. My only wish in this life is to spend it at my wife’s side. I have no desire to waste the light of my days on matters that do not concern me, nor on people I owe nothing to. Tomorrow, when I have my audience, I will personally request permission from the Emperor to go to Youzhou. My wife is still unwell. I will not keep you any longer, Aunt. Please.”

Princess Taiping stormed out in fury. In the back courtyard, Ming Huashang heard everything that had transpired in the front hall, and after a moment said: “Your words were rather harsh. She is your aunt, after all.”

“And what of it?” Li Huazhang reached out and felt Ming Huashang’s forehead, confirmed she had not developed a fever, and set his mind at ease. He brought her the cooling herbal medicine and said: “I made myself clear: if anyone means you harm, I will see it through to the very end with them. She once contemplated having you assassinated in order to protect me. By trampling on everything I love in that way, why should I still observe the civilities of kinship with her?”

Ming Huashang was briefly stunned and looked closely at Li Huazhang, almost wondering whether he knew about the prophetic dream she had once had. But that seemed unlikely — she had never told anyone. How could Li Huazhang know?

While she was lost in thought, she accidentally swallowed a large mouthful of the herbal medicine and nearly spat it back out. As she drank water from Li Huazhang’s hand to wash it down, she said: “Nothing happened to me, did it? Princess Taiping holds enormous power in the court — offending her cannot be good.”

Li Huazhang gently brushed the damp hair from her temple; his gaze drifted somewhere distant, as though celebrating a good fortune or dreading a near-miss: “Thank the heavens nothing happened to you. Sometimes in my dreams I have the feeling that I once lost you.”

Ming Huashang felt a sharp twitch in her heart, and kept her head down, drinking her medicine, pretending she had not heard Li Huazhang’s words. Mercifully, Li Huazhang did not press further, and continued feeding her the medicine with patient care.

When she had finally struggled through the whole bowl, Ming Huashang collapsed against the couch, feigning illness and negotiating with Li Huazhang — demanding a large bowl of shaved ice. Then a servant suddenly came again to report that a guest had arrived from the Eastern Palace.

Li Huazhang showed no reaction, and was about to have the servant send his apologies, when Ming Huashang did a sudden carp-flip and sat bolt upright: “Go quickly. I need to rest.”

Li Huazhang frowned at her, then repeated his point without much hope of it landing: “You nearly had heatstroke. You should eat light, plain things. No cold food.”

Ming Huashang nodded vigorously: “I understand.”

She was absolutely going to eat the shaved ice.

Li Huazhang left, looking back at her every few steps. Worried for Ming Huashang, he could not help feeling a flicker of irritation toward this uninvited visitor. He crossed the corridor, and from a distance he could already make out a blue-robed figure drinking tea. The person heard the footsteps and turned back; seeing Li Huazhang’s expression, he raised an eyebrow and said with a smile: “I know I am unwelcome, but you needn’t look quite so aggrieved.”

Li Huazhang didn’t even bother with pleasantries: “Do you need something?”

“Can’t I come for no reason?”

Li Huazhang turned on his heel to leave. Xie Jichuan hurried to stop him: “Wait, wait — it’s blazing hot outside, and it wasn’t easy for me to come all this way. At least let me finish what I have to say, so I don’t have to come back a second time.”

Li Huazhang gave him a look and said flatly: “You’re not particularly discreet about it.”

Xie Jichuan calmly skimmed his tea: “Princess Taiping just left, and here I am. Even if I come up with a dozen excuses, you’ll still see through my purpose. Why bother?”

Li Huazhang stood where he was without moving: “I thought we had already made ourselves clear last time.”

Xie Jichuan took a sip of tea and said in an unhurried tone: “Last time, I was asking for myself. This time, the Crown Prince wishes to ask. What kind of tea is this? A distinguished estate like Prince Yong’s residence, and you receive guests with leaves this poor in quality?”

Li Huazhang understood that this conversation was not going to end quickly. He walked slowly to the seat of honor and sat down, straightened his sleeve, and said mildly: “It might also be that receiving you doesn’t warrant particularly good tea.”

Xie Jichuan’s eyebrow shifted. He set down his teacup with a faint, humorless sound: “You always know how to say the perfect thing. No wonder Princess Taiping’s face looked so unpleasant when she left.”

Li Huazhang gave a bland riposte: “Your intelligence really is well-informed.”

“Not at all — I would not dare to show off before you. It is simply that Prince Yong is returning to Chang’an; a matter this significant, the Eastern Palace cannot afford not to take notice.”

“There is no need to sound me out. What I told you before was spoken with sincerity.” Li Huazhang said: “Though the Jiannan crisis was resolved smoothly, I was frightened all along when I wrote to ask the Military Governor of Longxi to help send troops. What if he refused? What if he was in league with the Jiannan Military Governor and turned on us at the critical moment?”

“The Military Governor of Longxi is a loyal subject. He would not have refused,” Xie Jichuan said. “Otherwise, the Empress Regnant would not have placed him in Longxi.”

“But that it was necessary to use one military governor’s hand to counterbalance another — that in itself is the greatest danger.” Li Huazhang said. “What if one day the court grows weak, and they no longer obey its commands?”

Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow, his expression still cool and composed: “Then one can play them against each other — provoke mutual hostilities, and have the court serve as the mediator to maintain balance, which would preserve the stability of the realm.”

“A realm preserved in that way is the realm of the Emperor and the Chancellor — not the realm of the people.” Li Huazhang said. “If that day truly comes and the military governors go to war with one another, the common people will have no rest. This campaign in Jiannan has made me keenly aware of how it feels to be at the mercy of others. Rather than hoping that outside parties will come to our aid every single time, it would be better to hold the choices ourselves.”

Xie Jichuan was somewhat surprised, and raised his eyebrows: “You mean to…”

The wind passed through the window frame, and the faint scent of old ink, lingering from years long past, spread subtly through the air. Li Huazhang sat within that quiet fragrance, the plaque inscribed “Virtue Proclaimed in Fragrance” behind him still in the hand of Crown Prince Zhanghuai himself. His manner was relaxed and his gaze like mountain snow stretching under open skies — transparent and honest through and through: “Huashang and I talked it over on the road. Whether or not we have any ambition for the throne, as long as we remain in Chang’an, the ambitious will never give up. Rather than leaving every minister in the court too afraid to wholeheartedly serve the Crown Prince, it is better for us to step away from this vortex and go far north, to Youzhou. Once we have left, with the Crown Prince’s abilities and your talents, the realm will unify, the laws will reach all corners, and none will fail to obey. Tomorrow when I have my audience, I will personally request that the Emperor permit me to serve as Military Governor of Youzhou. From that day forward, should Chang’an ever be in danger, I swear to ride a thousand li to its aid.”

Xie Jichuan pressed his lips together. He had come on the Crown Prince’s orders to sound out Li Huazhang, but now that he had obtained the answer the Crown Prince had hoped for, he found no joy in it. He said: “But all your family is in Chang’an. If you leave like this, what of them?”

“Huashang and I have long since made our plan.” Li Huazhang said. “She grew up at Duke Zhenguo’s side, cherished by her father and brothers. But Ming Yuji had been out in the world alone, tasting the coldness of human nature. From now on, it should be her turn to venture out and make her way. The title, estate, and wealth of Duke Zhenguo’s residence will go entirely to Ming Yuji, to be disposed of as she sees fit. If Ming Yuji wishes to remain in Chang’an and look after Duke Zhenguo, she may stay. If she is unwilling, then Huashang and I will welcome the Duke to Youzhou, and care for him through his final years.”

Xie Jichuan’s lips parted as if to say more, but in the end he recognized the futility of it. Li Huazhang, in order to allow the Crown Prince to win the hearts of the realm, was voluntarily departing for Youzhou to make his stance clear. This was the best possible outcome — the two of them would not be driven to destruction; the Crown Prince could ascend in peace; and the frontier would be secured. The Eastern Palace stood to gain both in substance and in face. For him to urge Li Huazhang to stay now would only be empty pretense.

Why was it that, despite his reason telling him this could not be more perfect, his heart still ached?

For the first time in his life, Xie Jichuan found himself with nothing to say. He sat quietly for a long while, then stood and bowed to Li Huazhang. All he could offer were these thin words: “Take care.”

With that, Xie Jichuan turned and walked out. Li Huazhang called after him, speaking from across the shadows cast by the corridor trees: “Don’t forget the promise you made. From now on — I will serve as a general beyond the frontier, guarding the borders; you will serve as Chancellor at court, assisting the ruler, implementing benevolent governance. Together we will build a peaceful, prosperous age. Only then will we have done justice to the ten years we spent studying side by side, and to having known each other at all.”

Xie Jichuan’s footstep paused almost imperceptibly. The tree leaves rustled above him. He suddenly recalled: back in Shangzhou, also in a quiet corridor with no one around, he had persuaded Li Huazhang to claim the throne — and Li Huazhang had refused to take it. Xie Jichuan had been somewhat angry then, and said sharply: “But how do you know that if you step back, others will appreciate it? If you don’t hold a position of power, everything you’ve done is wishful thinking. What if the next person in authority is foolish and suspicious — you won’t even be able to protect yourself, let alone speak of a peaceful realm?”

Snow had fallen in drifting silence. Li Huazhang had stood with his hands clasped behind his back before the carved balustrade, watching Ming Huashang and Jiang Ling at their lively back-and-forth. A gust of wind had carried snow through the courtyard; Li Huazhang had turned at that exact moment, and a snowflake had landed on his lashes. His expression held a gravity he had never shown before as he said to Xie Jichuan: “Which is why I ask this of you. Return to Chang’an and seek out a worthy master. Bring your talents to bear. Make certain you hold a position of influence — to open the path for those of humble birth, to put every worthy and talented person in the right place, to ensure that good generals serving in the provinces are not subjected to baseless suspicion.”

Xie Jichuan had narrowed his eyes. The two had talked for so long, and much of it had not been pleasant — yet that one moment had stirred him with something like anger: “Is this… your way of drawing a line between us?”

“Not at all.” Li Huazhang had smiled the way he had as a boy, and clapped his shoulder the way he had in those days, saying: “Remember how we used to write essays? You always wanted to be a renowned minister of the age, and I always wanted to travel a thousand li. Perhaps it was fated all along. Chang’an does not need Prince Yong — but the vast provinces beyond need many capable officials and wise governors. Only when someone like you is in the court can I rest easy out there, defending and expanding the Tang Dynasty’s borders.”

When Ming Huashang had been getting the worst of it against Jiang Ling and was gradually losing ground, Li Huazhang had openly sided with her against Xie Jichuan. As the two brushed past each other in passing, Li Huazhang had said softly: “From now on, I entrust everything to you.”

My safety — I leave in your hands entirely.

Those words had been spoken then, and they still echoed in his ears now. Xie Jichuan had thought Li Huazhang was only speaking lightly, never imagining he would truly go — and go as far away as Youzhou.

Xie Jichuan did not turn back. His voice was cold: “Everyone is responsible for their own safety. I can’t manage yours. Youzhou is remote and sees frequent warfare. Watch yourself. Don’t die out there.”

Li Huazhang’s quiet laugh came from behind him: “All right.”

In the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince heard that Li Huazhang wished to go to Youzhou as Military Governor, and was momentarily stunned. He understood Li Huazhang’s intent in an instant. He was silent for a long while, and then let out a long sigh: “Second Brother’s nobility shames me. I see now that I had misjudged him.”

The Crown Prince was deeply moved by the concession Li Huazhang had made. He held legal succession, and had Xie Jichuan as his adviser; as long as Li Huazhang did not involve himself in the struggle for the throne, Princess Taiping would be no match for the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince felt deeply ashamed of his own conduct, and declared: “Second Brother has rendered great service to the realm, to the dynasty, and to the Li family. After his departure, the Prince Yong’s residence is to be attended to without any neglect, and Duke Zhenguo’s residence is to be given every care.”

Xie Jichuan stood alongside the Crown Prince’s attendants and officials, lowered his eyes, and clasped his hands: “Understood.”

Li Huazhang was a man of his word. Early the next morning, he went to the palace and told the Emperor of his intention to go to Youzhou. The Emperor was deeply reluctant to hear that Li Huazhang wanted to leave again so soon: “You’ve barely been home a few days, and you want to leave again? If you want to go somewhere to practice your hand at governance, I’ll find you a place near Chang’an. Why go all the way to Youzhou?”

Li Huazhang bowed: “It is precisely because it is remote and distant that it needs me to extend the influence of Han culture and implement the Tang Dynasty’s governance. Your Majesty — Mu Yunping’s case is a warning that cannot be ignored. I urge Your Majesty to keep close watch on the military governors of the various circuits, lest you allow a tiger to grow too powerful, and see it become a calamity in time.”

The Emperor understood that Li Huazhang was choosing not to get involved in the court’s struggle between the Crown Prince and Princess Taiping, and was voluntarily stepping aside to make way for his son. He felt a complicated mix of emotions — this child was too much like his second elder brother. His second elder brother had lived by the virtues of a gentleman throughout his life and yet had not come to a good end. He could not allow Li Huazhang to tread the same path as his second elder brother.

Perhaps going to Youzhou — far from Chang’an, that tangle of right and wrong — where he could give full rein to his ambitions and put his gifts to their fullest use, was the best outcome for a man of true virtue.

The Emperor no longer pressed Li Huazhang to remain in Chang’an, and sighed: “You child — you always know your own mind. If this is your decision, then go. When do you plan to return?”

Li Huazhang raised his hands and bowed deeply before the figure seated on high: “When there is peace under heaven, I will return.”

·

With the Emperor’s blessing and the Crown Prince’s declaration that the Six Ministries were to prioritize Prince Yong’s needs above all else, Li Huazhang’s orders of appointment were quickly obtained. On the day of departure, the Crown Prince led the civil and military officials out of the city to see them off. Li Huazhang remained at the front to exchange words with everyone, while Ming Huashang slipped away from the social obligations and went to bid farewell to Duke Zhenguo.

Ming Yuji was supporting Duke Zhenguo, and had been grumbling for several days now: “Why do you have to go somewhere so far away? It’s all Li Huazhang’s fault. If I’d known it would come to this, I would never have let Second Sister marry him.”

Su Xingzhi had accompanied Duke Zhenguo’s household today as well. On hearing Ming Yuji’s words, he said with helpless resignation: “Yuji, they are husband and wife. Please stop making things difficult.”

Ming Huashang smiled and said: “Don’t blame him — I’m the one who wants to go and see the wider world. Sister, from now on, matters at home will depend greatly on you and Brother Su.”

Ming Yuji gave Ming Huashang a look and said: “Depend on him for what? What in this household doesn’t go the way I decide?”

“You’re right, you’re right — I apologize.” Ming Huashang immediately conceded. “It’s all in your hands from here on, Sister. When the Censorate isn’t too busy, bring Father and Brother Su to Youzhou and we’ll go together to see the grasslands beyond the frontier.”

Earlier that year, after Xie Jichuan, Ren Yao, and Jiang Ling had departed one after another, Ming Yuji had stayed to keep her company for a few days, then hurried back to look after Duke Zhenguo. Since then, Su Xingzhi had been a constant presence at Ming Yuji’s side. The two of them — part couple, part siblings in manner — Ming Yuji had never brought up the subject with Ming Huashang, so Ming Huashang had not asked what they were to each other. She assumed that when Ming Yuji was ready to acknowledge it, she would tell her.

Su Xingzhi was about to respond when Ming Yuji snorted in disdain: “Why do I need to wait for him? Father and I have time whenever we like. Why should I have to accommodate his schedule and end up inconvenienced by him?”

Even Ming Huashang, nimble and adaptable as she was, found herself with nothing to say. Su Xingzhi showed no anger or frustration, and offered readily: “Yuji is right. Time is rarely easy to come by at the Censorate. If we wait for me, many things may be put off. Prince Yong’s Consort, whenever you find yourself missing home, just send word and I will arrange for an escort to bring Duke Zhenguo and Yuji to Youzhou.”

Before Ming Huashang could get a word in, Ming Yuji said exactly as expected: “Why do you need to arrange it? Can’t I arrange it myself?”

Duke Zhenguo burst out laughing and said: “All right, all right — this is no matter to trouble the young ones over. I will arrange it. Huashang — the Crown Prince and the Second Son are waiting over there. You should go. Go to Youzhou and govern it well, solve your cases, and do your work with distinction. Your father will be waiting at home, looking forward to news of your fame spreading throughout the realm.”

Ming Huashang had already said her farewells in private and knew this was only a temporary parting — that they would certainly meet again. But when the moment truly came, she still felt something lodge in her throat. She forced back the tears brimming in her eyes with all her might, raised her hands, and bowed to Duke Zhenguo and Ming Yuji with gravity and reverence: “I am leaving. Father, Sister — take care.”

Duke Zhenguo patted her hair gently and urged her toward the carriage. Ming Huashang left with three backward glances for every two steps. Ming Yuji supported Duke Zhenguo and waved to her without stopping. Su Xingzhi stood quietly at Ming Yuji’s side, watching her depart with them. Then suddenly, her hand was taken in a grasp — long-fingered and strong. She turned back and saw Li Huazhang; he stood in the sunlight, the sun-and-moon embroidery on his shoulders gleaming brilliantly in gold, his features refined and striking, singularly handsome.

Li Huazhang looked at her with patient, tender eyes, his gaze as if to tell her: there was no rush; if she was reluctant, she could stay a little longer with her family. Ming Huashang drew a deep breath, looked up to meet him with a smile, and said firmly: “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Li Huazhang answered softly, then turned back toward Duke Zhenguo’s direction and bowed low and solemnly. Ming Huashang bowed alongside Li Huazhang, bidding farewell to her father.

Duke Zhenguo watched this, and his eyes grew wet without his willing it. He still remembered when he had first taken Li Huazhang into his arms — no longer than his forearm, the boy — and placed him beside Ming Huashang; two infants, both frail, crying softly as kittens. In the blink of an eye, they had grown into a young man and a young woman, with wings and with ideals, ready to explore the skies that were theirs — no longer needing his protection.

How wonderful. All three children had grown into their finest selves. In that, he had not failed the Crown Prince.

Duke Zhenguo’s eyes were wet, but he was still smiling, gesturing to Ming Huashang to get into the carriage quickly. Ming Yuji and Su Xingzhi stood beside him in silent companionship.

Li Huazhang helped Ming Huashang into the carriage, counted the convoy, and then swung himself into the saddle. He looked back toward the city gates; the Crown Prince, Xie Jichuan, and the others all stood below the walls — vast and silent.

He thought of the question Xie Jichuan had asked him in a private moment just before. Xie Jichuan had asked: “Once you have relinquished power, are you not afraid that I, or the Crown Prince, will go back on our word and send people to kill you?”

There had been an interruption before Li Huazhang could answer. Now, on horseback, he looked across the distance and bowed to the Crown Prince from the saddle. The Crown Prince returned the bow promptly — clasping his hands in a salute. Everything was said without words.

Li Huazhang’s answer was: no.

The Tang Dynasty had been torn by internal strife for far too long — from the end of Emperor Gaozong’s reign, to Empress Wu’s usurpation of the Tang, to Emperor Zhongzong’s restoration, to Empress Wei’s misrule. After the hard-won ascension of Prince Xiang, Princess Taiping had stirred up yet another struggle over the succession. Too many ambitious figures had taken the stage, one after another in their turn — but Li Huazhang believed that there were still men of vision who could rise above personal gain and faction, and make decisions that were genuinely beneficial to the nation as a whole.

Even through this long age of turbulence, the court had never lacked such people — Prefect Di, Xie Jichuan, Ren Yao, Jiang Ling, Su Xingzhi, Han Jie, Yu Qiong… and those without name or fame, yet to be known — there would only be more of them.

The Empress Regnant had been truly gifted at recognizing talent. She had discovered and cultivated a great many people for the court. The Tang Dynasty lacked neither talented individuals nor statesmen who worried for the nation and its people. To reach a golden age, perhaps all that remained was a relay race run with one heart.

If his own departure could bring that day closer, he embraced it willingly.

Li Huazhang and the Crown Prince looked at each other across the distance. Li Huazhang smiled quietly and urged his horse forward. The Crown Prince, too, made no great performance of the moment.

This was their silent covenant. The covenant of two men of principle — they would not meet again, each keeping his own domain. The Crown Prince would remain at court as Emperor, leading the Tang Dynasty into an age of peace and prosperity, bringing harmony to all under heaven. As long as he could achieve that, Li Huazhang would gladly serve as his subject, guarding the northern frontier for the court for the rest of his life.

Li Huazhang believed that a ruler worthy of a golden age would have that kind of magnanimity.

When would he return?

When there is peace under heaven, he would return.

— The main story of “Twin Jades” is complete.