Gao Xining had already been away for quite some time. She worried that if she delayed any longer, her grandfather would truly make her stand in the courtyard for a full hour as punishment — his mood had been poor of late, and she had no desire to provoke him further.

Principal Gao was the foremost Confucian scholar of the age, and Prince Yu’s faction had naturally been doing everything in their power to draw him in. Given the principal’s standing among the literati of Dachu, if he were to lend his full support, one word from him would send the scholarly class rallying in response — or so Prince Yu had convinced himself.

Prince Yu was in desperate need of men right now, military officers and civil officials alike, and naturally the more the better.

That was precisely what weighed so heavily on Principal Gao. Here in Jizhou, if he refused to comply with Prince Yu’s wishes, he would inevitably become a target. Were it only himself, he would feel no fear. But his granddaughter was at his side — how could he not be torn?

And yet if he obeyed Prince Yu’s commands, he might well become a sinner condemned by history. How many generations of people would curse his name? He had spent his entire life in pursuit of a spotless reputation, and now he stood to end it in ruin and disgrace.

A girl as bright and perceptive as Gao Xining had naturally worked out why her grandfather was so burdened with worry. But there was nothing she could do to help. In fact, she had urged Principal Gao long ago — very long ago — to leave Jizhou. If they stayed, he would certainly be exploited by Prince Yu.

Yet the Four-Page Academy was the work of a lifetime. How could he bring himself to leave? Even as Gao Xining urged him, her own heart had been wracked with reluctance, for if they left Jizhou, she would rarely see Li Chi again.

She had urged him all the same. If they left Jizhou, seeing Li Chi again would be difficult — but if they stayed, her grandfather might die an unnatural death. Her pleading had been useless, however. That was Principal Gao’s nature: irresolute, unwilling to serve Prince Yu and yet unwilling to leave Jizhou.

She was so young, and already carrying such heavy burdens on her heart — though she would not speak of them to anyone, least of all to Li Chi.

She said her farewells to Lady Sun and the others, and Li Chi went to see her off. The young girl Xia Xi, watching the two of them together, began to doubt her own judgment all over again, and her curiosity about Li Chi deepened further.

She asked Lady Sun about him. Lady Sun spoke of Li Chi in nothing but glowing terms, which Xia Xi was quite certain was all exaggeration — all false, it was definitely all false.

On the walk back, Gao Xining kept up her bright, cheerful manner, but Li Chi had already begun to sense, in some vague half-formed way, that she was carrying something heavy. He wanted to ask, but didn’t know where to begin.

“Hey, you…”

Gao Xining walked on a little, then suddenly turned to look at Li Chi with a smile. “Have you ever thought about it — if someday I couldn’t see you anymore, what would you do? About… about your own marriage prospects?”

Li Chi started. A sudden panic rose in his chest, his heart accelerating, a fear unlike anything he had felt before spreading through him — from deep inside outward, until even his hands trembled faintly and involuntarily in that single instant.

“Is… is Principal Gao planning to leave Jizhou?”

Li Chi asked, careful and tentative.

Gao Xining kept smiling, doing her best to appear at ease.

“No, nothing like that — I just thought of it suddenly. I was wondering what a silly creature like you would do if it came to that, and what a hopeless matchmaker I’ve been… I’ve spent more than a year and haven’t managed to arrange a single match for you.”

She smiled and looked Li Chi up and down. “Though it’s a relief you’re not too terrible-looking, and not short either, so I suppose you won’t have too much trouble finding a wife.”

Li Chi spoke before he could stop himself. “Then marry me.”

Gao Xining froze. The maidservant Ruoling’s eyes went wide. She looked at Li Chi with something close to admiration — this silly boy had actually managed to say the right thing today? Her heart gave a small leap of delight; she thought, surely Miss should just say yes to this fool. The girl was young and inexperienced, her thinking simple and hopeful. She longed for Miss to say yes — but forgot that saying yes was anything but easy for Gao Xining.

Gao Xining laughed harder than before, and as she laughed her eyes began to go faintly red. She looked at Li Chi and said, “You’ve got some nerve, trying to flirt with this matchmaker. What do you want with a matchmaker as a wife? How foolish can you be.”

Li Chi saw the ache beneath her laughter.

“Then — then let me find a way to help Principal Gao leave Jizhou,” he said.

Even as he said it, he understood: if Principal Gao’s family left Jizhou, meeting again would be difficult.

Gao Xining already knew Li Chi had grasped what was in her heart, just as she had grasped what was in his. But she also knew her grandfather’s stubbornness well. The Four-Page Academy meant more to him than his own life — if he had been willing to leave Jizhou, he would have left long since.

“Thank you. Hey, you.”

Gao Xining smiled and turned her head away, unwilling to let Li Chi see the tears gathering in her eyes.

“I’m almost—”

She was about to say *I’m almost home, you don’t have to walk me the rest of the way* — but the words never came.

At the entrance to the academy, they found it lined with armored soldiers on guard, with ranks of troops arrayed even along the street outside. Li Chi and his companions, just turning the corner from the alley, took one look at the scene and stood bewildered.

Li Chi pulled Gao Xining back into the alley and shook his head — *wait*.

Presently, a carriage came out of the academy. Both curtained windows on either side were open, and as it passed, they could see Principal Gao sitting inside, looking back and forth as if scanning for something, his expression urgent.

Li Chi understood at once what the principal meant by opening those windows. He had Gao Xining retreat a few steps back, then stepped alone to the edge of the road. The moment Principal Gao spotted him, his eyes went wide — he seemed to want to say something, but with armored soldiers on both sides of the carriage, he could not open his mouth. Instead, he abruptly clasped his fists toward Li Chi in a formal salute.

Li Chi understood immediately. He gave a small nod, then raised his hand and pressed it gently downward — *be at ease*.

Principal Gao understood. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile. He nodded back at Li Chi, and in that instant, Li Chi saw on his face a look of relief.

Li Chi returned to the alley and said to Gao Xining, “Don’t go home yet. You and Miss Ruoling come to my place — not the carriage depot, my home. Understood?”

Gao Xining nodded at once. “I understand.”

He added one more thing: “Don’t go anywhere until I get back. I’m going to find out what’s happening. Above all, above all, do not go back to the academy — do not go home. I’ll bring whatever you need when I come back.”

Gao Xining and Ruoling turned and made their way off, keeping to the smaller streets.

Li Chi thought: if there was anyone who could tell him what was happening right now, it was Ye Zhangzhu. Without lingering, he headed straight for the wooden building in Jizhou City that served as the Azure Formation’s base, hoping to catch her there during the day, or perhaps at the office of military commissioner Zeng Ling — either way he would have to try his luck. If he couldn’t find her, he would go home and wait, for every night Ye Zhangzhu returned to sleep in the small courtyard he kept; in the daytime, Ruan Chen and Ruan Mu stood guard over Xiahou Zuo’s mother, while Ye Zhangzhu held the night watch.

He knew how anxious Gao Xining must be. He could not afford to wait until evening. He rushed first to the inn managed by the Azure Formation — Ye Zhangzhu was not there. He made inquiries about Military Commissioner Zeng Ling, and learned that Zeng Ling had gone to Youzhou, with no telling when he would return. The one piece of good news was that Ye Zhangzhu had not gone with him.

Li Chi hurried back to the small courtyard. He walked in to find Ye Zhangzhu and Xiahou Zuo’s mother already in the yard with Gao Xining and the others, all of them talking. The knot in his chest finally eased.

When Gao Xining saw Li Chi drenched in sweat, something ached in her. His clothes looked as though they had been soaked through entirely — one could imagine how much ground he had covered in these past hours.

“I’ve already found out.”

Ye Zhangzhu said to Li Chi, “Prince Yu has brought Principal Gao to the prince’s residence, saying he wants the principal to help write something. The person I asked wouldn’t say plainly what. I suspect he means to force Principal Gao to write a war proclamation. The principal is the foremost Confucian scholar of the age — his influence among the literati is virtually without equal. If a denunciation of the traitors comes from Principal Gao’s brush, all of Dachu will be shaken.”

Ye Zhangzhu continued, “There are two sides to this. First: if Principal Gao refuses to write it, the prince cannot simply move against him outright — he cannot afford the infamy of killing Principal Gao. The most he can do is coerce. Second: if Principal Gao agrees to write it, there is no immediate cause for alarm.”

She glanced at Li Chi, then at Gao Xining, and said, “For now, neither of you should act rashly. I’ll go and gather information. If anything happens, I will try to notify you as soon as possible.”

Li Chi clasped his hands in thanks. “Thank you, Madam Ye.”

“Since you’re back,” Ye Zhangzhu said, “I won’t delay any longer — I’ve been waiting for you. I’ll head back to the prince’s residence now. Remember, until I send word, take no action of any kind. Especially you, Miss Gao — do not leave here. You should understand: if you fell into the hands of the prince’s residence, your grandfather would have no chance at all.”

Gao Xining gave a vigorous nod.

Li Chi speculated to himself that Prince Yu had grown suddenly impatient, likely because Prince Wu’s Left Guard army had already marched out of Jizhou — and with the news of Military Commissioner Zeng Ling’s departure to Youzhou to meet with Luo Geng, that inference grew even more certain.

Prince Yu was losing his patience. He was about to make his move.

That was the conclusion Li Chi drew from the available information. What Li Chi did not know was that a fabricated message had arrived in Jizhou from the capital for Prince Yu, brought by a courier who had ridden in at breakneck speed to report: Crown Prince Yang Jing had been assassinated. He had not died on the spot, but was gravely wounded and not expected to survive. Even if he did pull through, he would be a cripple.

Yao Wuhen had been dispatched by Prince Yu to the capital precisely to assassinate Crown Prince Yang Jing, and now the report had come back — how could Prince Yu not be pleased?

In his mind, the old man could not hold on much longer, and the young one was gravely wounded as good as dead — the time to act had come.

Moreover, his plans were already unfolding step by step. Prince Wu’s army had left Jizhou, and — as predicted — Yu Chaozong had agreed to send troops to hold Daizhou Pass. With that, Prince Yu had nothing left to worry about from any direction.

He could almost see it already: in the not-so-distant future, himself clothed in imperial yellow dragon robes, stepping slowly up to take the throne.

At the prince’s residence, Prince Yu saw that Principal Gao had arrived and came out beaming to receive him personally. He took the principal’s hand warmly and said with great affability, “My apologies, Elder Gao — it was presumptuous of me to summon you here so abruptly. Please do not hold it against me.”

Principal Gao bowed and said promptly, “Your Highness has summoned me. How could I dare refuse?”

Prince Yu held the principal’s hand and walked with him into the courtyard, chatting as they went. “I had meant to invite young Xining to come as well — where is she?”

The principal’s heart contracted, but he smiled ruefully. “She’s a little wanderer, that one — off early in the morning without a word of where she was going. She likely won’t be home until evening.”

Prince Yu made a sound of acknowledgment, then glanced aside at the attendant near him. The guard understood immediately, stepped back, and slipped away.

—