Lu Shi attentively presented a cup of ginger tea, standing to the side with her hands lowered and her back slightly bowed. Watching me frown as I took a single sip, she quickly smiled and said, “Does the Princess Consort find the flavor too strong? This servant will have it brewed again at once.”

I waved my hand and asked coolly, “Have those two maidservants been properly settled?”

“This servant has already delivered the silver, and a suitable household has been arranged for Yuzhu. As for Xing’er, that ungrateful girl—” Lu Shi pursed her lips, about to say more, when I cut her off with a languid tone, “She served the Prince after all. She must not be treated poorly.”

“The Princess Consort is truly kind and generous — it is a blessing for us servants.” Lu Shi hurriedly bowed.

I smiled with a touch of self-mockery, finding the words kind and generous utterly ironic. Those two women had committed no great wrong, yet their lives were, for all intents and purposes, ruined. Like Helan Zhen severing his own wrist, from Xiao Qi’s perspective it was a deserved punishment, yet to his clanspeople, was it not equally an act of tragic and heroic sacrifice?

In private, I had asked Lu Shi about the matter, and learned that none of the concubines had ever borne children — and that this was no coincidence. Lu Shi told me that whenever a concubine was summoned to spend the night, the Prince always had medicine sent down afterward, likely because he considered concubines of too lowly a station to bear his heirs.

That explanation, I did not believe. Such conduct might not be strange among the sons of great aristocratic families, but it did not seem like something Xiao Qi would do.

This Lu Shi was a sharp-minded woman — quick-tongued and perceptive, always watching for the slightest shift in expression. Noticing that I had been asking about the Prince’s daily affairs, she snuck a glance at me and edged closer with a smile, lowering her voice to say, “These days, the Prince has been sleeping alone. Now that the Princess Consort has recovered, keeping him at a distance hardly seems right.”

I turned aside and coughed, trying to conceal the warmth rising in my face. But she grew even more brazen: “Even a blind person could see the Prince’s feelings for you. He comes every evening to check on you, even deep in the night, yet you won’t let him stay. Though the Princess Consort’s nature is chaste and virtuous, in matters between a husband and wife behind closed doors…”

I shot to my feet, the tips of my ears burning, and said coldly, “Lady Lu, you have held your position in this household for some years now. You ought to know that every word you speak sets an example for those beneath you. Mind your propriety.”

Lu Shi’s face cycled through shades of green and white as she retreated to one side, not daring to say another word. I frowned at her, sensing that this woman was inclined toward flattery and cunning — not someone who should remain by my side for long. The thought of dismissing her on the spot arose within me, yet considering her age and the days of service she had put in at the household, I found myself unable to bring myself to do it. After a moment of quiet deliberation, I gave nothing away and simply dismissed her.

Yet the heat in my cheeks and behind my ears lingered, slow to fade. Lu Shi’s words, crude and forward as they were, were not entirely without reason.

These past few days, Xiao Qi had grown ever busier — often gone the entire day, and the moment he returned, generals came and went in an endless stream of consultations. Even so, he still came to see me every evening, always spending at least a little while in conversation with me, and sometimes insisting on watching until I had peacefully fallen asleep before he left.

Since that night, he had not made a single untoward or importunate move toward me. Even in moments of tenderness, he never overstepped.

Even Yuxiu had once asked me, red-faced, why the Prince never stayed the night.

None of them understood, but I did — Xiao Qi was simply waiting. He was too proud a man to tolerate even the faintest trace of compulsion or reluctant compliance. In this, we were not so different. He was waiting for me to come to him of my own free will, to wipe away all traces of another’s shadow, just as he had said: “Between us, there is no one else.”

I stood motionless beneath the corridor, my heart filled with a restless, inexpressible ache — a hundred tangled feelings I could not name.

Xiao Qi would never understand. It was not simply someone else — it was Zidan. There was too much woven between Zidan and me. Even setting aside any romantic feeling, we were like siblings, like kindred spirits, two people who had shared those beautiful years together. Even if one single phrase like someone else could erase all of it cleanly, those memories carved into the fabric of my life — I feared those could never be erased, not in this lifetime.

That afternoon, just as I was about to rest for a while, a maidservant came hurrying in. “Your Highness, the Prince has just arrived at the residence. He requests that the Princess Consort come to the study at once.”

I was slightly startled. Since coming here, I had never once set foot in his study, and I felt a quiet unease stir within me.

Without pausing to fix my hair and makeup, I simply smoothed my temples and hurried off. All along the way, my thoughts were unsettled — I had a vague sense that something had happened.

Reaching the door of the study, I was too impatient and, without waiting for the guard to announce me, I pushed open the half-latched door and stepped straight in.

The moment I crossed the threshold, I froze. There were others in the room. Xiao Qi stood with his hands behind his back, his full attention fixed on a large map spread before him. To his left and right each stood a general, both of whom startled when they saw me enter.

Realizing I had intruded on their discussion, I offered an apologetic smile, turned, and stepped back out.

Then I heard Xiao Qi’s voice from behind me — beneath the authority, there was a faint note of amusement. “And where are you going?”

I had no choice but to turn back around and walk in composedly, giving a small nod and smile to the two generals. The broad-shouldered man on the left, with his thick, dark beard, stared at me blankly for a moment, then hastily lowered his head, looking flustered. The young general on the right, tall and refined in bearing, did not avert his gaze at all — instead, between his elegant brows, a look of open, dazed wonder had settled.

I lowered my lashes, let the corners of my lips curve slightly upward, and made a small bow toward Xiao Qi.

Xiao Qi let his smile drop and said in a measured tone, “Since the Princess Consort is here, you two may withdraw. We will discuss this matter again tomorrow.”

“As you command.” Both men answered in unison. The more rough-hewn of the two generals gave a brief bow and turned to leave at once. The refined young general seemed to hesitate a moment longer before he finally turned and withdrew.

I could no longer hold back a laugh. “Such unmannered, rough-and-ready generals.”

Xiao Qi shook his head with a smile. “The one acting without manners blames others for being impolite — what kind of unreasonable woman is this?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I came to see my own husband. Who exactly am I supposed to defer to?”

Those words put such a light in Xiao Qi’s eyes that he could hardly contain his delight. He took my hand and led me over to that enormous map.

“Is this… the Imperial Map of the Realm?” I widened my eyes, deeply captivated by the vast territories spread across it.

Xiao Qi smiled faintly, raised his hand to point at the map, and said with quiet pride, “Half a lifetime on the battlefield, leading a million soldiers — this is the land I have defended and expanded.”

The expression on his face held me captive. In this moment, Xiao Qi carried the hidden air of a tiger crouching, a dragon coiled in readiness. Following the direction of his pointing hand, I gazed at the magnificent rivers and mountains stretching across the map, and felt my own spirit surge within me, struck mute for a long while.

During these recent days, though not a whisper of news had reached me, I had sensed a tension that was out of the ordinary. The generals coming and going in such haste, the all-night deliberations, the enormous map now spread before me — in this moment, I finally understood. Something had happened.

It had been barely over a month since I came to Ningshuo. Those quiet, peaceful days had slipped away before I noticed, and thinking back on them now, a sudden pang of longing rose within me.

I let out a breath and looked up at Xiao Qi, waiting for him to speak.

Xiao Qi fixed his gaze on me. “Do you remember Wen Zongshen?”

I was taken aback. Of all the names I might have expected him to raise, I would never have anticipated this one — the current Right Chancellor, a powerful minister who stood as an equal to my father, the only man who dared stand against the Wang Family, and my father’s adversary of many years. I could not help but smile. “Why do you suddenly bring up the Right Chancellor?”

Xiao Qi’s expression remained calm. He turned and walked back behind the desk, glancing sideways. “He is no longer the Right Chancellor.”

It took me a moment to understand what he meant, and I asked in a daze, “Has Chancellor Wen received a new elevation in rank?”

“Nine days ago, Wen Zongshen was found guilty and stripped of his post. Seven days ago, the entire Wen household was thrown into prison.” Xiao Qi’s voice was as cold and hard as iron. “Judging by the timeline for the sealed dispatches to travel, three days ago would have been the date of his execution.”

I stumbled backward several steps, my back pressing against the decorative screen. A familiar face flashed across my mind — that man who had once carried himself with elegance and integrity, who stood apart from the crowd, one of the foremost ministers of his age. Was he now nothing more than a body laid out in a coffin?

A bone-deep chill rose from the soles of my feet. A moment of dizziness swept over me, and I murmured, “What happened in the capital? My aunt, my father, my mother… how are they…?” At the thought that the capital might have been overturned by upheaval, my mind instantly fell into chaos, every old grievance cast to the wind — my only fear was that my family might have come to some harm.

Xiao Qi reached a hand toward me and said softly, “Come here.”

In a daze, I let him take my hand. He drew me into the curve of his arm, and I met his gaze in a stupor. There seemed to be something unusual in his eyes — a kind of force that made me feel steadied, and gradually my turbulent thoughts began to settle.

“You would have had to know these things sooner or later. This is nothing out of the ordinary — there is far more you will need to shoulder in the days ahead.” He smiled with composed ease, smoothed a loose strand of hair at my temple, and said, “Even if the sky were to overturn, I am still here. There is nothing to fear.”

The frontier in the fifth month of the lunar calendar was astonishingly cold.

I listened as Xiao Qi gave a brief account of the beginning and end of Chancellor Wen’s case, and the tips of my fingers grew colder and colder as the chill seemed to seep in from every direction.

I had thought that with Xu Shou’s death and Helan Zhen’s defeat and retreat, all the dangers had already passed — yet I could never have imagined that all of it had only been the beginning of another, far bloodier chapter.

The Crown Prince was frivolous and lacking in virtue, and had long since disappointed the Emperor. Although my aunt had been the Emperor’s wife since childhood, she had never held his deep affection. For many years, the Emperor had doted entirely on Noble Consort Xie and favored Zidan. As the distance between the Emperor and Empress grew, the Emperor had at one point considered deposing the Crown Prince. Then Noble Consort Xie died, Zidan was exiled, and within the palace my aunt wielded power, while outside it my father dominated the court — and my marriage to Xiao Qi had only sent the Wang Family’s influence soaring to its zenith.

With Xiao Qi’s return to the north, the conflict between the imperial house and the empress’s clan had finally become an open fire-and-water standoff. The Emperor had at last come to understand: the Crown Prince’s wings had fully grown. If he were allowed to return north — a tiger released back into the mountains — forty-thousand troops and the six northern commanderies would all be in Xiao Qi’s hands. So long as Xiao Qi held that position, the Wang Family could never be shaken.

Once the Crown Prince ascended the throne in the future, all under heaven would fall into the Wang Family’s grasp.

The Emperor was isolated and trapped in the capital. The imperial princes were enfeoffed across various regions, and the strength of the northern princes had long since been consumed in the chaos of war. Only the southern princes, having withdrawn to a corner of the realm in those years and by sheer fortune preserved a considerable degree of power, were separated from the capital by thousands of li — too far to be of any use.

Only Right Chancellor Wen Zongshen had supported the Emperor in deposing the Crown Prince, standing against my father in court and secretly conspiring with the southern princes.

After their wedding, Xiao Qi returned north to Ningshuo. With the backing of my aunt and father, he swiftly took control of the six northern garrisons, and repeatedly used the urgency of military affairs as grounds to defy the Emperor’s commands, refusing every summons back to the capital. The court was wary of the four hundred thousand troops in his hands and could do nothing about it for the time being.

With the Crown Prince backed internally by the empress’s clan and externally by a massive army, the first step toward any attempt at deposing him would have to be stripping Xiao Qi of his military authority.

Watching Xiao Qi openly defy imperial decrees, the Emperor finally steeled himself and, together with Right Chancellor Wen Zongshen, devised a scheme — dispatching his trusted general Xu Shou and the Left Vice Minister of War, Du Meng, to Ningshuo under the name of an imperial inspection tour, with a secret plan to seize Xiao Qi and, when the moment came, strip him of his military power.

Yet Xu Shou was consumed by his own ambition and, intent on using this opportunity to replace Xiao Qi, secretly colluded with Helan Zhen, planning to use another’s blade to assassinate Xiao Qi in one stroke, then lay the blame on the Helan clan — eliminating the threat forever.

Xiao Qi was far too perceptive a man to be caught off guard. Having already caught wind of the plot, he simply turned it to his advantage, transforming Xu Shou’s scheme to use another’s blade into a single arrow that struck two targets — on the surface, one arrow killed Xu Shou and crushed Helan; beneath the surface, that same arrow struck at Wen Zongshen, who stood behind Xu Shou, and through Wen Zongshen, at the true mastermind behind it all — delivering a counter-blow directly against the Emperor.

On the day of the assassination attempt, the plot failed. Xu Shou died, Du Meng escaped, and more than ten Helan assassins were captured and imprisoned, leaving a mountain of iron-clad evidence.

Xiao Qi submitted a memorial, along with thirteen pieces of hard evidence, impeaching Wen Zongshen for colluding with foreign enemies and plotting treason. At the same time, my father in the capital, together with ministers across various departments, jointly submitted memorials to pressure the Emperor into imprisoning Wen Zongshen’s faction and executing them according to the law.

The Right Chancellor’s faction fought back with everything they had, impeaching the Wang Family for dominating the court as an empress’s clan and accusing Xiao Qi of holding his troops with undue autonomy and defying the throne.

The Emperor, under the pressure of my father and aunt, had no choice but to sacrifice Wen Zongshen — casting him into prison to await trial, making him the scapegoat to bear all blame. Wen Zongshen was handed a grave conviction: stripped of his post and title, and his entire household banished to the distant south. At that point, the Emperor had already lost everything and bowed his head before the empress’s clan. Yet for some reason, my father, heedless of my aunt’s attempts to dissuade him, insisted that it would not end until Wen Zongshen was beheaded.

My father ultimately had his way, acting on his own authority to tamper with the imperial decree and issuing a direct order to the Ministry of Justice — three days ago, Wen Zongshen was executed.

“That is impossible!” I could bear to hear no more. I rose abruptly to my feet, met Xiao Qi’s gaze — clear and cold as frost and snow — and my whole body went rigid. All the resistance drained out of me, and I sank back heavily into the chair. Xiao Qi concealed nothing from me. The sealed dispatches exchanged between him and my father were all laid open before my eyes, one by one. My father’s handwriting — a hand I knew better than anything else in the world…

Even when I had learned that my father and aunt had secretly arranged my marriage to Xiao Qi, I had felt only heartbreak and disappointment. But now, no matter what I tried, I could not connect the Left Chancellor Xiao Qi spoke of with that father of mine — bearing himself with such grace and dignity, transcendent as an immortal exiled from the heavens.

No one could have known whether it was because of my father’s domineering manner, or something else entirely — but that Emperor, who had always struck me as weak and sentimental, had at last been driven into a corner, enraged by my family, and had resolved to stake everything in a final confrontation against the Wang Family.

In the dispatch my father had just sent, written in that upright, vigorous hand of his, were words that leapt from the page and seized the heart — just days before, the Emperor had issued a decree deposing the Crown Prince and instead naming Zidan as heir apparent. He had enfeoffed Prince Jiangning as the Crown Prince’s Junior Guardian, and ordered Prince Jiangning to head north immediately to escort the new heir into the capital from the imperial mausoleum.

Prince Jiangning of the south was the Emperor’s paternal cousin. Among all the princes, his fifteen thousand troops made him the most powerful after Xiao Qi. Now that the Emperor had ordered him to enter the capital to support Zidan, it was an open and unambiguous declaration of war against the empress’s clan.

My father and aunt immediately sealed off the palace, declaring that the Emperor was gravely ill and near death, and that the Crown Prince had been charged in this moment of crisis to act as regent. At the same time, my uncle marshaled fifty thousand palace guards to secure all four gates of the capital. My aunt sent the inner palace guards to the imperial mausoleum to place Zidan under house arrest.

The situation in court had become a fire-and-water confrontation, on the verge of erupting at any moment.

Once Prince Jiangning launched his forces, the only way to relieve the capital would be for Xiao Qi to lead his army south.

My father’s dispatch was a plea for Xiao Qi’s aid — asking him to prepare provisions with all urgency and march south to deploy for battle.

I slowly turned back to look at that enormous map. When I had first seen the several red lines marked across it, I had not understood their meaning. Now, in a sudden flash, it became clear to me — those blood-red marks drawn in vermilion were Xiao Qi’s strategy of advance: from Ningshuo, push through the three passes, cross the Long River, and drive straight into the heartland of the Central Plains, severing the north-south arteries. At Linjiangguan, split into three columns — blocking enemies coming from east, west, and south — and seal the capital firmly in his grasp, reduced to a lone, isolated fortress, like a single pellet of stone.

I stared at that map, and the cold crept from my fingertips, through my hands, inch by inch.

The matter was settled. This war was now inevitable.

And everyone caught up in this conflict was someone I held dear.

At some point Xiao Qi had come to stand behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, and it was only then that I realized my entire body was trembling ever so slightly.

He said nothing, standing with me in silence as we both gazed at the enormous map. After a long while, he asked quietly, “You can read maps?”

I nodded, and answered his question stiffly, “Yes. My brother used to love drawing maps of waterways…”

“The sons and daughters of the Wang Family are truly remarkable in their talents.” He smiled, and drew me back against himself from behind, speaking with perfect ease, as though making idle conversation. “All of this should have been told to you sooner, but you were still ill and recovering, and I was afraid it would only add to your worries.”

He spoke with such lightness and certainty that I almost fell into the illusion that this was some minor nuisance — not something that concerned the survival of my entire family and the fate of all under heaven. I stared at him, unable to believe that he still wore a smile on his face in this moment.

Did he know that once he led his army south, what awaited him would be a battle where life and death hung in the balance? That he would stand together with my own kin on the edge of fate, where one step back meant a bottomless abyss?

“What is all of this for?” I crumpled into myself and covered my face — unable to hold back the bewilderment that had been pressing at the depths of my heart — and my voice broke. I could not understand what any of this was for. The capital with its gentle autumn rains and fine breezes, the beautiful days of before, the family I loved most… even the world that had only just begun to bloom anew before my eyes — all of it was crumbling in the wake of this conflict. I and every person around me would perhaps be changed forever after this. What was this absurd and terrifying thing all for?

“Why depose the Crown Prince? Why go to war?” I asked him in a trembling murmur.

He suddenly laughed — a clear, bright laugh that was cold to the bone, carrying not even the faintest note of warmth.

“What is it for…” He echoed my question softly, the corners of his lips lifting. “Nothing more than four words — imperial dominion and supremacy.”

I raised my eyes to him, struck dumb and shaken.

Since ancient times, how many heroes had bent their waists in pursuit of those four words.

“Once you set foot on this path, only the victor reigns — there is no turning back.” He looked at me with that contained smile, and spoke aloud the very thought that was passing through my mind in that moment.

I gazed at Xiao Qi, as a thousand thoughts turned over within me. He understood what was in my heart right now, just as I understood what those four words meant from his lips. If I could begin again — would I choose to be a soft-hearted woman deep within the walls of a noble house, living out a life of comfort and splendor as my mother had, never knowing these storms? Or would I still choose to stand at his side?

He waited for me in silence for a long while, and a shadow of loss began to surface in his eyes.

“The Left Chancellor also has a personal letter for you.” He turned without a change of expression and drew from the sealed case on the desk a letter sealed in gold lacquer and stamped with hot gold foil.

This was the first letter my father had sent since I came to Ningshuo. All this time, he and Xiao Qi had exchanged dispatch after dispatch, yet not a single personal letter had come to me — as though he had already forgotten the daughter he had given away in marriage. Perhaps he knew that I would learn the truth from Xiao Qi, and that I would not forgive him.

I took the letter from my father’s hands, lowered my gaze, and let a faint smile touch my lips — but inside, I felt only a quiet desolation.

Xiao Qi looked at me deeply, let out an almost inaudible sigh, and walked to stand by the window, his hands behind his back, giving me space to read the letter alone.

I watched his solitary, upright silhouette and held my father’s letter tight in my hand — so tight I had already crumpled it without noticing.

“Xiao Qi…” I let out a soft sigh. “Whether in the heights of the court or the farthest reaches of the rivers and lakes — wherever you go, I will always go with you.”

Xiao Qi’s silhouette gave the faintest tremor.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the latticed window and scattered its mottled pattern across his shoulders, casting his upright figure in a long shadow that stretched across the floor — making him look all the more starkly alone.

His back was turned to me; I could not see his face. A long moment passed before I heard him say in a low voice, “Very well.”

For a moment I was lost for words, and lowered my head to stare blankly at my father’s handwriting on the letter.

“A’Wu.” He suddenly called my name.

“Mm,” I answered absently — and then, all at once, I went still. He had called me by my childhood name.

Xiao Qi suddenly turned around to face me, his eyes full of warmth and brightness. “Your name is A’Wu.”

I had never seen such an open and warm smile on his face before — it was as though a soft radiance had kindled itself in the depths of his eyes, and I was so caught by it that I simply stood there, transfixed.

“How did you…” I started to ask how he had come to know my childhood name, but the moment the words left my lips, I remembered the letter in my hand — on it, my father had plainly written, For the eyes of my daughter A’Wu. I could not help but laugh at myself, and I raised my eyes to meet his gaze. For a moment, we simply looked at each other, both smiling.

In the study, a faint, drifting scent of ink hung in the air, wafting through the fifth-month sunlight, and I had the hazy sense of having returned to those long-ago days — when willows were graceful and flowers in full bloom.

Being looked at by him like that only made me feel more flustered. I lowered my head and reached to unseal my father’s letter.

But then my wrist was suddenly caught in his hand, and the letter was snatched away in one swift motion. He pressed his fingers lightly to my lips, stopping my question before I could voice it, and said with a low laugh, “Read it when we get back — come with me somewhere first!”

I was caught entirely off guard. He took my hand and, without waiting for a word from me, led me out of the study. Through the corridors and courtyards, with guards and servants everywhere, he paid no mind to any of them and simply walked on, holding my hand firmly all the way — every servant in the household scrambling to step aside at the sight of us. At first I felt embarrassed, but gradually something inexplicable stirred within me — a light, curious delight — and I fell into step beside him, wondering where on earth he was taking me.

His hand was so large it entirely enclosed mine. I stole a glance at his profile — and he noticed.

“We’re here.” He smiled and gestured ahead — it was the stables. “Go choose a horse!”

“Choose a horse?” I stared at him in baffled amusement, eyebrow lifted. “Are you planning to take me to lead troops into battle?”

He broke into a hearty laugh. “So many questions. I say choose, so you choose — and then have someone find you a set of plain commoner’s clothes in the Hu style.”

I suddenly understood, and asked with delighted surprise, “Are we going out in disguise?”

He gave me a look. “Say it any louder and the whole city will know the Princess Consort is going out.”

Just then, a bright and clear whinny rang out. The most striking horse in the stables — a tall, imposing black stallion — came toward us. Its coat gleamed like lacquered ink, its four legs long and powerful, its mane rippling as it held its head high with a spirited, magnificent air.

“That is Mo Jiao,” Xiao Qi said with a smile, letting go of my hand and walking straight toward his beloved horse.

Watching him greet the horse with far more warmth than he usually showed people, I felt a quiet pique stir in my heart. On an impulse, I brought two fingers to my lips and blew a short, sharp whistle — the signal horse trainers used to alert a herd, something I had spent a very long time pestering the best groom at the Imperial Stable to teach me when I was small. As expected, the horses in the stable all stiffened, turning to look at me in unison, and even Mo Jiao tilted his head slightly in my direction.

Xiao Qi turned back in surprise and laughed. “You can do that!”

I smiled lightly and raised my brows at him. “Aside from wielding weapons and leading armies into battle — whatever you know how to do, I may not be far behind.”