Since being turned away that last time, Li Gu did not return to the Luo Garden until a month later. Fortunately, this time she did not send him away.

“Why did I have to say those things to her? Why did I have to force her to face it?” She wept as she spoke. “I am so sorry.”

This was not the first time Xie Yuzhang had revealed a vulnerable side in front of Li Gu. Many times it had been feigned, but Li Gu could always tell the difference — this time, once again, it was real.

Li Gu tried drawing her into his arms.

Xie Yuzhang did not resist. This time it was not a performance of yielding — she truly wanted to lean against something, to rest.

She had been supporting too much for too long, and she too needed someone to support her.

Li Gu’s chest was broad and solid, his arms strong. Xie Yuzhang rested against him, and for a brief span of time she could think of nothing at all — simply leaning there against him.

As a woman, she had borne far too much.

Li Gu thought of the book he had been reading lately — Records of the Hanging Clouds of Mobei.

Chen Liangzhi had brought it to him, saying: “Your Majesty, take a look at this — it’s rather interesting.”

When he opened it, he discovered it was the collected notes of a scholar who had accompanied Xie Yuzhang on her marriage journey to the foreign land; the man had compiled his notes over the years, had them carved into woodblocks, and printed them. It was something scholars often did — spending their own money to publish books for others to read.

Being a collection of personal notes, it naturally recorded a great deal of daily life during the time in Mobei, and within those everyday accounts, the figure of “Princess Baohua” would appear from time to time.

And so Li Gu read through the book’s pages of her riding with her attendants in fine clothes at full gallop, freely practicing archery; read of her attention to agricultural matters, earnestly listening to the farmers’ reports; watched her tend bees, build a sugar workshop, and handle the steadying of morale when the news of Da Zhao’s fall arrived.

When the decision of Princess Baohua to remarry the new Khan was announced, the common people let out a breath of relief, feeling they once again had protection.

“Only we were left with tears, flowing through the night without cease.”

The eldest legitimate daughter of the central palace had been compelled to follow the customs of the foreign land, and the scholars wept for her through the night.

He recorded how Princess Baohua the Consort had earned a reputation for virtue — deeply favored, she had never once come into conflict with the other consorts of Wuwei Khan, and she had gotten along exceedingly well with the Khan’s principal wife, Zhadayali.

Li Gu was silent for a long while at this passage.

Because what he hoped for, in wanting Xie Yuzhang as Empress, was precisely such a scene.

The scholar even wrote that had Wuwei Khan not died, the princess’s life could not be called anything other than “harmonious and pleasant.”

Scholars, too, were men. Every man under heaven wished to see women living in such harmony. In the scholar’s eyes, what Princess Baohua had done was morally commendable.

What the scholar did not know was that Xie Yuzhang had killed Wuwei with her own hands.

But Li Gu knew.

Li Gu closed that book, and for a long while did not open it again.

In the autumn harvest of the ninth month, this year’s cotton flowers finally achieved a stable increase in yield. Before the Myriad Longevity Festival in the tenth month, Li Gu came to the western mountain, and Xie Yuzhang presented him with cotton flowers as a gift.

There was raw fiber, spun thread, woven cloth, and a cotton gin that the craftsmen had carefully designed. There were also the farming experience accumulated over the years by the farmers, and a compiled record of yield comparisons from previous years.

One glance at these things made it plain that they were the fruits of many years of preparation and accumulation. In other words, she had begun working on this a long time ago.

Li Gu asked, “What made you think to research this?”

“Because it’s useful,” Xie Yuzhang said, playing with the snow-white fiber.

She said it simply, but Li Gu understood.

Because those in service all wanted to become “useful” before him.

“Take it to the Ministry of Works and the Chief Ministers to look at,” Xie Yuzhang said. “They’ll understand the value of this. Only there’s no need to credit it to me — my surname is Xie, and I have no need of it.”

Seeing that Li Gu looked as though he wished to say something, she waved her hand with a smile: “And don’t give me any reward. I lack for nothing at present. Besides, this was a birthday gift for you — you gave me flowers, and now I’m returning the gesture with flowers. We’re even.”

Li Gu only took hold of her hand and held it for a long while, unwilling to let go.

After the cotton flowers were handed over to the Ministry of Works for study, their value was confirmed, and the matter was then brought before the Imperial Tutor and the Chief Ministers.

Everyone present offered their praise.

Li Gu said, “This was presented by Princess Yongning. The princess would not claim credit or seek fame for it, but you as her ministers cannot be unaware of her contribution.”

Setting aside the vague and complicated matters between Princess Yongning and the Emperor, her contribution was undeniable.

Imperial Tutor Mo praised her: “The princess is a person of great vision and breadth, unlike an ordinary woman.”

The Emperor said, “Among all the women I have known, none surpasses her.”

Not one of the Chief Ministers failed to be a keen judge of people — every one of them detected something in the Emperor’s words.

After the Chief Ministers departed, Imperial Tutor Mo remained behind alone and asked, “Has Your Majesty now found someone who can fulfill both the duties of Empress and those of a wife?”

“I have,” Li Gu said, “only she is unwilling.”

“And Your Majesty does not wish to compel her through power?”

“Precisely,” Li Gu said. “All my consorts were brought to my side through the force of circumstance. I do not wish my wife to come to me the same way. If it were so, for me it would be nothing more than a moon reflected in water, a flower in a mirror — self-deception.”

Yang Changyuan asked Yang Huaishen, “You know more than I do. I ask only this — when will Zhuzhu enter the palace?”

Yang Huaishen asked, “Enter the palace for what?”

Yang Changyuan said, “As a consort, naturally. The position of Noble Consort De is still vacant. As for His Majesty’s regard for Zhuzhu — well, even though she has been married once before, and that Li woman has even borne children — didn’t she still receive the honor of an Imperial Noble Consort? It’s just that our Zhuzhu being placed below Li Shi, now that’s a bit unfortunate.”

Yang Huaishen stood on the same side as the Emperor in this matter, tight-lipped as a clamshell: “I don’t know. You’re just imagining things.”

Yang Changyuan added, “Your mother has been asking about your new wife again. We’ve been blocking her from going to see her for so long, she’s long since grown suspicious.”

Yang Huaishen’s expression darkened: “Father, take the trouble to keep it from Mother a while longer. Mother is a woman of the inner chambers; I fear the news would be too much for her.”

This phrase “too much for her” carried two meanings: one was that the shock would be too much to bear, and the other was that the humiliation would be too much to bear.

What would become of Lin Shi — a woman as pure as fine jade — after being abducted, was something anyone could imagine.

Yang Changyuan wanted to advise his son, but before he could speak, Yang Huaishen said, “Father, there is no need to say it.”

Yang Changyuan could only sigh.

At this time, news arrived that Gao Dalang’s father had declared himself a king.

After the plan to install a false ruler had failed, the Gao Clan no longer expended effort in contesting the claim of legitimacy with the Lu Clan; they stripped away the pretense entirely and declared their own kingdom.

The agents who had infiltrated the Gao Clan’s territory to the south returned. They had lost many of their number, and had failed to rescue Lin Fei.

“She has been inside the Gao family’s main residence since she entered it and has not come back out. But she is alive.” Li Gu hesitated for a moment, and said nothing more.

Having lived two lifetimes, how could Xie Yuzhang not understand what he was holding back unsaid?

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “As long as she is alive. Being alive is what matters most — everything else doesn’t matter.”

Li Gu realized that at her core, Xie Yuzhang genuinely did not care about the judgment of the world.

Her past words and conduct had always conformed to the world’s standards of morality and propriety, but that had only ever been a means to an end. At her very core, she cared about nothing — only the people she cared about.

Had the Xiaoyao Marquisate not fallen, she might not have even cared about herself.

Her life, viewed from a certain angle, could be said to have run in the exact reverse direction from Li Gu’s life.

Lin Zi came to call on Imperial Tutor Mo, and since he too was among the Imperial Tutor’s disciples, he paid his respects accordingly.

The Imperial Tutor was always glad to see this disciple. In years past, Lin Zi’s older brothers had also been his students, but Lin Zi was actually more clever than his brothers — though in those days he had been spirited and playful, an unrestrained free spirit, a man of elegant charm.

“I obtained a jar of fine wine, two sticks of good ink, and three or five new books,” Lin Zi said. “I rushed straight here to present my treasures to my teacher.”

The Imperial Tutor smiled at this, and teacher and student were very much in harmony.

After Lin Zi left, the Imperial Tutor flipped through the books he had brought. When he opened them, the fragrance of fresh ink still clung to the pages. Nearly all of them were miscellaneous records and travel writings; one of them was titled Records of the Hanging Clouds of Mobei. He opened it to take a look, and found it filled with accounts of life on the steppe. When the figure of “Princess Baohua” appeared, the Imperial Tutor raised an eyebrow.

In the Imperial Tutor’s memory, “Princess Baohua” was a little girl who loved to laugh and dance. But in Mobei, she had not danced. Under the scholar’s brush, she gradually took on a clearer outline — having walked this long road, she had changed from Princess Baohua into Princess Yongning.

In the eyes of the world, the Imperial Tutor was an unworldly sage who had transcended mortal life. In this respect, he shared a certain similarity with how the Great National Preceptor Abazha on the steppe maintained an air of mystery before his people. But in truth, they were just like anyone else — they ate, drank, and had their own desires. To rebuild the academy, to return to the court — the Imperial Tutor was more anxious about this than anyone.

In the old days when he and Lin Zi had discussed the matter, Lin Zi had still been of low rank and little influence, unsuitable to recommend people before the Emperor. And the Imperial Tutor needed to preserve his own political independence, not wishing to be entangled with any faction in the court.

Lin Zi said, “I know someone — a person whose words the Emperor would listen to carefully, who stands apart from everyone, perfectly suited for this.”

He was speaking of none other than Princess Yongning, Xie Yuzhang.

Although she was a descendant of the former Zhao imperial house, she had shed the identity of a Zhao princess through her own achievements, becoming a Da Mu princess who stood by virtue of merit. The identity of “Princess Yongning” was entirely politically independent — by granting her this identity, the Emperor had separated her from the former Zhao imperial family.

Just as Lin Zi had said: extraordinarily well-suited.

What followed went very smoothly indeed; the Imperial Tutor returned to the court at last.

This debt of gratitude from Xie Yuzhang, the Imperial Tutor held in his heart — not without repayment, but simply that the time had not yet come.

The Imperial Tutor closed Records of the Hanging Clouds of Mobei, gave its cover a gentle pat, and smiled.

Li Gu went to the Luo Garden on the western mountain and told Xie Yuzhang, “This thing is of immense benefit to the common people. The Ministry of Works is already making plans; next year, they will first select a few counties in the Capital Circuit, the Hedong Circuit, and the Shannan Circuit for trial cultivation — if all goes smoothly, it will be spread across the realm the following year.”

Xie Yuzhang said, “As long as you know the plan, that’s enough. Of this year’s harvest, half I’ve kept as fiber padding, and the other half has been spun into cloth — it will be ready by the end of the month. Take it all; try it out. The fiber isn’t as pleasant against the skin as silk wadding, but it’s exceptionally warm. The woven cloth is also sturdy and durable.”

“Good,” Li Gu said. “Only the name ‘cloud flower’ is really rather uninspiring. Imperial Tutor Mo has coined a new character and given it a new name — ‘mian,’ cotton. With the wood radical.”

Xie Yuzhang had someone prepare ink, and Li Gu wrote out this newly coined character.

Xie Yuzhang covered her smile with her sleeve: “Your writing has gotten better than before.”

Li Gu said, “I practiced hard.”

Xie Yuzhang laughed again.

Li Gu was at a loss, and said through gritted teeth, “Do you write better than me?”

Xie Yuzhang smiled, took hold of the hand with which he was holding the brush, and wrote out the new character.

The late Emperor had possessed a profoundly refined mastery of calligraphy, and he could not tolerate his children’s handwriting being poor. Even a little princess as favored as Xie Yuzhang had to sit down obediently and practice writing. Moreover, the Xie family did genuinely possess remarkable natural talent in this regard.

Xie Yuzhang’s form, Li Gu’s force — the character written by the two of them together was truly better than what he had written alone.

Xie Yuzhang sighed, “I have ridden and practiced archery without ceasing for years, and my physical strength far surpasses that of most women; even the characters I write carry something of a spirited quality. But they cannot be compared with yours — though the form is elegant, they lack the vigorous force that drives through the paper. I still prefer your writing. The structure is not as fine-looking, but it has true strength when you look at it. It’s like you as a person.”

As she spoke, she let go of Li Gu’s hand. But Li Gu set down the brush and caught her hand, drawing her in by the waist.

Xie Yuzhang found herself enclosed between the man’s body and the writing desk.

She turned her head — and the two faces were so close together.

Xie Yuzhang raised her eyes and looked at him.

Li Gu fixed his gaze on her lips. She could see it clearly: beneath the fine lines of his jaw, his throat moved ever so slightly.

Xie Yuzhang thought of that shameful dream.

His arms and chest were just as firm as they had been in the dream.