In the eight years since Li Gu declared himself Emperor — one campaign against Mobei, two imperial campaigns in the south — he had at last united both banks of the great river. His name as a killer had followed him from Hexi all the way to the south, and he had shown no softness whatsoever in wiping out great clans.

The noble families trembled. They all understood that this Emperor was no longer the Li Shiyi Lang who had still been willing to negotiate with them back in the Hexi days, and they understood too that this Emperor held no particular fondness for them.

Sovereigns in every age had tried to suppress the great families, yet not one of them had done it as bluntly as this soldier-emperor. He simply exterminated the clan entire.

And yet one had to admit — a thousand years of emperors dancing around great families with strategic cleverness had never achieved what this single overwhelming force had managed. The great families no longer dared hold the imperial throne in the contempt they once had.

News of the destruction of the Lu and Zheng clans reached the Hexi region. The head of the Huan clan of Hexi lay awake night and day, unable to eat or sleep, plagued by nightmares.

He finally went to call upon another family — the Zhong clan — and laid out his purpose in full.

The Zhong clan patriarch erupted in furious indignation. “How did a calamity like this get married into our family?”

They moved with extreme swiftness. That same evening, in the household of a minor branch of the Zhong clan, a young wife wept as she said her farewell to her husband, urging him to take good care of their children without fail.

Her husband promised her he would, and added that he would observe a year of mourning for her as a wife, and that when the time came to take a new one, he would certainly seek out a woman of good character and a generous heart.

The young wife held her children in her arms, returned to her room, and hanged herself.

The young wife was a Huan clan daughter; her husband was a Zhong clan son. They were both second-tier Hexi families, and both from branch lines of their respective clans. One was not wealthy, the other was slightly poor. In truth, it was a well-matched pairing.

Years ago, a daughter from the main branch of the family had made a prestigious marriage into the Huo family, and there had once been talk of arranging a match for this woman too. The clan patriarch had been displeased, feeling the young man’s birth was too low and that such a match would be beneath their family name.

The match had never come to pass.

She had not met that young man a single time in her life, and yet because of that one old affair from years ago, she was compelled to take her own life.

Simply because that young man now sat in the Hall of Imperial Essence in Yunjing, because he had become the Emperor, because he showed no restraint at all in destroying great families.

The Huan family and the Zhong family had both been frightened out of their wits.

A nameless woman’s death in Hexi passed like a breath of wind — barely brushing the window before it was gone without a sound. It would never reach Li Gu’s ears.

Or perhaps even if the day came when Li Gu learned of it, he would not care.

For when a person has climbed to a certain height, the way they look at the world is a view from above, looking down. From that vantage, every individual person, seen in isolation, looks no larger than an ant.

Yunjing.

An official submitted a memorial advising that, since Princess Yongning was now the Empress, Princess Yongning’s residence and its princess guard should be formally dissolved.

Li Gu took up the imperial brush and wrote his response: The Empress received her enfeoffment as a princess through merit. I have not heard of any precedent for a princess losing her title upon marriage.

The official who submitted the memorial was considered a man of principle. He had felt that Xie Yuzhang, now that she was Empress, still retaining both the Princess Yongning’s residence and its guard formation was contrary to proper custom, and so he had written to remind the Emperor.

But the Emperor’s response was not without reason either. It was true that a princess ought not to lose her title, residence, or guard simply because she had married.

Throughout history there had been many princes of other surnames, and while noble princesses of other surnames were rarer, they were not without precedent. But not one such princess had ever made the leap from princess to the seat of Empress.

Xie Yuzhang, Princess Yongning, to be granted the title of Empress of the present dynasty while herself holding the title of princess of the present dynasty — this was an unprecedented thing under heaven.

When Li Gu told Xie Yuzhang about this, she looked up at him, and yet she made no gesture of virtuous self-sacrifice to voluntarily relinquish the princess’s residence and the guard.

She really was that kind of person.

Li Gu had understood this for some time.

He said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep the guard for you.”

Li Gu had cut straight to the heart of the matter.

What Xie Yuzhang truly cared about was not whether a certain residence was marked with a placard reading Princess Yongning’s Residence or simply Xie Household. What she truly cared about was her guard.

Li Gu said, “Your wounded and disabled veterans — let them be looked after, but don’t let them take up places in the active guard roster. Fill the posts properly and have your guard commander train them well.”

“Yuzhang,” he said, “this guard — as long as I live, I will not take it back.”

A mere two hundred people could not overturn any great matter. Yet this guard was the very threshold of Xie Yuzhang’s sense of security.

When she had become Empress, she needed this guard even more than she had as a princess.

Just as she had advised him on selecting consorts, advised him to father more sons so that she would have choices — both of those, and this, were escape routes. Xie Yuzhang was always someone who planned for a way to retreat.

Xie Yuzhang felt that Li Gu could see through her completely.

And yet this man who saw through her had chosen to protect her. She wanted to keep her guard, so he left it to her.

This man was, of course, far from perfect. He had his own private calculations, his own desires, his own assessments and compromises. But as an Emperor, within the bounds of what propriety permitted, he gave her every support he could.

Xie Yuzhang’s eyes softened into a smile. She leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips.

Li Gu closed his eyes. His senses held only the softness between his lips, and the slight, warm weight in the curve of his palm.

When the passion was spent, he did not withdraw, but held her legs folded against his chest, willing his essence into the deepest part of her, hoping to bring a child into being — a child that belonged to both him and her.

Li Gu longed intensely for this child.

He had once loved Qingque most of all, because Qingque was his firstborn, and Qingque had given him his first taste of the joy and gladness of fatherhood.

But this child — before the child even existed, Li Gu already knew he would love him.

Even as they fell asleep, Li Gu kept Xie Yuzhang in his arms, his warm palm resting against her abdomen, silently pressing the strength of his longing into her.

Xie Yuzhang lay within his embrace with her eyes open for a long while. At last she shifted and pressed closer, her back against his chest, letting herself drift into sleep within the warmth radiating from him.

Not many days later, Yan Shi requested an audience token to enter the palace.

Yan Shi was responsible for relaying messages between Lin Fei and Xie Yuzhang. Xie Yuzhang approved it at once.

Yan Shi brought Xie Yuzhang a piece of news: “Younger Sister-in-law has left the capital.”

Xie Yuzhang had known this day would come, and yet she had not imagined that Lin Fei would go so simply and so decisively. She had not even come in person to say goodbye. What Lin Fei had entrusted Yan Shi to deliver to Xie Yuzhang was only three words.

I have left.

When Li Gu arrived at Danyang Palace, Xie Yuzhang was leaning against his shoulder, weeping quietly.

Li Gu had not liked Lin Fei since the day she betrayed Yang Huaishen, and liked her even less when he learned she had wanted to bear Gao Da Lang’s child — all while Yang Huaishen had given her his whole heart.

As a man, he naturally found such a thing intolerable. No man could tolerate it.

And now she had left without so much as a farewell, causing Xie Yuzhang pain for nothing.

He said, “The Lin woman is cold-hearted. Why grieve for her?”

Xie Yuzhang said, “Your Majesty has spent years on the battlefield. Have you ever had anyone who was bold and true-hearted, deeply trusted, someone you could put your back to without fear?”

Li Gu said, “Fifth Brother, Eighth Brother, Seventh Brother, Jingye — all of them.”

Xie Yuzhang said, “For me, Lin Fei of the Lin clan is that person.”

Lin Fei had been merciless toward her own husband, yet she had been utterly devoted and faithful to Xie Yuzhang. Li Gu fell silent at that, and said no more against her.

He asked, “Where did she go?”

Xie Yuzhang said, “The south.”

Li Gu raised an eyebrow.

Lin Zi had asked Lin Fei why she wanted to go south. Lin Fei said: the northern frontier is too familiar to me now — I know it too well. As for the south — I was held captive there for a full year and never set foot outside the Gao estate. I went there for nothing. So I want to go and see it properly this time.

Li Gu said, “The south is not safe right now.”

Li Gu had retaken the south, but years of successive warfare had scattered many defeated soldiers throughout the region, who had since turned to banditry. Those near the waterways had become river pirates. The south was currently far less settled than the north.

Stamping out these bandits was a fine, tedious matter that would take a long time to show results.

This was also one of the main reasons why Xie Yuzhang was worried and pained.

She said, “Third Elder Brother gave her several loyal servants from the east of the river, and she recruited some guards on her own. Third Elder Brother Lin says she has enough silver that I need not worry…”

And yet how could she not worry. As she spoke, the tears fell again.

“Shiyi Lang,” she said, leaning against his shoulder, calling him softly by that name. “How wonderful it would be if people could simply never be parted from each other.”

Li Gu was silent. Xie Yuzhang sensed something amiss and asked, “What is it?”

Li Gu then said, “Seventh Brother and Jingye are going away as well.”

“It was settled today,” Li Gu said. “Jingye is going south, to serve as Grand Protector-General of the South. Seventh Brother is going north, to serve as Grand Protector-General of the Northern Reaches.”

Xie Yuzhang was not in the least surprised — it had been the same arrangement in her past life. Jiang Jingye and Li Weifeng, in both lifetimes, were Li Gu’s most trusted left arm and right arm. With the two of them securing the south and holding the north, Li Gu’s empire would stand firm.

Only in the past life, she had not understood what these people meant to Li Gu. In this life, she understood very well.

It was just like her own separation from Lin Fei. Especially when it came to Li Weifeng.

“Must Seventh Brother go? Could he not simply remain here and serve as Minister of War?” she asked. “Could Fifth Brother and Eighth Brother not manage it?”

Li Gu felt something bitter.

He said, “I originally had Fifth Brother in mind for the northern post. Seventh Brother… insisted himself.”

“Yuzhang,” Li Gu said, his gaze dropping, “I truly should have sent someone else to handle Da Lang’s matter.”

Li Gu rarely experienced anything like regret. But it was because Li Weifeng meant something to him that no one else did — just as Lin Fei was to Xie Yuzhang, unlike all others.

Xie Yuzhang let out a soft breath and reached up to drape her arm around his neck. “When Seventh Brother is gone, who will you have to talk to?”

Li Gu’s gaze dropped. He drew her close and said slowly, “Lately, the phrase alone and without companion — I feel those four words in my bones.”

“Foolish man.” Xie Yuzhang leaned her head against his shoulder and said softly, “You still have me.”

Li Gu held the warm, soft weight in his arms. “I only have you.”

Xie Yuzhang said, “You also have ten thousand miles of empire.”

Li Gu said with a wry self-mockery, “Yes — so much. So clearly much.”

Xie Yuzhang said, “And you’re still greedy.”

Li Gu said, “But any living person is greedy.”

Xie Yuzhang said, “I am greedy too — which is why I married you.”

Li Gu paused.

Xie Yuzhang lifted her head, her lips brushing against Li Gu’s ear, and said in a voice so quiet it was barely sound, “Power and you — I want both.”

It was as though a current had shot through his ear into the back of his neck, raising a trail of goosebumps.

Whatever melancholy the Emperor had briefly allowed himself was swept away entirely. Li Gu felt as though Xie Yuzhang had administered an aphrodisiac — his body ignited instantly, burning and eager.

“Good.” He drew Xie Yuzhang’s hand down and pressed it against him. “Come and take what’s yours.”

The road of life is always this way — you walk along it, and one by one, people leave at different points along the way.

At least he still had his wife.

Li Gu thought: between him and his wife, only a child was missing before everything was complete.

Xie Yuzhang thought: to have both power and him, she was bound to give up certain other things.

But here, in this moment, she had no desire to be any kind of magnanimous and virtuous Empress.

Lin Fei had told her to live in the present. Then she would try.

She would not raise the matter of selecting consorts and fathering more sons again. She only wanted to be greedy with the happiness right in front of her.

If the day came when Li Gu himself came to her and said he wished to select consorts and father more sons — then, when that day arrived, she would give him the finest Empress she knew how to be.