In those days, Xie Yuzhang had refused to see anyone at all — not even Li Ming, let alone whoever Li Ming had sent to escort her. A fifth-rank general sounded impressive enough, but in those former days, such a rank could not have gotten near Xie Yuzhang.

What was more, all of Li Ming’s adopted sons bore the surname Li. The Xie Yuzhang of her past life had no recollection of which General Li had been the one to escort her.

She only remembered that he had once come to the side of the carriage to pay his respects. She hadn’t even opened the window — only spoken listlessly through the carriage wall: “Dispensed with.”

Xie Yuzhang’s chest heaved as she stared fixedly at the silhouette on the slope. Suddenly, she gathered her skirts and ran toward him!

The guards were startled.

Tomorrow they would meet up with the khanate’s Khan’s court. Could the princess be… trying to flee the marriage?

They broke into a run after her: “Your Highness! Your Highness!”

They kept their voices low — if the situation got out of hand, who knew whether the blame would fall on them. Better to resolve it quietly.

Xie Yuzhang stopped and pointed upward: “I have something to say to him. Do not follow me.”

The guards looked up in astonishment and only then noticed the figure at the top of the hill. Hmm, that looks like…

Their feet slowed to a stop.

Xie Yuzhang’s tent was surrounded by the maids’ tents, with Prince Shou’s, the Fifth Prince’s, and their attendants’ tents on either side. The tents of the noble party had been erected on slightly higher ground, right at the foot of the earthen slope.

Xie Yuzhang wove through those tents, heedless of the wind stinging her face, and ran toward that figure with her skirts lifted.

The hills were rounded and gently sloping — they didn’t look tall, but climbing them proved slow going, and they were buried deep in snow. Xie Yuzhang had barely gone a few steps upward before she tumbled face-first into the snow. Fortunately the snow was thick, and it didn’t hurt at all.

She lay sprawled in the snow and looked up.

The figure had clearly spotted her.

He had been standing at the hilltop, but now he moved a few steps forward — then stopped again, holding still.

Xie Yuzhang laughed. She scrambled up, not even bothering to brush off the snow clinging to her, and ran upward with her troublesome skirts clutched in her hands.

The figure at the hilltop seemed finally to have confirmed that Princess Baohua, Xie Yuzhang, was indeed running toward him. He leapt from the hilltop, landing several meters below, faster than any sprint. In a few such leaps, he was standing right before Xie Yuzhang.

Xie Yuzhang’s foot slipped, and she pitched forward again. This time, she fell straight into that person’s arms.

“Your Highness?” The person steadied her, his voice uncertain and questioning. “What brings Your Highness up here?”

Xie Yuzhang gripped his arm and used it to lift her head.

In the night, the snowlight illuminated his face with perfect clarity. A high, straight nose bridge; beneath dark, heavy brows, eyes as deep as still water — and those eyes were fixed intently on her.

Who else could it be but Li Gu?

Xie Yuzhang tightened her grip on his arm, her courage surging, and she scolded him crisply: “Li Shiyi! You dare spy on me!”

Li Gu went rigid.

Strictly speaking, peering down from a hilltop yielded nothing more than the top of a tent and a flicker of firelight. It was nothing like actual spying in any real sense.

Yet Li Gu had indeed been spying on Xie Yuzhang. At least in his own heart, that was precisely how he defined his own actions — even though on this freezing night, all he had wanted was to steal a glimpse at her tent from above and imagine her as she slept.

What he could never have imagined was that Xie Yuzhang would confront him face to face.

In this moment, the young Li Gu felt as though the most secret thing in his heart had been seen through by Xie Yuzhang.

In all his life, perhaps this was the most wretched he had ever been.

Yet there was no retreating. Princess Baohua, Xie Yuzhang, still had a firm hold on his arm, and a pair of clear, beautiful phoenix eyes, unblinking, were fixed on him. Such a delicate and lovely young girl, yet she carried an air that pressed forward and refused to yield.

Her eyes were like lake water, reflecting the moonlight, reflecting the snowlight — reflecting his own face.

Li Gu looked into those eyes and suddenly realized this was probably the closest the two of them had ever been in their lives. And very likely, it would be the only time.

Tomorrow she would reach the Khan’s court, and then they would part — a parting that might last a lifetime.

Li Gu clenched his jaw.

If this life offered him only this one chance, he wanted to speak what was in his heart. At least let her know his feelings — even if she found it foolish, or felt it an affront.

“Yes,” he said. “I was watching you.”

No “this subject,” no “Your Highness” — in this moment, he was simply a hot-blooded young man standing before a girl of unmatched beauty under the sky.

His eyes betrayed the emotions he never showed others — longing, yearning, uncertainty, and a touch of the earnest, simple-hearted tenderness that belongs only to youth.

“He likes you, you know” — Lin Fei had always said that.

Now, today, a truth Xie Yuzhang had long half-understood was at last confirmed.

Li Gu — this future emperor — had not begun to care for her only after ascending to the throne, only after she returned from the steppe.

He had liked her long before, back when she had not yet known who he was.

This feeling of his —

This feeling of his… could be turned to her use.

A torrent of thoughts flashed through Xie Yuzhang’s mind in an instant — yet her actions moved even faster than her thoughts.

While schemes and calculations were still rushing in one after another through her mind, she had already released Li Gu’s arm, seized the front of his robe, pulled him downward, rose on her toes and pressed herself forward…

The guards stopped at a distance from the foot of the slope and did not follow.

One guard narrowed his eyes and peered up at the two figures above. The moon hung directly over them, on the side facing the camp — against the light.

“It looks like the princess fell?” he said.

The other guard also narrowed his eyes and stared upward for a moment, then said with certainty: “No, General Li has his arm around her.”

The first guard said: “How can you see that? All I see is a dark blur.”

The other said: “My eyes are good. My mother always said — eat more fish, and your eyes will be sharp.”

The guards at the foot of the slope murmured on, while up on the rounded hill, Li Gu felt as though even the wind had stopped. The world had gone utterly silent; even snowflakes landing on the ground sounded like a thunderous boom.

The soft, fragrant warmth against his lips was too unreal. This was the kind of thing that only happened in dreams — how could it happen in reality? It had only ever occurred in those restless, sleepless nights, when he dared to dream such bold dreams.

In daylight, when he looked at her, he would never allow himself such thoughts — thoughts that would be an affront to her.

Yet the delicate fragrance drifting to his nose told him this was real.

Li Gu’s mind went blank for a moment, then began to roar — a reckless, absurd impulse rose within him: take her away. Take her far away from here.

The thought roiled and surged like boiling water in Li Gu’s mind. What he did not know was that in this very moment, he and Xie Yuzhang had achieved a miraculous, wordless accord.

Xie Yuzhang gripped his robe, like a drowning person clutching a floating plank — Let him take me away. Take me away from here. Then I won’t have to live through all of that again.

The thought filled Xie Yuzhang’s chest to bursting.

Had there been one more spark, one more catalyst, perhaps the two of them might truly have each altered the course of their lives — hand in hand, they might have fled this place under cover of night.

But as it happened, on this night of bewitching moonlight and glowing snow, all that came was the cold wind. Those roaring, battering thoughts that had been on the very verge of exploding were cooled in an instant by that wind.

Xie Yuzhang drew back from Li Gu’s lips and looked up at him.

They stood close enough to hear each other’s breath, their gazes locked and held.

Each saw a brief wildness flash through the other’s eyes — and watched as the other returned to their usual calm. Each remembered their own identity, the circumstances at hand, and… the foreseeable future.

If that wild impulse had been allowed to come true, Xie Yuzhang might have become the pretext the Mobei Khanate used to start a war, a traitor to Da Zhao; and Li Gu — Li Gu who was still young, if he left Li Ming and lost the foundation that backed him, he would lose everything.

A Li Gu with nothing could give Xie Yuzhang nothing.

He might not even be able to protect her — his martial skill, however formidable, was not a match for ten thousand men. And she — she was such a rare beauty in the world; with chaos coming, the men who wielded power would not let her go.

Turbulence rises in an instant; madness returns to stillness just as swiftly.

Xie Yuzhang smiled first.

“Forgive me, Shiyi Lang.” She smiled with total abandon, like a flower blooming wild and bold in the darkness of the night. “My time is running out, my heart is restless, and I acted recklessly to ease my mood. You won’t hold it against me, will you?”

As she spoke, she released her hold.

Xie Yuzhang set no great store by that kiss.

What could a single kiss change in a man? What could a woman ever truly change in a man?

Nothing at all.

Back then, how deeply Wuwei had cherished her — how gentle he had been toward her. Yet when he needed to sacrifice her, no matter how she wept and pleaded, he had not hesitated even once.

She had acted on impulse just now, too.

But Li Gu suddenly reached out and caught her arm.

Xie Yuzhang paused and looked up at him.

There was still heat in Li Gu’s eyes. These things always weighed heavier on men than on women. When they were swept up, sometimes they would throw caution to the wind entirely.

A thought flickered through Xie Yuzhang’s mind — if Li Gu were insistent, she would not mind giving him her body.

This could only benefit her, not harm her. People of the Central Plains placed great weight on chastity; if she gave him her maidenhood, he would remember it deeply. The northern peoples, on the other hand, cared nothing for it — it was common among poor families for brothers to share a wife, and for a woman to pass to her husband’s sons or brothers upon his death — a tradition of who knew how many generations. Even if she were not a virgin, Ashina would not mind.

These calculated thoughts churned through Xie Yuzhang’s mind in an instant — but Li Gu released her arm.

Xie Yuzhang looked up in faint surprise, and once again saw in his eyes the same restrained composure — just as she had seen in the years after, when they occasionally crossed paths within the palace walls.

Emperor Li Gu of the Great Mu — a man of few words and swift action, stern and self-possessed.

Sure enough, the most defining traits of a person’s character begin to take shape when they are still young.

Yet the self-restraint of now, Xie Yuzhang could still understand. But later — later he had already become Emperor, not the kind of emperor who held the title without the power, but a founding emperor of the greatest authority, whose word was absolute. To want a fallen princess, he would not have needed even to speak; a mere glance in the right direction would have been enough. Subordinates, skilled at reading the imperial will, would have arranged everything on his behalf.

Why… did he still hold back?

A sense of bewilderment welled up in Xie Yuzhang’s heart. Could it be that Li Gu’s fondness for her was truly different from any other man’s?

“Your Highness’s name,” Li Gu said in a low voice, “would you tell it to me?”

His voice was low and deep, like a hidden current moving through the night. He asked no questions about what had just happened between them — only asked, quietly, for her name.

Xie Yuzhang’s long hair stirred in the wind.

“Yuzhang,” she said.

“Yuzhang…” Li Gu tasted the name again and again on his tongue, then asked: “Which character for ‘zhang’?”

Xie Yuzhang gathered her hair and answered: “From the verse: ‘What matter if a jade scepter was wrongly written — a beloved daughter is as cherished as a beloved son.'”

So it was ‘zhang’ as in jade scepter, Li Gu thought.

When she was born, her parents must have loved her dearly — to give her such a name. And yet now…

Li Gu raised a hand and drew the hood of the cloak up over Xie Yuzhang’s head, then let go.

“Your Highness should go back,” he said, eyes lowered. “Tomorrow… is very important.”

“Have you seen him?” Xie Yuzhang asked instead. “My husband?”

Husband.

Li Gu’s chest was pressed down by the cold wind. The answer came with difficulty.

“I have,” he said. “The Khan is the master of the steppe.”

And you will be the master of all under heaven, Xie Yuzhang thought.

So Li Gu’s affection — she would absolutely hold it in her hands, save it as a card to play in the days ahead.

“That is good.” She let a smile of relief show on her face. “I like powerful people — those who can command their own fate.”

“I’ll go back now,” she said, stepping back and turning away.

That last glance she cast over her shoulder — it seemed like a smile, and seemed like a complaint.

Between them, neither was yet powerful. Neither could hold their own fate in their hands.

And so in their lives, it was only in this one night that they could touch — just these few glittering sparks. One breath of cold wind, and they were gone.

“Your Highness!” Li Gu suddenly called after her.

Xie Yuzhang pulled her hood and looked back, her face pure and luminous as jade in the moonlight.

Li Gu said: “This subject’s surname is Li.”

Xie Yuzhang was briefly startled, then it dawned on her: “It’s your original surname?”

Li Gu nodded: “My birth surname.”

Li Ming’s adopted sons, whatever their surname before, all took the name Li upon being acknowledged. No wonder that even after becoming Emperor, he had never changed it back. It turned out Li had always been Li Gu’s true surname.

So “Li Gu” was his name, plain and complete, with nothing added or altered.

On this night, each had shared with the other their true name.

Li Gu stood there watching until Xie Yuzhang’s silhouette disappeared between the gaps of the tents, and for a long while after. Then he turned and walked in the opposite direction — toward his Flying Tiger Army, camped on another high ground.

“The General is back?” His personal soldier saw him and asked, exhaling a puff of white breath while stamping his feet. “Why were you gone so long?”

Li Gu passed him in silence.

“General?” The soldier asked in puzzlement.

Li Gu stopped in front of the tent, feeling something inside his chest surging up and making even breathing difficult.

The soldier stood behind him. Then came a sharp ring of metal — Li Gu had drawn his sword and swung it in a sweeping slash!

The soldier’s pupils contracted sharply; his hand instinctively shot to the hilt at his own waist.

But the blade had only cut through the tent’s supporting pole. The tent collapsed with a sound, half of it caving inward.

Li Gu stood in the snow gripping his sword, moonlight falling across his back.

For a long time, not a single word.