It was almost the fourth watch of the night, and all was silent except for the faint whisper of wind. A subtle fragrance of agarwood wafted beneath the lotus-vine patterned curtains. Yao Ying knelt before Tanmoluojia, leaning forward, withdrawing her hand that held the handkerchief.

Tanmoluojia gazed at her. Though the room was dim, she was close enough that he could see the soft luminescence seemingly flowing across her snow-white skin. His gaze lingered on her slightly disheveled black hair for a long while, wordless.

Wasn’t she sent by Buddha?

He remained silent, his expression peculiar. Yao Ying moved closer, asking with concern: “Master, are you ill? Should I call Bamir in?”

Her voice was melodious, her eyelashes trembling.

Each flutter was like a water lotus by the Three Lives Pool, swaying gently in the wind.

Tanmoluojia came to his senses, gradually gathering his thoughts that had been drifting like gossamer threads, his consciousness slowly returning to clarity.

“No need,” he said faintly, his voice hoarse.

Yao Ying glanced at his kasaya dampened with sweat, then returned her gaze to his face. His complexion was pale, and he had looked exhausted when he first returned, his brows slightly furrowed. Now he appeared even more haggard than before.

“Master, are you an ascetic monk?” she asked.

Tanmoluojia looked down at her.

Yao Ying said earnestly: “I’ve heard that ascetic monks use suffering as a means of practice. They often wander alone, without fixed abode, disheveled and in tattered clothes, fasting for long periods, sleeping on nail-covered beds, walking barefoot over burning coals, using various tortures to achieve self-cultivation.”

Tanmoluojia fingered his prayer beads and said, “That is a form of asceticism in India. The asceticism of the Śramaṇas does not advocate such meaningless extreme suffering, only requiring the renunciation of desire.”

Yao Ying raised her eyebrows, meeting Tanmoluojia’s gaze and looking straight at him.

“Then why, when Master is unwell, do you not seek medical treatment, but instead choose to endure it?”

“Master, are you truly not an ascetic monk?”

Her tone was questioning, but her face bore a playful smile.

Tanmoluojia shifted his gaze away.

Yao Ying followed his movement, her bright eyes fixed intently on him, maintaining eye contact. “If Master is not an ascetic monk, why endure this meaningless suffering?”

Tanmoluojia lowered his eyes and said, “This is not meaningless suffering.”

His cultivation method was strange and profound; accepting punishment was also a reminder to himself, lest he lose his reverence for life.

Yao Ying pondered for a moment, seeing his solemn expression, and knowing she couldn’t persuade him, she silently sighed and said, “I dare not argue with Master, but your kasaya is soaked with sweat. You must change your clothes.”

Regardless of anything else, he needed to remove the sweat-soaked kasaya.

Before he could respond, she rose and walked to the door, opening it.

“Bring in a bucket of hot water and clean monk’s robes. Master needs to change.”

Bamir’s eyes widened: Why did they suddenly need hot water in the middle of the night, and why did the king need to change clothes at this hour? Why was Wang changing clothes in the middle of the night?

He quickly glanced at Yao Ying, seeing that though her hair was slightly disheveled as if she had risen from sleep, her face was composed and her clothes were neat. He silently cursed himself for overthinking, but as his gaze gradually moved downward to her bare jade feet on the wool carpet, his eyes widened again.

As if stung, he suddenly turned and ran off, returning shortly with a bucket of hot water in one hand and Tanmoluojia’s robes.

The meditation room was pitch dark. He set down the items, quietly looked around but didn’t see Yao Ying, and let out a silent sigh of relief before respectfully withdrawing.

Yao Ying had already retreated to the inner chamber, sitting before the low couch, listening carefully.

From outside came the sound of trickling water, followed by soft rustling noises. She relaxed and sighed in relief, lying down to continue sleeping.

Just as she touched the soft pillow, there was a loud crash outside the curtain, water splashing, as if something heavy had fallen.

In his weakened state, with no one to care for him, could he have fainted?

Yao Ying quickly got up, brushed aside the curtain, and froze at the sight before her.

In the dim light, a lean figure stood with his back to her, slowly removing his kasaya, revealing broad shoulders.

Tanmoluojia was tall and usually appeared thin in his loose kasaya, but now with it removed, Yao Ying realized his body was proportioned and firm, with smooth, distinct lines. Beads of sweat rolled down his tightly drawn back, which gleamed like it had been oiled in the faint light.

What surprised Yao Ying more was that Tanmoluojia’s back was red and swollen, covered in crisscrossing wounds.

So he wasn’t ill – he was sweating because he had just been beaten with a rod.

Yao Ying stood beneath the curtain, staring at Tanmoluojia’s long, muscular back, lost in thought.

Tanmoluojia seemed to sense something, pausing his movement and slightly turning his face while still facing away. His profile was clear, with high, straight brow bones, appearing sharp and cool. The half-removed kasaya hung at his waist and between his arms, misty with water vapor, creating a cloud-wreathed effect like a bare-bodied Bodhisattva in a mural – his posture long and elegant, solemn, serene, with subtle powerful strength contained within.

Yao Ying gazed at him, transfixed.

He remained still.

An eagle’s cry broke the silence, its wings fluttering, bringing a fresh breeze that made the curtain sway.

Tanmoluojia pulled up his sliding kasaya, his eyes sweeping casually toward the curtain, seemingly both intentional and careless.

Yao Ying suddenly felt guilty, her heart racing. She quickly lowered the curtain, lay back on the low couch, pulled up the covers to completely wrap herself from head to toe, and didn’t move.

Behind the curtain, Tanmoluojia raised his eyes, glancing at the slightly swaying curtain before bending to pick up the candlestick he had accidentally knocked over, placing it on a nearby table.

Having changed into clean robes, he felt much more comfortable.

He continued his meditation, this time without falling into dreams.

…

The next day, Yao Ying slept until the Chen hour, when she was awakened by suddenly raised voices.

Shadows moved outside the meditation room as people argued in low voices.

She got up, quietly packed her things, left the inner chamber, and peered through a small gap outside.

It was already bright daylight. In the brightly lit main hall, Tanmoluojia wore a gray kasaya, sitting cross-legged before a long table reviewing memorials. Bisuo knelt at the door in light armor, helmet tucked under his arm, his expression anxious.

“Your Majesty, I will watch Princess Chima carefully and not let her cause trouble again. Do we have to send her away?”

Tanmoluojia didn’t look up, saying, “Zhang Xu is a military official. She attempted to harm Zhang Xu, and by law, she should be confined. After three months, you may bring her back to the city.”

His tone brooked no argument.

Bisuo hesitated, not daring to say more, though he appeared somewhat reluctant.

Tanmoluojia remained silent.

Bisuo sighed.

The atmosphere grew tense.

Yao Ying waited in the side corridor for a while, watching Bisuo rise and take his leave, then walked out with her bundle.

“I troubled Master last night. Are you feeling better?”

Tanmoluojia kept his head down, brush raised as he wrote, making an affirmative sound and waving his sleeve.

Yuan Jue stepped forward, his eyes signaling Yao Ying to follow him so he could escort her back to her quarters.

Yao Ying took her leave and walked a few steps, then seeing Bisuo’s distant departing figure, she thought for a moment before suddenly turning back.

Yuan Jue was startled: “Princess?”

Yao Ying turned, crossed the corridor, and stepped into the meditation room under everyone’s surprised gaze.

“Princess!”

Bamir and Yuan Jue were anxiously sweating, quietly calling to her, following her into the meditation room, and gesturing for her to leave with them quickly.

Yao Ying shook her head, looking at Tanmoluojia as he wrote with a lowered head, and said softly, “I have some words I wish to say to Master.”

Bamir and Yuan Jue looked at each other, unsure whether they should urge her to leave.

Tanmoluojia raised his head, his jade eyes sweeping over the two men lightly.

Understanding, they no longer tried to stop Yao Ying and immediately withdrew.

Tanmoluojia continued writing without pause, “What does the Princess wish to tell me?”

Yao Ying walked to the long table and sat down, considering for a moment before saying, “Master, besides my blood brother, I have several other elder brothers, including one who shares my father but not my mother. His name is Li Xuanzhen.”

“Li Xuanzhen has always wanted to kill my mother and brother.”

Tanmoluojia’s brush paused.

Yao Ying gazed intently at the pure white snow in the courtyard, slowly relating the tangled story of the past between Li De, Lady Tang, and Xie Manyuan.

“…Later, Li Xuanzhen’s birth mother died by self-immolation, asking him to avenge her. Li Xuanzhen vowed that once he held power, he would surely kill my mother and brother to avenge his mother.”

She sighed.

“That year when I was recuperating in Chibi, I met Li Xuanzhen, who was also hiding his identity. We didn’t know each other’s backgrounds and became friends.”

“Several months later, we took a boat back to Chibi together. Li Xuanzhen discovered I was his enemy’s daughter… and wanted to kill me on the spot.”

Yao Ying smiled slightly.

“At that time, I thought Li Xuanzhen was just acting on impulse. He wasn’t truly evil, and I was after all his half-sister. Perhaps once he calmed down, he might think clearly.”

Yao Ying recalled the past, the smile gradually fading from her face.

“I tried to get along well with him. I thought, someone like my elder brother, who was kind to his subordinates, helped strangers in need, and repeatedly rescued noble ladies in distress, surely wouldn’t direct his hatred at the innocent.”

She tried every way to dissolve Li Xuanzhen’s hatred, but the result was contrary to her wishes.

Li Xuanzhen would not spare Xie Manyuan and Li Zhongqian, nor would he spare her.

“That year… his advisor Wei Ming nearly killed my brother. Even then, I hadn’t given up on persuading him. I wrote him a letter, begging him to spare my brother. I promised him that my brother had no intention of competing for power, that we would stay far away, never appearing before him in our lifetime.”

Yao Ying’s expression grew cold.

“The next day, he shot my hunting dog dead right in front of me.”

It was the hound Li Zhongqian had given her.

Previously, when her health was poor, she couldn’t join the Li family’s hunting parties. After returning to Wei Commandery from Chibi, her health improved significantly. That day, she had happily taken her hound to join the excitement in the forest, only to watch helplessly as Li Xuanzhen fired three consecutive arrows. The hound, vigorous and alive just moments before, lay convulsing in the grass.

Yao Ying dismounted, trying to drag the hound away to hide it. The hound stared at her with wet eyes, barely breathing.

Li Xuanzhen walked up to her, wearing a short sword at his waist and tall boots, holding a longbow with an arrow still nocked, its tip still pointing at the fallen hound. His expression was ice-cold, emanating bloodlust.

“Li Xuanzhen…” Yao Ying trembled all over, raising her face and calling his name directly, “It’s just a hunting dog… it’s been with me for months… this was my first time taking it out… please spare it…”

Li Xuanzhen looked down at her, saying nothing as he lowered his bow.

Yao Ying sighed in relief.

In the next instant, Li Xuanzhen drew his short sword and struck swiftly, and the hound convulsed violently before falling still.

He looked at Yao Ying coldly, his phoenix eyes slanting upward, gaze dark: “A dog that harms people cannot be kept.”

Yao Ying’s hands trembled.

Li Xuanzhen withdrew his blade, casually wiping it on his sleeve. “Just as dogs cannot be kept, neither can certain people.”

He would not spare Xie Manyuan and Li Zhongqian.

Yao Ying’s heart sank completely.

The hound had never harmed anyone. The hound Li Zhongqian gave her was gentle and loyal – how could it possibly hurt someone?

It was clearly because Zhu Lüyun had suddenly galloped up the mountain path, startling her and her maid’s horses, nearly causing them to fall. The hound had only barked to stop Zhu Lüyun.

Li Xuanzhen had been so ruthless, killing it without distinction, only because it belonged to her.

It was utterly innocent.

Yao Ying looked at the dead hound, wiped her eyes, and trembling, picked up an arrow from the ground. Staggering, she lunged at Li Xuanzhen, trying to stab him with the arrow.

Li Xuanzhen’s long arm swept out, effortlessly gripping her wrist and applying slight pressure.

Yao Ying’s hand grew numb and weak as he lifted her.

Li Xuanzhen looked down at her, contemptuously taking the arrow from her grasp.

“Seventh Sister, know your limits.”

Yao Ying wrenched her hand free and stared at him coldly, enunciating each word: “Li Xuanzhen, my brother never harmed your mother, nor did he harm you. He leads armies and fights battles just like you do, serving with complete loyalty. If you dare harm him, I will die with you! You may be the Great General, and I may be weak, unable to match you today or perhaps ever, but as long as I draw breath, you will never harm my brother.”

He might be destined for greatness, but so be it – they would die together if necessary.

Li Xuanzhen’s face darkened like water.

…

In the meditation room, a subtle fragrance drifted.

A gaze fell upon Yao Ying, clear and cool, not gentle, yet possessing a power that could calm one’s heart.

Yao Ying came to her senses and found that Tanmoluojia had stopped writing at some point, his eyes raised, watching her with slightly furrowed brows.

She smiled at him.

Speaking of these worldly matters to him seemed to trouble him.

Yao Ying exhaled a long breath, “Since then, I’ve never kept another hunting dog. I buried it with my own hands, and with it, I buried my hopes for my elder brother…”

She paused.

“Later, I was sent in marriage to the Yelu tribe… the Night-Luminous Jade was lost… and the Wusun horse my brother gave me was also gone…”

Remembering the gentle eyes of the Wusun horse as it looked at her before dying, Yao Ying’s nose suddenly stung, her eyes growing hot, nearly bringing tears.

The felt curtains hung high as the cold wind carrying snow blew into the meditation room, rustling the sutras on the long table while the copper bells under the eaves tinkled.

This was the royal court, not the vast snowy wasteland of the Gobi.

Yao Ying closed her eyes briefly, controlling her emotions before raising her gaze to Tanmoluojia.

“Master, all the injustices my brother and I have suffered over the years ultimately stem from my father’s and elder brother’s misplaced anger. Father lost his first wife, and elder brother lost his mother – they directed their anger at us three, wanting us to accompany her in death.”

Yao Ying’s lips twisted.

“In Great Wei, my elder brother was the crown prince in whom everyone placed great hopes. He was beloved by his subordinates and had good relationships with court officials… As for my father, he was the emperor. In others’ eyes, there was nothing to criticize about them treating my brother and me this way out of personal grievances.”

In the courtiers’ eyes, it was perfectly normal for Li Xuanzhen, once in power, to avenge his mother by poisoning Noble Consort Xie and Li Zhongqian. They didn’t feel this tarnished Li Xuanzhen’s integrity at all.

More than one person had sighed to Yao Ying: the Xie family never troubled Lady Tang, Li Xuanzhen was simply venting his hatred, and you three had no choice but to endure it.

The weak are prey to the strong – whoever is in a position of weakness deserves to be at others’ mercy.

It has always been thus, throughout history.

Similarly, after Tanmoluojia reclaimed his royal power, Princess Chima avenged her clansmen but wasn’t satisfied, continuing to harass other branches of the Zhang family. In others’ eyes, this was understandable.

Many people felt such revenge was deeply satisfying: the Zhang family had nearly wiped out the entire Tanmoluojia clan, so Princess Chima should respond in kind, slaughtering all Zhang families.

Thus, Princess Chima developed hatred toward Tanmoluojia.

He prevented her from taking revenge on innocent Zhang family members, saving Han people from her blade, and she felt he had betrayed the Tanmoluojia clan.

Did Princess Chima not understand Tanmoluojia’s intentions?

Did she not know what promoting Zhang Xu meant for supporting new nobles?

Princess Chima understood.

But this wasn’t enough to offset her hatred.

Just as with Li Xuanzhen, who was someone who could distinguish between important matters, who could repeatedly forgive insubordinate subordinates and turn mortal enemies into friends, yet refused to spare the innocent Xie family, all because he had sworn an oath to his mother that he would make the Xie family accompany her in death.

Li Xuanzhen and Princess Chima had both become twisted by hatred, beyond redemption.

The brave direct their anger by drawing their sword against the stronger; the cowardly direct their anger by drawing their sword against the weaker.

They all had bitter pasts, but this was no reason to vent their hatred on innocent people.

Yao Ying gazed into Tanmoluojia’s deep jade eyes and said with feeling: “Master, my situation is similar to that of the Zhang family’s descendants.”

Tanmoluojia’s brow twitched slightly.

Yao Ying exhaled, wrinkled her nose, and a smile emerged between her brows as her expression lightened somewhat.

“So when I first came to the royal court and heard about Master, Princess Chima, and the Zhang family, I greatly admired Master.”

At that time, she had felt like someone who had walked a long, long night road, and in a moment of hopeless despair, suddenly saw a light flickering.

Tanmoluojia’s relationship with Princess Chima was tense. Being so intelligent, he surely knew how to ease the conflict with his sister: allow Princess Chima to kill all the Han people named Zhang, and permit her to take pleasure in torturing Han slaves.

He refused to do so.

He told Princess Chima that she had already taken her revenge and could not arbitrarily abuse innocent people, even if Princess Chima hated him for it.

Yao Ying sat up straight, her posture formal and serious and said: “Master is free from worldly attachments, with lofty aspirations. These small matters are merely passing clouds to Master… but I still want to tell Master something.”

Tanmoluojia looked at her: “What do you want to tell me?”

Yao Ying smoothed her hair and met his gaze, saying solemnly: “I want to tell Master that your kindness is not meaningless. For the Zhang family’s descendants, for people like me, Master’s mercy affects our entire lives. If the person I had encountered had been Master, I wouldn’t have suffered so much.”

Tanmoluojia’s will was firm, his mind vast and clear, unconcerned with others’ views. Princess Chima’s hatred and his subordinates’ lack of understanding did not affect his state of mind in the slightest.

He was so rational and clear-minded that he needed no one’s persuasion or comfort.

But Yao Ying still wanted to tell him what was in her heart, wanted him to know how precious he was.

She looked at him, her eyes curved in a smile, her gaze utterly sincere.

Tanmoluojia’s hand holding the brush trembled slightly.

Footsteps sounded at the door as a monk-soldier came to report something, but seeing Yao Ying kneeling before the long table, he hesitated to enter.

“I won’t disturb Master further.”

Yao Ying quickly rose, made an apologetic gesture to Tanmoluojia, and turned to leave.

Tanmoluojia remained motionless, his gaze following her departing figure.

A phrase he had once read in Han texts suddenly surfaced in his mind.

My path is not solitary.

When one walks alone on the path of cultivation, with no one to rely on or accompany them, looking around at the vast emptiness, not knowing how long they’ve walked, suddenly, someone comes to meet them, looking at them with joy, long eyelashes fluttering.

Though separated by ten thousand miles, with different writing systems and customs, though she was not one of the Śramaṇas, she could speak what he thought, and see what he contemplated.

Perhaps this was Buddha’s arrangement.