On the day of the Huanhua Festival, Yanfu Street was lively for an entire night.

Festivals are always lively, of course, but there is a difference between the lively chaos of a joyful crowd and the lively chaos of utter pandemonium.

According to the page boy on duty at Wangchen Tower that night, who let the information slip the following morning: the cause of all this lay with a mysterious guest at Wangchen Tower.

That day, under the pretext of the Huanhua Festival, quite a number of prominent court figures had come to Wangchen Tower. The carriages and horses of various households had nearly choked Yanfu Street to a complete standstill, and those who had come simply to watch the spectacle, without knowing the reason, were craning their necks and pressing in three layers deep.

Some speculated that a truly remarkable distinguished guest must have arrived at Wangchen Tower that evening — otherwise, why would half the pillars of the court lower themselves to visit a pleasure establishment? Some even guessed the distinguished guest might be the one in the palace itself.

Yet no one could have anticipated that before any clues about the “distinguished guest” had emerged, events began developing in an unpredictable direction. Servants from Duke Xuanyuan’s estate appeared in the establishment out of nowhere, and without explanation, insisted on forcing their way inside to search for someone — and there was no stopping them. As the saying goes, you must consider the master before striking his dog; though these were only a few household servants, they were servants of a ducal estate — impossible to strike, impossible to talk away — and in the end the proprietor himself had to come out and deal with the situation.

Now, Wangchen Tower’s proprietor was something of a character himself. Having steeped in this pleasure establishment for so many years, he had witnessed more of human nature and the warmth and coldness of the world than many an aged physician in a medicine hall. With a single glance he could tell that the visitors were not Duke Xuanyuan’s personal attendants but men from the outer courtyard, and so he surmised that this was likely another scheme hatched within some great household — and hastily sent someone to slip away and notify the real master at Duke Xuanyuan’s estate.

Not long before and after, Duke Xuanyuan actually came in person, bringing men with him. This time not even the Heavenly King himself could have stopped them — and in less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Duke Xuanyuan’s household took someone away through the back door of Wangchen Tower. According to the page boy who witnessed it all: that person left in tremendous haste, looking as though he had not even had time to properly put on his boots.

Some said that the one Duke Xuanyuan took away was none other than the duke’s own second son — the young officer Su Pingchuan of Guangyao Camp. They said that the young Master Su and another military officer in the camp, turning resentment into love, had suffered a heartbreak and fallen into the dissolute habit of visiting flower houses — and this was why Duke Xuanyuan had personally come to retrieve him.

Others said that someone else must have been inside the establishment that night, and that Duke Xuanyuan’s whole performance had merely been a smoke screen to throw people off the scent. After all, even if it truly were a family disgrace, how could such a shameful matter be fit for public display? Even if someone were to be retrieved, it would certainly be done quietly — one would never allow a crowd of outsiders to witness it and make it the talk of their leisure time over tea.

Still others said that all of this — every last bit of it — was because of the distinguished guest who had never shown his face from beginning to end.

But as for who that distinguished guest truly was —

“Tune in next time to find out!”

The wooden gavel fell. The large paper fan snapped shut. The half-bald storyteller stroked his sparse whiskers and picked up his teacup to wet his throat.

The crowd of tea-house patrons gathered before him were left with a somewhat dissatisfied feeling of wanting more. Muttering and grumbling, they tossed a few copper coins and drifted away, shaking their heads, to seek other entertainment.

The storyteller downed his cup of tea and was just bending to count the tips in the copper tray when a hand appeared, pinching a silver ingot. The fingers loosened, and that plump, lovely little silver ingot dropped into the tray.

Clang.

Quite a different sound from those copper coins before.

The storyteller’s face lit up with delight as he raised his head — and saw that the one who had tossed the silver was a young woman.

He cleared his throat and made a solemn bow.

“My thanks, miss.”

The other party said nothing, glanced left and right for a moment, then suddenly stepped over the copper tray and drew close, lowering her voice.

“Does the storyteller truly know who that distinguished guest was?”

The storyteller started, and then his small eyes began darting about rapidly.

He felt as though a goddess of fortune were standing before him and that he absolutely could not afford to be remiss — yet he was also worried that he might not be able to conjure up a convincing story, and that one wrong word from his mouth would send the goddess of fortune away. It was enough to give a man a heart attack.

He stewed for quite some time. Beads of sweat were already forming at his temples when the storyteller at last, trembling, whispered a name in the young woman’s ear.

The young woman started — and then suddenly burst out laughing.

The storyteller looked bewildered. But the young woman was already waving her hand and turning to leave.

The storyteller, unwilling to let it end there, called out after her in a raised voice.

“Will miss come again tomorrow to hear stories?”

That figure had already taken three steps at a time out of the teahouse.

“I have duties tomorrow. I won’t be coming.”

Not just tomorrow — she feared she would not be back for at least ten days or half a month.

Xiao Nanhui stepped out through the front door of Fengzi Tea House and looked up at the sun, which was growing increasingly fierce. She slipped into the shade along the foot of the wall beside her and strolled southward, keeping close to the wall.

Yaoyi had the most finicky taste; whenever he wanted to discuss business with someone, he always chose this Fengzi Tea House. In the past, her mind had not been in it, and anything that went into her mouth that was not wine was difficult to taste properly. Today, she finally had the leisure to pay attention — yet she still found the storyteller at his stand far more interesting than any thousand-gold-a-tael sparrow-tongue tea.

The hour was still early. There were not many people on the street.

Coming out of the teahouse, she faced West Street directly ahead.

Walk to the end of West Street, then turn east, and there was the back gate of the Chancellor’s Mansion.

A dozen or so steps from the back gate of the Chancellor’s Mansion stood that tree which seemed to have a particular affinity with her, and the person she was now waiting for would be beneath that tree —

Xiao Nanhui’s steps suddenly stopped.

She squinted to look at the person beneath the tree, then turned and walked back the way she had come.

But even so, she was a step too late. The person beneath the tree had already spotted her, and called out in a voice that could be heard across two or three streets and three or four city blocks.

“Xiao Nanhui!”

She had no choice but to stop.

She knew that if she did not stop, that person had any number of ways to spread word of her whereabouts all over the city.

With a sigh, she turned around.

Xu Bu had already walked quickly up to her and was looking her up and down.

She was still wearing the coarse cloth garments she habitually wore. Her long hair was tied up without even a presentable hairpin to speak of — the brightest thing about her entire person was those eyes of hers.

He had expected to find some shadow of death’s gloom in those eyes. But there was none.

“You’re really still alive.”

Xiao Nanhui glanced at Xu Bu.

Truly just a glance — she could not even be bothered to look him over properly.

“Forgive me for disappointing you.”

Xu Bu was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was still low.

“Guangyao Camp said you had taken leave, and no matter how anyone inquired there was no news of you. There were rumors in the palace that you might already be dead in the imperial hunt — nothing more than a target the Emperor had put out — but I surmised that you must have been hidden away by someone. And the only one who could hide a person so thoroughly in broad daylight…”

She exhaled and cut him off.

“You and I have no old friendship to speak of. Whatever you have to say, say it quickly.”

Xu Bu’s jaw clenched tight. The veins at his temples stood out. After a long moment, as though steeling himself, he suddenly dropped to one knee.

“Xiao Nanhui — everything before this, count it as my fault. I admit defeat and accept whatever punishment I deserve. I know your position is a special one now, and there is no one but you who can accomplish this. Just consider it doing me a kindness. This benefits you as well — a Noble Lady with no imperial favor, even if confined to the palace, will only be a thorn in your side in the future. You need only go to the Emperor and say a word — ask him to release Xingyao. What could a woman know of what her maternal uncle has done? Just think of it as a good deed. Don’t ruin her whole life. I won’t think less of her for any of it. I will always treat her well — only if you can —”

Xiao Nanhui looked at that head, once so insufferably arrogant, now bowed low with evident reluctance, and felt a complex emotion she could not quite name stir within her.

She felt like someone who had swum across a river for a long time and was on the bank airing out her drenched clothes, only to turn her head and see another person still struggling in the whirlpool in the middle of the river.

“Xu Bu.” Xiao Nanhui looked at the man before her, consumed in his own obsession, and spoke slowly. “So it turns out you never understood where the enmity between us truly lay. It was never a matter of winning or losing between us — the truth is that you never showed me respect, from beginning to end. And right now, you are not showing Cui Xingyao respect either. You want the Emperor to release her — but have you considered her circumstances? From the moment she was pushed forward, she had already become a discardable piece to her own clan. But that was her choice. Even if she could walk out of those palace walls alive, she would have already lost her dignity long ago. How would her maternal family look at her? How would your household look at her? How would she look at herself? I do not think she needs you to ‘not think less of her’ — and I do not need your admission of defeat.”

She had never said so much to Xu Bu in one breath before. The moment these words were out, she felt as though whatever remaining tie she had with this man in her lifetime had finally reached its end.

Xu Bu’s figure went rigid where he stood. After a very long time, he slowly rose.

“That is all my own affair. You only need to tell me: are you willing to help me?”

That Xu Bu could bring himself to ask her must mean he had been backed into an absolute corner. She understood that desperation — but she did not feel that she needed to always play the role of the one who pulled others out of the fire.

“I am willing to give you both your chance. But the one who makes the choice is not me — it is him. And I have no wish to influence his choice.”

With that, she stepped around the person before her and walked toward the tree.

“Xiao Nanhui, do you truly believe there can be something lasting between you and him?”

Xu Bu’s voice carried a resentment he could barely suppress.

She felt that perhaps what came next was what he had truly wanted to say to her all along.

“Your positions and standing are worlds apart — one in the heavens, one beneath the earth. Even without such worldly gulfs between you, throughout all of history, how many people have ever truly loved faithfully and grown old together? Let alone in the imperial household. Even if you delude yourself with this dream, there will come a day you wake from it, sooner or later.”

Xiao Nanhui halted and turned to look at Xu Bu, who stood across a narrow street from her.

When a person has truly been through hell, they tend to feel a certain urge to laugh when they encounter someone thundering away with grand pronouncements about demons and kings of the underworld.

Parting in life, parting in death — she had tasted all of it in a single day.

Would she think about growing old together many, many years from now? She would not. Not anymore.

If there is a jar of fine wine, she will drain it — she will never leave it for tomorrow.

If there is someone she loves, she will hold his hand tightly and remember this moment for as long as she can.

She spoke again, and her tone was calmer than it had ever been before.

“I have long since woken from my dream. I am clear-headed now.”

And the calmer she was, the more savage the expression on Xu Bu’s face became.

“Then what about Xiao Zhun? Have you truly let him go? I heard that when he fled, he was with someone from the Bai Family —”

A clatter of hoofbeats cut Xu Bu off.

Then an entirely unremarkable carriage rolled out from the back street of the Chancellor’s Mansion and stopped — at just the wrong place, right between the two of them. The person seated at the front of the carriage sat ramrod straight, positioned squarely between her line of sight and Xu Bu’s.

Ding Weixiang looked straight ahead, looking at neither her nor Xu Bu.

And the person inside the carriage had not shown his face either — only a voice came through from behind the thin curtain.

“Commander of the Guard Xu, shall this Prince answer your question?”

The color drained slightly from Xu Bu’s face. Though he still stood where he was, the whole of him seemed more diminished than when he had been kneeling on the ground moments ago.

The person inside the carriage paused, and then spoke again at last.

“They are one green and one white — one Zhun and one Yun — and could be considered a fair match. But as for this Prince and her — we have never been a good fit from the start, and a lone prince paired with a lone woman is, in fact, a match made by heaven itself. Do you understand?”

At these words, not only did Xu Bu take several steps back on the spot and nearly lose his footing — even Xiao Nanhui was left wide-eyed and speechless for a moment.

These words had not one shred of logical persuasiveness, yet they carried with them a certainty that bordered on shamelessness.

Whoever said that the current Emperor was courteous and temperate in his speech had clearly never met the man — this was pure sophistry, brazen beyond all measure.

The young woman by the carriage had yet to react. The green-clad swordsman on the carriage was at last growing somewhat impatient.

“Xiao Ying-wei, would you please take your position.”

The imperial hunt was over, and her title had reverted from Escort Rider back to Camp Guard — which was at least three or four ranks below Xu Bu’s Commander of the Guard.

If the words “Camp Guard” had already caused her to lose face before Xu Bu, then the words “take your position” were positively appalling in their choice.

It should be known that an Escort Rider could at least ride on horseback — a Camp Guard was meant to run along behind the carriage.

Take her position? Where was she supposed to take her position?

The curtain was lifted from the inside just a crack, and a hand wearing prayer beads reached out — the gesture oddly reminiscent of a young woman in Wangchen Tower beckoning customers.

“Get in.”

After all, it was the one at the top who had things figured out — far more sensible than his lackey.

Xiao Nanhui showed not the slightest bit of dignity and clambered into the carriage bottom-first.

Before she ducked into the carriage, she looked back once more at Xu Bu.

He was still nearly standing in the same spot, but for some reason, he looked already very far away from her.

Just as he was almost about to look in her direction, she hurriedly dove into the carriage.

She truly was not cold-hearted enough — one moment more of lingering and she would have begun to waver.

The interior of the carriage held a faint bitter fragrance. Xiao Nanhui breathed in deeply and let her heart slowly settle.

“Where are we going?”

“North. Huozhou.”

She paused at this, then immediately straightened up.

“North? Are we not going after Yanzi? They —”

“Pursuit is always the inferior strategy. Because no matter how swift your movements, you will always be one step behind. If you wish to turn the situation around, you must find a way to be one step ahead.”

She could not quite take this in, and her tone grew urgent.

“But how can one be one step ahead? They have taken Xiao Zhun, they must have something in mind. And who knows when Pu Huna will resurface — why abandon the only lead we have right now?”

“Who says this is the only lead we have right now?”

The man lifted the nearby lacquer box with one hand. Inside it, laid flat with great care, was a strip of cloth — the very one she had taken from the Xiao mansion that night.

“What information is hidden within that strip of cloth you found at the Xiao estate? Where did the people from Zou Sifang’s mansion go? Who wrote that letter from the Black Wood Commandery — and what did it say? All of this — do you not want to know the answers?”

Her clenched fist loosened. After a long moment, she finally slowly leaned back against the cushion.

She had been persuaded — but there were still many questions in her heart left unanswered.

She propped herself up again, just about to open her mouth to ask, when she turned and found that the man had already closed his eyes, apparently fallen into a deep sleep.

He seemed utterly exhausted. The half-read volume beside him was still lying open across his knees.

“Your Majesty?”

She called out softly; he did not respond. Yet from outside the carriage came Ding Weixiang’s low voice.

“His Majesty went without sleep for three days and three nights, debating affairs of state with the elder statesmen from all factions, in order to set out on this journey as quickly as possible.”

Xiao Nanhui said nothing more.

After a moment’s thought, she picked up the open volume and set it aside, then pulled out the folded blanket nearby and drew it over him.

When she had finished all of this, she suddenly realized something: this was the first time she had ever done such a thing for someone else. And in the past, Dujuan had done this for her many, many times.

Her nose stung, and she nearly let the tears fall unbecomingly again. But she had at last learned to still those emotions. She recited in her heart the names of those who had drifted far from her, and gradually she felt a warmth flow from the tip of her heart outward, spreading at last through her whole body.

Opening her eyes once more, Xiao Nanhui propped open a corner of the carriage window and looked out.

The carriage had already driven out through the city gate. Outside was the familiar scene beyond Quecheng’s city walls — a level official road stretching into the distance, and the tall poplar trees lining the road, thick with summer green, rustling softly in the morning light.

She had set out from here countless times, and returned here countless times.

This time, she did not know where the road would end. She only knew that no matter what awaited her ahead, she would bring all of it to an end with her own hands.