Nearly half a month had passed since the day of the imperial decree, and this short half-month had been the most awkward stretch in all of Xiao Nanhui’s life.

Su Pingchuan, as Left General of the Guangyao Camp, was tasked with guarding the western city gate and frequently led a contingent of soldiers on patrol along the key roads around the capital. Xiao Nanhui, as Right General of the Guangyao Camp, was tasked with guarding the eastern city gate — and beyond the eastern gate lay the Imperial Guard camp. To avoid a “head-on collision” with that ill-fated Xu Shu, she had no choice but to keep herself confined to a range no greater than ten li from the gate, entrusting most of the patrol duties to her subordinates.

Even so, every morning and evening when the gates opened and closed, she inevitably exchanged a distant glance with Su Pingchuan — one standing at the east end of Jiazi Boulevard, the other at the west end. Even on the rare occasions when they passed each other, they never spoke.

After only a few days of this, the soldiers under her command had already categorized her as a strict and humorless superior. She tried to explain but found it too difficult. She could only keep up the stern facade each day, and by the time she returned to the marquis mansion each evening, she felt thoroughly exhausted.

To make matters worse, barely a few days into her new posting, an important convoy arrived to enter Quecheng, and both she and Su Pingchuan had to be on full alert.

This all traced back to that wretched Emperor deciding to select imperial consorts.

The current Emperor of Tiancheng had now reigned for nearly ten years. A similar recruitment of fine women from across the land to enter the palace had only been arranged once before — not long after his enthronement. The Emperor had always seemed cold and indifferent on the matter of heirs. Concerned ministers who said too many words on the subject would find themselves slapped with the charge of “interfering with the imperial succession.” After enough time passed, with the Emperor still young and in the prime of his life and in no danger of suddenly passing from this world, everyone stopped bringing it up.

After years of collective silence, the matter was raised again in the wake of King Kang’s assassination. Rumor had it that when King Kang was murdered, no one inside or outside the temporary palace survived — his household and family were almost entirely killed. Only one person escaped: King Kang’s daughter, Cui Xingyao.

Cui Xingyao’s mother was a member of the Yu family. Her maternal grandfather was the old general Yu Jin, and her maternal uncle was the current Imperial Clan Affairs Commissioner Yu Youwei. She had previously lived with her father King Kang in Jizhou. A month prior, for some reason she had taken a sudden notion to visit her mother’s family — and no sooner had she left than King Kang was assassinated. With the upheaval in Jizhou, she was now the sole surviving branch of the Cui line.

At court, Yu Jin had long since withdrawn from political maneuvering, and the Yu family, while still outwardly distinguished, had been quietly declining. Yu Youwei knew that King Kang’s death, though seeming like a terrible blow, in fact concealed a favorable opportunity. He understood Cui Xingyao’s significance — her identity meant she was destined to become a piece the Emperor could use to pacify Jizhou. So long as the timing was right, the Emperor would have no reason to refuse.

A few days after King Kang’s head arrived in Quecheng, Yu Youwei gave a tearful performance at court and then proposed sending the orphaned girl into the imperial palace.

As expected, the Emperor offered no refusal. To receive no rejection was already the greatest victory — Yu Youwei, his goal achieved, said nothing further. But the other powerful households and senior officials in Quecheng could no longer sit still. Who would not wish to place a daughter or two at the Emperor’s side? If the right one rose to prominence and became an imperial consort, the benefits would be far beyond counting.

From that point on, each morning’s court session became a stage for various families to recommend their finest young women. The Emperor listened in silence for several days and finally lost his temper, making it clear: the whole country is preparing for war, and rather than thinking about how to win, every one of you is thinking about stuffing women into my chamber — are you tired of living?

The court fell into a panic. At this juncture, a Minister of Rites named Li Li appeared from somewhere and attempted to smooth things over by suggesting: whether one woman enters or ten, what difference does it make — why not simply open a new selection process, recruit fine young women from respectable families across the land to enter the palace, entrust everything to the Ministry of Rites to manage without disturbing the Emperor, and moreover, have each candidate’s family bring a contribution of silver as a token of their commitment to Tiancheng’s coming war effort.

The Emperor seemed to have been waiting for precisely this proposal, and at last nodded in complete satisfaction. The assembled officials were suddenly struck by the feeling they had been played — yet having ridden the tiger, they could not dismount, and so they shuffled out feeling deflated, returning home to count their silver.

And so she came to this — standing guard at the city gate through the night.

What need was there for such a grand escort for a handful of young women? Why else, but because the beauties were arriving seated atop mountains of silver?

Hmph. The Emperor was truly calculating. Poor her — a lone, bare-handed general, without even a supplementary allowance for standing night watch.

After enduring until dawn, with the last carriage of women having finally entered the city, Xiao Nanhui handed over her post with two dark circles under her eyes and made her way back to the marquis mansion. The moment she stepped through the door, Dujuan came hurrying over and placed a letter in her hand: “Miss, you’re back. This just arrived — it says it was sent from Wancheng.”

Xiao Nanhui took the letter and thought for a moment before realizing: a letter from Wancheng could only be from Hao Bai. She tore it open at once.

Hao Bai’s handwriting was a wild, soaring scrawl, and his phrasing was extravagant and affected to an extreme. Xiao Nanhui squinted at it for quite some time before making out the general meaning: he had arrived safely in Wancheng, and was most grateful that she had lent him the horse Hua Qiu; he would feed the horse well and bring it back the following month when he came to Quecheng for a medical visit. The rest of the letter was a rambling string of declarations of how much he missed her — a stranger might have thought they were lifelong friends who had faced death together.

At the very end, in the bottommost corner of the letter, a single line of small characters read: Brother Zhongli and Brother Yao may not be on the same road — it may be better to let them drift apart.

Those small characters had been scratched over and rewritten again and again, testament to the conflicted feelings of whoever had set pen to paper.

Xiao Nanhui was still puzzling over it when Dujuan, pretending to tidy up by the door, kept sneaking glances over. After a moment she could no longer restrain herself: “Whose letter is it? You’ve been reading it so long.”

She quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into her sleeve: “A friend from Wancheng.”

Dujuan’s gossiping instincts flared up, and she pressed on: “I never knew you had a friend in Wancheng. Is it a man or a woman?”

Xiao Nanhui knew Dujuan’s mind all too well, and replied without expression: “A man. A jianghu physician who likes to powder his face.”

Dujuan could barely contain her excitement, grabbing Xiao Nanhui by the collar with both hands and launching into an earnest lecture: “A physician is wonderful! If you ever get sick or injured, you’ll never be without someone to treat you. And being skilled in medicine counts as having a trade — he’ll never go hungry. A girl like you, who can’t hold onto money, needs someone like that…”

Xiao Nanhui sighed inwardly. She had long since seen through Dujuan’s schemes. Ever since she turned sixteen, Dujuan had been dropping hints and probing about every unmarried, un-concubined young man in the capital’s notable households, never letting a potential prospect slip by. Xiao Zhun, being a man, naturally paid no mind to such things. Dujuan was different — she would take any opportunity to chat with the maids and matrons of the great households in town, and would reliably turn up a fine young man from time to time, then try surreptitiously to arrange an introduction for Xiao Nanhui.

Yet Xiao Nanhui’s head had always been rather slow to turn in that direction. At first she understood nothing of Dujuan’s intentions, thinking it was simply a matter of meeting guests and sharing meals — so she accompanied people for drinks when they wanted to drink, and for flower-viewing and music when they wanted that. But the guests always steered the conversation to odd places in the end. After several rounds of this, she finally caught on, and from then on, if Dujuan was behind a social engagement, she would absolutely refuse to attend.

Lately, with Xiao Zhun frequently preoccupied, the atmosphere in the household had grown somewhat somber, and this subject had gone unmentioned for quite some time. That Dujuan had now set her sights on Hao Bai was both exasperating and amusing to Xiao Nanhui.

After thinking it over, she decided it was best to make things clear once and for all.

“Dujuan, I have no plans to marry at present.”

Dujuan finally stopped. Her pair of bright almond-shaped eyes turned toward Xiao Nanhui, scanning her up and down with sharp scrutiny: “To say something like that — you already have someone in mind?”

Xiao Nanhui’s heart lurched, and the expression on her face was impossible to conceal. Just as Dujuan was about to press further, a sound came from outside the door — a figure stepped through: it was Xiao Zhun.

“I was just looking for you.” Xiao Zhun’s gaze fell on Xiao Nanhui, and her heart began to race.

“Hmm? My lord, what matter brings you to find Miss?” Dujuan’s attention was diverted, and she momentarily forgot the question she had just been about to ask.

“Word just came from the palace — they want you to enter and give thanks immediately. I’ve already had the proper preparations arranged. Have Dujuan help you change, and don’t delay.”

Xiao Nanhui had been wondering about this for the past few days; now that she had stopped thinking about it, the Emperor had come calling.

Dujuan’s hands were quick and deft — she had Xiao Nanhui presentable in no more than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. Just before she stepped out the door, Dujuan pressed a brocade case into her hands. Xiao Nanhui recognized it — it looked like something Hao Bai had given her when they were in Huozhou.

“Stop staring at it. It’s something you brought back yourself. I’ve had it looked at — it’s genuinely fine quality. It would be wasted on you. You might as well take it into the palace; maybe the Emperor will be pleased and give you another good posting.”

Xiao Nanhui climbed into the carriage with a somewhat speechless expression and was still turning over those words as she passed through three layers of palace gates. Wasted on her — how so?

Beneath her feet lay white jade stones; to the left and right gleamed glazed tiles. The occasional palace servant who passed by was fair-complexioned and well-groomed, carrying in their every movement the ease of those who have been pampered since birth.

Xiao Nanhui quietly lowered her head again. All right — fair enough. By comparison, she was something of a rough-edged person.

After walking for about half the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, she finally reached the end of the path, where a single palace attendant stood alone. Unlike the ordinary attendants in their deep crimson palace dress, this person wore all black and had a jade crown at his temple — clearly someone of authority.

He turned at the sound of her approaching footsteps, revealing a face of unexpected refinement — gentle, compliant features that bore no resemblance to the overbearing air one usually associated with those in charge.

Xiao Nanhui was wearing her new officer’s uniform today. Though her hair was bound up under an officer’s hat, it was still evident she was a woman. The attendant official’s face showed not the slightest curiosity or surprise upon seeing her — a testament to his composure and steadiness.

Xiao Nanhui quickly offered a bow and stated her identity: “I am Xiao Nanhui of Qinghuai Marquis Mansion. I have come to the palace today to personally give thanks for the Emperor’s grace. May I ask how to address this attendant official?”

The official, who had a most warm and approachable manner, smiled — fine lines of warmth appearing at the corners of his eyes: “Greetings, General Xiao. I am Dan Jiangfei, Chief Attendant to His Majesty. His Majesty specifically instructed me earlier to wait here for you.”

This attendant official was truly easy to talk to. Xiao Nanhui let out a small breath of relief.

“So it is Chief Attendant Dan. This is my first time in the palace, and I am not well-versed in protocol — I ask for your patience and guidance.”

Dan Jiangfei gave a gentle nod: “General Xiao is too gracious. His Majesty is presently at the Dongnu Hall’s Taihe Bathing Garden taking a bath. Please follow me.”