Life is like a stage where people constantly make their entrances and exits. Wanwan was just a bit disappointed that most of those who departed did so in the prime of their lives—never once had anyone lived to die of old age. Sometimes she wondered at what age she would exit someone else’s stage when her time came. She hoped to live a long life, to raise her child, then retreat with Liangshi to find some place with clear mountains and beautiful waters to settle down, without worldly troubles disturbing them, just the two of them.
She was always melancholy, and everyone around her tried every means to cheer her up. Even Yu Qixia, who appeared so proper and serious, dressed up with Xiao You to perform “Beating the Cherries” for her. At first she still had some smiles, but gradually she sank back into gloom—this play too ended with lovers separated like scattered swallows. Thinking of her current situation only made her feel more desolate.
Tonghuan and Xiao You no longer knew how to console her, so they pushed Yu Qixia forward. Yu Qixia tucked his hands in his sleeves and said, “Your Highness thinks too heavily, which brings no benefit to yourself. If Your Highness is bored with leisure, why not choose a name for the little prince?”
Wanwan shook her head. “Leave that matter to his father—I won’t trouble myself with such concerns.”
Her state truly worried everyone. Yu Qixia said, “Your Highness used to keep the realm and nation constantly in your thoughts. As long as it benefited the country, Your Highness would spare no cost. Now you’ve become dejected simply because of temporary separation from the Prince. Given this, were all your many precautions against him in Nanyuan false?”
How could that be the same!
“His troops were limited in number. If he had treasonous intentions, I would certainly have killed him myself—but he didn’t.” She argued, feeling this reasoning quite sufficient. Then she lowered her head, looking through her jacket decorated with paired lotus patterns at her belly. “Besides, I’m carrying his baby—how can I not miss his father?”
Yu Qixia sighed. “Do you resent the Emperor?”
Wanwan thought for a long while. “Privately, I resent him. He married me to Yuwen, then separated us as husband and wife—how can I forgive him! But publicly, he has his concerns. If peace for the realm requires trading away one person—me—I can only be disappointed, but dare not hate him.”
This was the tragedy of being Xiaozong’s bloodline. Xiaozong’s imperial succession differed from all previous dynasties—the custom of father passing to son was broken. Gaogong’s ascension followed the brother-succeeding-brother pattern, so that golden dragon throne kept rotating among their brothers. Wanwan was too close to them; most times it wasn’t that she wanted to get involved—she had no choice. She thought everything related to the court would end with her demotion in rank, but her brother wouldn’t let her stand on dry ground. This Great Ye territory never belonged to her, yet she had to bear half the responsibility—who told her she shared the same parents with him?
She stood up and paced along the covered corridor. When tired, she sat in the goose-neck chair. Raindrops splashed outside the railings, wetting her skirt, but she paid no mind. Looking up at the sky full of dark clouds for ten thousand li, it reminded her of the yellow plum rain season in Nanyuan. Her memories of Nanyuan, accumulated over just half a year, amounted to so little! She hadn’t stayed until the fruit ripening season, didn’t know what autumn in Jiangnan tasted like. She only remembered how in March and April, redbud flower fragrance permeated everywhere. In the Grand Princess’s mansion on Grand Cap Lane, there was a flowering tree planted in front of the screen wall outside the second gate. The gardener had pruned it beautifully, displaying a maiden’s graceful and enchanting figure.
When people love each other, even separated by rivers, lakes and seas, their hearts remain connected. As Wanwan leaned alone against the railing, Liangshi was discussing affairs with his subordinate generals in the study. Before the map studying battle lines and deploying troops, he suddenly felt a palpitation and froze there, forgetting his movements. Lan Zhou softly called “Father” twice before he came to his senses, rallied his spirits, and inserted a small flag at the Andong Wei landmark.
Step by step, devouring like a whale or silkworm, he never did anything without certainty. The distance from Nanjing to the capital was vast—once the great army advanced, there must be people to provide support along the route. Andong Wei’s position was precisely at the midpoint between the two places. The garrison records stated: “Outside the capital, screening the protection of one region, along the Eastern Sea patrol area, where garrisons are most numerous, none surpasses Andong in importance.” It was a military stronghold in southeastern Shandong. The court stationed heavy troops there—thirty-four sea defense and canal defense posts in total, all under the jurisdiction of the Five Military Commands. Coincidentally, the newly appointed Assistant Commander was his childhood friend, with a full six-year term. Six years was enough time for him to prepare.
Seeing him put military affairs back on the agenda, everyone below was beaming. These hot-blooded men had been eager to achieve merit and establish careers, but because their superior had been enjoying newlywed bliss, they’d pushed their ambitions to the back of their minds. Now it was good—the Grand Princess had left, and the Prince had formed new grievances with the Emperor. Finally there was hope of raising troops.
After the generals dispersed, Lan Zhou remained, craning his neck to ask his father, “What happened to you just now? Were you thinking of Mother again?”
His father glanced at him. “You’re still young—I can’t discuss this with you.”
Lan Zhou said, “How can’t you discuss it? Your sons miss Mother too. Brother Ting tosses and turns in bed at night like making pancakes, saying he wants to eat Mother’s strange-flavored flatbread and steamed rice cakes, asking when Mother can come back.”
He stood before the window where torrential rain struck the bamboo curtain under the eaves, scattering into fine water mist that came toward him. Gradually worry clouds gathered between his brows, and he pounded the window sill with one hand. “Wait a little longer. I received word from your Fifth Uncle that she’s doing well. Today marks the twenty-sixth day. Once the time comes, I’ll set out for the capital to bring her back.”
Lan Zhou put his hands behind his back and sighed. “In Father’s opinion, can you bring her back smoothly?”
Could he? It was uncertain. He slowly shook his head, paused and said, “Whether I can or not, I must try. Your mother is carrying a little brother. I can’t let her remain alone in the capital, facing childbirth all by herself.”
At that time Lan Zhou was still naive, only sensing his father’s anguish, which contradicted his usual decisive command. Perhaps liking someone made one like this—that Grand Princess was indeed very likeable. When he first learned Father was to marry, his birth mother had come crying to him. While feeling annoyed by adults’ domestic troubles, he decided to hate that so-called legitimate mother. But facts proved his plan failed. She was a kind and beautiful person, her heart like bodhi, unstained by dust. Being with her brought no discomfort whatsoever. She was very casual—sitting when she wanted to sit, lying down when she wanted to lie down. As long as no other elders were present, she allowed him to ignore rules and even be presumptuous. For a child accustomed to restraint from an early age, this feeling was as free as being an immortal.
Lan Zhou said, “I’ll go with Father.”
His father still shook his head. “We’ve already lost two officers. To add another would be too costly.” Then he fell silent, stepped out of the study, and walked slowly toward Longen Tower.
Missing someone—a day truly felt like a year was no exaggeration. Most of each other’s time was spent waiting. Often thinking much time had passed, looking back revealed it was merely the time of one incense stick.
The colors on the plum blossoms painted on the wall grew more numerous, the blank spaces fewer and fewer. Wanwan’s mood also improved.
Her morning sickness had lessened, and her cheeks finally filled out somewhat. The first thing upon rising was to ask how many days remained. Xiao You calculated carefully—Mid-Autumn was approaching: five more days, four more days… After hearing this she’d get out of bed, in the mood to pencil her eyebrows and change into beautiful clothes. Though knowing he wouldn’t come so quickly, even if she waited until dark she never lost heart, continuing the same way the next day.
The fifteenth was right before them, but this year was regrettably different—the Emperor and Empress Dowager were at odds, so no one advocated hosting a grand banquet. Besides, that day was precisely when the moon would be full across the universe. Cultivation emphasized unity between heaven and man, so the Emperor was very busy with no time to eat, drink and make merry with a bunch of women. He had long arranged with immortal masters to ascend tall towers and practice spirit departure. Once initiated into the Way, one could ascend in broad daylight and transform into an immortal.
He wanted to become an immortal but never considered what would happen to the realm. When describing the benefits of immortality to Wanwan, she had asked him this question. His response was “whoever cares can care”—his ten sons could draw lots, whoever had good luck could be emperor. Coming out of West Sea, Wanwan felt completely uncertain about the future. You could call him absurd, yet when he truly cared about the realm, he’d use any method. You could call him conscientious, yet he often didn’t take the kingdom seriously. If there were a golden pill that could make him immediately immortal, he would unhesitatingly trade away the realm for it.
Wanwan felt helpless. What she could do was limited—being worthy of her deceased parents. What came next depended on this emperor brother’s mandate from heaven.
Seeing Mid-Autumn approaching, she had the mansion decorated with flowers to admire and lanterns to view. She had never anticipated anyone’s arrival like this before—opening her eyes brought hope. She knew her days weren’t easy, and his must be equally difficult. Standing in the pavilion on the artificial mountain looking south, she hoped someone would enter to announce that the Prince of Nanyuan had arrived. She would definitely bury her head straight into his embrace and never come out again.
So from the fourteenth she began waiting anxiously. Thinking of the Embroidered Uniform Guards at the gate, worried they might obstruct him, she specially made a trip to the duty room.
Entering, she happened upon Jin Shi, sitting at his desk polishing his embroidered spring sword. Seeing her, he was startled and quickly rose to bow. “Why has Your Highness come? If you have orders, sending someone to summon this subject would suffice—how dare we trouble Your Highness to come personally!”
Wanwan tugged at the corner of her lips. “Don’t be formal. Since you’re serving in my mansion, it’s not like the restrictions outside. I also have something to entrust to Officer Jin. Not coming personally would show my insincerity.”
Jin Shi waved his hand, and his subordinates all withdrew outside the door. He respectfully clasped his hands. “Your Highness speaks too seriously. This subject awaits Your Highness’s instructions.”
Thinking of Liangshi, Wanwan’s face showed a faint smile. “These next few days, I expect someone to visit me. Please be accommodating, Officer Jin, and let him enter. I know His Majesty has ordered you to protect the Grand Princess Mansion’s security, but since this is for recuperation, not imprisonment, you should allow me to receive guests. Officer Jin needn’t feel troubled—if His Majesty blames anyone, I’ll personally accept responsibility and absolutely won’t implicate Officer Jin.”
Jin Shi hesitated, glancing up at her quickly. “May Your Highness clarify who this visitor is?”
She smiled with pursed lips. “An old friend whom I must see. If the Embroidered Uniform Guards obstruct from the middle, don’t blame me for being ruthless and leaving you no room.”
She was in good spirits and looked well, the fragrance from her garments floating away as she turned, drifting from her elegant palace sash to fill nearly the entire duty room. Jin Shi watched her retreating figure, his brow furrowing. He’d experienced this princess’s stubborn temperament many times. She actually looked down on Embroidered Uniform Guards like them—the imperial family’s hunting dogs who bit whomever they were told to bite. Their current status was lower than even the Eastern Depot eunuchs. Her coming was giving face, informing them beforehand. The sensible thing was not to block the way—everyone could be convenient.
A captain entered and followed his gaze. “This old friend is probably no ordinary person. Should we report upward?”
Jin Shi smiled faintly. “How to report? Tell the Commander that Her Highness the Grand Princess will soon have a friend visiting, but as for who it is, we don’t yet know?” Having spoken, he had already made an exception to be lenient. It was rare to see a smile—this golden branch and jade leaf wasn’t easy either. Let her be happy a while longer.
Of course, this visiting old friend’s identity required special attention. On the evening of the fifteenth, three fast horses came galloping down the main street before the Grand Princess Mansion. The Embroidered Uniform Guards pressed their swords and descended the steps. Those men reached them in an instant. The leader nimbly leaped from horseback, his stone-blue silk riding jacket making his figure particularly graceful. Only a cool hat with a golden silk mesh covering his mouth and nose made identification impossible. Judging by bearing and build alone, he resembled Eastern Depot Director Xiao Duo.
Jin Shi raised his hand signaling the arrivals to halt. That person finally removed his face covering, revealing a face beautiful enough to rely on for arrogant authority. Without guessing, except for Nanyuan’s Yuwen, it couldn’t be anyone else.
Indeed, he was refined in bearing, raising his hand in salute. “This humble one is Yuwen Liangshi, requesting to see Her Highness the Grand Princess. I trouble you, Officer, to announce me.”
A prince who didn’t act superior before lower officials—this was already rare in current Great Ye. The captains who had been ready to draw their embroidered spring swords upon hearing this stepped back. Jin Shi cupped his hands in return. “Please wait at the gate, Your Highness.”
There was no help for it. Even in Nanyuan they had to observe ruler-subject distinctions; arriving in the capital required even more attention to status. He had rushed here day and night. Seeing the Grand Princess Mansion’s plaque made his heart even more anxious. But he couldn’t act rashly—he must follow protocol step by step. Any misstep would make this trip to the capital criminal evidence. Not only would he fail to bring Wanwan back, he’d send himself into a quagmire.
Told to wait, he could only wait. He restrained himself and looked around. Murong Gaogong was indeed generous toward this sister. The Grand Princess Mansion was newly built, every brick and tile revealing magnificent splendor that ordinary princely residences couldn’t match. So as a princess, she never lacked materially. He only worried about her spirit. Fifth Brother’s letter had mentioned she was frail and weak—he wondered how she was now. After half a month’s care, she should be somewhat better.
He waited patiently at the gate, finally hearing a string of hurried footsteps. Looking back, she had run to the celestial steps before Silver Peace Hall, without her usual steady composure—now just a young woman missing her husband.
She wore loose robes, her cloud-like black hair piled high. Gold hairpins had scattered all over the ground from running. He was truly frightened by her behavior, calling for her to stop and wait for him there. She obediently listened, crying with outstretched arms, repeatedly calling his name like a child. He hurried over and finally embraced her. She buried herself sobbing in his chest, saying, “I waited so long—you finally came.”
He held her tightly, both arms trembling. Not caring that so many people watched, he cupped her face to examine carefully. Those eyes and brows were still the same, only her skin was pale and cool—she had indeed grown thin.
They gazed at each other obsessively, their looks nearly greedy, as if seeing once meant seeing once less. The young couple’s reunion needed no description. Everyone sensibly withdrew, leaving the vast courtyard to just the two of them. As lanterns first lit and warm light rose, Wanwan hooked his neck saying “kiss me”—her soft voice sweet as honey.
He kissed her, both choking up so the kiss couldn’t continue. They just pressed foreheads together under the dim twilight like two vines tightly entangled.
The Embroidered Uniform Guards at the gate stood like weapon racks. Seeing Jin Shi emerge, a squad leader cupped his hands. “Sir, look—what do we do now? The Prince of Nanyuan has come to the capital. Though His Majesty granted him a yellow jacket, he’s still a prince. If we conceal and don’t report, the higher-ups will surely punish us.”
Yes, the old friend had become the Prince of Nanyuan. Even wanting to turn a blind eye probably wouldn’t work.
“There should be a memorial that went ahead to the palace…” He made a snap decision. “Immediately send someone to West Sea to report. This matter can be big or small. If problems arise on our end, we’ll all lose our heads.”
The captain below received orders, mounted his horse, and galloped westward toward the Western Park.