This was how they planned it, and in the end, this was exactly what they did.

Liang Shi had drawn a circle around the Princess Residence, completely plugging her ears and blocking her sight. She had no recourse and greatly feared that one day news would suddenly arrive saying the dynasty had changed hands, and her muddled Second Brother had finally acted heroically once—dying for the state as a king should. She didn’t want that. The more critical the moment of survival became, the more she thought “how I hate that I wasn’t born a man.” If only she were a man—even dying on the battlefield would be a hundred times better than being kept as a caged bird for others’ amusement.

She summoned Jin Shi. “There are heavy fortifications outside the residence. If we wanted to send a message out, could it be done?”

Jin Shi said it could. “I’ll personally deliver it. Even tigers nap sometimes. If I travel by night and slip past those guards, there should be an eighty percent chance of success.”

“But what if you’re caught?”

“If I’m caught, as long as they can’t find anything on me, considering Your Highness’s position, Prince Nanyuan won’t do anything to me.” Jin Shi spoke with complete composure, then smiled at her. “Please wait for my return, Your Highness. When I come back, I’ll bring people to deal with those guards and escort you away from Nanyuan.”

Wanwan looked at his face. He had always been able to give her a sense of security. He was dependable—a man of few words, but solid in everything he did. The panic in Wanwan’s expression gradually settled as she nodded. “After this succeeds, we’ll leave Nanyuan… Once we’re gone, we’ll never return.”

News of the Grand Princess’s joyful pulse spread quickly to the prefectural office. There was no need to make a special report—just letting a little wind blow was enough for it to reach Prince Nanyuan’s ears naturally. Wanwan waited quietly. If he cared for her, he would naturally return. But the longer the wait, the more unsettled she felt. She leaned against the headboard murmuring: “What if he doesn’t believe it?”

Tonghuan asked her to remain calm. “Ever since you lost the child last time, hasn’t this been what you’ve thought about day and night? Don’t worry—he’d rather believe it’s true. Wait a little longer. It’s almost dark. Perhaps he was busy with affairs during the day, but once everything’s settled, he’ll definitely come.”

Wanwan closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “All this acting—you deceive me, I deceive you… What’s the point of continuing like this? I originally thought I’d found a good man. Even if he was scheming, I could accept it. I kept comforting myself that Nanyuan was in difficulties, and if he used some cunning to preserve his domain, I could bear it as long as he treated me well. Who knew his ambitions would grow larger and larger until I couldn’t hold onto him anymore…”

What could be done? It was all just fate. She felt her fortune wasn’t as good as Yin Lou’s. Whether Yin Lou was truly dead or faking death, at least she didn’t have to face the embarrassment of a shattered realm. Unlike herself, holding everything in her hands yet unable to let go.

“Do you think the Factory Minister and Yin Lou are together now?” Her gaze passed through the flower window to rest on swallows returning to their nests. “The Factory Minister must have found Yin Lou. They’re in some place no one can find, living peaceful days, right?”

Tonghuan remained gloomily silent, seeing her lower her head to caress the two dzi bead pendants on her prayer beads, knowing she must be reminiscing about the old days again.

She still remembered when the Grand Princess first opened her heart to love—it was Xiao Duo she liked. Unfortunately, the two had different trajectories and could never have had a future together. Tonghuan secretly felt it was a pity. If the Grand Princess could truly have relied on Xiao Duo, today’s situation wouldn’t have arisen. Whether Daye survived or perished, at least there would be no conflict between the two of them, sparing her this burning torment. But fate had bound her to an ambitious prince, and this chain of suffering was endless torture.

She bent down to tuck in the quilt corners. “Your Highness, let’s not think about others—just think about ourselves. You must take care of your health. It’s getting hot, so why are your hands still so cold? Who in this world can’t live without whom? Taking ten thousand steps back, even if we stop worrying about the Emperor and Prince Nanyuan, as Jin Shi said, we can leave this place of disputes and find somewhere to retreat from the world. You’re still young. This period has been difficult, but we can start over. I refuse to believe Heaven is so unfair.”

She just smiled at this. “Where could we go… My background has roots. From Imperial Princess to Grand Princess—it sounds glorious, but you’ve seen how small my circle of life really is.” She drew a tiny circle. “In the palace I dealt with concubines, after marriage I listened to my brother, and afterward all my ups and downs were tied to my husband… Looking back now, my life has been terribly boring. What’s so good about being a princess?”

Tonghuan teased her: “Look at me then. I’m not a princess—I’m a girl from an ordinary family. I entered the palace at seven or eight, worked my way up from a little maid wiping dust to a manager, then came to serve you. Has my life been interesting? Actually everyone’s the same—we all have our sorrows. If you hadn’t encountered this situation, you’d be the most blessed person in the world…” As she spoke, she caught sight of something from the corner of her eye and suddenly lowered her voice. “He’s here.”

Wanwan’s heart leaped. Tonghuan pressed her hand to calm her, then went to the door to greet him.

“Your Highness has returned at just the right time. This servant was just about to send someone with the good news…”

He raised his hand, exceptionally pleasant. “I know. You may go.”

He had been traveling outside and inevitably picked up dust. After brushing himself off under the eaves, he still didn’t dare approach her closely when he reached her presence, fearing he might dirty her bedding. He stood by the footstool, asking carefully: “How are you feeling now? Still unwell?”

Wanwan looked at him with difficulty, not knowing what attitude she should take toward him. Before he came, she had thought of countless ways to respond, but seeing him, she felt she couldn’t use any of them. He looked just like five years ago when he first heard she was with child—that sweet yet bashful expression that he didn’t want to show too openly made her feel sad watching it. She had deceived him and felt very guilty, but considering cause and effect, compared to his earth-shaking deceptions, her little tricks amounted to nothing.

She exhaled softly. “You won’t leave tonight, will you?”

Only then did he dare let a smile appear on his face. “I won’t leave. I’ll stay home and keep you company. In the past we never kept servants overnight in our room—if you need anything, just ask me. I’m happy to do it. Let’s do the same tonight. They’ve worked hard this period, so let them sleep soundly while I watch over you.”

Wanwan’s heart was filled with mixed emotions. After a moment of silence she asked: “You know everything?”

He nodded repeatedly, studying her expression. “This child comes at just the right time. We’ve hoped for so long and finally got our wish. Aren’t you happy?” Seeing her eyes fill with tears that rolled down like pearls, he couldn’t care about anything else. He stepped forward to wipe her tears and held her in his arms comfortingly. “Wanwan, our marriage bond isn’t broken—it’s been renewed. I know you care about the world, but now it’s different. We have a child, and you must think of him. Five years ago we painfully lost one—the heartbreak was unbearable. Learning from that lesson, we can’t let this one follow his brother’s fate. Just take good care of yourself and don’t worry about anything outside. Give me some time, and I’ll surely return you a beautiful realm.”

Perhaps he said this to ease her mind, but to her ears it was particularly grating. She couldn’t argue with him—she had to appear resigned to fate. To make up stories about a nonexistent child—she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Better to quickly get to the main point.

“That day you said you were going on campaign. Have you set the date? When?”

He hesitated slightly. “I leave tomorrow. I originally wanted to stay with you a couple more days, but the orders have been sent out—it’s hard to change them.”

She nodded. “After this parting, it will be long before we meet again. Even if I tried to keep you, I couldn’t. Go then… Take care of yourself.” She got out of bed and stood behind the floor screen, instructing Xiao You: “Prepare dinner. Have the cook make a couple of his specialties.”

Xiao You responded from beyond the window. She turned back, her face still composed. “I haven’t been eating well lately. This can’t continue. You haven’t eaten yet, have you? Let’s eat together—consider it a farewell dinner.”

He agreed and helped her sit on the cloud-head couch, earnestly instructing: “Being able to eat and drink is a blessing. Whether you have appetite or not, once it’s in your stomach it nourishes you, and when you’re nourished, our child will be too. I saw Dong Li the other day—when he was born he looked like a sick kitten, but look how well he’s grown now. If our child has a strong foundation, he’ll be even better than Dong Li in the future.”

Mentioning Dong Li brought the first smile to her face. “Uncle will be younger than nephew—the generational order is mixed up.”

“What does that matter? My old uncle’s grandson is twenty years older than me, but when he sees me doesn’t he still have to pay his respects properly? Besides, these are real uncle and nephew—in Heaven’s eyes we’re still the elders.”

Setting aside national hatred and family grudges, when the two spoke together there was a long-missed sense of intimacy. Sitting opposite each other under the lamplight, her gaze flowed like water over his eyes and brows. Such a familiar feeling, as if nothing had ever changed. His features weren’t sharp-edged but tended toward gentle handsomeness. She used to think such men were passionate and couldn’t bear to let their loved ones suffer—who knew she was wrong? He and she were the same type of people—once they established a goal, they would pursue it unto death. So they traveled opposite paths, growing ever more distant. That they couldn’t spend their lives together was truly tragic and lamentable.

The kitchen quickly prepared the meal, and Tonghuan and Xiao You brought in the kang table. Jiangnan didn’t use kangs, but to suit her living habits, they had specially built one under the south window. Usually it was used for sitting, and in winter for warmth too—she was someone who feared cold extremely.

She gestured for him to sit. The table held several colorful appetizer platters plus seasonal river delicacies. She served him food. “Let’s not discuss state affairs today. Eat more. I don’t dare eat much—I’m afraid if I eat something wrong, I’ll regret it forever.”

But he said it didn’t matter. “Just avoid cold foods like snails and crabs.” He habitually picked out the two pieces of meat from the fish belly, removed the large bones, and placed them in her dish. “Eat—no worries about bones.”

Wanwan was practically disabled when it came to picking fish bones. She only dared eat the belly meat—other parts easily caught in her throat, so every time he cared for her like a child. Perhaps she’d never find anyone who loved her more than he did in this lifetime. But why could this person be so perfectly attentive in small matters yet put her in such a difficult position in major principles?

She lowered her eyes and picked up her chopsticks. The fish was delicious, but in her mouth it tasted endlessly bitter. She choked slightly, feeling nauseous, but couldn’t spit it out and forced herself to swallow.

Seeing her expression, he straightened up and asked what was wrong. “Do you need to vomit?”

She smiled self-mockingly. She wasn’t really pregnant—what was there to vomit?

She poured wine for him. The wine was drugged, and she was terrified—afraid he would drink it, afraid he wouldn’t. In the end he raised the cup and drained it. A great weight lifted from her heart. Since it had come to this, so be it. Move forward and don’t look back.

She urged him to drink more. He held his forehead and mumbled about feeling dizzy. She thought the drug was probably taking effect and stared at him fixedly until he collapsed on the table motionless.

Time was pressing. She immediately got up to search his waist but found no tiger tally. Fortunately she found a sheepskin scroll in his breast—when unrolled, it was indeed the Southern Army’s marching map.

Everything was prepared. She quickly laid clear paper over it and used her eyebrow ink to trace along the red arrows beneath. He truly was skilled at deploying troops—such scattered positioning and encirclements would be impossible to describe clearly without copying.

The candlelight on the desk flickered. Her heart pounded nervously as she drew while watching him carefully. This knockout drug wouldn’t wear off for half an hour—half an hour should be enough for their planning.

She copied the map exactly and rolled the sheepskin scroll back into his breast. The clear paper was very thin—rolled tightly it was no thicker than chopsticks. Wanwan handed the copy to Tonghuan to immediately take to Jin Shi. Tonghuan hurried to Jin Shi’s duty room and repeatedly warned: “Be extremely careful—don’t let those guards search you.”

Jin Shi was prepared. He wrapped another layer of paper around the copy, lifted the lamp shade to remove the candle, and carefully sealed the paper with wax. Tonghuan didn’t understand why he did this and was about to ask when he suddenly drew his dagger and cut his left inner arm. Before the blood could gush out, he embedded the paper roll inside and smiled: “If the map survives, I survive. If the map is destroyed, I die.”

This action was completely unexpected and suddenly evoked a tragic, heroic feeling. Through her tears Tonghuan saw him hand over needle and thread. “Please help me sew up the wound, miss.”

How painful this must be! How could flesh and blood endure such treatment?

Tonghuan looked at him in distress. Sweat beaded densely on his forehead as he said to sew it up. “I swear to complete what Her Highness has entrusted, even unto death.”

Tonghuan knew he had feelings for the Grand Princess, but due to their different stations, he had never dared reveal them. For so many years he had silently remained here, and even when the Grand Princess wasn’t present, he had maintained the Princess Residence. When Prince Nanyuan previously purged those Chang Wei agents, he had gritted his teeth and stood firm as a rock—he must have long anticipated this day. So bleeding a little now was also a kind of devotion he willingly made.

Several Jin Yi Guards grew agitated: “Let’s escort Her Highness and fight our way out—better than being sitting ducks.”

Fighting their way out—how could it be so easy? Those guards were elite troops whose skills were no inferior to the Jin Yi Guards. Moreover, they had superior numbers while his side had only eight men. They probably couldn’t even step out the main gate before being completely annihilated.

He said: “Too risky. We don’t matter—we’re worthless lives—but what if Her Highness gets frightened? Better that I go alone, avoid those sentries, and slip out quietly. Once I return to the capital and mobilize men from the Thousand Household Office, when forces are evenly matched, I’ll come back to rescue you all.”

Tonghuan’s needle and thread moved through his flesh—each stitch made her feel the pain herself. Fortunately it was finished, his bleeding gradually stopped, and she wiped her sweat and pulled down his sleeve.

He flexed his arm. As a martial artist, he could endure this small wound. Taking up his blade and looking at everyone: “I entrust Her Highness to you all—protect her well.”

Yu Qixia told him to rest assured. The remaining Jin Yi Guards looked at him like orphaned children. He gave them a reassuring glance, crouched low, and slipped out under cover of night.

Meanwhile, Wanwan stared unblinkingly at Liang Shi. The kang table had long been cleared away, and they had laid out bedding to cover him properly, caring for him convincingly. After a long time she saw his eyelashes flutter slightly as he slowly opened his eyes.

He rubbed his forehead asking what happened. She forced herself to remain composed: “You must have exhausted yourself outside—you fell asleep before finishing dinner…” She tucked in his quilt and said softly: “Sleep some more. You have to travel tomorrow.”

He hummed in response and turned over. She didn’t lie down beside him but returned to her own canopied bed. He clenched his fists tightly, his eyes in the shadows sorrowful yet alert.

In the end it was still insufficient. His heart’s blood spilled everywhere, only to be discarded by her like worn shoes.