He said yes, his voice compliant — but in his heart he quietly sighed. He had only swept away the layer of frost visible on the surface. He had not let her know that beneath the frozen ground, certain places had already begun to crack.

The Emperor had been in poor health of late. Since the onset of winter, he had suffered several bouts of fever in succession. On one occasion he had even fallen into delirium, so frightening the Empress Dowager that she ordered the palace gates sealed tight and called out the imperial outriders — who were rarely deployed — to stand watch.

And yet even at such a critical juncture, no imperial decree had been issued naming a successor to the throne. By all appearances, this matter would not be decided during the Emperor’s remaining years — the succession edict would appear only in the form of a posthumous testament. Given that, some could afford to wait, while others could not.

Before the storm, fierce winds swept the entire capital. As the seemingly weakest faction in the four-way struggle, theirs was most likely to be the first eliminated. If that was so, what sense was there in bleeding out in this three-way battle? Perhaps to step back was actually the best way to preserve their strength.

Yet the closer things came to the crucial moment, the less room there was for carelessness. He could not yet tell her what was on his mind — she must suffer in uncertainty a little longer first. But his young wife was frightened, and she hovered anxiously by his side. Even in the middle of the night she would unconsciously reach out and touch him, and only once she confirmed he was still there would she drift back to sleep.

He himself had not closed his eyes the entire night. The situation was shifting moment by moment, flowing through his mind in thread after thread. He had to think through a great many things — things that bore upon his own life and death, and upon the survival of the entire Duke’s household.

At the first cockcrow of the morning, a maidservant came in to light the lamps, brightening the front hall. A thin wash of orange-gold fell across the furniture and curtains of the inner bedchamber, and he quietly closed his eyes.

Yun Pan propped herself up, bent her head and saw him still apparently asleep, then gently called to him: “My Lord, it is time to rise.”

He opened his eyes again, and proceeded to dress and wash as he always did, then sat before the warming brazier and drank his first bowl of hot broth of the morning.

Yun Pan sat beside him, glancing over at him from time to time. The restlessness in her heart could not be spoken aloud, so she could only study him again and again.

He laughed and turned to her: “Don’t worry — I will take care of myself.”

She gave a vacant nod, and after everything was in order, she walked with him to the front courtyard to see him off.

The snow had stopped. This kind of stillness was even colder than before. She placed the hand-warmer filled with plum-blossom charcoal into his hands, then pulled the ties of his cloak snug, and walked him all the way to the carriage.

She turned and told Bi Han: “There is fresh charcoal in the small cabinet inside the carriage. Keep watch, and every two hours replace a piece for the Master — don’t let the hand-warmer go cold.”

Bi Han replied, “Yes, Madam — rest assured, I will see to the Master’s comfort.”

Yun Pan gave a slight nod, helped him up into the carriage, then lowered the curtain and stepped back to the stone steps.

Bi Xie wheeled the reins, cracked the whip lightly against the carriage shaft, and the lead horse began to move at a slow trot. The streets were swept of snow each day, but what had accumulated in the second half of the night had not yet been cleared — and the wheels moved slowly through the snow.

After a stretch, he pushed aside the window and looked back. The lanterns at the main gate swayed, and she was still standing there, watching him go. He suddenly thought of the first time she had seen him off from the Shuguo Duke’s residence — she had been just like this, wordless and still, yet somehow deeply heartening. She was a pool of spring water undisturbed by wind — beneath a tranquil surface, an invisible and deep-rooted strength.

He sighed. The household guards had quietly been replaced with elite troops from his former command, but under the crushing weight of the wheel now turning, even these arrangements could only provide a faint, insubstantial comfort.

At least this morning at court, the Emperor had not pressed further into the previous day’s matter — though between the lines, a warning tone still lingered.

He held up his ceremonial tablet and, in the corner of his vision, watched the Duke of Chenguo bow even deeper than before — while between those bowed brows a ferocity had risen that he had never seen before.

Some hatreds are built drop by drop over a long time. When the Duke of Chenguo’s eldest son had died suddenly, the palace had sent no words of condolence. On the contrary, the Emperor had repeatedly suppressed and censured him at court, and this had built a smoldering resentment in his heart. He had once complained to Li Jibai: “If the Emperor favors Third Brother and wishes to establish him as Crown Prince, he may simply issue a decree directly — why use this dull blade to slice us apart? Fourth Brother, the two of us are now placed over a fire — there is no retreat. Whether it is the Emperor’s suspicions or Third Brother’s encroachments, if things go wrong our very lives are forfeit. We are both men with families — Father may no longer be with us, but there are still Grandmother, Mother, wives, and children at home. How can we simply submit and let them do with us as they please?”

Indeed, one cannot simply submit. But with the current situation unsettled, to show one’s colors too plainly was to wager with one’s life. He could not afford that wager. He still had a long life ahead, elders to serve with filial devotion, and a wife to walk beside him through it.

When the court session ended and the two of them walked side by side across the broad avenue before the palace halls, Li Jibai kept his eyes lowered, staring at the paving bricks beneath his feet as though lost in thought.

The Duke of Chenguo, thinking that yesterday’s events had frightened him, offered comforting words: “I’ve already made arrangements with the Court of Great Justice and the Court of Judicial Review — you need not worry.”

Li Jibai finally turned his head and looked at him. “At such a sensitive moment, Elder Brother is not afraid the Emperor will lure you into his own trap?”

The Duke of Chenguo smiled slightly. “If we both walk into the trap, then the Emperor need not hesitate any longer — he can simply hand the realm to Third Brother. I have thought it through — this matter must eventually be decided. As long as the Emperor lives, he will test us again and again. If the realm falls into Third Brother’s hands, none of our brothers will survive.”

Li Jibai said nothing. In the bitter cold, his court robes of purple with large brocade patterns made the skin of his face pale to a shade of blue.

The Duke of Chenguo turned his head, exhaled a cloud of billowing white vapor into the vast expanse of the avenue, and said, “I have traced the matter clearly — Xuandu’s death has ties to the palace. Whether it was my growing too prominent in matters of heirs or military power — I displeased the Emperor.” His brow creased in anguish. “Your sister-in-law — she was diagnosed with another pregnancy just a few days ago. I am very worried… worried that this might happen again. She would not be able to bear it.”

Li Jibai was taken aback. Although Xuandu had died in murky circumstances and he had indeed suspected the palace’s involvement, to hear it stated so plainly in conversation was still deeply alarming.

“What does Elder Brother plan to do?” he asked, slowing his steps and looking at the Duke of Chenguo with uncertainty.

The Duke of Chenguo’s lips curved slightly. “A prairie fire always burns itself out.”

No further words were necessary. Li Jibai was now in no position to meet him privately at either of their official residences or offices — they could only speak briefly when walking out together after court. His intentions had been conveyed, to allow him to be prepared. For now, they were waiting for the right moment — the ice might break in an instant.

This vast empire’s rigid limbs had begun to move in a slow, tentative stretch. You could hear the creak of muscles extending.

He opened his mouth, about to say something, when the Duke of Chenguo clapped him warmly on the shoulder and turned to gaze into the distant sky. “The snow has stopped — tomorrow will perhaps be a fine, clear day.” With that he clasped his hands behind his back and strode with long steps toward the Xuande Gate.

He knew — the moment was near. New forces within and around the capital were gathering in readiness. He held his ceremonial tablet and walked forward. After a stretch, he suddenly heard a voice behind him calling “my dear son-in-law.” He stopped and turned to find Jiang Heng hurrying to catch up, hesitating as he asked, “Do you have any connections with the Brocade Envoy of the Bureau of Household Discipline?”

Li Jibai had no knowledge of what had occurred at the Marquisate, but hearing mention of the Bureau of Household Discipline, he knew it related to the women of the inner household. Ordinarily, at such a time of unease — with his own future uncertain — he would have had no patience to attend to these domestic matters. But out of consideration for Yun Pan, he still patiently listened as this father-in-law recounted how he found himself in an impossible position, how he did not know how to face his daughters, and finally looked to him with pleading eyes, saying: “I dare not speak of this to Babe — if I do, she will only come and reproach me again. That is why I came to you today, to see if you can think of a solution for me.”

As a son-in-law, Li Jibai could not speak harshly to him — but neither did he wish to become entangled in such trivial matters. He simply said: “I have no dealings with the Bureau of Household Discipline — that is the inner prison for women, entirely outside my purview. However, Father, since this is a matter of the inner household, it is best to leave it to Madam Jin to handle. You should not involve yourself — it would only diminish your own dignity.”

Jiang Heng wiped his face and said despondently, “What dignity do I have left — with such a thing happening in my own household…”

Li Jibai said otherwise. “I do not see it that way. When a concubine-servant harbors wicked intentions, the head of the household deals with her impartially. Father could actually use this occasion to establish a reputation for running a strictly disciplined household.”

His gaze was sincere, and Jiang Heng, looking at that face, was persuaded on the spot. He exhaled a sound of agreement. “Right! Why did I not think of that!”

So indeed, compared to those seasoned and cunning politicians, this father-in-law was truly easy to handle. Li Jibai smiled amiably once more and added, “After you return, Father, there is no need to raise this with Madam Jin again. Your younger daughters’ futures will be determined by their mother, as it should be. If you antagonize Madam Jin, it will be counterproductive — a man’s ability to intervene in inner household affairs is limited. You can hardly oversee your daughters’ marriages yourself. You would agree, would you not?”

With this analysis from Li Jibai, Jiang Heng finally laid down his arms in surrender. Only then did he recall the incident from the day before — when the Emperor had flown into a rage and berated the Duke of Chenguo, and carried his displeasure over to this son-in-law. He hastily asked, “Today the Emperor made no mention of yesterday’s matter — does that mean this storm has passed?”

Li Jibai paused briefly, then slowly nodded. “Perhaps.”

Perhaps? So it was not yet certain? Jiang Heng’s official post was not particularly high, and he had no standing to be at the center of this whirlpool. But he knew that the struggles of officialdom could easily cost lives. For the sake of Babe’s happiness, he felt he must say a few words of caution. He gripped Li Jibai’s hand and said, “Dear son-in-law, in future, if something like this happens again — when the Emperor reprimands the Duke of Chenguo — you must stand back, and on no account rush forward to be a hero.” As he spoke, he glanced around him and raised a hand to half-cover his mouth, as though afraid the other half of his words might leak out, and whispered into Li Jibai’s ear: “Think of Babe — she is waiting at home for you. Don’t let a moment of loyalty destroy my Babe’s whole life.”

This was, by all accounts, the most earnest thing Jiang Heng had ever said to this exalted son-in-law of his.

Li Jibai naturally received this lesson with humility, bowing his head and saying, “Father’s instruction — I will keep it close to heart.”

Jiang Heng gave a nod, stroked his beard, puffed up his chest, and walked toward the palace gate with stately, measured steps.

Before the Triple-Gate Tower, the Duke’s household carriage was already waiting. Chang Song and Bi Han, seeing him emerge, hurried forward — one draping the cloak over him, the other presenting the hand-warmer. Chang Song, still mindful of his duty, rejoiced and said: “I’ll hurry back now and report to Madam.”

Bi Xie and Bi Han continued escorting him on to the offices of the Imperial Guard Command.

The Imperial Guard Command offices were located at the Zhuque Gate, separated from the palace city by a flat bridge and a tiled market. The carriage made its way slowly through the streets and, passing before the pastry shop at the Zhang Family Garden, stopped as usual to buy two sesame cakes.

The carriage had just stopped when another oil-green lacquered carriage pulled up alongside it.

Li Jibai sat in the inner compartment and heard a light knock knock knock from the neighboring carriage. He raised his hand and pushed open half the carriage window. Behind the lantern-brocade curtain of the carriage next to him, half a lovely face appeared — red lips parting softly. “Huiying pays her respects to the Duke. She reports: on the fifteenth of the first month, the Iron Cavalry will be deployed throughout the city. At that time, someone will act as a vanguard and provoke a conflict with the Palace Front Command. The Duke of Chuguo will then, under the pretext of suppressing the disturbance, station troops at all critical junctures in the capital. The Duke is asked to exercise the greatest caution.”

The person in the inner compartment was silent for a moment, then said he understood. “In future, when there is news, you may have someone deliver a verbal message — you need not come yourself.”

The woman inside the oil-green carriage replied that she understood. “This information was too urgent — I dared not entrust it to another’s mouth… I heard that yesterday both the Duke of Chenguo and the Duke were impeached. I was deeply anxious, and I had to see you myself to put my mind at ease.”

The person in the inner compartment still spoke in that same composed, measured tone, saying only: “I am well. Do not risk yourself over matters of this kind.” He thought for a moment and said, “Three days from now, relay this information to the Duke of Chenguo’s residence. From this point on, any developments should be reported to the Duke of Chenguo through whatever means you can manage. But there is one thing — you must absolutely not expose yourself. When the right moment comes, I will arrange for you to leave the capital.”

The woman inside the oil-green carriage hesitated at this. “Report to the Duke of Chenguo? Then what about you?”

The person in the inner compartment said, “I have my own plans — you need not concern yourself. You are in a dangerous position. Take good care of yourself.” With that, the carriage window was shut, and the carriage started moving again, heading toward the far end of the long street.

The lantern-brocade curtain was only fully lifted now, revealing the delicate features behind it. She had not dared look at the person in the inner compartment directly — only after his carriage had gone far enough did she allow her gaze to follow him a moment longer.

She watched for a long while, until his carriage turned the corner and disappeared. Only then did she sigh and say quietly, “Let us go back.”

In every turbulent age, there will always be women who become pawns on someone else’s board. Without the brilliant birthright to stand as an equal, all they can do is burn themselves to light the path beneath that person’s feet.

Liang Huiying was such a woman.

She had once been an official’s daughter. Her father had served as a Judge at the Changping Granary and Tea-Salt Bureau, concurrently overseeing matters of farmland, waterways, and labor. But after falling out with his superior, the Fiscal Commissioner had pinned all the accumulated corrupt shortfalls of previous years onto her father’s head — the entire family was convicted. Some were executed. Some were sent into exile.

For the women of such a family, the only path that year was to be assigned as camp concubines, for the amusement of the military officers. She had just entered the barracks then, thinking she would not survive. But unexpectedly, she encountered the Military Training Commissioner of Sizhou at the time — who barely managed to save her life.

He asked no three kneelings and nine prostrations from her, no offer of her body — only that when the right moment came, she be of use to him. So he had arranged a respectable new identity for her, had a female official who had come out of the palace teach her music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, and refined her to be accomplished in every regard. And so it was that on the first snowfall, on the Bian River, came that fleeting, stunning encounter with the Duke of Chuguo.

In any case, serving one man was somewhat better than belonging to everyone. So she had remained by the Duke of Chuguo’s side and begun to gather for him the secrets that no outsider could ever witness.

Men could sometimes be remarkably easy to deceive. The Duke of Chuguo was enthralled by her coquettish ways of drawing close then pulling back, and was even willing to quarrel with Madam Deng on her account. In the presence of someone he doted on, he liked to show off his heroic bearing and his commanding power over the court, promising her that when he rose to the summit, she would be either Empress or Noble Consort.

But who needed his promises? She had always remembered that she owed the Military Training Commissioner her life. Even if it meant her body turned to dust, she would repay that debt of grace.

The oil-green carriage returned to the gate of the Duke of Chuguo’s residence. She stepped down and crossed the front courtyard, and had not gone far when she heard Madam Deng’s cursing — words like “wretched creature,” “rotten harlot,” “meat-selling trull” — as vicious and ugly as they could be.

She did not take offense. She turned and gave Deng Shi a graceful bow from a distance, and said, “In this bitter cold of the twelfth month, Lady standing in the northwest wind — nothing to do with getting your face frozen.” She then swayed gracefully in the direction of the Duke of Chuguo’s study, adding with a parting tease: “You had better hurry inside and warm yourself. That purple-heart turnip color — when my Lord sees it, he will be displeased again.”

Deng Shi’s breath caught in her chest, and she nearly fainted from fury.

As a recognized concubine who had broken no household rules, not even the main wife could do anything to her. She drifted into the Duke of Chuguo’s study and found him writing at his desk. She nestled beside him and smiled. “My Lord is in fine spirits today — what inspired you to practice calligraphy?”

What character was he writing? The sheet of paper before her was filled, in varying sizes, with the single character “edict.” Liang Huiying felt a tremor of unease, and blinked her bright, dewy eyes up at him: “My Lord practices this character — is there some particular significance?”

The Duke of Chuguo set down his brush, smiling as he gazed at those characters. “Edict of Heaven, proclaimed under all the heavens — these are the words a sovereign uses when issuing a decree. When we were young and studying, ‘The royal edict speeds forth to bestow the sword, parting from the sovereign one night to take Loulan’ — what magnificent and sweeping lines. But now that we are grown, this character has become a forbidden word for us brothers — we may no longer write it at will.”

Liang Huiying understood the implications perfectly. She reached out and hesitantly touched those sheets of paper. “If it is a forbidden character, why would my Lord still write it? If it were to get out, it would be an earth-shattering catastrophe.”

But the Duke of Chuguo laughed. “I intend precisely for it to get out — the better if the Emperor himself sees it.” He seemed delighted with his own brilliant scheme. His face was wreathed in smiles, but from his eyes burst a cold and sinister light. He pulled her close, bent his head to inhale the scent of her neck, and said in a bantering tone: “When we four brothers studied together as children, our teacher often said that my handwriting and Ji Fu’s had a six or seven tenths resemblance. If I were to deliberately imitate his script, I could easily capture the essence. Now — if the Emperor were to have these characters discovered in his official quarters, what do you suppose would happen? Would he be stripped of his rank and investigated, or executed on the spot?”

A chill swept through Liang Huiying’s heart. She looked at him with wide eyes and said, “My Lord — how would such characters ever appear in his official quarters? Even if it were reported to the Emperor, surely the Emperor would not believe it.”

The Duke of Chuguo, prompted by her words, actually showed a trace of hesitation, muttering to himself: “True, true — if they were found in his office quarters, it would smell of a planted frame-up.”

She pressed her advantage. “Besides, why would my Lord bother with the Duke of Weiguo? He is the most unassuming of the three Dukes. If you first remove him and then go after the Duke of Chenguo, would it not make my Lord look as though he is grasping for everything alone — which would hardly help your reputation. In my humble view, it would be better to keep the Duke of Weiguo as a counterbalance. Even if my Lord were to fall out with the Duke of Chenguo in the future, there would still be a Duke of Weiguo in the picture — and people would say that my Lord has not completely annihilated his brothers. When the time comes for my Lord to rise to the summit, those men of letters and remonstrating officials would find it difficult to criticize my Lord freely.”

Her reasoning was sound and well-argued, and in the Duke of Chuguo’s hearing, it seemed his cherished favorite had quite a flair for politics. But women, after all, never see far enough. He pinched her chin and kissed her red lips. “You don’t know the caliber of Li Jibai. The dog that bites does not bark. In terms of shrewdness, he is ten thousand times deeper than Li Yaojian. And he is Li Yaojian’s right arm — as long as he is there, even if Li Yaojian is near death, he will be pulled back from the brink. But if he is removed first, the snake is struck at its vital spot — and Li Yaojian will no longer be a threat. Since I have my mind set on ascending to the throne, why would I care about the censure of officials and men of letters? When that day comes and power is in my hands, silencing the voices of the world is actually not so difficult.”

He spoke, and with a self-satisfied smile, rolled up the sheets of paper and placed them into a scroll tube. He called a pageboy in, tossed it carelessly to him, and said: “Run an errand to General Geng’s residence. Deliver this evidence of treason to him — he will know what to do.”