After a wonderful meal shared with Biqing, followed by the arrival of the appointment letter from the Ministry of Personnel, Chen Baoxiang suddenly felt as though the world had brightened. Even the air around her smelled notably fresher.

Former colleagues who had once greeted her with frowns and hard looks had at last learned to show her decent smiles after she donned the armor of Commander of the Imperial Guards.

The several elder officials who had persistently blocked her from bringing Grandmother Ye’s coffin back to Shangjing had finally chosen to hold their tongues.

Even those uncles and elders of the Zhang family, upon encountering her, now took the initiative to come and chat.

Chen Baoxiang couldn’t help sighing with feeling: “People really do need to keep reaching for higher ground.”

“Boss, we understand the principle well enough.” Fenghua was gasping for breath behind her. “But does it have to be before dawn, and does it have to be up a mountain?”

The mountain ranges revealed their dark silhouettes in the early morning light. Zhao Huaizhu, Wang Wu, Han Xiao, and the others formed a long line along the path, every single one of them breathing hard.

Chen Baoxiang found it amusing. “Have you all been slacking off in your training lately?”

“Not at all. An ordinary mountain is no trouble for us, but look at this path — it’s as steep as a chopstick standing upright.” Wang Wu waved his hand vigorously. “Let’s rest a bit. This pack on my back is also getting heavy.”

Han Xiao was tired too, but she didn’t say a word, just quietly kept her wide eyes fixed on Chen Baoxiang.

Chen Baoxiang leaned down and smiled at her. “Do you know where we’re going?”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Oh?” Chen Baoxiang was quite surprised. “I never said a word about it. How could you know?”

Han Xiao gestured toward Chen Baoxiang, then toward the path ahead. “In the direction where Great-Grandmother is, Chen-jiejie never feels tired no matter how far she walks.”

Ye Shuangtian had two daughters — one called Ye Qionglan, the other Ye Qiongxin.

Ye Qionglan had married early and had children of her own, with Ye Han Xiao to brighten her days; Ye Qiongxin had no interest in affairs of the heart, never married, but happened upon a Chen Baoxiang and raised her up.

Han Xiao should have called Ye Qiongxin “Auntie-Grandmother,” but the Ye family had long since broken apart and scattered, and the two had never met while her grandmother was still alive. Chen Baoxiang had only heard Grandmother Ye speak of her elder daughter’s granddaughter, and that was how she had come to know the name Ye Han Xiao.

She touched Han Xiao’s head with a feeling of tender sorrow and continued walking up the mountain with her.

Between the high, towering mountains, there lay a stretch of flat, fertile ground — the family burial site of many of Dasheng’s distinguished ministers and generals since the dynasty’s founding.

Chen Baoxiang had been granted a plot of this land.

The tall stone stele stood before her eyes, but because the Ye family name had not yet been formally restored, it remained entirely blank.

Chen Baoxiang crouched in front of the newly built grave mound, smiled, and reached out to wave. “Grandmother, we’re home~”

Behind her stood several of Ye Qiongxin’s former disciples, along with a row of Chen Baoxiang’s own newly taken students. The crowd was dense, but the atmosphere was still and solemn.

“I told you I’d make something of myself, didn’t I.” She raised her chin proudly. “I now have a very large house to live in. When I go out, I have a horse and carriage. I eat meat at every meal. I’m an official now — a rather impressive kind of official. No one dares to trifle with me. And I’ve accumulated so, so much money.”

All those wishes she had murmured while nestled at her grandmother’s side as a small child — wishes that had seemed impossibly far out of reach — had somehow all come true.

Chen Baoxiang laughed and laughed until her voice went a little hoarse.

She lowered her gaze and wiped the new bricks before the grave over and over with her sleeve, lips pressed together, the tip of her nose flushed red.

The wind sent the paper offerings swirling up into the air, like the yellow sand that never settles at the frontier, like the snow that fell over Shangjing at the end of winter.

Chen Baoxiang spotted a figure in the distance, standing beside a tree nearby.

Today was the day Grandmother Ye’s coffin was being laid to rest. She had sent word to Ji Qiurang as she always did, but the mountain path was steep and difficult to climb, and Madam Ji was getting on in years — she had not expected her to come.

And yet she had come all the same.

Ji Qiurang stood quietly beneath the tree. Her spine, which had been straight before, had curved slightly at some point without Chen Baoxiang noticing. As the wind blew, she looked thinner than ever.

She stared at the stone stele from a distance, staring for a long while, not daring to go forward.

Chen Baoxiang walked toward her.

“You’ve come all this way — why won’t you go over and pay your respects?”

Ji Qiurang shook her head, looked once at the stele, then lowered her gaze. “I only came to find you.”

“I have heard of the matter of reforming the examination system. You and Zhang Zhixu have done everything you could, but Baoxiang — the court is a house built of wood. Every person must borrow support from others. Making too many enemies is not a good thing.”

“Today you feel yourself without weakness and fear nothing, but people always have moments of letting their guard down. I do not wish to see you follow in the footsteps of Chief Minister Ye.”

Chen Baoxiang understood her meaning. “Someone wants to move against me in the shadows?”

“Not wants to.” Ji Qiurang sighed. “They have already made several attempts. When those came to nothing, what follows will only be more relentless.”

Chen Baoxiang was puzzled. “They’ve made attempts? When did this happen?”

Ji Qiurang: “…”

Her expression grew complex as she brought up a name. “Lu Qingrong.”

“Oh, her.” Chen Baoxiang scratched her head. “She only managed to make my reputation sound a bit bad.”

“Only?” Ji Qiurang shook her head. “When you are riding high in favor, it shows nothing. But the moment imperial grace cools even slightly, this will become a hand closed around your throat.”

Chen Baoxiang actually understood this logic — but right now, she wanted to take advantage of the sovereign’s willingness to listen to her and push through the reforms as quickly as possible. Naturally she could not afford to be too cautious.

“And then there is Gu Yijian.” Ji Qiurang continued. “Lu Qingrong rode back to Shangjing on his official vessel carrying ancient texts, and the fact that she could suddenly enter the Music Bureau as a registered entertainer — there was most likely his hand behind that as well.”

The reforms would harm the interests of the great clans first and foremost. The Zhang family had shown surprisingly little reaction for reasons unknown, but the Gu family clearly had no intention of tolerating her.

One person standing alone against an entire great clan — it was still far too difficult.

“Regarding the examinations this year — if you can, try not to get entangled in that matter either.” Ji Qiurang’s brow grew increasingly clouded with worry as she spoke.

She stood in the dim shade of the trees, her aged eyes drained of their light by having witnessed too much injustice.

Chen Baoxiang knew, of course, that she was worried for her sake.

But after a brief moment of consideration, she still clasped her hands in a formal salute toward Ji Qiurang. “Senior, do not worry. This year’s examinations may on the surface be the same as previous years, but the fact that the system has not yet changed does not mean there is no room to turn things around.”

The sun rose, and the mountainside was suddenly flooded with brilliant light.

Chen Baoxiang extended her hand toward Ji Qiurang in that flood of light. “Come — let us go pay our respects to Grandmother Ye together and ask her to bless all those of true talent and learning with success in their exams.”

The great light of day shone down, making even the outstretched hand appear to glow faintly red.

Ji Qiurang stared wide-eyed, the furrow in her brow reluctant to ease, as though she still wanted to urge further caution.

Chen Baoxiang reached out and pulled her out of the shade and into the light in one motion.

“I believe that from the moment you beat the Drums of Justice before the palace gates, Grandmother Ye may have already forgiven you.” She said with her bold, bright smile. “If you don’t believe me, go ask her yourself.”

The brilliant light poured down over them. Ji Qiurang was seized by a kind of fearful awe and turned her face away, unable to look directly into it.

But after walking a few steps, she found that for all its brilliance, the morning sun did not hurt her eyes.

Looking forward through the spaces between her fingers, the young woman held her hand and walked ahead — fearless, undaunted, moving forward without hesitation.

Ji Qiurang felt suddenly, in a daze, as though she were seeing Ye Qiongxin from so many years ago.

“Come, Qiurang — don’t be afraid. They say you can’t accomplish anything, but I think you can.”

“People don’t live their whole lives inside someone else’s grip. Once you become an official, you’ll be able to make your own choices.”

“Qiurang, keep up.”

…

The voice from long ago rang clear as ever across the mountainside, dissolving into a sky full of swirling paper offerings.

Ji Qiurang looked at Chen Baoxiang with reddened eyes.

Chen Baoxiang pressed the incense and candles into her hands and smiled brightly. “We’re only waiting for you.”

We’re only waiting for you.

This time — will you again leave your companion behind?

Will you again bury your head and turn onto a safer, more familiar road out of fear?