In the blink of an eye, it was the end of the third month.

The weather this year had turned unseasonably early. Though it was only the end of the third month, the heat had already come on as though it were the sixth or seventh — and on top of that, Guanzhong was suffering a severe drought: not a single drop of rain had fallen. The air was dry and scorching, and it wore on one’s nerves for no reason at all.

Court affairs had been quiet of late. On the Second Prince’s side, the matter of “substituting grain for money” had yielded no progress; on the Crown Prince’s side, Cui Jinzhi had been busy overseeing the construction of the Yongtong Canal, and had not returned to the mansion for more than half a month.

Everything had sunk into a state of oppressive, stifling stillness.

Li Shu dreaded the heat. When the weather turned hot, she craved coolness more than ever. In a time like this, with rare leisure at hand, she spent her days stretched out in her mansion — now and then reading a book, now and then taking in the cool, as if lulled into a pleasant illusion that life was serene and the days unhurried.

On this particular afternoon, with the sun hanging high in the sky, the maidservants had moved a chaise lounge out onto the water pavilion by the lake in the rear courtyard. Li Shu, wearing a light and casual everyday robe, had picked up a volume of history, and was reclining against the chaise lounge, reading it with unhurried ease.

A faint breeze drifted across the lake. A maidservant stepped forward and said softly: “Your Highness, the midday meal has been set — would you like to—”

Without so much as lifting her eyes from the book, Li Shu waved her hand in dismissal with a look of impatience. “I will not eat — I have no appetite right now.”

And so the maidservant retreated without a sound.

But before the length of a stick of incense had passed, a flurry of hurried footsteps came rushing over.

Li Shu found nothing more irritating than being disturbed while reading. With a snap, she closed the book and turned around, frowning in reproach: “No noise!”

But when she turned, she saw through the bamboo screen that the person approaching was a retainer from Cui Jinzhi’s side named Cui Lin. He was drenched in sweat, and stood just outside the water pavilion with an expression of great agitation, exchanging words with Hong Luo.

Having been scolded by Li Shu, Cui Lin immediately shrank back his neck. Hong Luo said something to him, then drew aside the bamboo screen and stepped inside.

Hong Luo’s brow was deeply furrowed with worry. “Your Highness — the Prince Consort has been injured…”

Li Shu immediately sat up straight. “What?!”

Hong Luo hastened to add: “Your Highness, please do not be alarmed — the Prince Consort is in no danger. It is just a gash along the right arm.”

Hearing this, the tension in Li Shu’s nerves eased somewhat. And only then did she notice that her concern for Cui Jinzhi had been excessive — so she said coldly: “As long as he did not die.”

Yet though her words were thus, her right hand had gripped the scroll she was holding so tightly that her fingers had gone pale.

She said: “Send Cui Lin in.”

She wanted to hear the particulars.

How could he have gotten himself injured?

Cui Lin had ridden hard all the way from the Yongtong Canal, and was drenched in sweat — the back of his robes was soaked through.

He raised his hand and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Your Highness, this morning the workers were at their labors, and the Prince Consort was making his customary rounds of inspection. Who could have known that halfway through the rounds, a laborer suddenly raised a hoe and attacked the Prince Consort? The thing happened so quickly that no one could react in time. The Prince Consort raised his right arm to block the blow, and the arm was slashed — fortunately it did not reach the bone or sinew.”

Cui Lin caught his breath and wiped away another bit of sweat. “I came back to find the household physician. As you know, there are no good doctors to be had out on the construction site.”

“I see…”

Li Shu took in the details of the injury, made a swift decision, and turned to Hong Luo with her instructions: “Go and call Physician Xue — he is skilled with external wounds. Have him bring all the valuable medicines from the household, just to be safe.”

“Yes.” Hong Luo nodded and was about to leave when Li Shu called her back again. “Do not call for the carriage — have a guard ride with Physician Xue on horseback.”

One order after another, laid out in clear and methodical sequence, ensuring the physician would reach Cui Jinzhi with all possible speed.

Hong Luo received her instructions and withdrew.

Cui Lin stood in the lower portion of the room. By now he had finally cooled down somewhat, and he took this moment to steal a glance at Princess Pingyang.

He could not help frowning inwardly.

He thought: when a husband has been injured, any other woman would be weeping by now. Yet the Princess had not so much as faltered in her speech — she remained as composed as ever.

The Princess is truly cold toward the Prince Consort!

Small wonder that back then, the Duke of Cuiguo had not wanted Princess Pingyang to step through the doors of the Cui Family.

Her status as a daughter born of a concubine could bring no advantage to the Cui Family. And she could not even manage to look after the Prince Consort with tender feeling.

Cui Lin quietly curled his lip inwardly. He thought to himself: if the Prince Consort had been wed to Princess Anle, the Cui Family’s standing — and the Prince Consort’s emotional life — would both have been far better off than they were today.

Originally, Cui Lin had been on the verge of asking whether Li Shu wished to visit Cui Jinzhi at the construction site. He had no specific reason for it, but he simply felt, instinctively, that the Prince Consort would be happier if the Princess came.

Yet looking at the coldness of her expression now, it seemed pointless to ask — the answer would obviously be no.

And so Cui Lin swallowed the words back down, bowed, and said: “Your Highness, I had better take my leave — there is no one close to the Prince Consort without me there, and I must attend to him.”

Li Shu’s expression was grave and solemn. She gave a nod. “Very well. Remember to ride fast on your way back.”

After Cui Lin departed, Li Shu sat quietly on the chaise lounge for a moment, her mind blank and empty, unsure what to do with herself. It was some time before she noticed that her fingers ached slightly. Li Shu loosened her grip, and found that the scroll had been crumpled beyond recognition in her hands.

She rarely allowed any vulnerable sentiment to show through — worry, longing: she called such emotions useless. They served no purpose.

And yet, right now…

Li Shu pressed her lips together, then suddenly stood up, holding her spine perfectly erect.

She hesitated for a moment, then suddenly said: “Prepare the carriage.”

Change of clothes, harnessing the horses, boarding the carriage: what on other days would have taken half an hour to prepare was done today in the time of a single stick of incense. The carriage wheels began to turn, and the horses galloped swiftly southward through the city.

It was midday now, and the streets were not lacking in pedestrians. The coachman urged the horses forward, snapping the whip and shouting ahead: “Make way, make way!”

The carriage raced on, leaving a trail of churned-up dust in its wake.

They passed out through the Mingde Gate and turned westward. At last, they arrived at the Yongtong Canal.

The carriage did not slow. It drove straight into the encampment along the canal, stirring up yet another cloud of dust.

This place was chaotic and teeming with life. On both banks of the canal, stretching as far as the eye could see, were densely-packed gray encampments. At midday — the hottest hour of the day — the workers did not labor, and the construction site filled with a rising and falling chorus of snores.

The carriage threaded its way between the rows of tents on either side, the sound of snoring like rolling thunder, drowning out even the noise of the carriage wheels.

The carriage headed straight for the largest main encampment. No sooner had it come to a stop than the curtain was thrown aside, and a figure leaped down.

“Your Highness, careful!”

Li Shu had jumped straight down from the carriage, giving Hong Luo such a start that she cried out softly and hurried to jump down as well.

Li Shu pressed her lips together, her expression grave. She stood at the entrance of the main encampment.

Having been shut inside the carriage for the length of the journey, her face was now flushed a faint rosy color. The season was hot, and Li Shu despised the heat — going out in the full blaze of midday was a genuine trial.

Li Shu furrowed her brow slightly. She had leaped from the carriage in a frantic rush — but now that she stood before the entrance of the main encampment, she hesitated, suddenly unsure what to do.

She did not know whether she should go inside.

She did not know, either, that if she did go inside, what she would say to Cui Jinzhi — how to explain that she had come specifically to see him.

She did not want to have any tender feeling toward him.

Or rather, she did not want him to think she still held any tender feeling toward him.

The two soldiers standing guard at the entrance saw a large and imposing carriage come hurtling in, and had just tensed themselves to the ready — only to see the Prince Consort’s Princess leap out, looking extremely urgent. Both guards immediately snapped to, lowering the halberds in their hands, and said in unison: “We pay our respects to Princess Pingyang!”

The guard’s cry pulled Li Shu back to herself.

She let out a quiet inner sigh, tucked away every last shred of concern, and resumed the cold and indifferent manner she wore on ordinary days.

She asked: “Is Cui Jinzhi inside?”

A soldier nodded, and on his own initiative drew aside the tent flap.

Li Shu walked in.

Outside the sun was blazing fiercely; by contrast the tent was a great deal darker. Li Shu’s vision was briefly blinded, and for a moment she could not make out the details of the interior — only a tall, upright figure standing in the center of the tent.

For an instant she thought it was Cui Jinzhi, and she moved forward one or two steps — her pace carrying within it an urgency that she herself had not noticed.

Li Shu drew near and said: “You have been injured — why are you not sitting down? Has Physician Xue looked at you? What did he say? How is the wound now?”

The questions came pouring out in a stream, and the depth of concern they revealed was impossible to miss.

Yet the figure standing in the tent made no reply.

And from the right side of the tent came a voice: “Sparrow,” it said, with a smile in it, “I am over here.”

That was Cui Jinzhi’s voice.

Li Shu narrowed her eyes, and at last her gaze adjusted to the light inside the tent.

The figure in the center wore a dark cerulean official robe. He was tall and lean. He turned to look at her, his expression carrying a trace of surprise, yet remaining as composed and cool as ever.

He was watching her as she rattled off her questions one after another.

This was Shen Xiao.

Li Shu had mistaken Shen Xiao for Cui Jinzhi.