After that day when she had suffered heatstroke at the mansion, Shen Xiao quieted down for a day or two and stopped coming to Princess Pingyang’s residence to press his case about the grain levy.

But it was at most a day or two of quiet. On the third day, the gatekeeper came to report once more that Sir Shen was requesting an audience with the Princess again.

Li Shu pleaded illness and refused to go out. Cui Jinzhi had been at the mansion those days, and so it was he who went out to negotiate on her behalf. His stance was unyielding—if she wouldn’t lend the grain, then she simply wouldn’t.

In the blink of an eye, it was already the eighth day of the sixth month. This day was the Empress’s birthday, and not a detail could be overlooked. Li Shu rose early to dress and groom herself, and when she stepped out the door, Cui Jinzhi had just arrived at the spirit wall. The two exchanged no superfluous words. Li Shu rode in her carriage; Cui Jinzhi galloped on horseback. Together they made their way to the imperial city.

After descending from the carriage at Danfeng Gate, the maids and eunuchs were all waiting there. Nearby stood numerous carriages belonging to the various noble houses. Princess Anle arrived half a step behind Li Shu, and her consort, Yang Fang, carefully helped her down from the carriage—only to have Anle shake his hand away in impatience.

Li Shu glanced over. Yang Fang gave her a slightly abashed smile. He seemed to want to come over and exchange a greeting, but Anle glared daggers at Li Shu from afar and then stalked off toward the inner palace with her head down.

Yang Fang hurried after her.

Cui Jinzhi stood at Li Shu’s side, a trace of displeasure in his expression. “Princess Anle—after all these years, how is she still so willful and spoiled?”

Princess Anle had been pampered since childhood and did whatever she pleased. When she was young, she had bullied Li Shu more than a few times. At fifteen, Cui Jinzhi had entered the palace as a companion to the imperial children, growing close to many of the princes and princesses. Anle in particular had constantly trailed after him, and it was during that time that he had come to know Li Shu.

A young eunuch came forward to pay his respects and led them toward the central palace. Li Shu said, “No matter how willful she is, there will always be someone indulging her.”

She had never told anyone, but she had always envied Anle.

Cui Jinzhi paused mid-step, just about to say something, when a voice called out from behind them: “Princess Pingyang!” Li Shu turned and recognized one of the young eunuchs who ran errands for Hanyuan Hall.

The young eunuch had an agreeable face and smiled brightly. “My greetings to the Princess.”

Li Shu gave a slight nod. She heard the eunuch continue, “Your Highness hasn’t entered the palace for over two months now. His Majesty has mentioned you several times. Now that you’ve finally come today…”

Hearing this, Li Shu and Cui Jinzhi exchanged a glance of mutual puzzlement. Cui Jinzhi’s brow furrowed slightly.

The midday banquet would begin soon enough, and His Majesty could simply see Li Shu then. Why summon her now specifically? Clearly there was something he wished to instruct her on in private.

Li Shu had arrived at the same thought. She smiled at the young eunuch. “I have been thinking of Father Emperor as well. While at Qianfu Temple, I copied sutras and prayed for his blessings every day. Since it is so, I shall trouble the good attendant to lead the way.”

She cast a glance at Cui Jinzhi. “You go ahead. I will find you after I have seen Father Emperor.”

Cui Jinzhi nodded, watching her walk away.

*

When Li Shu entered Hanyuan Hall, Father Emperor was reading memorials in the east reception room. Li Shu knelt and bowed, and Emperor Zhengyuan looked up from his documents. “Where have you been these past two months? Have you forgotten all about your Father Emperor?”

His voice carried authority, yet his tone held a smile—much like a father in an ordinary household, at once stern and tender with his child.

Li Shu smiled at his words, adopting the posture of a daughter, “Please forgive me, Father Emperor.”

She stepped forward and, seeing that Emperor Zhengyuan was reviewing his memorials, moved to the side of the writing desk and lightly rolled up her wide sleeves to grind ink for him.

“It has been exactly ten years since Mother passed away. I thought this year I ought to spend more time praying for her, and so I stayed at Qianfu Temple for two months to recite the sutras.”

Emperor Zhengyuan’s expression showed slight disapproval at this. “If you want to pray, Da Ci’en Temple would do just as well. Why go all the way outside the city?”

Li Shu’s hand paused on the inkstone. “Qianfu Temple is peaceful and quiet. Mother liked that.”

In truth, she did not know whether her mother had preferred tranquility or bustle. From her earliest memories, she had lived in a desolate palace wing, profoundly quiet. Neither of them had ever had the power to choose between quiet and noise.

Qianfu Temple had been built with Li Shu’s own money. The Buddhist shrine was not open to the public—it was consecrated for her mother alone. Although Da Ci’en Temple was renowned for the dharma, it was a great temple after all, with too many people. Offering prayers there felt insincere.

Emperor Zhengyuan gave a noncommittal hum, his expression indifferent.

He could not recall at all what Pingyang’s mother had looked like. That woman had perhaps lingered in his mind for a single night, but she had faded quickly. There were so many women in the imperial harem, and they gave birth to so many children. When people are too numerous, they lose their worth. Those who are overlooked are like wild grass—when they are born, when they die, none of it draws anyone’s notice.

Emperor Zhengyuan returned to his memorials. For a time, the only sound in the hall was Li Shu grinding ink. In the silence, each was privately turning over their own designs.

After the span of a stick of incense, Emperor Zhengyuan set down his memorial and suddenly asked, “I hear you have grown close to Shen Xiao, the supervising commissioner of the Ministry of Revenue?”

Li Shu’s hand jerked, and the ink nearly splattered.

So she was “close” to Shen Xiao. For a moment she thought Father Emperor had learned of the private affair in which she had summoned Shen Xiao as a bed companion.

Then her composure returned. She understood that Father Emperor was not referring to private matters.

Shen Xiao had gone door to door at every great household in Chang’an pressing for grain, and had been hovering outside her own residence these past several days. That was what Father Emperor meant.

Li Shu composed herself and smiled. “Your daughter has no particular acquaintance with Sir Shen. It’s just that a few days ago he came calling unexpectedly, saying he wished to levy grain on behalf of the Ministry of Revenue.”

“Your daughter knows the disaster is severe and was quite willing to lend Sir Shen some grain. However, Father Emperor is aware that the consort has been overseeing the construction of Yongtong Canal, and for months now the mansion’s grain stores have been used to cover the shortfalls at Yongtong Canal. Your daughter truly has more will than means.”

Emperor Zhengyuan was silent for a moment. Seeing that Li Shu was not cooperating, his expression slowly darkened. “Little Sparrow, do you know how much longer this drought will last?”

He waved his hand, dismissing everyone.

The great doors of Hanyuan Hall eased shut.

Emperor Zhengyuan said, “The astronomers have calculated that the drought is likely to last until the eighth or ninth month.”

He let out a sigh, tinged with helplessness. “I have not shared this with anyone. Today I am confiding in you.”

Li Shu lowered her eyes and said nothing.

Seeing that Li Shu would not take the opening, Emperor Zhengyuan could not help but frown. “Little Sparrow—what do you think should be done?”

Li Shu replied, “In years past, whether flood, drought, or locusts, the Ministry of Revenue has always been the one to handle disaster relief. This year should be no different.”

Her answer danced around the crux of the matter.

Emperor Zhengyuan naturally knew the Ministry of Revenue handled disaster relief—he had not asked for that answer. He frowned, then decided to speak plainly. Otherwise, with Li Shu’s sharp tongue, she could talk circles around him all day.

“You may not know, but your second brother comes to weep poverty at me every day. I was so worn down by his pestering that I scolded him soundly just yesterday. I had placed him in charge of the Ministry of Revenue, and now he comes crying to me about empty coffers—if the Revenue Ministry is destitute, then surely the other five ministries must be starving. Yet when I checked the account books, I found that the ministry’s grain reserves really are nearly exhausted. No wonder your second brother has been so anxious and upset these past months.”

Li Shu thought to herself that if her second brother had not been anxious and upset, her scheme of “grain in place of currency” would have been wasted.

Emperor Zhengyuan sighed. “There is no one else here. I won’t talk around it with you. Shen Xiao is levying grain on behalf of the Ministry of Revenue—that is to say, for disaster relief. But there is a shortfall of three hundred thousand shi. He goes about bearing my imperial decree yet has collected only one hundred thousand shi. What is to be done about the remaining two hundred thousand shi?”

“Little Sparrow,” Emperor Zhengyuan said, looking at Li Shu, “I want you to offer some grain to him of your own accord.”

This was why Emperor Zhengyuan had summoned Li Shu today—nothing else. All talk of missing her after so many days was mere pretense.

What he truly wanted to say was contained in that single sentence.

He continued, “If you lend grain, others will naturally follow suit, and the Ministry of Revenue’s problem will be eased.”

Seeing Li Shu stand there in silence, he softened his voice and sighed. “If there were any other way, I would not be asking you to lend grain. But among all the princesses, you have the largest food-tax estate. Even lending tens of thousands of shi would not affect you.”

These words seemed to strike at something inside Li Shu, breaking her silence. She suddenly said, “Father Emperor, your daughter’s food-tax estate is the same size as younger sister Anle’s.”

As she spoke, she raised her eyes and looked directly at Emperor Zhengyuan. He found, in that moment, that she had a pair of remarkably clear and sharp eyes—eyes that seemed to look straight into the heart of a person. He had never taken a close look at her before.

Emperor Zhengyuan hesitated briefly, then explained, “You know Anle—she does nothing all day but play. She doesn’t understand any of these court affairs.”

Li Shu looked at Emperor Zhengyuan for a long moment—long enough that he was almost tempted to avert his gaze—before she finally looked away.

She tilted her head down slightly and gave a quiet, soft laugh.

It was not that Anle failed to understand. Father Emperor simply wanted to protect Anle.

The Crown Prince’s power at court had grown vast, his faction swollen with countless great noble houses, every one of them holding firm and refusing to lend grain. Whoever lent grain now was betraying the Crown Prince—betraying all those aristocratic clans.

Such a thing as offending half the court—how could Father Emperor bear to let Anle do it?

*

The threshold of Hanyuan Hall was high, and one had to be careful going in and out. A moment’s inattention and one might trip over it. Sure enough, when Princess Pingyang came out, she nearly stumbled on the threshold. The eunuch on guard, Liu Cou, quickly steadied her.

The Princess turned her face and said softly to Liu Cou, “Thank you, good attendant.”

Her complexion was not quite right. Liu Cou couldn’t help but glance at her a second time. As if she sensed his scrutiny, Princess Pingyang smiled, concealing every trace of emotion. She said, “The hour grows late. I still need to pay my respects to the Empress.”

She walked away along the vermilion corridor. Liu Cou could not tell whether it was an illusion, but it seemed to him that her always-upright spine had somehow sagged.

Like someone pressed down by a great weight, not knowing which way to bend.