Shen Xiao made his way out through Chengtian Gate. The attendants waiting beside the palanquin hurried forward when they saw him coming — then stopped short at the sight of his robes. How had the master suddenly come out wearing sixth-rank official’s clothing?

Shen Xiao’s face showed nothing. He raised a hand, signaling the bearers to lower the palanquin, and he lifted his robe and stepped inside. The way he moved was just as it had always been — just as it was when he was the Remonstrance Counselor rising through the ranks.

The curtain fell. The bearers lifted the palanquin. An attendant, bowing as he stood outside, asked: “Master, where to?”

The man inside said nothing. The bearers outside dared not move.

Where to?

Shen Xiao thought to himself: with so little time before he left the capital, and sparse as his personal ties were, there were still things to pack for three years away. Right now he ought to be wasting not a single moment, hurrying home to pack his belongings and get himself properly gone. Once he had earned the emperor’s displeasure, he ought not to remain planted at the foot of the Son of Heaven’s throne, making a nuisance of himself.

And yet Shen Xiao said nothing for a long time.

Because the curtain had fallen, the interior of the palanquin felt dim and close. Shen Xiao drew a jade hairpin from his sleeve and held it up, studying it in the faint light.

The pin was entirely blood-red, without a single trace of another color — clearer and more vivid than even the finest red agate. And because jade was naturally warm and smooth by its very nature, despite the fierce depth of its crimson, it carried no flashy ostentation. The moment Shen Xiao had laid eyes on it, he had known this jade was made for her. He had served as an official for this long, and every coin he had saved he had poured out to buy this one hairpin.

Li Shu’s birthday was not more than half a month away. Before this, Shen Xiao had worried over many things: whether she would like this hairpin, whether she would think the gift too slight. Although Hetian blood jade of such quality was genuinely rare, she had seen every precious thing imaginable.

But thinking on it now, all those worries seemed laughable — by the time her birthday arrived, he would long since have left Chang’an.

What was more, at this moment she was surely furious with him, and would in all likelihood refuse to accept a birthday gift from him.

Shen Xiao stroked the smooth surface of the jade hairpin, and found he could not quite picture what she looked like when she was angry.

Most of the time, Li Shu held her emotions tightly controlled. Whether happy or sorrowful, there was always a layer between herself and the world — she did not lay her feelings fully bare, as if perpetually wearing a mask. Even in the moment of greatest feeling, she had only turned her head away and held his shoulders tightly.

What did she look like when she lost her temper? Would she throw things? Would she even strike someone? She must be furious enough to breathe fire — she might very well point at his nose and call him a scoundrel who got out of bed and refused to acknowledge anything.

Shen Xiao leaned against the side of the palanquin, and a smile crept across his face. He thought to himself: if she truly said that to him, he would answer — I only learned that from you.

That would certainly leave her choking on her own words, speechless.

He did not know why, but imagining that scene, Shen Xiao found himself almost… looking forward to it.

A personal flaw of his, perhaps — he liked watching Li Shu come undone. Laughing out loud, or in the deepest grip of feeling, or even this — the look of fury. He wanted to see all of it. That was the most genuine version of her beneath all those layers of armor.

Only he could see her like that.

Shen Xiao tucked the jade hairpin back into his sleeve, then spoke at last to the attendant outside: “Xiankelai.”

Li Shu had ears everywhere — she would certainly already know of his demotion and posting. Ten chances to one, she was at Xiankelai right now, lying in wait for him.

The bearers received their instructions and carried the palanquin along Zhuque Avenue. Before long, the palanquin was set down before the entrance of Xiankelai. Shen Xiao went straight up to the third floor.

A row of guards stood outside the door of the Golden Jade Chamber. Seeing Shen Xiao approach, and knowing he was a frequent visitor with the princess, they did not stop him — they let him step over the threshold.

Xuancheng red carpet spread across the entire room, stretching all the way to the daybed by the window. Li Shu was dressed today in elaborate formal court robes, the long train of her skirt dragging behind her. Had the skirt not been embroidered with golden thread, it would have nearly blended into the red carpet beneath.

Compared to the plain everyday robe she had been wearing these past days, this attire better suited a princess — poised and cold and imperious.

She sat on the daybed by the window, head bowed over the go board on the small table before her, face lowered. The sharpness at the corners of her brows and eyes, set against the overcast sky outside, lent her features a quality that was almost too keenly cutting, almost merciless.

And yet Shen Xiao, looking at her, felt only a faint heat rising at his ears — he was remembering what had happened on this very daybed those days before. The most intimate, the most longed-for.

It was plain that many days had passed, and whatever traces might have lingered in the Golden Jade Chamber should long since have dissipated. And yet Shen Xiao could still feel, as though by instinct, the atmosphere of that afternoon’s intimacy.

Shen Xiao’s gaze fell directly on Li Shu, but Li Shu did not look up at him. She appeared entirely absorbed in her game of go, as though she had not even noticed his presence.

Everything was so calm that Shen Xiao had a strange impression: perhaps she was not actually angry at all?

He was about to walk toward her when Hong Luo stepped forward to intercept him, wearing a perfectly composed smile of formal courtesy. “Sir Shen, are you here to request an audience with Her Highness? Please wait a moment while this servant announces you.”

Shen Xiao frowned.

What was there to announce? She was right there, no more than a few steps away.

But this was the protocol for requesting an audience with a princess.

Hong Luo walked to the window and said to Li Shu: “Your Highness, Sir Shen requests an audience.”

The person on the daybed said nothing. She continued to sit with her head down over the go board, fingertips lifting a black piece, studying the board for a moment before setting it down. In the quiet of the room, the sound was very distinct.

After the piece was placed, a moment of silence passed. Then Li Shu seemed at last to take notice, to register that Shen Xiao was there beside her.

She turned her head slightly. Her eyes held a thoroughgoing coldness. “What is it? A sixth-rank county official, and you walk into my presence without paying your respects?”

Shen Xiao was taken aback.

Li Shu’s reaction was entirely outside his expectations. He felt, suddenly, a flicker of panic.

She was not angry. She was not furious. She was perfectly, completely calm — utterly and absolutely indifferent.

It was as if… he were a stranger. No one would get angry on behalf of a stranger, because that would not be worth the feeling. All anger, all joy, all sorrow — those could only arise in connection with someone close. And so Shen Xiao had never truly feared Li Shu’s anger.

The angrier she was, the more it meant he mattered to her — the more deeply he could stir her feelings.

But she was not angry at all.

He had broken his word. He had gotten out of bed and refused to acknowledge what had passed. He had gone back on a promise and led her around by the nose. With all those offenses stacked against him, she was not angry in the slightest.

Shen Xiao felt only a formless dread. Li Shu’s reaction was entirely beyond his ability to control, and he felt he was on the verge of losing her completely.

Shen Xiao stood there without bowing for a long time. Li Shu was not inclined to instruct him on proper conduct. She turned her eyes away indifferently and went back to her solitary game of go. But she had barely played two more moves when, from the side, a hand suddenly reached out and caught hold of her right hand, pressing a white piece down onto the board with a sharp click.

His body had always been warm, but right now those long-boned hands were noticeably cool. Perhaps from kneeling too long on the floor of Hanyuan Hall, or perhaps because the blue-green official robe he wore was too thin.

The chill in him, at its root, was all because of her.

Li Shu looked down. A wave of feeling moved through her eyes — but she pressed it back down almost at once.

If he had truly done this for her sake, he ought to have gone along with her wishes: married Jincheng, climbed higher, helped her obtain everything she desired — supreme power and prestige, a position that could never again be used against her.

He had not done this for her. He had done it only for himself.

Li Shu’s gaze turned cold. Shen Xiao’s hand was holding hers. He was standing beside her, she seated and he standing, so that he seemed all the more imposing, his very presence pressing in on her.

The black and white pieces clashed fiercely across the go board. Li Shu said: “Sir Shen, you’ve placed a dead stone.”

She drew her hand from his palm, leaned back slightly, and tilted her chin up a fraction. “My congratulations to Sir Shen — after such careful maneuvering in the court, you have at last secured for yourself the position of a sixth-rank county official.”

The ghost of a cold smile curved her lips, her gaze dropping to his blue-green official robe. “Blue-green suits you so much better than red.”

Shen Xiao tightened his grip on the jade hairpin hidden in his sleeve. His voice came out rough and low. “…This is not a dead end. Que Nuo, listen to me.”

“The court is essentially divided between the Crown Prince and the Second Prince. For the Seventh Prince to win capable men to his side while attracting no envy — that is almost impossible while operating openly in court. So a different approach must be found.”

“The Henan and Hedong circuits along the Yellow River have seen their officialdoms reshuffled in the aftermath of the disaster. Neither the Crown Prince nor the Second Prince has extended his reach there yet. The Seventh Prince has been given the task of managing the river works — proximity gives him a natural advantage, and he can draw the officials of both circuits into his camp. At the same time, taming the Yellow River is the surest way to win the hearts of the people, which makes this posting critically important to the Seventh Prince — not a single misstep can be afforded.”

“By going to Henan Circuit, I may only be a county magistrate, but with the prefect of Luofu still vacant after Gao Jin’s execution, my actual authority is considerably broader. I can work in concert with the Seventh Prince — he directs the river works, I handle disaster relief, and together we can consolidate our hold over the entire stretch of the Yellow River’s banks.”

“A prince’s path to power cannot rest on the emperor’s favor alone. What gives the Seventh Prince a stable foothold in court — what keeps him there — is political achievement, and the trust of the people.”

“If my real intention were nothing more than to escape this marriage by petitioning for demotion, there are any number of postings I could have asked for. Why would I have specifically chosen Henan Circuit?”

Shen Xiao picked up a go piece. “Que Nuo, trust me. I know this move looks, on the surface, like the worst of all possible choices — it will take great effort. But it is not a completely dead end.”

“Before, I was visibly successful, promoted faster than anyone else — but the more the emperor elevated me, the more I stood in the crossfire. I was the emperor’s blade, used to sweep clean the court, and in doing so I made enemies I cannot count. Even if I had married Princess Jincheng and risen higher still, become the exemplar of commoner talent the entire realm looked up to — I would only have become more dependent on the emperor. But imperial favor is the last thing in the world that can be held onto, and I cannot live and die by the emperor’s grace alone.”

“I need to go down. To go out to the provinces and build a real record of achievement. When I return with that record behind me, and the Seventh Prince has gathered his own forces — our position will be entirely different from what it is today.”

Shen Xiao leaned slightly toward Li Shu. “Trust me. This truly is not a dead end, Que Nuo.”