Emperor Zhengyuan patted Anle’s back with tender affection and leaned against a cushion. He then issued instructions to another eunuch attendant: “The cold has set in — no one’s body fares well in this weather. In a while, summon an imperial physician to examine the Empress’s pulse as well.”

“The year’s end approaches, and the final months bring many affairs. The palace banquet and the Rites of Heaven Offering cannot be delayed. If the Empress has recovered, she must take charge of the inner palace once more.”

The eunuch attendant acknowledged with a “Yes, Your Majesty” and withdrew.

The delight on Anle’s face could no longer be suppressed. She clung to Emperor Zhengyuan’s arm and coaxed him shamelessly, drawing forth laughter from him.

The hall remained warm and snug — yet Li Shu felt as though a chill had settled over her entire body.

The Crown Prince would soon be released from his confinement. Their father’s anger had subsided, and upon his return, the Prince would swiftly consolidate his forces. The Empress, too, had begun to reclaim the imperial seal. The Eastern Palace’s power was rising once more.

Li Shu exhaled a nearly imperceptible sigh. The days ahead would not be easy.

Taking advantage of the window afforded by the Crown Prince’s house arrest, the Seventh Prince had petitioned their father for the task of managing the Yellow River floods. He had accomplished tangible, meritorious work, and had gradually begun to attract notice at court.

These past three months of calm were not because the Seventh Prince had grown strong enough to be immovable — rather, it was because the Eastern Palace had been biding its time, focused entirely on gathering its forces, with no energy to spare for suppressing the Seventh Prince.

Once the Crown Prince re-emerged, there was no way the Seventh Prince’s days would remain as smooth as they had been.

The winter solstice had only just passed; winter had barely begun. Ahead lay the bitter cold of the nine coldest periods, and the most grueling times were yet to come.

And yet, surrounded by powerful adversaries, she stood utterly alone, with no one to turn to.

*

Less than half a month later, the Crown Prince’s house arrest was lifted.

The three months of confinement had affected him greatly. He had grown thinner, and quieter — carrying himself now with a greater semblance of a true heir to the realm.

Emperor Zhengyuan looked upon the Crown Prince and felt a pang of sorrow. He thought to himself that he had finally managed to steer this child onto the right path — and it had not been in vain, all that harshness he had shown his son. After all, firmness produces worthy sons.

The Crown Prince knelt bolt upright on the ground, his garments thin — as though his body had remained frozen in the weather of three months past. He bowed his head deeply to the floor. His voice still carried the hoarseness that follows a windchill fever.

“Father Emperor, this son knows his errors. From the start, this son should never have employed a man like Gao Jin, and even less should he have… been blinded, and accepted his tribute offerings. Over these three months, this son has reflected deeply and understands now how grievously wrong he was. Had this son not employed the wrong man, the Yellow River would not have flooded this year. This son feels profound shame before the people who suffered in the disaster.”

The Crown Prince pressed his forehead to the floor in a reverberating kowtow, his contrition evidently sincere.

Emperor Zhengyuan let out a sigh. “To know one’s faults and correct them — there is no virtue greater than this. Now that you understand your error, you must never repeat it. No matter how high an office you hold, or how great the power — never forget that the people are the foundation.”

The Crown Prince hastened to affirm: “Yes, Father Emperor.”

Emperor Zhengyuan bade him rise, and father and son sat facing each other across a small table on the luohan couch.

The table was covered in memorials. One lay open — clearly Emperor Zhengyuan had been reading it partway through and had not yet finished.

Noticing the Crown Prince’s gaze fall upon it, Emperor Zhengyuan said, “This is a memorial submitted by your Seventh Brother. He was charged with overseeing the management of the Yellow River — a matter of great magnitude, and his first time handling such an undertaking. It is admirable that he has coordinated matters with such measure, without a single error thus far. It seems We had not noticed before, but it appears the Ministry of Rites had a gem in the Seventh Prince all along.”

Emperor Zhengyuan wished to use this as an opportunity to educate the Crown Prince. “You are the elder brother, but one should emulate the worthy. You would do well to learn from your Seventh Brother. He is quiet and steadfast; he does not contend, and yet when matters arise, he does not shrink. You must rein in your temperament and likewise learn to compose yourself and accomplish a few tangible things. Stop spending your days trying to draw in this person and rope in that one.”

The Crown Prince lowered his head under the rebuke, affecting an expression of humble remorse. “Father Emperor speaks wisely. Once the New Year arrives and Seventh Brother returns, this son will have a proper conversation with him and learn from him.”

His voice was entirely deferential, but with his head lowered, Emperor Zhengyuan could not see the venomous hatred in his gaze.

So the Seventh Prince had managed to ingratiate himself with Father Emperor during his confinement — how very adept at seizing opportunities!

Three months of house arrest does not change a person root and branch. The Crown Prince had merely concealed the aspects of himself that their father found displeasure in. It was only because Emperor Zhengyuan’s eyes were clouded by parental affection that he truly believed this child could be reformed.

The Crown Prince gritted his teeth, his resolve set.

Before, he had been preoccupied. Now that he was free, the very first order of business was to make an example of the Seventh Brother — to strike down the chicken in order to warn the monkeys, so that every other imperial prince could witness what happens when they dare to show their heads while he was not watching.

*

No sooner had the Crown Prince been released from confinement than the Crown Princess hosted a banquet. In the interest of keeping a low profile, the gathering was small — she had only invited a select few noblewomen from distinguished families with whom she was on close terms.

Li Shu also received an invitation. After all, she ranked among the foremost of princesses — for the Eastern Palace to hold a feast without inviting her would have been no different from an open declaration of war. The Crown Princess would never do such a thing.

Li Shu accepted the invitation and naturally could not refuse to attend. She had Hong Luo prepare generous gifts and rode in her carriage to the Eastern Palace.

Yet the distance between her and the Eastern Palace had grown, after all — and however wide a smile she wore upon seeing the Crown Princess, it could only look hollow and false.

A mutual performance of false smiles — what was the point?

Li Shu presented her gifts to the Crown Princess, offered a few perfunctory words of concern, then claimed she was not feeling well and wished to take her leave early.

The assembled guests looked upon her gaunt and frail figure and had no reason to doubt her. And so Li Shu finally extracted herself.

She made her way along the corridor toward the exit of the Eastern Palace — only to discover that someone else was also leaving early.

Li Shu looked at Yang Fang with some puzzlement. “Yang Consort-Prince, what brings you here? Are you not keeping Anle company?”

The Crown Prince’s release from confinement had left Anle so overjoyed she was nearly jumping for joy; she had been chatting warmly and intimately with the Crown Princess.

Yang Fang offered a faint smile. “A palace banquet is noisy, and they are all ladies present. It is better that I wait for her outside the palace.”

Li Shu knitted her brow slightly.

At previous palace banquets, Yang Fang had always accompanied Anle; such a situation of departing on his own was rare.

These two had grown distant from each other again — and Li Shu could not help but wonder why. She had thought that Anle had finally seen clearly into her own heart and would long since have been living in harmony with him.

The two walked together toward the palace exit. When they reached the outside of Danfeng Gate, the carriages were visible just ahead. Yang Fang suddenly stopped walking and said, “Your Highness, they all say you are keen of mind and insightful in matters of court affairs. There is something I wish to ask you.”

“Please speak, Yang Consort-Prince.”

“What is your view of our Yang Family?”

Li Shu frowned.

What was her view? If she were to say something pleasing, one might naturally call them a family of poetry and books — their scions refined and distinguished, modest and steadfast. But Yang Fang was clearly not looking for flattery.

If Li Shu were to describe them honestly, she would likely use the two words: “middle ground.”

Neither at the pinnacle nor at the bottom. They did not distinguish themselves, nor did they make mistakes. They took no sides, harbored no disloyal ambitions. Whoever sat highest, they served with loyalty. Naturally, this would never yield them overwhelming power — but neither would it bring them catastrophic downfall.

Li Shu thought for a moment, and could only frame it thus: “The Yang family’s scions are disciplined and respectful, upright in their conduct.”

Yang Fang listened, then let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Your Highness must not truly think so. There is no need to choose only pleasant words. In truth, our family has, since the founding of the dynasty, followed the path of safeguarding themselves through prudence.”

No matter how fierce the factional strife at court became, they would not be drawn into either side. To be drawn in might indeed more easily yield great wealth and noble status — but once one side fell, the likelihood of grave transgressions was even greater. For a family, this tepid, unhurried approach was in fact the very foundation of enduring continuity.

“Your Highness — do you believe that safeguarding oneself through prudence is wrong?”

Yang Fang’s question was truly inexplicable. Li Shu had no particular connection to the Yang Family.

And yet his brow and eyes were clouded with melancholy, and his expression carried a look of bewilderment — a rare display of not knowing what to do.

Li Shu drew her cloak tighter over her shoulders and suddenly understood from where the estrangement between Yang Fang and Anle had arisen — the two had developed a political divergence.

Anle was the Crown Prince’s blood sister. By lineage, she stood on the Crown Prince’s side.

Yet Yang Fang, maintaining his neutrality, had no wish to be entangled in factional strife, and was entirely unwilling to assist the Crown Prince.

Li Shu did not know what to say, and could only offer: “Safeguarding oneself through prudence is not wrong. Advancing boldly against the current is not wrong. Striving relentlessly for personal gain is not wrong either.”

She said, “They are all simply choices.”

When the Crown Prince had been at the height of his power, the tensions between Yang Fang and Anle had been purely personal — emotional, confined to their relationship. Given time, Yang Fang might have won back Anle’s heart. But now that politics stood between them, it had become an uncrossable gulf.

How had these two come to reach such a state.

Li Shu suddenly thought of something she could not identify — and exhaled a sigh. The breath met the cold air and condensed into a white mist, hovering before her eyes in a blurred cloud.

Yang Fang had never seen Li Shu look this wistful. He asked, “What does Your Highness sigh for?”

Li Shu smiled faintly. “It is nothing. I was simply thinking — it seems that anyone who becomes entangled with the imperial family ultimately cannot escape a single choice: between power and sentiment — which does one choose in the end?”

Her gaze was distant and melancholy, as though she were thinking of someone she did not name.

Yang Fang heard this and paused momentarily, then let out a wry laugh. “Your Highness has put it perfectly.”

Power and sentiment — which to choose.

In recent times, Anle and Cui Jinzhi had been frequently in contact with each other, and Yang Fang was fully aware of it.

He did not entertain base thoughts of secret romantic involvement. In truth, if Anle truly had a personal entanglement, given her nature, she would ask for a formal separation openly and straightforwardly — there would be no need for covert dealings.

It was purely a matter of political purpose.

Because Cui Jinzhi could aid the Eastern Palace, and he would not — and so Anle had grown distant from him and drawn close to Cui Jinzhi.

If he wished to be close to Anle, was his only option to follow Cui Jinzhi’s example and throw himself entirely behind the Crown Prince? Were those four words — safeguarding the Yang Family through prudence — to be broken for the sake of a single word: “sentiment”?

If they truly gained merit in the founding of a new reign, that would be one thing. But if they lost — the lives of their entire family would be forfeit.

This choice was not easy for Yang Fang to make.

He could only offer a rueful smile. “They say men are born decisive, and women ought to be soft and yielding. And yet now, as I see it, Anle’s choices are far more resolute than mine — I am the one who wavers, glancing back and forth, unable to make up his mind.”

He lowered his head. “To Anle, perhaps my affection for her is something easily discarded.”

He offered Li Shu a respectful cupped-hand salute and walked toward his own carriage. He did not board it; he simply stood beside it, hands clasped behind his back.

At that moment, snowflakes began to fall from the sky, settling in a thin layer across his hair and clothing. He made no move to brush them away, but stood in silence, unmoving, lost in thought.

Li Shu stared for a moment — and then, suddenly, Shen Xiao came to her. The person she had suppressed in her heart these past two months, refusing by every effort to think of — leapt unbidden into her mind.

Li Shu thought for a moment, then walked back toward Yang Fang. “In truth, choices are not easy for anyone. You know Anle’s character — she is not truly cold-hearted. I imagine that this choice of hers, resolute as it may appear, costs her deeply inside as well.”

Yet Yang Fang, hearing this, only pulled a smile for her — a thin, bleak thing. “I am no celestial being, Your Highness. I cannot see into her heart.”

What he could see was only the silhouette of Anle so often departing the residence to seek out Cui Jinzhi.

Li Shu opened her mouth to say more — yet did not know what to say. She exhaled a sigh. “You two… take care of yourselves.”

Having parted from Yang Fang, Li Shu walked a dozen paces and boarded her own carriage. Hong Luo quickly pressed a hand warmer into her palm, helped her remove her cloak, and brushed the snowflakes from her clothing.

Hong Luo said, “The first snowfall of winter — they say it grows colder after the snow falls. Your Highness must be sure to dress more warmly going forward.”

Li Shu leaned back against the cushions, holding the warmer, and gently lifted the curtain to watch the snow beginning to drift outside. Without beginning or end, she murmured, “This snowfall must have reached everywhere by now.”

She wondered whether it was cold in Henan Circuit.

By the time she returned to the residence, the snowflakes had grown larger. The black rooftop of the carriage was now overlaid with a layer of white.

A thin dusting of snow had gathered on the ground. As hurried footsteps passed over it, the wind stirred up by each passing movement swept the snowflakes into small spiraling eddies, which spun for a moment — then, as the sound of the study door closing came, slowly settled once more.

Li Shu sat down behind the desk, picked up her brush, and composed a lengthy letter detailing the recent affairs of both court and palace, carefully conveying everything to the Seventh Imperial Prince.

The Crown Prince was about to re-emerge into power. From now on, every matter must be handled with the utmost caution — for once even the smallest mistake was seized upon, the Crown Prince’s faction would follow that mistake and press relentlessly to crush the Seventh Prince down.

The letter flowed smoothly from beginning to end, her strokes sweeping and assured across the page — until the very last line, where the brush suddenly stopped.

The flowing movement ceased; the smooth current broke. The brush tip hovered suspended above the paper, dense and hesitant.

A drop.

A bead of ink fell, striking the paper and splattering outward, congealing into a dark blot that could never be wiped away.

The Seventh Prince was presently overseeing construction work in the Luo Prefecture.

The brush tip finally began to move once more — but this time the strokes were not as sweeping as before. Instead they were measured and upright, as though a young child first learning to hold a brush, afraid that even a single stroke might fall wrong.

“The days grow cold and the weather harsh. Add more layers of clothing.”

So she wrote.