In the bedchamber of Taiji Palace, Emperor Zhengyuan had just been dressed in his court robes.

This winter had brought one illness after another without pause. However robust the Emperor had been in years past, he had now visibly wasted away — his once-full face sunken and gaunt, his head full of silver hair. Truly, he looked like a man in the twilight of his years, caught in sudden disarray.

Once the court robes were fully donned, Liu Cou hurried to support the Emperor on his arm, guiding him step by step toward the outer hall. When they came to the threshold, a second small eunuch had to be called over to assist — for the Emperor had no strength left in his body, it was heavy and ungainly, and he simply could not step over the threshold on his own.

By the time he was finally helped onto the imperial palanquin, not only Liu Cou, but the Emperor himself had broken into a thin, light sweat.

He leaned back against the palanquin and heard the rattling of phlegm in his own throat as he breathed — a slow, labored sound, like the wheezing of old bellows. A wave of feeling washed over him: the helplessness of old age, the sense that his body was no longer his own to command.

A severe illness — even if the imperial physicians would not speak the truth, Emperor Zhengyuan could feel plainly enough the state of his own body. A while back he had been laid up paralyzed, unable so much as to move; now he had slowly recovered somewhat, but still needed someone to support him before he could walk.

The hands that had once gripped blade and spear steady as a great stone — those same hands could now barely hold an imperial brush without trembling.

He had truly grown old — and grown old in a way so devoid of dignity.

The imperial palanquin moved smoothly forward, setting out from Taiji Palace toward Taihe Hall.

The older one grew, the more one worried, it seemed.

Take today’s palace banquet: in the days when he had been lying on the imperial couch, he had summoned the Crown Prince over and over again, repeatedly urging and exhorting him.

This year had seen no shortage of events, great and small, and among the common people there had been floods of hardship. The treasury was depleted; the palace banquet must under no circumstances be extravagant or wasteful.

The Crown Prince had done nothing but nod his assent in his presence — yet in practice?

Word had it that today’s palace banquet was grander and more lavish in scale than any held in the years of good harvest! One could only wonder how much gold and silver this would consume. With that money, would it not be better put to disaster relief?

Emperor Zhengyuan leaned back in the palanquin and let out a long, deep sigh.

Though the Crown Prince was the heir apparent, he had not the slightest concern for the people’s sufferings in his heart. Take this year — there were so many displaced people outside the city walls, yet the Crown Prince had given strict orders forbidding them from entering the city, as if he would sooner let them freeze to death outside than allow them to tarnish his record of benevolent governance. Had the Seventh Prince not opened soup kitchens to feed them, heaven knows how many would have frozen or starved to death outside those walls.

Emperor Zhengyuan pressed his hands together, feeling the strength in them, and decided that at the very least he was not about to die just yet. The Crown Prince’s capabilities were not yet sufficient to oversee national affairs; he would need a few more years of tempering, the Emperor thought.

While the Emperor was thus lost in thought, he felt the palanquin suddenly come to a halt. He frowned and looked ahead.

The palanquin had just entered a passageway; the imperial procession was flanked by guards ahead and behind. On either side of the corridor, a row of sweeping palace maids and eunuchs had dropped to their knees, all bent in humble prostration upon the ground.

Yet at the very front of the passageway, a solitary figure stood bolt upright.

At the head of the imperial procession, the lead guard raised his whip and cracked it sharply through the air — the crisp, clear snap carried far, heralding the Emperor’s passage and warning all idlers to clear the way.

Yet the figure did not move so much as an inch, as though it had heard nothing at all — and instead began walking slowly toward the imperial palanquin.

The guard’s brow creased; his hand moved to the hilt of the blade at his waist, the air charged and ready to ignite. Only when the figure had drawn close enough did the guard hastily move his hand from the hilt and lower his head in a bow. “My respects to His Highness the Seventh Prince.”

The Seventh Prince was dressed in full crimson imperial prince’s court robes, a white rhinoceros-hide sash at his waist — an upright and striking figure. In his ordinary manner he was always humble and deferential, yet today he carried with him a quality of cold resolution, advancing without hesitation.

The Seventh Prince walked all the way to the front of the imperial palanquin. Emperor Zhengyuan gazed down at him with a slight furrow of his brow, a touch of surprise in his expression, yet maintaining his silence — looking down from above at Li Qin.

“Seventh son, what are you doing?”

This manner of his — it was surely not merely to come and escort the Emperor to the banquet.

Something was about to happen. The Emperor sensed it with a sharpened instinct.

And so he shifted his bearing to one of gravity, his manner becoming commanding and austere.

In this moment, there was no father and son — only sovereign and subject.

Every word you speak and every action you take will be laid before the throne. If you carry a grievance, the Emperor will stand for you; if you harbor deceit, you shall face the thunder of his wrath.

Li Qin cupped his hands toward Emperor Zhengyuan, meeting the full force of his august bearing without flinching. “With the year’s end approaching, and word that Imperial Father’s health has greatly improved, this son is filled with joy — and wishes to present a gift of congratulation to Imperial Father.”

“What gift?” The Emperor’s voice was low and measured.

“Shen Xiao, the county magistrate of Jingren County — and the truth concealed behind the civil unrest in Luo Prefecture.”

*

The Crown Prince had gone directly to the inner palace, and when he appeared suddenly in the Empress’s bedchamber, even the Crown Princess, who was busy attending to the Empress, was startled — she went quickly into the outer room to receive him and asked quietly, “Your Highness, how did you come?”

The Crown Prince replied, “Was it not you who sent someone to fetch me? The Empress has suddenly fallen ill — I can hardly not come. Besides, the outer court banquet won’t begin for some time yet.”

The Crown Princess heard this and creased her brow, but since the Crown Prince had already come, she could hardly turn him away. She led him into the inner chamber.

Anle’s words had left the Empress not only downcast but with a worsening headache; she was now lying in bed, her back propped against a large bolster pillow, her hairpins and ornaments still removed — she looked, in truth, somewhat haggard and worn.

After the Crown Prince had heard the whole sequence of events, he sighed. “Empress Mother, what is there to argue with Anle about? You know what her temperament is like. At the Emperor’s last birthday banquet, she managed single-handedly to irritate Imperial Father into falling ill. At least this time she has shown some improvement — she knows not to make a scene at the year’s end.”

Yet the Empress was not appeased by the Crown Prince’s words. She drew her hand out from beneath the covers; the Crown Prince quickly clasped it in his own, and immediately felt how it was all sinew and bone — not a scrap of extra flesh.

A heart consumed by anxiety and toil — how could one possibly grow stout and full?

The Empress said, “I am not worried about Anle — her tempers come quickly and go just as quickly. I only need you to promise me one thing.” She paused, then spoke in a tone that brooked no refusal. “Do not scheme against Anle’s marriage.”

By now the Empress had thought it through clearly. The Crown Princess’s suggestion earlier was one she had not entirely approved of to begin with, and now that she had seen how strongly Anle resisted, she naturally had to take Anle’s feelings into account.

Her heart and Emperor Zhengyuan’s were alike in this — they hoped Anle could remain untouched by politics, that an ordinary life would be enough for her.

The Crown Prince frowned and looked at the Crown Princess; the Crown Princess gave a helpless shake of her head.

This had indeed been something the two of them had discussed privately — on one hand, Yang Fang had given the Crown Prince no assistance whatsoever; on the other, there was no discernible affection between Anle and Yang Fang. Replacing her husband would benefit everyone, both Anle herself and the Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince was about to push back, but the Crown Princess shook her head again. The Crown Prince caught himself at once and said quickly, “This son understands. As for the matter with Yang Fang — it was done with Anle in mind to begin with. Since she does not wish it, how could I possibly tear apart a married couple? Empress Mother, please rest easy, and let the Crown Princess handle whatever troubles you. You need not worry.”

It was nothing more than a placating remark said in passing.

But the Empress was visibly comforted by it and gave a small nod.

After a few more idle words of consolation, the Crown Prince rose and took his leave from the bedchamber. The Crown Princess followed quickly after him. The Crown Prince frowned. “How could you have said all of that in front of Anle?”

The Crown Princess looked entirely put-upon. “How could this consort do such a thing? It was all said discreetly, well out of earshot — I merely mentioned it once to the Empress Mother in private. I never imagined Anle would come bursting in like that, as if she already knew exactly what we were talking about.”

As she said this, the Crown Princess suddenly fell silent — could it be that someone had deliberately stirred Anle up on purpose?

Moreover, no one had gone to summon the Crown Prince, and yet the Crown Prince claimed he had been called back to the inner palace.

It all seemed very much like someone’s deliberate scheme.

But what could pulling the Crown Prince away from the outer court accomplish in such a short stretch of time?

Whatever the case, no irregularity could be taken lightly. The Crown Princess quickly said to the Crown Prince, “Your Highness, please return to Taihe Hall at once. The banquet is about to begin; Imperial Father may have already arrived. You cannot be late and give offense.”

The Crown Prince nodded, and before he left, gave one last instruction: “Go and properly comfort Anle.”

The Crown Princess replied, “This consort understands.”

Watching the Crown Prince’s figure depart, the Crown Princess’s expression immediately went cold. She turned to the handmaid at her side and ordered sharply, “Who was it that went to the outer court to summon the Crown Prince? Bring her to me! And go and find out — with whom did Princess Anle speak at the palace banquet!”

The handmaids received their orders and quickly dispersed.

About a quarter of an hour later, a handmaid brought the sweeping palace maid who had been sent to fetch the Crown Prince before her; the maid knelt upon the ground. Even in silence, the Crown Princess had a natural air of authority — the bearing of one born to rule. Without needing to ask many questions, the sweeping maid recounted everything Li Shu had told her, start to finish. At the end, she trembled as she tried to explain herself: “This servant only did as Princess Pingyang commanded — all of this was Princess Pingyang’s instruction!”

The Crown Princess had no patience to hear the maid’s self-defense; she waved a hand and had someone drag her away. The hall had just settled into quiet when another handmaid came forward and reported in a low voice, “We have made inquiries. Princess Pingyang spoke at length with Princess Anle, and after that, Princess Anle came rushing all the way to the Empress’s bedchamber.”

A cold smile curved the Crown Princess’s usually gentle face — her pale-pink lips, when she smiled like this, became a thin, fine line, lending her expression something cutting and ruthless.

She turned the finger-guard on her hand idly. “Where is Li Shu now?”

A dying grasshopper at the end of autumn — and she dared play tricks against the Eastern Palace?

All this time she had been allowed to jump and fuss as she pleased. But no matter how much she jumped, it was nothing more than the last flicker of a flame before it went out. She refused to believe that Li Shu had some heaven-defying ability that could actually devise a scheme to bring the Crown Prince down.

The Crown Princess slipped the finger-guard back onto her little finger. Gold light reflected the cold, sunless glare — as frigid as her voice: “Just recently, an envoy arrived from the southern frontier saying they wished to take back a princess — to preserve the political alliance between the two realms through marriage in perpetuity. The Crown Prince was still fretting over which girl from the imperial clan to send.”

She smiled faintly. “It seems Princess Pingyang is truly considerate of the Crown Prince.”

With that, she turned and walked toward the banquet — intending to face Li Shu directly. But she had barely passed through the moon gate when she heard a flurry of hurried footsteps; she turned her head and saw a small eunuch, practically rolling to a stop at her feet.

His expression was so utterly wild with panic that the handmaid at the Crown Princess’s side coldly rebuked him, “Watch your step! What are you making such a scene for!”

But the eunuch had no thought for propriety and urgently demanded, “Where is the Crown Prince?”

The handmaid replied, “He just left.”

The moment the words were out, the eunuch’s face fell into an expression of complete despair, as though both his parents had just died.

The Crown Princess saw this and was instantly on guard — a sense of foreboding stirred in her chest. She quickly asked, “What on earth has happened?”

Even the eunuch’s hushed voice could not conceal the razor-sharp panic within it. “Just now — just now — His Majesty’s imperial palanquin has been stopped by His Highness the Seventh Prince!”

The Crown Princess’s gaze cut like a blade. “And then? What did the Seventh Prince say?”

If it were merely a matter of stopping the palanquin, would there be cause for such alarm?

The eunuch said quickly, “The Seventh Prince said… said it was about Shen Xiao — that official who died in the line of duty! This servant was far away and could not hear clearly, only gathered that Shen the official did not die!”

“His Majesty had barely finished meeting with the Seventh Prince before the imperial procession turned back to Taiji Palace. And then several Qianniu Guards were dispatched out of the palace — heading in the direction of Princess Pingyang’s mansion. They must be going to escort Shen the official in.”

Pingyang again — it was Pingyang again!

The Crown Princess’s face drained of color — a sickly, dark pallor. If she still could not see what Pingyang’s game was by now, she might as well give up her position as Crown Princess.

What a flawlessly executed feint.

She had used Anle to make the Empress fall ill, then used the Empress’s illness to draw the Crown Prince away from the outer court — creating a window of time for the Seventh Prince to meet the Emperor alone.

Others might not understand what Shen Xiao’s “return from the dead” meant — but the Crown Princess had been involved in the Luo Prefecture uprising from start to finish.

Shen Xiao returning from the dead was not simply a matter of being alive and coming back. He had certainly brought more evidence — evidence that could strike a killing blow against the Crown Prince.

The Crown Princess felt as though every drop of blood in her body had gone cold in an instant.