Once the Emperor’s birthday celebration passed at the end of the eighth month, the party would depart westward from the capital. Time was short and Li Xuandu was extremely busy; today he was at his manor, attending to miscellaneous affairs before his departure.

Once he left, everything in the manor—its people and its possessions—would naturally continue as before, but the birds and animals kept in the hunting terrace were another matter and required proper handling.

From the time he was small he had been raising hawks and hounds one after another; by now the hunting terrace held several dozen hunting dogs and over a hundred hunting hawks. This journey—not knowing the year or the month he might return—he naturally could not keep them. These past days he had been making arrangements: some given away, others transferred to the Imperial Hunting Terrace for boarding. Today the people from the Hunting Terrace had come to collect the hawks and hounds. The grooms on the terrace came and went; the barking of hunting hounds rose and fell in turn.

Many of the hawks and hounds inside were ones he had raised from small, and he had formed attachments to them. Li Xuandu was reluctant to part with them and came in person to see to things. He was just instructing the Hunting Terrace head to take good care of these animals going forward when he saw the manor’s steward come running to report: a young servant who claimed to be called A’Lai, from the Pu household, had come requesting to see him.

Li Xuandu immediately thought of the little girl from the Pu household, and guessed she must have sent the servant on an errand.

Since the Lantern Festival night, until now—in a blink, nearly half a year had passed—she had not come looking for him again. A few days ago, he had gone to the Court of State Ceremonial to find Pu Yuanqiao to discuss matters concerning the establishment of the Western Regions Protectorate; at the time he had thought of his daughter, and she hadn’t been seen for quite a long while. He had thought to ask Pu Yuanqiao how the little pipsqueak had been getting on at home recently, but then felt it would seem presumptuous to bring up out of nowhere, and let the thought pass. Yet now, unexpectedly, she had sent someone to call on him today—clearly she hadn’t forgotten him all along—and his spirits lifted involuntarily. He nodded his head and immediately strode out toward the front.

It was just a servant boy; the steward had assumed he would pay no mind, but to his surprise, with not a word of hesitation, Li Xuandu went in person to meet him at the main gate.

The honor of face given here was truly something never seen before… Coming to his senses, the steward saw that he had already stepped forward and was walking ahead, and quickly called out: “Your Highness, the person is at the back gate!”

Li Xuandu immediately turned toward the back gate; reaching it, sure enough, he saw the young servant from the Pu household standing below the steps. Seeing him appear, the boy immediately came forward to pay his respects.

He gave a slight nod and asked: “What is it?”

Before the words were fully out, he heard a soft, sweet little girl’s voice sound in his ear: “Brother Prince Qin!”

He turned his head toward the sound—and there behind one of the stone lions at the gate, a small head was peeping out, a pair of bright, dark eyes watching him.

Li Xuandu’s heart leapt with pleasure; he immediately walked toward her.

Pu Zhu also stepped out from behind the lion where she had been hiding.

Li Xuandu crouched down, meeting her at eye level, and said with a smile: “Sneaking out again today?”

Pu Zhu clasped her hands behind her back and said smilingly: “I haven’t seen Brother Prince Qin in a long time. Brother Prince Qin, you never come to find me either. I missed you a little.”

Li Xuandu laughed and tousled the small head in front of him: “Come in then—it’s hot out!”

“Thank you, Brother Prince Qin!”

Pu Zhu stepped up after him and entered through the gate. A group of people came out leading hunting dogs, barking erupting all around; Li Xuandu had been about to worry she would be frightened, and was thinking to make them move further away—when he saw her eyes open wide, looking all around with not a trace of fear. So he proactively explained that today he was handling the hawks and hounds in the hunting terrace.

The small pipsqueak’s eyes lit up: “I want to go and see!”

Seeing she was bold, Li Xuandu took her to the hunting terrace. While he continued speaking with people who came looking for him, he kept an eye on her at the same time. He watched the little pipsqueak walk this way and that, looking here and there, and finally she climbed the jade steps along the edge of the terrace and stood gazing up at a white eagle perched at the top, apparently very interested. He followed her up.

“Brother Prince Qin, can I touch it?”

The white eagle had a hooked beak and sharp talons, its golden eyes regal and stern. Since the small pipsqueak wasn’t afraid of it, Li Xuandu did as she asked, calling the white eagle over and letting it perch on his forearm; he raised it before her and taught her how to stroke it.

The small pipsqueak reached out one small hand and, following his instruction, gently stroked the white eagle’s wings for a moment, then asked: “Brother Prince Qin, this one too—are you going to send it away?”

This was his most beloved hunting hawk, named Golden-Eye Slave. It was extremely clever and spirited; he really could not bear to send it away. He had been planning to bring it with him to the Western Regions, intending to train it there for use in carrying messages. Just as he was about to explain, he heard the small pipsqueak say: “I like it. Can you give it to me?”

“I will definitely take good care of it!”

Li Xuandu, without a moment’s hesitation, immediately nodded: “All right.”

“Its name is Golden-Eye Slave. I’ll have the best hawker in the manor go back with you and teach you how to care for it properly and make it obedient to you.”

“Thank you, Brother Prince Qin!”

The small pipsqueak was overjoyed and gave her thanks over and over.

Li Xuandu’s mood was bright too; he produced the whistle he normally used to train the hawk and personally taught her some basic techniques for commanding Golden-Eye Slave. When the lesson was done, he called the hawker over and instructed him to follow her orders from here on.

Li Xuandu brought the little pipsqueak to play on the hunting terrace a little while longer; when he saw the sun was high and its heat was making her sweat at the forehead, he led her back to the main hall. He called over a serving girl to wash her face and hands, brought cool tea and pastries, and told Luo Bao to stay and keep her company: “Eat slowly. I have something to attend to first—I’ll come back in a bit and see you home.”

Pu Zhu had sneaked out today specifically to find him, and the real matter was still unsaid. How could she possibly just let him leave? She immediately jumped down from the chair and said: “Brother Prince Qin, I have something to tell you.”

Li Xuandu paused. He saw the small pipsqueak glance at the people nearby, and smiled as he shook his head, sending everyone else out.

Pu Zhu then beckoned to him.

He stepped over and crouched down, making it easy for her to speak with him.

Pu Zhu leaned her mouth to his ear and in a low voice recounted the conversation she had eavesdropped on between the Crown Prince and her Grandfather that day. The smile on his face gradually faded.

“Brother Prince Qin, I swear—everything I just said is true. Not a single word is a lie.”

He glanced at her, then turned and walked to the doorway and barked an order for all the people below the steps to withdraw from the courtyard—and not to enter without being summoned. Only then did he close the door and walk back.

“You truly didn’t mishear?” he said hesitantly, his voice low.

“I heard it clearly,” Pu Zhu said.

He fell silent and said nothing more.

“Brother Prince Qin, I don’t really understand what the Crown Prince and my Grandfather were saying, but I feel like he was on guard against the Emperor—afraid the Emperor would depose him…”

Before she finished speaking, Li Xuandu covered her mouth with one hand, scooped her up, and carried her quickly into a study at the back; he set her down on his writing desk, then went back and closed the door.

“Don’t say such things!” He walked back and said in a low voice.

Pu Zhu went quiet.

He too fell silent.

Pu Zhu waited a moment, then spoke again in a quiet voice: “Brother Prince Qin, I don’t know why, but I feel uneasy… I always feel that the Crown Prince didn’t really take my Grandfather’s advice to heart… Besides my Grandfather, he has so many other people around him, doesn’t he? I’m afraid that if they share the Crown Prince’s thinking, and egg him on to do something bad—that would be terrible…”

Li Xuandu frowned: “Don’t talk nonsense! My Crown Prince Elder Brother is not that kind of person!” Then he saw the small pipsqueak bite her lip and argue with an injured air: “But if I hadn’t happened to eavesdrop and tell you—would you ever have thought of these things on your own, regarding what the Crown Prince really has on his mind?”

Li Xuandu was checked for a moment and found he could say nothing in reply.

Pu Zhu stole a glance at him and continued: “After the Crown Prince left that day, I was very worried. Last night I had a dream—I dreamed he brought a great many soldiers—they were actually your soldiers, Brother Prince Qin—and came charging in through the North Palace Gate…”

Pu Zhu saw his gaze suddenly go dark and heavy, and quickly waved her hand: “I really did dream it! I also saw the face of the man leading in front—a square face, a full beard, and his face was covered in blood—it was terrifying! I woke up and the more I thought about it, the more frightened I got. Isn’t this harming you, Brother Prince Qin? I didn’t dare tell my Grandfather—so I came to find you and tell you…”

Li Xuandu saw her small face full of fright, and hadn’t the heart to scold her further; he quickly softened his voice and comforted her: “Don’t be afraid! You only dream of what you think about by day—it couldn’t possibly happen!”

Pu Zhu stretched out her hand and gripped his sleeve tightly: “Brother Prince Qin, I’m really very frightened. You must be careful of your Crown Prince Elder Brother!”

Li Xuandu remained silent for a long while, and then told her: “Everything you said to me today, and that dream—when you go home, don’t tell a soul about any of it. That includes your father and your Grandfather. Understand?”

Pu Zhu immediately agreed: “I know!”

Li Xuandu gave a nod and said gently: “All right. I’ll take you home now.”

Pu Zhu’s purpose in coming to find him today had been to give him this warning—just as she had done when warning her father, she had used the guise of a dream. Seeing his reaction, it seemed her words had been taken to heart.

Her purpose achieved, she obediently agreed.

Li Xuandu personally saw her home, watching the small figure disappear through the back gate, then stood where he was for a moment, his thoughts elsewhere.

His Crown Prince Elder Brother—even if it were true that a rift had quietly opened between him and their father, Li Xuandu still did not believe he would do anything extreme.

But the person the small pipsqueak from the Pu household had described in her dream—his appearance did indeed resemble a man in his service, the right deputy general of the Hawking Guard, Sun Cheng.

How could she possibly have had occasion to know Sun Cheng and memorize his appearance?

But having been warned by her, it occurred to him now: Sun Cheng had indeed, in his earlier years, served under the Crown Prince’s great-uncle, General Liang Jingzong. And his Crown Prince Elder Brother and their maternal uncle had once been very close; it was only in the past two years that they had seen less of each other.

In the past, he had never paid attention to any of this; but now, recalling the conversation the small pipsqueak had described to him between his Elder Brother and her Grandfather, something clicked into place in his mind.

Perhaps it was to avoid suspicion that his Crown Prince Elder Brother had distanced himself from his maternal uncle these past two years.

Li Xuandu turned away, his heart heavy.

…

The eighth month came.

The following day was the Emperor’s birthday. Since it was not a major milestone year, the Emperor had no wish for great celebration; he simply decreed a day of rest, accepted the congratulatory memorials from all the court officials, and planned to hold a great banquet in the Yanxi Hall on the following evening. At that time, Imperial Princes, the imperial clan, all officials, and envoys from various nations—a total of a thousand people—would each take their assigned places and celebrate the Emperor’s birthday together.

The court had decided to open the Western Regions Protectorate, and this coincided with the Emperor’s birthday—making it a double celebration. Of late, both inside and outside the court, everyone was in high spirits. But tonight, within the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince remained sleepless late into the night.

He stood alone in the Eastern Palace study, gazing out at the pitch-black night beyond the window.

His maternal uncle Liang Jingzong’s words would not stop echoing in his mind.

And he had finally made up his mind, agreeing to his uncle’s proposal: to seize the excellent opportunity of the following evening and carry out a plan that had been in preparation for a long time.

A coup.

The Emperor’s restrictions on his uncle had grown more and more severe these past two years. Though his uncle was still officially in post, the real power in his hands had been almost entirely hollowed out.

His uncle had said: once he truly became a hollow shell, and Empress Dowager Jiang was gone as well, the Emperor, if he wished to depose the Crown Prince, would be able to do so with ease.

And the person most likely to replace him was his younger brother, Prince Qin Li Xuandu.

Though Li Xuandu presently held no real authority—only the title of a Hawking Guard general, and no standing whatsoever in the court, with the ministers speaking of Prince Qin as nothing more than a playful young prince favored by the Emperor—his uncle had warned him: now that the court had established the Western Regions Protectorate, the situation was different.

Once his brother went there, with his abilities, it would be only a matter of a few years before both his prestige and his strength grew enormously.

He too was an Imperial Prince; when that day came, who could guarantee he would not develop ambitions toward the throne? With the Emperor’s favoritism added on top of it—by that point, what standing would he as Crown Prince have left?

He had been backed into a corner with no way out. For him, the best course was to act while his uncle still had his connections and military strength—to move quickly and ascend the throne early.

Once he ascended, he could reconsider at his leisure whether to maintain the Western Regions Protectorate. Even if he chose not to abolish it, it was no matter; at that time, he would simply need to use the same methods he had applied to his second and third brothers—detain Li Xuandu in the capital, assign him some idle sinecure, and let him live out his days as a wealthy prince of leisure. That would be the best possible strategy.

The following evening, he would have Li Xuandu drunk. Then he would take the military command token from him. In the second half of the night, at the agreed time, he would open the North Palace Gate; from there, his uncle’s soldiers would storm the palace.

Everything had been planned.

The Crown Prince felt restless and distracted. He was deep in thought when he suddenly heard an attendant announce from outside that Prince Qin was requesting an audience.

At such a late hour, his brother had unexpectedly come to see him?

The Crown Prince’s heart beat faster; he hesitated briefly, then ordered the man brought in.

When Li Xuandu walked into the Eastern Palace study, the Crown Prince’s face already wore a smile. He moved to greet his younger brother, smiling as he said: “It’s nearly midnight—why aren’t you sleeping? Coming to find me like this?”

Li Xuandu smiled too: “I couldn’t sleep, so I came to find Crown Prince Elder Brother. I wanted to say a few things from my heart.”

The Crown Prince looked at him, nodded, dismissed the attendants, and told him to sit wherever he liked.

“Say what you have to say.”

When his words fell, he saw his younger brother kneel before him and bow his head respectfully to the floor, saying: “Elder Brother—what I am about to say, if anything is wrong, please forgive me. But I swear before Heaven: every word and every sentence comes from my heart. If I have any second thoughts, may the heavens strike me down in punishment.”

After Li Xuandu left, the Crown Prince felt a chill spreading through his heart.

He sat there blankly, motionless, his entire person nearly frozen stiff.

Never in his dreams had he imagined that his and his uncle’s plan for the coup the following evening would be known to his younger brother.

Just now, his younger brother had told him: he had learned that a man in his service—the deputy general named Sun Cheng—had been recruited by Liang Jingzong. From Sun Cheng’s mouth, he had obtained information about their planned action the following evening.

His younger brother said he would absolutely not covet the position of Crown Prince, and swore it to him. He also said he had not breathed a word of this matter to anyone. The sole purpose of his coming tonight was to urge him to draw back from the brink and call off the action.

His younger brother’s eyes had gone red at the last; through tears he urged him, saying that the Emperor was aged and prone to suspicion—admittedly, he had been in the wrong first. But for a son to respond by keeping his distance out of resentment and growing too close to outside officials—in the Emperor’s eyes, was that not also a reason for the rift to deepen?

He urged him: take the opportunity of the Emperor’s birthday tomorrow and speak his filial heart plainly, dissolving the misunderstanding. If once was not enough, then twice. After that, keep to his proper station, and do nothing unbefitting his position; even if the Emperor disliked him, he would never arbitrarily depose him as Crown Prince without cause.

As they spoke, reaching the most emotionally overwhelming moment, both brothers wept—not only the younger brother, but the Crown Prince himself.

He had choked with tears and, right there and then, promised his younger brother he would do as asked.

Many years later, when Li Xuandu looked back on that scene from that night, his heart would still be filled with regret and a bittersweet ache.

Even now, after all this time, he still believed that the tears his Crown Prince Elder Brother had shed in that moment were genuine—moved by true feeling. And the words he had given him, promising to comply, had also come from his sincere heart.

However, the final outcome of this matter made Li Xuandu understand a truth.

Sometimes, once a person takes the first wrong step, it is as though they have boarded a carriage drawn by a mad horse hurtling downhill from mountaintop to valley floor. There is simply no turning back.

That night, after seeing his Crown Prince Elder Brother and returning to his manor, in the second half of the night he lay in bed in his sleeping chamber and was attacked by more than a dozen venomous snakes. Fortunately, weighed down by matters on his mind, he had not yet fallen asleep; he escaped the calamity. Immediately thereafter, he sensed that something was wrong, and without delay led his men rushing toward the palace—only to run headlong into the rebel army that had launched the coup ahead of schedule.

Under Liang Jingzong’s command, the rebel army, with the Crown Prince at their head, attacked the comparatively less-defended West Palace Gate, intending to break through there and seize the palace.

By daybreak, this sudden coup had failed. Liang Jingzong was cut down on the spot. His Crown Prince Elder Brother retreated to the Eastern Palace, surrounded on all sides.

Li Xuandu would never forget: at the last, he entered the Eastern Palace for the final meeting with his Crown Prince Elder Brother.

Through his tears, the Crown Prince told him that everything was beyond saving now.

The imperial family had no true brothers, he said. He urged his younger brother to understand this truth.

For the sake of the Emperor’s throne, even between blood brothers, anything was possible.

His fourth brother cherished brotherly feeling now and wished to protect his Crown Prince Elder Brother. But when that fourth brother grew up—he would no longer think this way.

And when that day came, all of this would only become a handle to be used against him.

His Elder Brother said at the last that he hoped in his next life, he would not be born into a family of the imperial household. Then he took his own life, dying before his eyes.

The young man would grow up one day.

Li Xuandu knew: that night had been the night of his growing up, for the rest of his life.

So many years had passed, and he was now out on the frontier, north of the Tianshan Mountains. Yet many times, when he recalled this matter that had happened in the year he turned sixteen, beyond the melancholy, a figure would always surface in the depths of his heart.

It was a small figure.

If that little pipsqueak had not come looking for him in those days and warned him, he would have had no way of knowing Liang Jingzong and the Crown Prince’s plan. Taken completely off guard, if he had truly been made drunk, his military command token stolen—thus allowing the rebel army to enter the palace through his North Gate—he truly could not imagine what the outcome would have been.

Now, the bitter, drawn-out great battle in the north that had lasted more than half a year had at last come to an end in victory.

Tonight, the army held a celebration banquet for the soldiers; everywhere there were joyful bonfires, and the sound of military songs rose and fell in succession. His subordinates had poured quite a lot of wine into him; by the time he returned to his large tent, he felt somewhat weary, wanted to sleep, yet could not drift off.

He lay on his back on the bed, closed his eyes, and found himself thinking again of the little pipsqueak from the Pu household. He couldn’t help but roll up from the bed, leave the tent, and stand outside, gazing at the night sky in the direction of the capital.

The desert cold, the sand chilled; autumn grass lay deep on the Tianshan slopes.

In the blink of an eye, his years of campaigning on the frontier had stretched this long.

In the first few years, shortly after he first went out beyond the frontier, he had still received letters she sent via the trained Golden-Eye Slave. In those letters she would tell him of amusing things that happened at home, say she missed him, and order him not to dare forget her.

In those years, he could receive two such letters in the course of a year.

Yet these past more than a year—for reasons unknown—Golden-Eye Slave had never flown to him again.

That little one who, when small, used to trail behind him calling out “Brother Prince Qin” in that sweet, soft voice—she must be grown by now, surely?

Had she probably forgotten him?

The great battle was finally over. Once the loose ends here were settled and the army was led back to the Western Regions, all remaining matters would be handed over to Jiang Yi.

Once all of that was done, he reckoned, half a year would still be needed.

Half a year from now, he planned to return to the capital.

He hadn’t seen his Imperial Grandmother or his father’s face in so many years; he missed them.

While Li Xuandu stood lost in thought, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Turning his head, he saw that it was Pu Yuanqiao; he welcomed him into the tent and asked him to sit.

Pu Yuanqiao said with a smile: “I’ve disturbed Your Highness’s rest. I came over because I wanted to let Your Highness know that I have finished my affairs and plan to set out tomorrow, taking the northern road back to the capital. I have already sent word to General Jiang by messenger. Tonight I came to find Your Highness specifically to take my leave. If Your Highness has any letters to send along, please have them delivered to my tent by early morning.”

Pu Yuanqiao’s formal post was in the Court of State Ceremonial at court. Except for the first two years when the Protectorate opened, during the remaining years he had not stayed in the Western Regions continuously.

He had returned at the beginning of this year, the purpose being to assist with the great battle. Now that the battle had ended in victory, he was returning to the capital to make his report—which was within Li Xuandu’s expectations.

Li Xuandu smiled and asked: “What day does the General plan to set out? I’ll see him off then.”

Pu Yuanqiao said: “Tonight the army was banqueted—as good as a farewell. My end here is concluded, and I plan to set out first thing tomorrow morning.”

Li Xuandu was taken aback: “So soon?”

Pu Yuanqiao nodded and explained: “This trip out has been nearly a year for me. My daughter will be turning fourteen in a few months; I want to hurry back and celebrate her birthday with her. Besides that, I’d also like to take this opportunity to find a good match for her. Speaking frankly—not to make Your Highness laugh—she was only eleven or twelve years old, barely past ten, and our household had already had people calling to propose matches. I am anxious indeed!”

As a father speaking of his daughter, his tone carried a trace of pride he could not quite hide.

Li Xuandu was caught off guard for a moment. He hesitated, then a smile crossed his face again. He nodded: “Yes, that is a great matter—it truly cannot be delayed. Since that is so, I won’t press the General to stay. A smooth journey to the General, and an early return to the capital!”

Pu Yuanqiao gave his thanks with a smile. He chatted a little more with the fourth Imperial Prince, and seeing it was growing late, rose to take his leave.

Li Xuandu saw him out of the tent. When he returned, he took out the stack of letters she had sent him years ago, turned through them one by one under the lamplight, then slowly set them down—a look of quiet realization on his face.

So it seemed it was true.

The little pipsqueak from the Pu household was preparing to marry, and so had forgotten about him.

This was a good thing. He was glad for her, and genuinely hoped she would find a worthy husband.

Prince Qin told himself this in his heart, his mind swiftly running through the young men of appropriate age and family in the capital at present.

The eldest grandson of Prince Duan from the imperial clan?

The son of Marquis Qiyang’s household?

The young gentleman from the household of the Pillar of State Grand Counsellor?

…

Or perhaps there were other eligible young men from suitable families around the right age—but he had been occupied with the campaign for years and hadn’t returned to the capital, and for the moment could not think of more.

The capital’s young men were mostly good-for-nothing idlers. On this point, no one had more standing to speak than he did.

Whichever young man it might be—first and foremost, his character must be sound.

Character alone was not enough; his appearance must also be a match for her.

Beyond that, accomplished in both civil and martial arts—this too was absolutely essential.

Without these three things, not one of them was fit to marry her!

Oh yes, and one more thing—he must treat her well! Love her and cherish her, her and only her, for the rest of his life!

Otherwise, no one should think of taking her away! Even if Pu Yuanqiao agreed, he would never let it pass!

His Highness Prince Qin stared at the flame of the candle before his writing desk, brows furrowed slightly, and gradually fell into a deep reverie.