The ancestral homeland of the Que people lay to the west of the western regions, along the banks of a river called the Que River — and it was from this river that the Que people took their name. To the west of that land was Kangju; to the east was Western Di. Many years ago, after the Que people had migrated eastward, their old homeland had been seized by the Kangju.

Now, the situation had changed.

The Kangju people were by nature greedy. After Jinxi took power over the Western Di, the Kangju king assumed that a widow and orphan would be easy to bully, and beginning the previous year, using the Que River as a pretext, had repeatedly crossed the border to harass and plunder, intent on seizing more land, people, and livestock. Jinxi joined forces with the Left Virtuous King Sanggan and others to launch a military campaign and decisively retaliate; in the end, they not only defeated the Kangju but drove them away from the area along the Que River and captured a new stretch of territory in the bargain.

After Li Xuandu arrived in the western regions, he maintained a steady exchange of information with the Que Kingdom and with Jinxi. Through his mediation, Jinxi — taking into account that the Western Di had limited population and could not in the short term relocate enough settlers to secure the area along the Que River against Kangju — and recognizing that the region was not a strategic priority for the Western Di — concluded that it would be better to let the Que people serve as a buffer against Kangju. This way, the Western Di would not need to spend troops guarding that direction, and could concentrate entirely on dealing with Wuli and the Eastern Di. With Li Xuandu’s guarantee to boot, Jinxi agreed to the arrangement: she would restore that land to the Que people as a temporary place for them to settle and take refuge.

The reason the Que people’s ancestors had originally abandoned that land and migrated east was multifold — they had admired the culture of the Central Plains and had been granted land there; but repeated harassment and raids from the Kangju had also been a significant factor.

In the old Que King’s original plan, after returning to the area along the Que River, clashes with the Kangju were something that had to be factored in. But now, as though the heavens themselves were lending aid, such a favorable arrangement had appeared. After careful preparation and deliberation, the old Que King decided to set in motion the westward relocation plan that had been on the agenda for a long time.

This was not a full national migration, of course — only a portion of the population and wealth was to be relocated.

It was a contingency plan, undertaken only out of necessity.

Not a single person among the Que would have been willing to return west.

In their understanding, the Que Kingdom as it stood today was their true homeland — their roots ran deep, bound there by blood. But their reality was one of being caught between the Li dynasty and the Eastern Di. One harbored treacherous intentions; the other eyed them like a tiger watching its prey. Beneath the surface calm, they were, in truth, beset on all sides.

If they could weather this crisis — one unlike anything in the past hundred years — that would naturally be the best outcome. But on the chance that misfortune truly befell them one day, they hoped this move would preserve a force capable of future recovery.

They could not take the route directly through the western regions — the movement would be too conspicuous, impossible to conceal from the Li dynasty, and would bring trouble to Li Xuandu. The route of their westward migration included one stretch that skirted around the Kunling King’s territory from the north — and that was the most dangerous leg of the entire journey.

At the time, Li Xuandu was engaged in battle against the Fox Chieftain, which would draw the Kunling King’s attention. The old Que King saw this as another highly favorable condition and no longer hesitated — he seized the opportunity and set the plan in motion.

Pu Zhu remembered that Li Xuandu had once sent someone to inquire whether they needed his assistance with the westward migration. The reply from their side was that for the time being there was no need to trouble him; if it became necessary, they would send word.

And now, a message from the Que people had arrived.

An ominous feeling stirred in Pu Zhu’s heart.

…

The messenger was one of the household guards under Li Xuandu’s maternal uncle, Li Siye. His face was haggard, his body streaked with bloodstains; the man looked weak and bedraggled. When he was left to wait in the council hall at the front of the fortified house, his anxiety was extreme — he could not stop pacing back and forth. When at last he saw Li Xuandu appear, he called out in a loud voice, “Fourth Your Highness” — and then threw himself to the ground, kowtowing before him. For a moment he choked with emotion, too overcome to speak.

Sure enough, just as Pu Zhu had feared, this messenger brought bad news.

And not just one piece of bad news.

The messenger reported that shortly after the old Que King had made the decision to migrate west, he had passed away. To avoid drawing attention, they had swallowed their grief and kept his death secret, concealing it from the outside world.

Li Xuandu’s elder maternal uncle, Li Siye, had led a portion of the fighters and civilians in a secret westward migration according to the old Que King’s instructions before he died. His younger maternal uncle, Li Sidao, remained behind to hold the Que Kingdom. This was his own choice — and it also served to deceive the eyes and ears of those spying on the Que Kingdom’s movements, so as to protect the westward migration and allow it to proceed smoothly.

Because the preparations beforehand had been thorough and the plan meticulous, with the route carefully deliberated upon several times and deliberately keeping to wilderness paths where human presence was rare, the westward migration party led by the elder uncle encountered many hardships along the way, but the first half of the journey passed without major incident — with some close calls, but safely enough.

The previous month, they seized the prime opportunity afforded by the fierce fighting in the western regions — which had drawn the Kunling King’s attention — and, according to plan, crossed the mountains from the north to circle around the Kunling King’s territory. They were nearly in sight of the safety zone — where they would meet up with the force Jinxi had sent to escort them — when somehow their whereabouts were leaked. At that critical moment, the Kunling King sent out a pursuing force that caught up with them.

Li Siye organized his forces to fight back with all their strength, but in the end they were driven into a desperate situation. The party was scattered: some were trapped in a mountain valley, others routed and dispersed outside.

Li Siye, trapped in the valley, managed to hold a precarious standoff by using the terrain to his advantage — but if outside reinforcements continued not to arrive, it was essentially hopeless that he could break out on his own strength. Moreover, once the remaining provisions were exhausted, the only fate awaiting them was capture.

At the time, the Kunling King had not immediately ordered a full assault on the valley. Instead, he put forward a condition for negotiation: he had heard, he said, that Li Siye had a daughter of exceptional beauty and talent, whom he had long admired; he wished to take her as his wife. If this succeeded, the two sides would henceforth be united by marriage and make peace together against the Li dynasty.

At the time, Li Siye was trapped in the valley — but this deputy general and Li Tanfang had been separated from the main force during the fighting and happened to be outside. With no other recourse, he thought of Li Xuandu. Taking a company of personal guards to protect Li Tanfang, he fled the area, changed direction to slip into the western regions, and rode day and night to find Li Xuandu and seek his help.

Pu Zhu was listening with her heart in her mouth when she saw the deputy general stop, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes, his expression full of guilt.

“Where is my cousin? Why have only you come here?”

A voice spoke nearby.

Pu Zhu turned. Beside her, Li Xuandu was asking the question.

His eyes were fixed intently on the deputy general, brows drawn tightly together.

“The young mistress — she — she was taken!” The man’s voice choked again.

Li Xuandu sprang from his seat, his voice sharp and fierce. “What happened?”

The man hurriedly continued. He described events from seven or eight days prior. He had led his men through countless hardships, at last finding their way out of a stretch of sand dunes. By that point they were famished and parched; the young mistress had also fallen ill on the road and was burning with fever. He was just about to ask someone for directions to Shuang City when a group of people suddenly rushed out from the northeast — savage and ferocious as demons — and slaughtered his men, snatching away the young mistress. He fought his way out with his life, then gave chase, only to find the direction they had gone led into a vast marshland. He calculated that without knowing the paths, going in alone would make it impossible to rescue the young mistress, so he turned back, and after making inquiries all along the way, finally found Shuang City tonight.

“I beg Your Highness to rescue the young mistress! I beg Your Highness to save my master!”

The man finally finished his account and let out another cry. Perhaps from the blood he had lost earlier, once the tension that had been keeping him upright gave way, he could no longer hold on — and he collapsed in a faint.

The messenger was quickly carried out for medical attention.

Candlelight flickered in the hall. Pu Zhu quietly observed Li Xuandu’s profile.

He still stood in exactly the same posture as before, not a step moved, his figure as if frozen — and his expression grew heavier and heavier.

She dared not speak and disturb him.

Suddenly, he turned to face her.

“Zhuzhu, there is still some time before dawn. Go back to the inner rooms first and rest. I need to go out.”

He gave her a brief instruction, then strode rapidly toward the door.

Pu Zhu knew what he was going to do.

He was going to rescue his cousin. And then rescue the trapped Li Siye and the others.

All of it was a matter of life and death.

She watched his silhouette vanish swiftly into the deep darkness beyond the doorway, and sat alone for a moment longer. Then, following his instructions, she rose and returned to their quarters at the back.

She had never been to the marshland the deputy general had described, but she knew what kind of place it was.

It was a small, savage little kingdom situated along the northern road — small in territory and its people poor, with only a few thousand souls. Nearly every man there was a bandit, using the vast marshland all around as a natural shield, and making constant raids outward. By all accounts, in earlier years a neighboring kingdom had sent troops to attack them, only for the soldiers to be led into the swamp — where they watched those ahead of them blunder into bog pools and sink beneath the surface one after another. Those behind could only halt and withdraw, retreating without having achieved anything. Over many years, the swamp became littered with the skulls of beasts and men; after nightfall, flickering blue lights appeared everywhere — ghost-fires drifting — and those who beheld it were struck with dread. It was known as the Ghost Kingdom.

All the kingdoms along the northern road had for years been under the Fox Chieftain’s control — except for this Ghost Kingdom, which even the Fox Chieftain had not dared to provoke. Thus it had always been able to stand alone. And because of this, those people had grown ever more brazen and lawless.

This time they had not only killed but had also abducted Li Tanfang.

The next day, Pu Zhu learned the news from Luo Bao: Prince Qin had ridden out through the night to the Ghost Kingdom.

Pu Zhu said nothing, only sinking into thought.

Luo Bao darted a glance at her and quickly began to explain further. “It is not that His Highness insisted on going personally — another person could easily have been sent instead. It is only that they say that swamp is haunted, and an outsider who blunders in without knowing the way is nearly certain to get mired. His Highness was uneasy and so led the party himself…”

Before Luo Bao had finished speaking, he saw the Princess Consort suddenly turn and, leaving him behind, walk swiftly toward the door. Startled, he quickly followed and asked, “Where is the Princess Consort going?”

Pu Zhu did not reply. She only quickened her pace, went out of the fortified house, called for her horse, swung into the saddle, and galloped out of the city, riding hard ahead.

She rode at full speed, pressing her horse relentlessly, and in under an hour had arrived back at the Shuang Family estate she had just left the day before.

The gatekeeper, seeing her leave just last night and return again so early this morning, was somewhat surprised but dared not be remiss, and immediately showed her in.

Shuang Shi came hurrying out at the news, and seeing Pu Zhu looking so anxious — hair slightly disheveled from the wind — was greatly surprised. She was just about to ask, when she heard Pu Zhu say, “Madam, do you have a man here who knows the way into the Ghost Kingdom’s swamp? I remember that my father’s notes once mentioned that many years ago, one of his deputies was captured by the Ghost Kingdom people and held for ransom, and it was Madam who sent someone to lead my father inside to rescue him?”

Shuang Shi was taken aback, then nodded. “Yes — there is such a person in my estate. He was originally from the Ghost Kingdom; many years ago, when he was still a youth, he offended his master and had one hand cut off. Unable to bear the torment, he fled and happened to encounter me, and begged me for help. I kept him here and gave him some work in the estate.”

Pu Zhu bowed deeply to her. “I beg Madam to lend this person to me for a time!”

Shuang Shi hurried to help her up and asked what had happened.

Pu Zhu recounted everything — from her return last night to the arrival of the Que Kingdom messenger and the plea for rescue.

Shuang Shi listened, and an expression of faint surprise crossed her face. “You are saying that Prince Qin has already gone to rescue his cousin?”

Pu Zhu nodded. “Yes.”

“And you want to lend him a guide?”

Pu Zhu nodded again. “Yes.”

Shuang Shi looked at her expression, hesitated a moment, then asked in a low, exploratory voice, “Zhuzhu, tell me honestly — is Prince Qin and this cousin of his truly nothing more than cousins?”

Beneath the gaze of those sharp, worldly eyes, Pu Zhu paused, then said vaguely, “When he was young, before he was imprisoned, they had something like an informal betrothal — but that was long since dissolved…”

A look of displeasure immediately crossed Shuang Shi’s face. “Just as I suspected! I could tell from your expression that something was off the moment you mentioned this cousin!”

Pu Zhu hastened to say, “Madam, please do not misunderstand — His Highness and she truly have no connection any longer!”

“How old is she? From what you’ve said, she seems to be unmarried?” Shuang Shi continued to press.

Pu Zhu lowered her gaze slightly and did not answer.

Shuang Shi gave a cold laugh. “Just as I thought.”

She considered a moment, then said, “Zhuzhu, I speak to you as one of my own, which is why I say what is in my heart. One must guard against the world, even while wishing no harm to others. It is not that I am unwilling to lend you the man — I just feel there is no need. That swamp cannot hold Li Xuandu; at most it will cost him a bit more time and effort. Why not let him be slower in rescuing that woman? What good does it do you to have him rescue her sooner?”

Shuang Shi’s words were tactfully put, but Pu Zhu understood their meaning well.

A young and beautiful woman, fallen into the hands of such brigands. Every moment of delayed rescue meant one more measure of danger she might face.

Pu Zhu was silent for a moment, then slowly raised her eyes.

“Madam, he and his cousin grew up together. He has feelings for her. If she were harmed because he did not reach her in time, he would torment himself with guilt…”

She paused.

“I came to you again with this shameless request not for his cousin’s sake. He has just learned that his maternal grandfather has passed away, and is already grieving in his heart. I do not wish for him to be doubly pained by something like this.” She spoke softly.

Shuang Shi was startled. She looked at her for a moment, then let out a low sigh. “You foolish child!”

She shook her head, then gave instructions to the steward to bring the one-armed man immediately and deliver him to the Princess Consort of Prince Qin.