Li Xuandu led his forces onward at full speed day and night for several days, gradually approaching the “Ghost” Kingdom. The surroundings grew dense with forest and wetland; the road turned muddy and treacherous, making it difficult for horses to advance, and the air was thick with the smell of rotting earth.

He and the soldiers dismounted and proceeded on foot, guided by their guide through the wet woodland with great care. After walking for the better part of a day in this fashion, they emerged from the forest to find a vast expanse of marshland stretching out before them — immense and seemingly boundless. The stench was overpowering, an acrid, rank odor hanging in the air, and many of the soldiers accompanying him could not bear the nauseating smell and covered their mouths and noses one after another.

This was the Ghost Swamp that had swallowed countless wild beasts and intruders.

The guide came to a stop and said that this place spread over tens of li in circumference. He knew only that the entrance was somewhere in this vicinity; as for how to navigate through what lay ahead, he could not guarantee it — he would have to feel his way as they went. He pointed at a grassy patch ahead and said that the most terrifying thing about this place was not the mud pools bubbling with large and small gas pockets, but these grass patches. Some of the grassy ground looked firm enough to stand on — but beneath it was mire. If an outsider who did not know the paths blundered in, they would be swallowed up. It was by relying on this vast Ghost Swamp that those people dared raid and plunder far and wide without fear.

Li Xuandu ordered everyone to stay close and proceed with caution. Half a day passed quickly.

Once it was dark, the guide said the night path was dangerous. Li Xuandu had no choice but to order the party to make camp there for the night. The following day they continued feeling out the path ahead.

Though they were extremely careful, that afternoon the company nonetheless blundered into a grassy patch with mire beneath the surface. While doubling back to find another way, one of the horses missed its footing and slipped into a pool. Though everyone strained with all their might to pull it out, it could not be saved. In the end they could only watch helplessly as the mire swiftly swallowed the animal whole, until it disappeared.

They stared at the patch of ground — which had already returned to its original appearance as though nothing had happened. Had they not seen it with their own eyes, no one would have believed that just moments before, a full-grown horse had been devoured alive right there.

Everyone in the party was witnessing such a terrifying sight for the first time in their lives, and they could not help but look at one another, their faces gone pale.

That day they had advanced barely ten li in total, and had ultimately proven to be heading in the wrong direction.

Li Xuandu asked the guide: at this rate, how long would it take to cross this swamp?

The guide, knowing he had led them astray and caused a delay, was terrified and immediately fell to his knees, saying he truly could not make any guarantees — he would do his best. By his estimate, at the fastest it might take seven or eight days; at the slowest, ten or more days was also possible.

Counting the days that the elder uncle’s trusted man had spent on the road before reaching him, plus the time he himself had taken to get here — Li Tanfang had been abducted for over ten days now.

He almost did not dare to think about how she had endured those ten-some days, alone and fallen into the hands of such people. His one sliver of hope was that those people, fearing his connection to her, would not dare to subject her to the worst kind of abuse — at least not immediately.

He longed to break through this swamp at once and find her, rescue her and bring her back. Yet their progress was so agonizingly slow.

Every additional day of delay meant one more measure of danger for her.

If another ten days or more were still needed…

Li Xuandu raised his eyes and gazed into the far distance ahead — still an unreachable horizon — his brows drawn tightly together.

That day was about to pass again.

Just now he had witnessed firsthand the terrifying nature of this marshland, and though his heart blazed with urgency, he knew that pushing forward at night was out of the question.

His fingers slowly closed, tightening. The veins on the back of his hand stood out.

If those people dared harm Tanfang in any way, once he found his way to them, he would slaughter every last one of them without leaving a single survivor!

He clenched his teeth and made a silent oath, and at last managed to force down the fire of fury and anxiety burning within him. He was just about to tell the guide to get up and lead them away from this dangerous stretch before nightfall, when suddenly from behind him in the distance came a sound of someone calling out at the top of their voice — it sounded like they were calling his name.

Li Xuandu turned around and saw a small party approaching from behind. As they drew near, he recognized the leader as a squad commander from the Protectorate, and immediately sent someone to meet them. A moment later, he saw the squad commander arrive before him, accompanied by a one-armed native man, and pointed to the native. “Your Highness, this man was once from the Ghost Kingdom. He can lead Your Highness inside to rescue the person!”

Li Xuandu asked about the man’s background, and was told he was now a servant in Shuang Furen’s estate, and had been brought by the Princess Consort who had gone to borrow him from Shuang Furen.

He was taken aback, and instinctively turned to look behind him. “Where is the Princess Consort?”

“The Princess Consort said she would only slow Your Highness down if she came along and could not be of help, so she did not accompany us. After borrowing the man from Shuang Furen, she had him delivered to this subordinate, and ordered this subordinate to immediately lead him here to catch up with Your Highness, so as not to delay Your Highness’s rescue.”

Li Xuandu had not expected that at the very moment he had been stymied and at a loss, such a great reversal of fortune could occur.

The appearance of this guide who knew the paths was, for his rescue mission, like a timely rain in a time of desperate need — the kind of blessing that can be hoped for but never counted upon.

He quickly gathered himself, asked the native man whether he truly knew the way, and the man said that in his youth he had been forced to take part in many raids outside the swamp and knew a safe shortcut that would allow them to cross this marshland in two days.

Li Xuandu’s mood was still heavy, but compared to a moment before, it had eased greatly. He immediately ordered the man to lead the way.

Several days later, deep in the night, Pu Zhu still had not gone to rest. She sat in the main hall where Li Xuandu usually conducted official business and held council, working by candlelight to tally the grain and fodder accounts of the Protectorate’s storehouses.

The first batch of grain planted the previous year in the fields reclaimed at Wulei had already been harvested and entered storage at the end of the previous year. This spring, the area under cultivation had been expanded further. Once the summer harvest came in, the grain supply would be essentially self-sufficient.

The Protectorate ordinarily did not levy taxes on the various kingdoms under its protection, but when there was a military campaign, the kingdoms were required — in proportion to their population — to take turns contributing a share of grain and fodder.

That day, after returning from Shuang Shi with the borrowed man, she had wasted no time in setting about preparations for this matter.

The season had long since turned to spring, but a few days before, there had come a late-spring cold snap, with even a thin dusting of snow. Now, deep in the night, though a charcoal brazier burned in the room, her hands and feet had grown stiff and frozen from sitting so long.

Luo Bao, who had been keeping her company, had his hands tucked into his sleeves and was leaning back in a chair nearby. As he sat, his eyelids grew heavy and his head gradually drooped. He dozed for a moment, then jolted awake, and opening his eyes, saw the Princess Consort still bent over her desk, checking accounts, with complete concentration.

He stole a large yawn, pulled his hands out of his sleeves, cupped them to his mouth, and breathed on them to wake himself up. Then he rose from his seat, rubbing his hands together, walked over to her side, poked the charcoal in the brazier with a fire poker, replaced the lid, and then quietly urged, “It is late — the Princess Consort should go and rest!”

Pu Zhu said, “You go sleep first. You need not wait for me. I will go back once I finish this.”

She was not leaving, so Luo Bao dared not leave first. Suppressing his drowsiness, he said, “This servant is not tired. This servant will wait and go with the Princess Consort.” Just then, A’mu came in carrying a food basket, bringing in a late-night snack. Luo Bao, knowing there was a portion for him too, immediately perked up and went to take the basket. He was about to compliment A’mu’s cooking with a cheerful remark — and mention how he got to enjoy good food himself thanks to the Princess Consort — when he thought of Prince Qin having gone to rescue the Que Kingdom cousin, with still no news, and of how heavy-hearted the Princess Consort had been these past few days. He suddenly could not bring himself to smile, and swallowed the compliment he had been about to utter, and only urged the Princess Consort to have her late-night snack first.

Having bent over the desk for most of the night, Pu Zhu did feel somewhat tired. Seeing that what was at hand was more or less done, she set down her abacus beads.

A’mu took out the late-night snack — handing one bowl to Pu Zhu and signaling to Luo Bao to go take the other.

Luo Bao was just about to take it when he noticed the Princess Consort raise her hand to rub the back of her neck — she must have grown stiff from sitting so long. He immediately abandoned the snack, rushed over and stood behind her, and began patting her back. While doing so, he glanced at the ledger spread open on the desk — covered in row upon row of dense figures — and praised her. “Of all the people in our Protectorate, truly no one is more suited to the post of administrative secretary than the Princess Consort. Just look at these accounts — lovelier than a flower!”

Pu Zhu had Li Xuandu on her mind. She was thinking that if the rescue had gone smoothly, he should be on his way back in the next day or two — and yet there had been no news at all, which left her feeling rather uneasy. Hearing Luo Bao paying her compliments at her side — knowing he was trying to cheer her up — she gave a small smile and told him to go eat.

A’mu gestured to him to step aside, and took over, gently massaging Pu Zhu’s shoulders.

Luo Bao, unable to outdo A’mu, had no choice but to go eat.

Pu Zhu had little appetite. She ate a few bites, found she could not continue, but not wanting to disappoint A’mu’s kindness, kept her head down and forced herself to eat. Just then, hurried footsteps came from outside, and a soldier on watch came in to report that Prince Qin had returned during the night.

Pu Zhu set down her bowl, and shot to her feet, running outside.

She ran all the way to the main gate of the fortified house, and by the light of the torches she saw a company of horses and riders stopped outside, along with a small horse-drawn carriage.

Li Xuandu lifted a person down from the carriage, then turned and came rushing toward her.

It was a young woman, her hair disheveled, her arms sliding down limply, hanging softly in the air.

“Zhuzhu, Tanfang is gravely ill!”

Li Xuandu looked up and saw her the moment he turned, and called out loudly, his expression extremely anxious.

Pu Zhu froze, then understood, and immediately called for someone to summon the physician. She herself continued running toward him, leading him to a guest room nearby that had been prepared several days in advance, so they could settle Li Tanfang there.

Li Xuandu placed her on the bed.

The physician arrived quickly and began treating the patient.

Li Tanfang’s face was deathly pale and her eyes were closed. She was not only gravely ill with a high fever — there was also a wound on her neck, a cut that appeared deep, the blood dried and congealed. Her entire person was so emaciated and wasted that Pu Zhu could scarcely recognize her.

The physician’s expression was grave as he set about treating the injuries and illness. He attended first to the wound on her neck, cleaning and bandaging it, then moved on to examining her condition. At last he wrote out a prescription, had the medicine prepared, and ordered it to be decocted and administered at once.

Nearly the entire Protectorate had been roused. Ye Xiao and others came hurrying one by one, and even the Elder Sister-in-law came, supporting her growing belly.

Pu Zhu handed the medicine to A’mu, who had rushed over at the news, and told her to decoct it according to the physician’s instructions. Once she had given her instructions, she turned and saw Li Xuandu speaking with the physician, asking about Li Tanfang’s condition.

The physician, clearly somewhat frightened, answered haltingly and vaguely at first. But when he saw Li Xuandu’s expression turn severe, he became alarmed — afraid he might be blamed if she did not recover — and dared not conceal the truth any longer. He said, haltingly, that the young mistress had been running a high fever for many days and was already terribly weak; with the added blood loss, her condition was even more precarious. Just now, when he had examined her pupils by candlelight, they had shown almost no response — which indicated the situation was critical. It all depended on when she woke. If after taking the medicine she did not wake within three days, her life would be in danger.

When the physician finished speaking, he did not dare raise his head.

Li Xuandu stood still for a moment, then through gritted teeth said, word by word, “You will remain right here. Until she has recovered, you are not to leave even half a step!”

The physician agreed at once, saying he would personally tend the fire for the decoction, then hurried away.

Nanny Wang brought hot water and clean clothes to help Li Tanfang bathe and change.

Pu Zhu followed Li Xuandu out, and the two stopped in the courtyard.

He said, “Zhuzhu, thank you so much for this. If it had not been for the guide you sent in time, if I had arrived even a little later, Tanfang might have…”

He stopped, clenched his teeth, a look of fury and disgust on his face.

Pu Zhu’s heart constricted slightly. She had more or less guessed what had happened.

She said nothing and did not ask.

He paused a moment, composed himself somewhat, and then gave a brief account of what had transpired.

After the Ghost Kingdom chief had seized Li Tanfang, he wanted to violate her — but learning she was Li Xuandu’s cousin, he hesitated, not daring to act immediately. Yet he was also unwilling to simply release the prize he had obtained. He vacillated for many days. That night, drunk on liquor and emboldened by it, he indulged in the wild dream of first forcing himself on her and then marrying her — and using that as a pretext to attach himself to the Protectorate. That very night he staged a bridal chamber scene and moved to take her by force.

Li Tanfang had already fallen ill on the journey before reaching there. Those days alone in the bandits’ lair, terrified and helpless, had made her sicker still — feverish and delirious. That night, seeing that her virtue was about to be violated, and in utter despair, she seized a moment when the chief was not watching, snatched a dagger, and tried to kill him — without success.

She was a woman of fierce spirit. She then turned the dagger on herself. The chief deflected it, but the blade still slashed across her neck, drawing a gush of blood. The chief, thinking she was on the verge of death, flew into a rage and was about to take advantage of her while she still had a breath — when Li Xuandu arrived with his forces, and finally, by great fortune, she was rescued in time.

He killed all the ringleaders among the bandits, burned the lair to the ground, and then rode through the night, bringing Li Tanfang back to be treated.

“Zhuzhu, you have helped me enormously this time — I am truly deeply grateful.”

He thanked her once more, his eyes filled with the most sincere and heartfelt gratitude.

Pu Zhu looked at his face — exhausted to the point of pallor — and those eyes so shot through with bloodshot lines. She was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Your Highness, you must be exhausted. Go and rest for a while.”

Li Xuandu walked over and took her hand, gripping it tightly for a moment, then let go and shook his head. His voice had taken on a rough, hoarse edge. “I am not tired. I still have things to do — I need to give Ye Xiao and the others instructions, and then arrange forces and provisions to set out as soon as possible to rescue my uncle!”

Pu Zhu said, “These past several days, Ye Xiao and I have been preparing together on your behalf. The provisions have been allocated from the storehouse; Ye Xiao has also conscripted the troops, and has been waiting for your return.”

Li Xuandu was startled. He looked at her, and when the full meaning of her words had sunk in, he gripped her hand tightly again, nodded, and said, “Good! That is the best possible outcome! But my uncle’s situation is urgent — I should go rally the troops at once—”

He spoke and turned away again, about to leave, when Pu Zhu said once more, “Your Highness, listen to me just this once! Go sleep first! When you wake and set out in the morning, it will not be too late!”

Even she herself had not noticed it — her tone carried a note of command that brooked no argument.

Since the two of them had known each other, this was the first time she had spoken to him in such a manner.

He stopped, and looked at her.

She continued, “The Kunling King wishes to draw your uncle over to his side — he will not move to kill him in the short term, and your uncle will certainly think of ways to stall for time. Restore your strength before you set out. It is only one night’s delay; it will not affect the larger situation.”

Li Xuandu hesitated, then seemed to be persuaded by her at last. He followed her arrangement and went to sleep.

He was utterly exhausted. He removed only his outer garment and lay down; almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, he was asleep.

Pu Zhu removed his boots for him, covered him with a quilt, and sat watching his face as he sank into deep sleep for a while. Then she went back to the front.

Nanny Wang and the maidservants had already finished bathing Li Tanfang and changing her clothes. She said the medicine had also been fed to her, one small sip at a time, slowly coaxed down.

At the fifth watch of the next morning, Li Xuandu woke. Before leaving, he came to see Li Tanfang.

She still had a high fever, lying on the bed, unconscious.

He stood at the doorway, gazing in silence for a moment, then turned away with a heavy expression and left.

Pu Zhu saw him off, walking with him out to the courtyard.

He raised his eyes and looked once more in the direction of Li Tanfang’s room.

“Your cousin — I will take care of her as best I can.”

Pu Zhu looked steadily at him and spoke in a certain voice.

He continued forward, then gradually slowed his steps and at last stopped. He turned his head to look at her for a moment — and suddenly turned back, striding quickly to stand before her. He reached out and drew her into his arms, leaned close to her ear, and in a tone full of gratitude murmured the words “I leave her in your care — wait for me to return.” Then he held her tightly for a brief, firm moment, released her, and turned to leave with swift steps.