At first Pu Zhu had not thought much of it, but as they rode along, she gradually sensed something was not right.

If Shuang Shi had truly had something of the utmost urgency, she should have had the messenger tell her directly. Even if the matter were inconvenient to convey by word of mouth, a brief note could have been written.

Moreover, Shuang Shi had often sent people to deliver goods and messages before, but had never done it the way she had today — leaving a verbal message and then departing immediately.

Even in the most pressing of urgent matters, there was no reason she couldn’t wait even a moment.

This was nothing like the way Shuang Shi’s people usually handled things.

At first she had spurred her horse forward quickly, wanting only to get there as fast as possible. But as she reached the halfway point, her doubts began to grow. Just before reaching the steep slope that she had once passed on a moonlit night when Li Xuandu had come to meet her, she gradually slowed her horse.

Han Rongchang asked what was wrong.

Pu Zhu shared her suspicions with him, and then stopped her horse.

“Han Commander, I don’t know why, but I sense something is wrong.”

Han Rongchang gazed at the slope ahead.

“Very well — Wang Fei, wait here. I’ll go ahead and see what’s happening.”

Without waiting for Pu Zhu to respond, he spurred his horse forward in a gallop, topped the slope, and his silhouette disappeared below the ridgeline.

He had spoken and gone before she could call him back. Pu Zhu had no choice but to wait as he said. After waiting a moment, she felt increasingly uneasy and worried that Han Rongchang might be in danger alone. She deliberated briefly, then brought the two guards who had come with her and was just about to spur her horse up the slope to follow, when she looked up and saw, suddenly appearing at the top of the slope ahead, a row of seven or eight riders — all powerfully built men, clearly seasoned fighters.

Before the Protectorate had moved here, in the days under Shuang Shi’s rule, the security of this area had been better than other places. Bandits feared her reputation and dared not linger here even in passing. And after the Protectorate’s arrival, Li Xuandu had completely cleared out the remaining outlaws. Bandits were rarely seen in the vicinity anymore. And it was broad daylight.

In broad daylight, in the middle of the road, such a strange company of men had appeared.

A guard shouted “Wang Fei, run!” and spurred his horse forward to shield her as they turned to leave.

Pu Zhu wheeled her horse around swiftly, but it was already too late.

That company swept down from the ridgeline — every one of them a seasoned rider — and in the blink of an eye caught up like a whirlwind, surrounding Pu Zhu and her guards in their midst.

From a distance, they had been too far to see clearly; now face to face, Pu Zhu recognized them. One of the men at the center looked somewhat familiar — a man who appeared to be a subordinate of Han Rongchang, also surnamed Han, seemingly one of the Han family’s household retainers who had followed Han Rongchang all the way to the Western Regions.

She finally understood completely.

It was not Shuang Shi calling for her.

It was someone she had trusted deeply who had deceived her.

A small carriage covered in a green felt canopy was driven up.

“Wang Fei, please board the carriage.” The tone of that Han family retainer was exceedingly respectful.

“Where is Han Rongchang?”

The other party did not reply.

Pu Zhu lifted her eyes and looked toward the slope ahead, where she saw a figure standing silently at the top.

“Are you sent by Li Chengyu?”

She fixed her gaze on Han Rongchang — who had left and now stood there in silence — and asked, word by word.

Han Rongchang’s gaze shifted slightly, as though he did not dare to meet her eyes. He waved his hand, ordering his men to put her in the carriage.

Pu Zhu did not resist.

Han Rongchang had come prepared.

And she had only two guards.

She did not want any needless deaths. Neither hers nor her guards’.

The small carriage that carried her turned around, setting her on the road to Yumen Gate.

Han Rongchang was clearly anxious to bring her back within the pass and made almost no stops on the road aside from necessary rests. Throughout the journey, aside from being confined in the carriage all day with close supervision, Pu Zhu was not subjected to any mistreatment, and her hands and feet were not bound. Han Rongchang had even arranged for an elderly woman to attend her, as well as changes of clothing for the road. But he himself never approached the carriage again, always staying far in the rear, going to great lengths to avoid Pu Zhu and seemingly reluctant to even let her see him. No matter how many times Pu Zhu requested a conversation with him, he never responded. Thus the party traveled eastward at great speed, day by day. On a certain day, the group gradually drew near the White Dragon Mounds.

Pu Zhu had a vivid impression of this place.

She remembered that when they had come through here on the way, they had encountered a violent sandstorm. Zhang Zhuo had even gotten lost in the sand and been captured by wild men.

This stretch of road was full of hidden dangers.

Han Rongchang was evidently also somewhat wary. After entering the White Dragon Mounds, he slowed the pace and no longer forced nighttime travel. Once darkness fell, he set up camp for the night.

He proceeded with careful caution, and the party safely crossed through. Once they were out of the White Dragon Mounds, he again began traveling day and night, drawing closer and closer to Yumen Gate.

Pu Zhu’s heart was filled with burning anxiety.

If they continued like this for two more days, they would reach Yumen Gate.

Once inside the pass, the chances of escaping would be even slimmer.

At noon that day, when the heat was at its peak, the party stopped by the roadside to rest and eat.

Pu Zhu sat in the carriage, looked at the food the elderly woman had passed in, and had no appetite at all.

She lifted the corner of the carriage curtain and saw Han Rongchang standing far away, talking with someone leading the way. She pushed open the carriage door and stepped out.

The elderly woman and the guard assigned to watch her immediately moved to block her. Pu Zhu did not try to push past them forcefully — she stopped beside the carriage. But she raised her voice in the direction of Han Rongchang and called out: “Commander Han, why won’t you speak to me? You can avoid me for a time — can you avoid me for a lifetime?”

She raised her voice, and it carried to Han Rongchang’s ears. His subordinates around him also looked over one by one.

Han Rongchang quickly turned his head, caught her eye, and immediately strode away.

Pu Zhu continued: “You know why I so carelessly went along with you that day? Because I trusted you — completely and fully. That you and Prince Qin were able to become husband and wife — you were the one who brought us together. I am deeply grateful to you, and I regard you as one of my own. That day I thought: even if something is wrong, with Commander Han beside me, he will certainly protect me. That is why I came out without a care. I never imagined you would do something like this! You have been avoiding me the entire way, refusing to say even half a word to me. Is it because your conscience is troubled?”

Han Rongchang’s footsteps slowed.

“Commander Han, listen to me — I do not blame you, not in the slightest. These are my true words from the heart. If there is even half a lie in them, let Heaven strike me down. I know you must have had no choice. If there is something you wish to say, you may say it to me — I will think of a way with you together!”

The wind carried her voice outward, every word clear and measured.

Han Rongchang’s feet sank into the sand. His back was to her, motionless.

“Commander Han, you are a man of hot blood and true feeling — I won’t say more about right and wrong. Yumen Gate is almost here. Commander Han, think this through carefully for yourself.”

She finished speaking, turned around, and returned to the carriage.

The remainder of that day’s journey passed in quiet, no different from before.

The next day was the same.

The third day — this was the last day before reaching Yumen Gate.

After this night, they would be inside the pass by the next day. The people of the Protectorate were perhaps still in pursuit behind. And then there was Li Xuandu — he should still be with the Que people now, far away in the distant north, escorting them westward.

Had he already received the news about her?

On this deep night, Pu Zhu tossed and turned in her simple tent, unable to sleep.

That sensation of tightness in her chest, as though she wanted to vomit, came over her again.

She sat up, wanting to go out and get a breath of fresh air. She climbed out of bed and lifted the tent flap — only to see Han Rongchang standing outside her tent, seemingly having been there for some time.

Seeing her appear, he stepped forward a pace, then stopped himself.

Inside the tent, a candle was lit.

Pu Zhu sat upright in the center and invited Han Rongchang to sit at ease.

“Commander Han has finally been willing to come and see me. I am very grateful. Thank you.”

Han Rongchang did not dare enter, remaining at the tent entrance. He was silent for a long while, then gave a bitter smile and said in a low voice: “Wang Fei, do you truly not hate me? You once showed me great kindness — the great favor of saving my wife. And now I repay kindness with treachery, treating you like this…”

His tone carried a kind of weary heaviness. The candlelight illuminated his face — unkempt beard, a haggard expression, looking as though he had suddenly aged greatly.

Pu Zhu said: “Did Li Chengyu threaten you by holding your Han family members’ safety over you?”

Han Rongchang looked up sharply: “Wang Fei, how did you know?”

Pu Zhu said: “Besides this, I cannot think of any other reason that could make you do such a thing. There is only one thing I am not fully certain of — did Li Chengyu use your family as leverage and send you from the very beginning, or did this happen later?”

“It was over two months ago. At the time I was still in the north, and I received a secret imperial decree from someone the Emperor sent to me. He commanded me that I must bring you back to the capital, and gave me a three-month deadline.”

“I have an elder brother who has always kept out of factional politics in his official career — yet at this very critical juncture, he has been falsely accused of being a remnant partisan of the late Prince, and he is already in prison. With time running short, I had no way out. That day I was momentarily confused and devised this plan to lure Wang Fei out.”

“When I first came west with a single-minded desire to leave the capital and follow Prince Qin in building merit and achievements in the Western Regions — I finally understand now why the Emperor was so willing to grant my request and send me to escort the King of Baole home. He must have had a plan even then. Had I known this would be the outcome, I should never have come! I have betrayed the trust you and the Prince have placed in me…”

Han Rongchang looked deeply despondent, his expression desolate. He clenched his fists and struck himself hard on the head several times. Then suddenly, as though remembering something, he looked again toward Pu Zhu.

“There is also one matter — concerning the Grand Empress Dowager…”

Pu Zhu’s heart gave a lurch: “What has happened to the Grand Empress Dowager?”

Han Rongchang hesitated a moment, then finally said: “The one the Emperor sent with the secret decree was someone of my Han family. So I also heard of another matter — the Grand Empress Dowager, she…”

He trailed off, glancing at Pu Zhu, as though momentarily unable to bring himself to say it.

Pu Zhu’s already pale face grew even whiter. She widened her eyes and stared at him.

“Say it!”

Her voice was very soft, but it carried a tone of command.

Han Rongchang paused, then gritted his teeth and said: “She has passed away! And more than that — before passing, the Grand Empress Dowager left behind a final decree…”

He then recounted Jiang Shi’s order that no grand state funeral be held after her death, and that burial would only proceed once the Dongdi had been destroyed.

Before Han Rongchang had finished, Pu Zhu could no longer hold herself together. Tears streamed silently down her face.

The moment she heard Jiang Shi’s final decree, she understood.

This was Jiang Shi having guessed that Li Chengyu would certainly exploit her funeral rites to make his move. She was doing this to protect Li Xuandu, to prevent him from falling into a trap in the name of filial piety — and so she had left this final decree, shocking all the world.

With such deep and loving intentions, such tender and fervent care — how could one not be moved to tears?

She wept and turned on her knees toward the direction of the capital, prostrating herself in a bow.

Han Rongchang’s tiger eyes also glistened with moisture.

“When I heard this news, I understood at once — with the Grand Empress Dowager gone, the Emperor would have nothing more to restrain him. He took my brothers as hostages, and I dared not disobey. After setting out with Wang Fei, I assumed you would hate me to the bone. The entire journey, I truly had no face to look at you, and kept avoiding you. I never imagined that Wang Fei would not blame me at all!”

“I, Han Rongchang, was once looked down upon in the capital. In those days I could still tell myself: how can sparrows and swallows know the ambitions of the great swan? It was those people who looked at me with blind eyes. One day, Han Rongchang would surely accomplish great things and let them all see clearly — what kind of man I truly am! Today I finally understand — I deserve to be looked down upon! I am exactly that kind of worthless wretch! And what’s more — I judged a person of noble character by the measure of a petty person!”

He slowly clenched his fist, closed his eyes, breathed a long, slow breath, then suddenly opened them.

“I have already made up my mind — tomorrow morning I will release Wang Fei and return you to safety. I will go through the pass myself and report back to the Emperor. Wang Fei, please rest assured as well. Even if my Han family has fallen now, at the very least we are a founding family from the dynasty’s beginning. The Emperor cannot possibly use something this underhanded as a pretext to openly move against the Han family. As for my brother’s charges — I will also find a way. My Han family still has some ties of old friendship with certain established families in the capital, and there is still room to maneuver.”

He paused.

“I have put Wang Fei through much hardship these past days. Wang Fei, please rest. If we ever have the chance to meet again, I will come before Prince Qin and Wang Fei to make full amends!”

He bowed to Pu Zhu and turned to leave. Pu Zhu called out to stop him.

“Wait a moment!”

Han Rongchang stopped.

Pu Zhu said: “If the charge of being a remnant partisan is established, it is tantamount to treason — and then it will no longer be a matter of just your brother alone. Commander Han, you would violate the imperial decree to release me — how could I just wash my hands of it and leave, allowing your Han family’s more than a hundred members to fall into danger? This matter should originally be discussed with Prince Qin, but he is still in the north and it is truly too late to reach him…”

She deliberated for a moment, then hesitated no longer, and quickly made her decision.

“I have an old acquaintance in Cui Xuan, the Southern Bureau Commander. Tonight I will write a letter. Tomorrow, after you pass through the gate, dispatch a trustworthy person to set out early and deliver it to him with all speed, in hope that he will, out of old friendship, be willing to lend his aid. Furthermore — I will not go back yet. Tomorrow I will also quietly enter the pass with you, take up residence in He Xi, and await news from the capital…”

Seeing him about to speak, Pu Zhu immediately explained: “Rest easy — I have people I know in He Xi. There will be no danger, and hiding there for a month or two is no problem. Once Commander Cui receives my letter — if he agrees to help, all the better. If something else comes of it, then we will think of another way at that point.”

Han Rongchang was momentarily stunned. When he grasped her meaning, he was overcome with emotion, seeing a glimmer of hope once again.

The plan he had spoken of earlier was in truth nothing but words to set Wang Fei’s heart at ease.

The Han family, though a founding family, had long since fallen into decline. And the great noble families of the capital had a longstanding habit of fawning on the powerful and looking down on the weak. With the Han family now in trouble — and under such a charge — anyone who had once associated with the Han family would stay far away, let alone help. Li Lihua too was now in a precarious position and could not protect herself.

He had already prepared himself to go back and face the worst outcome.

Now Wang Fei was proposing this solution. That Cui Xuan — he knew of him: the current Southern Bureau Commander, the most trusted aide close to the Emperor. If he could secretly intervene, the prospects would be much greater.

He thanked Pu Zhu repeatedly, immediately went to fetch brush and ink.

Pu Zhu quickly finished writing the letter for Cui Xuan, sealed it, then took out paper and began writing another letter.

This was the letter she would write to Li Xuandu.

The people at the Protectorate headquarters would think something had happened to her and would certainly send word to him.

She needed to send Li Xuandu a letter.

She wrote and stopped, stopped and wrote. After a very long time, she finally finished this one letter.

She first told him where she was going, explained the reason Han Rongchang had taken her away, told him that she had written to Cui Xuan seeking help, that she was temporarily not returning and would wait in He Xi for news from the capital — asking him not to worry about her.

Then she told him the news she had only just learned: that his grandmother, Grand Empress Dowager Jiang Shi, had passed from this world — and the arrangements she had made for her own passing.

She said that before this, she had already learned the Grand Empress Dowager was in danger, but had at the time made her own decision and had not told him immediately. She hoped he would forgive her.

She wiped away the tears that surged from her eyes again, and at the end said: Tanfang, upon learning he was blocked in the snow mountains, had proposed going to help him, even willing to agree to the King of Kunling’s marriage proposal in order to lend him strength. And just in the recent city defense campaign, it was also she who, despite her unrecovered illness, led the people to retrieve the urgently needed fire oil and rendered great merit.

At last, it seemed all that needed to be said had been said.

After she set down the brush, waiting for the ink to dry, she gazed at the flame of the dim lamp before her and gradually fell into a trance.

The tear tracks on her face dried slowly; the ink on the paper, too, dried bit by bit — but she did not immediately seal the letter.

She slowly closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye rose the image of Li Tanfang setting out in haste that day. A wave of emotion stirred within her. She suddenly felt that this letter was still not finished.

Far from finished!

There were still many things that had long been pressed deep in her heart — things she had not written.

She did not want to conceal them any longer.

She must tell him. She must let him know everything.

No matter whether in the end he could accept her feelings — whether the outcome was good or not — she was willing to accept it!

She could no longer restrain herself. She opened her eyes, picked up the brush she had set aside, took a fresh sheet of paper, and wrote swiftly on.

……

My dearest husband, Jade Prince — upon seeing these words, it is as though we meet face to face again.

This is a private letter. What is written within, I have long wished to speak to you, but never found the occasion, nor knew how to begin.

Tonight I put brush to paper and send it all together.

Before I begin, many old memories surface.

That night, when you and I sat together on the cliff stone behind the fortress, you held me and I leaned against your chest and spoke to you of my past life.

You smiled then, and did not believe me.

But that matters little. You may take it as a dream of mine — a dream I once fell deeply into and could not escape.

In that dream, I had been an empress — the Empress of Li Chengyu. Only the outcome was not what I would have wished.

You once did not understand why I had been so set on becoming empress.

Beyond the suffering of my childhood years, that dream was also the source of this wish of mine.

The first time you knew of this wish of mine should have been at our first meeting in He Xi, at the Yang family mansion — when I appointed a night meeting with you, begging you to keep my secret, and told you: I wished to become empress.

At that time, before you, I seemed to hide nothing of my desires. In truth, even then you were deceived by me.

I had not been entirely candid with you.

My wish was not merely to be empress — it was to be Empress Dowager.

For in my view at that time, only by ascending to the position of Empress Dowager could my life in this world be called truly fulfilled, with no remaining regrets.

Afterward, by a twist of fate, I became your Wang Fei. I had secretly planned: when in time I bore a child, when you became Emperor, I would open the inner palace broadly on your behalf, and one day when you departed this world before me, I would become Empress Dowager.

To become an Empress Dowager like the Grand Empress Dowager — that was my dream in those days.

How foolish I was then.

I knew only that the Grand Empress Dowager was exalted, but I did not know what price must be paid, what sacrifices must be made, to become a person like her.

I also believed I did not care whether you had other women. So long as I could hold my position securely and one day fulfill my wish, I would want for nothing more.

Now I know — I have no such magnanimous heart whatsoever.

Not only can I not accept your having other women — even knowing that you favor me, if there is still a place in your heart reserved for another woman, even the smallest place — that, too, I cannot endure.

Since the words have come out of my mouth, I will conceal nothing further.

The woman I speak of is your cousin Tanfang.

Now she may be on the verge of losing a loved one; you too face sorrows within and without, and have suffered the loss of a cherished elder. At such a juncture, I know I should be more understanding, and ought not burden you with such things.

But, my Jade Prince — allow me to be petty one more time. I am not, by nature, a woman of understanding.

Tanfang is so very fine. You grew up together as childhood companions. And I may as well tell you: in that dream of my past life, you became Emperor in the end — and she was your Empress.

I have often thought: perhaps in this life, I have taken her place.

If not for me, you and she, my Jade Prince — you should have been a perfect pair, made for each other.

You once said to me directly: that I was not even worthy to carry her shoes.

Afterward you apologized to me for this, and never brought it up again. But to this day, I still often wonder — in your heart, now, is it truly only me you love?

In my heart, there is only one.

But I do not know what is in yours.

These late-night words are disordered, perhaps failing to express what I mean — but every word, every sentence, is what is in the depths of my heart.

If you do not fault me for it, when next we meet, I wish to hear these words from your own lips.

If your heart holds two, I am willing to give way to one who is meant for you.

……

Pu Zhu wrote the final word, her tears already soaking through her collar.

She did not dare to read back what she had written. She feared that one more glance would cause her to lose the courage to send it. The ink was barely dry when she sealed it together with the previous letter. She waited until dawn, came out, handed the letters to Han Rongchang, and asked him to have someone send them back to the Protectorate headquarters. Then she continued on the road, pressing toward Yumen Gate.

By evening, the party arrived at the gate.

The setting sun bathed the grand and towering gate tower ahead. Atop the tower, for some reason unknown, it appeared from a distance to be lined with soldiers. Their armor reflected the flickering glitter of the sun in long, connected sheets of light.

The party continued forward. Drawing near, they gradually made out what was there more clearly. Above the gate tower, surrounded by an honor guard on all sides, stood a young man.

He wore only ordinary clothes, but around him and behind him, guards were deployed in dense formation. On either side of the gate, cavalry and infantry were arrayed in ranks, spears and blades a veritable forest.

That man stood high above. The setting sun shone upon him, making him appear all the more commanding in bearing.

He was gazing out toward the direction beyond the gate. Very quickly, he seemed to catch sight of something, turned, and strode rapidly down from the city tower. Escorted by his entourage, he walked out through the gate.

It was Li Chengyu — the reigning Emperor, Li Chengyu.

After ascending the throne, this was his first imperial tour. The destination he had chosen was He Xi.

He had arrived here three days ago to inspect the border fortifications and comfort the troops.

By such remarkable coincidence, on this evening, the imperial procession and this party that had just come from the Western Regions met face to face.