Pu Zhu made her way among the straggling crowd of people, following a wilderness path through the open wasteland in the direction of the prefectural city.

The people traveling alongside her, ahead and behind, were all refugees who had fled from Fulu Zhen with her that day.

That day, when she climbed the slope and caught sight of the Eastern Di cavalry, she knew the main road was no longer safe. At the speed of cavalry, they would be upon them in less than half an incense stick’s time. Seeing countless people still stampeding forward in a single frenzied mass, she shouted out a warning of danger, calling for everyone to take the wilderness path instead.

She knew there was a side path outside the town that also led to the prefectural city. Though it was a longer and more roundabout route, cutting through open wilderness and crossing over a ridge, it was far safer than the main road.

Nearly all of the original Fulu residents had already fled. The people on the road were refugees who had happened to converge here from all directions. At her shout, some paid no heed and kept charging blindly ahead; others abandoned the main road and followed her onto the side path. The next day, more people came straggling up from behind, weeping as they told what they had witnessed — on the main road, the Eastern Di had caught up quickly, and they had watched with their own eyes as many people were cut down right there in the road. Only those fast enough to run had escaped with their lives.

Along the side path, cries of grief rose and fell without end.

In troubled times, people fare worse than dogs in peacetime — but however wretched the grief, for the sake of survival, they could only press on.

Pu Zhu’s body grew heavier with each passing day, and her feet ached terribly. Though she had torn strips from her clothing to wrap them, walking was still an ordeal. And after all this upheaval, the refugees traveling with her had long since discarded everything they could shed — there was not a single cart on the road that could carry anyone. She gritted her teeth and walked on, stopping and starting, following the procession for some ten days. Then one evening, she finally drew near a military outpost called Xuanwei.

Skirting around this place — which had by now also fallen — and continuing along the side path for a few more days, she would enter the territory under Yang Hong’s control, where things were relatively safer.

Just as Pu Zhu was inwardly bracing herself over and over again, she quickly noticed that something was wrong.

At a fork in the road not far ahead of her, four or five people had stopped at the roadside. They appeared to be searching for someone, occasionally stopping passersby and showing what looked like a portrait, asking questions.

Pu Zhu’s heart gave a sharp lurch.

She recognized them at a single glance — the leader was one of Shen Yang’s men, the very one who had been present that night at Cheng Garden when she had stumbled upon Shen Yang strangling the Ningshou Princess’s wet nurse. He appeared to share Shen Yang’s surname.

She remembered him vividly, and recognized him now on the spot.

Why would Shen Yang’s people suddenly appear here?

Who were they looking for?

A powerful sense of dread welled up in Pu Zhu’s chest. Then she saw one of the man’s subordinates walking toward her side of the road, portrait in hand, continuing to question passersby. Her heart lurched into her throat at once. She stopped, doing her best to ease backward imperceptibly through the flow of people, and finally stepped off the road and into the open scrubland at the side. When no one was watching, she ducked into a dense clump of wild grass growing beside a rock, crouched down low, held her breath, and went perfectly still.

The man came close to where she was, then stopped another woman passing by and pointed at the portrait, asking whether she had seen the woman in it.

Through the gaps in the grass, Pu Zhu caught a brief glimpse of the portrait, and had a vague but unmistakable sense that the person depicted was herself.

By great good fortune, she had been presenting herself in men’s clothing the entire time — unkempt and covered in grime — and after setting out, out of fear of further mishap, she had found an even larger, baggier garment to conceal herself, and had also deliberately smeared her face with mud and dust. She looked nothing like the image in the portrait.

Sure enough, the woman glanced at it and shook her head, saying she hadn’t seen anyone like that.

“Are there more people coming up behind you?” the man asked, tucking the portrait away.

The woman said that everyone who could run had already run. She was among the last group to flee from their town. Her mother-in-law, elderly with poor legs, had fallen behind — and she had watched helplessly as the pursuing Eastern Di cavalry cut the old woman down with a single stroke.

“Soldier, when will you people drive those invaders away and avenge my mother-in-law —”

The woman had mistaken these men for imperial troops, and she wept and wailed.

The man muttered something vague and dismissive, then left her. His gaze passed over the weary, grief-stricken faces of those on the road. He put the portrait away and returned to the fork in the road, reporting back to the man with the surname Shen. A moment later, the Shen man left a few of his subordinates to continue watching the junction, and he himself led the rest forward in haste.

Pu Zhu’s heart was hammering. She did not dare come out. She stayed hidden until darkness fell, until all the refugees on the road had filed past and the men searching for her at the junction had also departed. Only then did she sink down helplessly, sliding down to sit against a rock, too spent to even stand.

Around her all was dead silence. The wind swept over the distant wilderness, sending up a low, eerie moan.

She gazed out at the dark wasteland before her, and thought of when she had first come to He Xi as a child.

At least then, Ju A’mu had been by her side.

Now she was alone, and did not even know which way to go.

She had no idea how Shen Yang had come to know she was in He Xi. But clearly, his intentions were not benign.

Though she did not yet know the specifics, she was certain — a brutal contest over supreme power had already begun. Falling into his hands and being used as a threat against Li Xuandu was the last thing she wanted.

Just as she was sitting there, exhausted and frightened, bewildered and helpless, she suddenly felt a faint movement inside her lower abdomen — something pressing outward from within, giving her a small nudge.

She stilled. Then she understood.

It was the baby moving. The child inside her had stirred.

Her eyes grew hot. She nearly let the tears fall. She slowly raised her hand and rested it gently over her abdomen, where that strange and wondrous sensation seemed to linger. Gradually, from somewhere unknown, strength returned to her entire body. Her spirit revived.

She closed her eyes, leaned back and rested a little longer, checked the dwindling food supply in her bag, and made a decision in her heart.

…

The northern frontier.

The fierce battle that had ended several days ago had stained half the boundary river red — and even today, the red had not fully dispersed. The setting sun hung like a solitary blood-red eye on the distant horizon, trembling on the edge of setting. Across the battlefield, bodies lay sprawled everywhere, one upon another, not yet cleared away.

In the great camp on the southern bank, Cui Xuan still wore the blood-soaked and heavy battle armor he had not yet removed. He sat alone at the desk inside the main tent for a very long time, utterly motionless, his silhouette as though frozen in place.

Over a month ago, he had been dispatched here, ordered to lead troops in a blocking action against the Eastern Di army pressing southward. Simultaneously, Chen Zhude and Han Rongchang had been sent to suppress the rebellion, their forces divided along two separate lines of advance to deal together with Shen Yang’s rebel forces.

Just these past few days, here in the northern frontier, through this savage battle, he had finally shattered the Shuang Khan’s attempt to cross the river, driving his forces back to the northern bank once again.

But before he had even had a moment to breathe or celebrate this hard-won turn in the battle with his soldiers and officers, he received an imperial edict from the capital the day before.

In less than two short months, Chen Zhude and Han Rongchang had suffered successive defeats, unable to withstand Shen Yang.

The rebel forces were at the height of their power, advancing steadily on the capital.

Not a soul in court dared utter a single word about “patricide and regicide,” yet the rumor was already known to the entire realm. Li Chengyu was at his wit’s end, and had not anticipated that Shen Yang’s rebel forces would prove so formidable to deal with.

In the face of the court army’s repeated reverses, the previous day, Li Yan — the newly appointed supreme commander of the northern frontier — had arrived. He would be taking over Cui Xuan’s position. The Emperor had commanded Cui Xuan to return immediately and take part in the campaign to suppress the rebellion.

And moreover, the Emperor had ordered him to withdraw a portion of his troops and bring them back with him.

The Emperor had not said it outright, but Cui Xuan understood: weighing the two options, the Emperor had decided to devote his full strength first to defending the capital and destroying the rebels.

But he could not obey this edict.

He could not do it.

He knew this victory was far from enough to change the balance of attack and defense between the two sides.

This was only a temporary withdrawal on the Eastern Di’s part.

Having launched a war of such immense scale, fielding over one hundred thousand troops on the northern frontier line alone, the enemy was not going to give up so easily.

It was entirely possible — very likely — that soon, perhaps even tomorrow, a fresh and even more ferocious battle would erupt.

Setting aside the enormous disadvantage of having troops stripped away, this Li Yan who was to replace him — though he held the court’s rank of Second Grade Dragon-Tiger General — had spent his earlier career stationed in the interior commanderies and had no understanding of the Eastern Di army’s tactics, much less any experience dealing with them.

If he were to follow the edict and leave, he could almost predict what would happen here.

Vast stretches of northern frontier territory would be lost. In the end, they would be forced to cling to a few fortified cities, turtled up inside, maintaining the last vestiges of dignity just enough to keep the Eastern Di forces from pushing further south and threatening the capital.

Such an outcome, after weighing his options, the Emperor might be prepared to reluctantly accept.

But Cui Xuan was not willing.

He had gone sleepless all through the previous night. Today, just moments ago, he had finally come to a decision.

He told Li Yan: when a general is in the field, there are commands from his sovereign he may not obey. Li Yan could take back the soldiers the Emperor wanted, but he himself would not return.

Li Yan’s reaction to this had not been particularly strong.

Indeed, when he had spoken this decision aloud, Cui Xuan could feel the man visibly relax, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Cui Xuan knew why he had reacted that way.

Since boyhood, he had been a gambler. He had gambled his way along, and it seemed as though heaven had favored him all the way — he had never once lost. Until today, when at last he had placed himself on the table, staking everything on a single throw.

This time, heaven would probably not continue to favor him.

But even so — even in a gamble with such slim odds of winning — he would not change his mind.

He had made his decision.

Li Yan took the troops the Emperor wanted and departed in haste.

Yet his thoughts, even now, surged and swelled like a tide.

He was thinking of another matter.

Several days earlier, one of Fei Wan’s men had come from He Xi and brought him a piece of news.

He had already known about Li Chengyu abandoning He Xi and ordering Jingguan closed.

What he had not known was that Fei Wan had apparently failed to see her safely away.

The soldier had told him that the Princess Consort, while still outside the Yumen Pass, had encountered the Eastern Di army’s assault. Fei Wan had gone to report the situation to Yang Hong and arranged to meet her at Fulu Zhen. But for reasons unknown, he had never been able to return, and had lost contact with the Princess Consort as well — with no other choice, he had come back first to report the news.

She had most likely not managed to get out. She was probably still stranded in He Xi.

In the past, he had always hesitated and wavered, swinging back and forth between “should” and “should not.”

Now, his heart suddenly steadied.

It was time to bring this to an end.

Before his great gamble began, there was one last thing he needed to do.

Without further hesitation, he called in a trusted attendant and gave the order to release someone immediately — to get her to where she wanted to go as quickly as possible.

…

Pu Zhu made her way cautiously and carefully, hiding and slipping through, moving on feet that had by now gone numb with pain, and finally, some ten-odd days later, returned once more to Fulu Zhen.

The place had become a ghost town. Half the houses in the settlement had been burned through, and rubble and broken walls met the eye at every turn. A few incomplete corpses of those who had not managed to flee in time lay in the road. The entire town was utterly silent and dead. The only living things to be seen were a few wild dogs roaming back and forth through the streets.

The relay station had not escaped the devastation either — its outer walls had collapsed, and the front was charred black. But the back portion had been spared, and was mostly intact.

The dry rations Pu Zhu had traded for a month ago had run out days earlier. During these past days, she had searched through the houses she passed, and sometimes luck was with her — she would turn up grain the fleeing owners had left behind in their haste, hidden not well enough. It had kept her going. Now she entered the town, rushed into the relay station, and went straight to the back kitchen.

She knew there was a cellar in the kitchen courtyard used for storing various provisions. The Eastern Di forces had come too fast — the station master almost certainly would not have had time to move out everything stored there.

As she had guessed, the cellar held quite a store of food. Beyond raw grains such as rice and millet, there were also flatbreads and strips of dried meat.

The flatbreads and dried meat were long-keeping provisions — as a border commandery relay station, they were always kept on hand for those who needed to pass through the outer pass.

Pu Zhu felt as though she had found a treasure.

For this entire month, her food had consisted almost entirely of dry rations. Confronted now with meat, her mouth began to water, and she immediately ate two strips on the spot.

These meat strips, in order to keep for a long time, had been dried hard as leather and seasoned only with salt. Under ordinary circumstances, they would have been almost impossible to chew. But at this moment, Pu Zhu found them delicious beyond compare — better than dragon liver and phoenix marrow. She ate two strips in one breath, and only then finally felt her stomach somewhat satisfied. After resting a while and letting her strength recover a little, she bundled up all the flatbreads and dried meat and carried them to the courtyard where the stables were.

Along the wall near the stables, there was also a cellar, ordinarily used to store the concentrated feed for the horses. Because of its position further inside, it was not generally known to anyone but the relay station staff.

Pu Zhu had come here often in the past to add feed for the horses and knew it as well as she knew her own hands.

She moved aside a pile of miscellaneous things stacked on top, lifted the cover, and dropped the bag of food down inside. Then she went to the kitchen and found a large water skin, walked to the well at the edge of the nearby town, filled it to the brim with water, carried it back slowly, and lowered it down as well. She went back into the relay station and found a blanket, a candle, and a flint. Last of all, she climbed in herself. She pulled the miscellaneous things back over the opening, replaced the cover, and then, carefully, step by step, climbed down the ladder.

He Xi had little rain throughout the year, and the cellar was very dry inside. She lit the candle for light, laid out her bedding, and at last, finally, was able to brace herself with her hands at her back and slowly lie down. She closed her eyes. The world around her was still and soundless. The string inside her body that had seemed taut at every moment for this entire month — finally went slack.

She let out a long, slow breath.

That day, when she could go no further forward — because she could not be certain she would not be found by Shen Yang’s men — she had made the decision then and there to return to the Fulu Zhen she knew so well, find somewhere safe to hide, and wait for circumstances to change.

In this lifetime, she and he had met here for the first time.

If he learned of the crisis in He Xi and entered the pass to search for her, he would certainly think of this place and come looking.

But what if he did not come? Like her previous life, where she had never been able to wait long enough…

Her heart contracted faintly.

But she quickly set the thought aside.

Even if he truly could not come, it would still be all right. After all, she had previously arranged with Fei Wan to meet here at Fulu Zhen. Sooner or later, he was certain to return here looking for her.

So Pu Zhu told herself, offering herself this consolation.

That night, she finally slept — a long and relatively peaceful sleep.

The next morning, she was woken by the baby moving inside her again.

Her child had come with her through so much hardship, yet remained so robust — and so well-behaved, as if knowing she was alone and waiting in agony. In the days that followed, the baby always found a moment now and then to make its presence known, to let her know it was there with her, so that she would not feel quite so alone.

And so the days passed. About ten days in, the water ran out. One night, as darkness was falling, Pu Zhu climbed out of the cellar to go to the well for water.

She was filling the water skin, as she had done the several times before, when suddenly she heard voices in the distance — what sounded like a group of people heading this way.

In all the days she had been hidden here, this was the first time she had heard human voices nearby.

At first she thought it might be Fei Wan or someone she knew — but before she could feel any excitement, that feeling was instantly replaced by alarm.

The people were speaking in the language of the Di people.

She clutched the half-filled water skin with one arm, braced the other hand under the visible swell of her five-or-six-month-along abdomen, and bolted back through the rear gate to the cellar. She threw the water skin down, covered the opening, climbed down inside, and blew the candle out.

She crouched in the pitch-black cellar. Moments later, the voices drew closer. Someone entered the back courtyard and led horses into the stables.

“In a place like this, there should be a storage cellar near the kitchen — go take a look and see if there’s any food…”

“Remember, tell your men to help me search carefully. Not a single place can be overlooked!”

One voice after another drifted down through the cellar cover, clear and unmistakable, floating into Pu Zhu’s ears.

It was Shen Yang’s subordinate — that same man!

How could he be so persistent — and why had he come here too? Had he somehow found out she was hiding here?

While Pu Zhu was still reeling with shock, she heard a voice speaking in the Di tongue say, “Haven’t we already helped you search so many places along the way? And found nothing! Who is this woman, that she matters so much?”

The man with the surname Shen said, “What business is it of yours? As long as you help me find her, there will be a substantial reward!”

The Eastern Di man agreed. The two of them continued talking as they seemed to move away, their voices and footsteps growing gradually more distant, and finally fading entirely from earshot.

Pu Zhu’s back had broken out in cold sweat. She also counted herself quietly fortunate that she had had the forethought earlier not to hide in the front cellar near the kitchen, but here instead — and had thereby escaped this calamity.

That night, in the lightless cellar, Pu Zhu lay listening to the muffled sounds of noise drifting down from outside, and did not sleep a single moment.

The man surnamed Shen and his party stopped in the town for three or four days. During the day they apparently went out to search the surrounding area, and the relay station fell quiet; at night they returned and made their sounds overhead. Then at last, on the morning of the fourth day, the Shen man led his people away.

But before they left — to Pu Zhu’s dismay — something unexpected happened.

Perhaps it was simply the Eastern Di’s nature: when they led the horses away, they casually set fire to the stables.

Pu Zhu had no inkling of this at first. In the cellar, she gradually began to feel a stifling heat and sensed that something was wrong. She set up the ladder and slowly climbed up, nudging the cellar cover slightly ajar to take a look — and only then realized with a start that the stables nearby were on fire.

She was about to come out and take temporary shelter when, entirely without warning, the stable collapsed entirely, bringing down the section of mud wall beside it. That wall tipped toward the cellar cover.

Pu Zhu instinctively shoved the cover back shut. There was a thunderous crash overhead, heavy objects smashing down on top, followed by a shower of trickling sounds as dirt and debris rained down from above. She was struck by a wave of dizziness so intense she nearly lost her grip on the ladder and tumbled off.

She clung to the ladder for dear life, closed her eyes, and leaned against it. When the shaking and crashing finally stopped and she gradually came back to herself, she tried raising her hand to push the cellar cover — and discovered something terrible.

A section of collapsed wall had apparently come to rest on top of it. The weight was immense. She could not push it open.

The cellar had been growing warm already, and in her panic, she broke out in a sweat all over. She forced herself to calm down and tried again. Still nothing.

Outside, the stable’s combustible materials were limited, and they burned through fairly quickly. The air in the cellar gradually cooled again.

After resting, Pu Zhu kept trying. She tried again and again, each attempt futile. On the last try, she threw every last bit of her strength into it — inch by agonizing inch, with arms aching and burning to the point of giving way — she managed to shift the cover sideways by a few inches to one side. In the candle’s faint light, she was finally able to see what was outside: a fallen beam was wedged there, propped against the base of the collapsed wall, immovably jammed in place.

Over the following days, after trying again countless more times without result, Pu Zhu was finally forced to face a reality.

With her own strength, she could not push open the cover from inside and move that beam and the section of collapsed wall pressing down on the cellar roof.

She could not get out.

Then she became aware of another, even more terrifying problem.

There was still enough food to last her several more days — even a full month, she could manage.

But the water — the water skin — was nearly empty.

She did not dare waste any more strength in futile effort. Every measure of strength she expended would demand more water to relieve the dryness in her mouth and throat.

All she could do was wait. Wait for someone to think of her — as she had imagined from the beginning — as someone who might be hiding here, and come to get her out.

And so the days that followed began to pass one by one, in waiting and torment.

Though she was already rationing as carefully as she possibly could — lying still all day, avoiding any movement that might cost her strength and make her thirsty — the water in the skin drained away day by day.

After about ten days, that day came — she drank the last drop from the water skin.

There was nothing left.

And by this time, the candle had long since burned out.

She had spent several days already in total darkness.

She always felt parched, always felt like sleeping. Each time that desperate drowsiness washed over her, she would talk to the child inside her heart — talking without stopping — to keep herself from sinking into oblivion.

She was afraid. Afraid that if she fell asleep like that and could not wake again, what would become of the child in her womb?

…

Li Xuandu rode against the current of refugees, galloping at full speed toward Fulu Zhen.

He had a feeling — if she was still alive, if at this very moment she was somewhere waiting for him to come and find her, that place would certainly be Fulu Zhen.

Because it was where they had first met.

Three days later, he arrived in the town. At the moment he entered, he encountered someone.

A lean, dark-skinned young man of about seventeen or eighteen years of age.

He recognized him — one of Cui Xuan’s men, named Fei Wan, if he recalled correctly.

But now the young man was injured, and it appeared to be serious. He had apparently been hiding somewhere, and emerged from behind a collapsed wall only after spotting Li Xuandu, making his way over unsteadily and calling out to him.

Li Xuandu was startled, and asked him what he was doing here.

Fei Wan recounted everything: how over two months ago he had been sent by Cui Xuan to the Yumen Pass to deliver word to the Princess Consort that Emperor Li Chengyu had come to He Xi and was waiting at the pass to take her away directly; everything that had happened after that; and how the Princess Consort had turned back toward the pass while he went to report the news to Yang Hong, with the two of them arranged to meet at Fulu Zhen.

“Your Highness, after I delivered the message to Commander Yang, I came straight back, as the Princess Consort and I had agreed to meet here. But on the way back I ran into Shen Yang’s men, was outnumbered and captured. The one with the Shen surname pressed me for the Princess Consort’s whereabouts — I naturally refused to tell him — and so he put me through this. A few days ago, I finally found a chance to escape. When I parted from the Princess Consort, she mentioned she was with child — three or four months along. Now over two more months have passed, and her condition must be even more difficult. I have been desperately worried, and wanted to come here first to find her — I had only just arrived when I ran into Your Highness…”

Li Xuandu had been listening with a grave expression throughout. When he heard the words that the Princess Consort was with child, he went blank for a moment, then abruptly came back to himself with an expression of absolute astonishment, and seized Fei Wan’s shoulder. “What did you say? The Princess Consort is with child?”

Fei Wan’s shoulder was also injured. He bore the pain and nodded. “Yes — she told me herself…”

Li Xuandu let go of him all at once, spun sharply around, and ran into the town. He charged into the relay station that now looked nothing like it once had — front to back, every room, including the open cellar beside the kitchen building, every single space was searched.

She was not there.

He stood in the relay station courtyard, searching desperately in every direction, cold sweat streaming from his forehead without cease, his palms going cold and clammy.

She had arranged to meet Fei Wan here. If she had not returned, and had not reached the area Yang Hong controlled — and now she was with child, dragging her heavy body through all these months — where in the world had she gone?

The young man had said she was three or four months along when they parted, over two months ago.

Which meant that when he last left her — setting out to rescue his uncle — she must already have been with child at that time.

His eyes reddened. In that instant, overwhelmed by crushing self-reproach and despair, the blood surged wildly in his chest and his vision went black.

He closed his eyes, struggled to steady himself, and then suddenly thought of it — wasn’t the house across from the relay station where she had once lodged with Yang Hong’s family?

Knowing the odds were slim, he immediately bolted out and ran across to that courtyard, throwing himself inside.

He searched every single room. Still she was not there.

At last he pushed open a door and saw a male corpse on the floor, by now beyond recognition.

His mind in turmoil, he turned to leave, intending to go search somewhere else. Then suddenly his gaze fixed.

He slowly bent down and picked up something from the corner of the threshold at his feet. He held it up before his eyes and stared at it for a moment. His hands, beyond his control, had begun to tremble faintly.

He recognized it.

It was her bracelet.

He would never mistake it for anything else.

His gaze shifted from the bracelet back to the corpse on the floor. He stared at it fixedly.

Could it be…

A terrible thought burrowed like a venomous snake into his heart, filling him with a shuddering dread. His whole body went cold. He was nearly unable to stay on his feet.

No. No, it was impossible.

He immediately drove the thought out of his heart.

How could something so terrible have happened to her?

All her thoughts and dreams, everything she longed for in this life, was to become Empress — and even beyond that, she wanted to be Empress Dowager!

He had not yet become Emperor. How could she simply be gone?

No matter how desperate the circumstances, his Zhuzhu — as long as she had not yet become Empress — she would never give up.

He gripped the bracelet tightly in his fist, and slowly turned his head to look back at the relay station across the way.

She was nearby. She would not have gone far.

There in that relay station — the place where they had first met — she was waiting for him, waiting for him to come and take her home.

His heart told him so.

He ran back inside, searching everywhere and calling her name at the top of his voice — heartbreaking, desperate calls, laced with pleading. Those cries, faint as a thread, drifted down through the darkness into the cellar below, and finally reached Pu Zhu — half-awake, half-asleep in the dark, her mind beginning to drift — and woke her.

She slowly opened her eyes, turned her head, and listened. Then, all at once, her whole body gave a start, and she came fully and completely awake.

He had come.

The one she had endured so long and waited so desperately for — at this moment, he had finally arrived.

She wept. The wet, salty tears rolled down her face, rolled to her lips — parched and cracked and already seeping blood — seeped between her teeth, and carried in them a faint, lingering sweetness.

“I’m here —”

She tried with all her effort to make a sound, but found that her throat seemed to have sealed shut. She opened her mouth — and could not produce so much as a whisper.

She struggled to her feet, groped through the darkness until she found the ladder, closed her fingers around the rungs, stepped onto it, and climbed upward, one step at a time, with great effort. She reached the top, raised her hand, and pressed her palm flat against the wooden cover above her head.

Once. Then again.

Once. Then again.

She struck without stopping, grinding her teeth, using every last bit of her strength. She did not know how long she kept at it — it felt both endlessly long, her palm long since numb, and like only a short moment that had in truth not been very long at all. When she finally brought her hand down one last time with a powerful blow — suddenly her hand struck empty air.

Li Xuandu had finally heard the muffled knocking rising from beneath the collapsed stable.

The sound was dull and low, sometimes faint, sometimes slightly stronger.

The blood that had been slowly congealing in his body suddenly began to flow again.

He threw himself toward it without a second thought. He heaved up the section of collapsed wall with both hands and wrenched it aside, then moved a log of timber as thick as an adult’s thigh, and finally shifted the cellar cover away.

In the instant the cover was thrown open, bright white daylight poured in from above.

Pu Zhu — who had not seen light in many days — snapped her eyes shut, let her head fall forward, and rested her forehead weakly against the ladder. Her remaining strength gave out. Her hand went limp, and she began to slide off the ladder.

A pair of strong arms reached down for her, encircling her, lifting her gently, drawing her up and out of the cellar. The next moment, she fell into a solid, steadying embrace.

Li Xuandu held her tightly against him, saying nothing at all, only pressing her face to his chest with his body to shield her eyes from the light. A moment passed. When at last he heard her hoarse, rasping voice say softly, “You’re finally here… our child gave me another kick just now…” he could hold back no longer. His eyes went red. He bent his head and kissed her. A moment later, tears streamed freely down his face — he could not tell whether they were his, or hers.

…

In the darkness of that cellar, she had been buried alive.

Li Xuandu could not bear to imagine how she had endured those days alone.

He did not even dare imagine — if she had been here alone and he had never come for her, what would have become of her.

Fear, heartache, self-reproach — in this moment, they swept over him like a tide and swallowed him whole.

Amid the mingled saltiness of tears and release, Li Xuandu tasted it at last — the chapped and parched roughness of her lips — and understood at once that she must be desperately thirsty.

He pressed down the ten thousand surging emotions inside him, released her, and reached for water. He cradled her against his arm and brought it to her lips.

She leaned helplessly against his chest, drinking in small sip after small sip from his hand. Her spirit slowly began to return. She lifted her eyes and looked at him.

His face was wind-beaten and dusty, his jaw unshaven, his eyes threaded through with red.

He noticed her looking at him, stopped offering water, and lowered his head to look back at her.

When their eyes met, each saw only themselves reflected in the other’s gaze — two small figures, each in the other’s pupils, and nothing else at all.

“Zhuzhu — I came too late, made you wait so long…”

After a long moment, the ten thousand words spinning in his heart condensed into this one low murmur, entering her ears.

Pu Zhu could not help reddening her eyes again. She shook her head. Then shook it again.

She did not want to cry anymore — it would only worry him — but the tears still fell, unstoppable, dropping one by one from her eyes.

He was not late.

As long as he came, it was not late.

She would wait for him. She would always wait.

Once, when her life had been nearing its end — knowing she should not blame him, a man she had encountered only a handful of times in her life, a near-stranger — how could she have expected him to come?

Yet in that final moment, when the hope she had harbored in her heart was proven utterly hollow, she could not help but quietly let resentment rise. Resentment at her own secret longing. Resentment at the silence that met it.

It was with that almost willful resentment that she entered this lifetime and met him again. Through so many turns and wrong paths, winding back and around and around again, and finally — in this moment — the hollowed-out place in the depths of her heart, which had been emptied out in what felt like a distant previous life, was filled.

As she listened to him murmuring endlessly in her ear, explaining his lateness, seeking her forgiveness — her tears came all the harder, impossible to stop.

How could Li Xuandu know the thousand twists and turns of tenderness within her? He only thought that she had not yet recovered from the ordeal of nearly losing her life, and he suddenly remembered something.

“Zhuzhu — I received your letter. Didn’t you ask me to tell you my answer in person? I’ll tell you now. In my heart, there is only you. Besides you, there is no one else I love.” He confessed to her, urgent and earnest.

Pu Zhu let out a small sound of overwhelmed emotion. Careless of her own dirty face, she threw herself back into his arms, weeping, nodding incoherently, both hands clutching tight to his waist and back and refusing to let go.

His collar was quickly soaked through with her tears. Li Xuandu’s own heart grew wet and soft.

He held her quietly, letting her cry in his arms, until at last she slowly stopped sobbing. Then he loosened his hold on her, raised his hand, and gently wiped the tear tracks from her face. In a soft voice he asked, “Are you feeling better?”

Pu Zhu’s emotions finally settled completely. She nodded. Then, only now thinking of what she must look like at this moment — filthy and disheveled, all of it laid bare before him — she couldn’t help lowering her head, not daring to look at him again.

Li Xuandu smiled. Knowing she cared about her appearance, he gently kissed her forehead, then glanced down at the swelling of her abdomen, and said quietly, “We can’t stay here long — let me take you back first.” With that, he lifted her into his arms and walked quickly out.

He found a cart that fleeing refugees had abandoned on the road, hitched the horse to it, and loaded her inside. He took the injured Fei Wan with them, and took back roads toward the prefectural city, where they soon met a group of his own attendants who had come after him and only just arrived.

The attendants had brought a captive with them.

That captive was Shen Yang’s trusted man.

The squad leader reported to him that yesterday they had come upon this man traveling together with over a dozen Eastern Di warriors. The two sides had fought, and after killing the Eastern Di men, they had captured him and brought him to be dealt with as Li Xuandu saw fit.

The man had not expected him to appear here too. After a moment of stunned incomprehension, he realized that there was no escape left. Rather than beg for his life, he simply closed his eyes, composing himself for a defiant death.

Li Xuandu stared at the man for a moment, then called Fei Wan forward and said a few words to him.

Fei Wan gritted his teeth, drew his dagger, stepped forward, and with one swift stroke — accompanied by the man’s scream of agony — cut off one of his ears and flung it to the ground.

Li Xuandu ordered the man’s bonds cut, and said coldly, “Your master once saved the life of one of my people. Today I return that life in kind, and spare yours. But you frightened my beloved wife and nearly brought her to grief. I take one ear as a lesson. Go back and tell your master — those who play with fire will be consumed by it, and those who grasp for power will devour themselves. He would do well to think carefully about his next step.”

Pu Zhu sat inside the carriage, watching through the window as that figure fled in panic, clutching his bleeding ear. She closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

Three days later, she was brought by Li Xuandu into the prefectural city. Entering the city, she saw that every street and alley was packed with refugees who had poured in from all across He Xi.

Li Xuandu settled her in a quiet, well-guarded residence. The first thing he did was send for a physician to examine her. When he learned that aside from insufficient blood and vitality and some surface injuries, she was fundamentally all right, and the baby was stable as well, he breathed a sigh of relief. After she had bathed, he personally applied medicine to her feet.

Her feet were covered in wounds. The soles and the heels were new injuries layered over old.

Even now, after so many days had passed, the toenails — which should have been a delicate pinkish color — still showed faint traces of bruising. It spoke to the degree of damage her feet had sustained.

Pu Zhu leaned against the headboard and watched as he cradled her foot on his knee, head bent, applying the medicine with careful, meticulous attention — gentle movements, brow furrowed, eyes full of tender concern. A sweetness quietly rose inside her. She curled her toes and said softly, “They don’t hurt anymore!”

He looked up, glanced at her, and said nothing. He simply lifted her foot and pressed a kiss to the bare top of it.

Pu Zhu’s face instantly went hot. She saw him finish with one foot and seem inclined to kiss the other as well. Hurriedly she pulled that foot back off his knee, covered it with the hem of her skirt, and refused to let him kiss it again.

He tried to lift the skirt; she wouldn’t let him; her hands clamped the edge of it in a tight grip.

He seemed somewhat dissatisfied, and stopped. He raised his eyes to look at her, then suddenly gave her a faint, meaningful raise of his brow.

She blinked — before she had a chance to react, she saw him take hold of the one foot still resting outside, the one he had already kissed once.

This time, she could only watch, face burning, as he bent his head and pressed another kiss to the top of that foot. Then, satisfied, he set it free. His expression turned serious again. He helped her lie back against the pillow, told her to rest and recover, and said that he had matters to attend to and could not stay with her any longer.

Pu Zhu knew what matters he meant.

The flood of refugees into the prefectural city was growing by the day; the military situation at Pipa Gorge was critical; the front was under severe strain, and the relief force had not yet arrived. The situation was extraordinarily grave.

She immediately said, “Go. I have company.” And she looked down at the high, round swell of her abdomen.

Li Xuandu laughed, nodded, turned to leave — then stopped, came back, placed his palm over her abdomen, and gently, carefully moved his hand over it. He bent his head and said quietly to her belly, “Be good and keep her company for your father a little longer. When you come out, Father will reward you.” With that, he finally strode out, heading off in haste.