Before the young heir was born, wet nurses had already been arranged well in advance — two women of appropriate age from the commandery city, healthy and clean of body, who had given birth just two or three months prior and were at the peak of their milk supply. They had been brought in beforehand and were living in the residence with their own infants, waiting.

Now that the son had been born, Pu Zhu did not immediately make use of them. In truth, the sight of him pressing his eyes shut against her bosom, rooting about so adorably, had flooded her with maternal love, and her own heart was reluctant to have him grow close to someone else from the very moment of his birth. She decided to nurse him herself first. But progress was far from smooth — despite the wet nurses and others standing by and offering all manner of guidance, it was awkward and halting from the start, and after nursing him several times she still could not feed him to satisfaction. Wang Mu said this was likely because it was the Princess Consort’s first time as a mother and her milk ducts were not yet open, and that it would sort itself out after the infant suckled a few more times. Pu Zhu did her best to follow the instructions, but the child seemed to be desperately hungry — he sucked with all his effort and cried without stopping, his small forehead drenched in sweat. Pu Zhu watched until her own eyes reddened with distress, and dejectedly was about to give up and hand him to the wet nurse — when Li Xuandu, who had been standing to one side silently observing, stopped her.

He cleared the room of everyone, closed the door, rinsed his mouth, and helped his son with a small service. As expected, the problem was quickly resolved.

The son gulped down the milk in great swallows and soon ate his fill and drifted off to sleep, but he himself was reluctant to let go.

Being suckled by him and being suckled by the child were entirely different sensations. Pu Zhu felt her whole body go soft with a tingling weakness, and her face flushed crimson. She told him he was not allowed to continue.

He leaned close to her ear and murmured: “Just now I heard them say that breast milk must not be allowed to accumulate — if it builds up too long, the supply will dry up. I heard every word. Our son is still small and cannot eat it all. I am helping him.”

Pu Zhu’s cheeks burned even redder. She gave him a light swat.

He laughed softly, and “helped” a little while longer before finally, reluctantly, letting go. He lay down beside her, and the two of them faced each other lying on their sides with their son between them.

She watched their son. He watched her.

“Look, he only just came into the world and his nose bridge is already so high — I wonder how handsome he’ll be when he grows up!”

After quite some time, her eyes had been glued to their son without once looking his way, even as she spoke to him just now, not lifting her gaze, still fixed on their son’s face.

Li Xuandu felt a slight pang. He glanced over.

This child…

The skin had smoothed out and become soft and white, the forehead full and round, the eyelashes curled and fluttering, the tiny mouth a rosy red.

He did seem a touch more appealing than at the moment of birth, but really only just a touch.

He couldn’t help saying: “Not as good-looking as you!”

Pu Zhu finally noticed something off in his tone, looked up at him, seemed to understand, and beckoned him closer. When he leaned in, she kissed him on the cheek and said softly: “You’re handsome too.”

Li Xuandu’s heart at last settled with satisfaction. Seizing the opportunity, he moved to kiss her in return, but Pu Zhu suddenly remembered something important. She pushed him away and asked whether he had given any thought to what to name their son.

Li Xuandu lay back and thought for a moment, then said: “Mighty as a tiger and brave as a bear, his deeds and merits great and abundant. Since this is a son, let his name be Huan, and his childhood name Ce Mao — what do you think?”

He finished, and Pu Zhu understood at once.

“Huan,” conveying a wish for valor and courage — she had no objection to that as the given name.

But this childhood name…

It wasn’t that it was bad, nor that she didn’t understand Li Xuandu’s meaning. She simply felt sorry for their son.

In the past she had desperately hoped for a son, wanting him to achieve great things and become the powerful support that would help her realize her ambitions.

But now that she truly had this precious child, watching him lying beside her after a full feed, napping contentedly while still absent-mindedly sucking on his tiny fist — her heart was so full of love it overflowed, and all she wanted was for him to grow up safe and healthy. She did not want him, from the very moment of his birth, to be weighed down by the pressures his father was placing on him — the expectation that he must one day accomplish great deeds.

She could not help but complain: “You yourself were quite the free-spirited wanderer when you were small! How can you be so heartless? My son has barely come into the world, and you’re already demanding that he build great merits and accomplish great deeds?”

Li Xuandu laughed despite himself: “Alright, alright, I was wrong. Then what childhood name do you think would suit him?”

Pu Zhu said: “What about Luan’er?”

Li Xuandu murmured the name to himself, thought for a moment, then said: “On the mountain called Nü Chuang there is a bird that resembles a pheasant with five-colored plumage, named the luan bird — when it is seen, the world knows peace.”

He nodded: “Good. We’ll go with your suggestion — Luan’er it is. May the world know peace, and may my son truly live to enjoy it, with no more wars to come in his days.”

Pu Zhu gave a soft sound of agreement: “That is exactly what I meant.”

Li Xuandu looked at her, his heart brimming with love. He stole another kiss, and murmured: “I’ll go tell A’mu — tonight I’ll sleep here with you and Luan’er.”

A’mu had originally arranged a separate room for herself to sleep with Pu Zhu during the night, so she could more easily take care of her. She hadn’t expected that he wouldn’t move, so she could only have another bed set up for him in the same room.

That night, A’mu had been deeply worried he would not be able to manage. As it turned out, Luan’er was extremely well-behaved — he woke to feed, and once fed he slept, without fussing or disturbing the grown-ups — and the night passed smoothly. From then on, Li Xuandu was able to sleep with his beloved wife and cherished son every night, and he looked forward eagerly to the full-month celebration.

The Dongdi forces’ long-premeditated war plans had suffered a severe blow. On the Xiyu side, Ye Xiao was holding the position, and there was no need for him to rush back immediately. He didn’t leave the commandery city, staying by his beloved wife through her confinement, playing with their son who was gradually learning to babble back at adults, or going riding and shooting with Huaiwei who was still here and hadn’t yet returned. This past month had been the most leisurely stretch of days he’d had in this entire year.

In stark contrast to the tranquility on this side was the state of affairs in the capital. Judging by the various reports arriving every day, the situation there was growing increasingly dire, even to the point of precariousness.

Li Chengyu had done everything in his power to protect the capital, employing every means at his disposal. Yet fortune was against him, and it seemed as though even heaven favored Shen Yang.

Earlier, after he had recalled a portion of the northern frontier troops, the court’s forces had once held an overwhelming advantage, and his confidence had grown considerably. He sent Chen Zhude and Han Rongchang in two separate columns to jointly attack the rebel army’s main force, determined to encircle and annihilate them. Yet no one could have anticipated that a summer downpour would cause a road blockage and trap Chen Zhude’s forces on the road, causing him to miss the planned coordinated encirclement with Han Rongchang.

Not only that, but several days later, when Chen Zhude finally took a roundabout route to his destination, Shen Yang had already anticipated his line of march and laid an ambush. Chen Zhude was defeated. After being captured, in order to save his own life, he surrendered along with seventy or eighty thousand of his troops.

More than that, in his own name he issued yet another proclamation to the various commanderies across the realm, vehemently condemning Li Chengyu’s crime of patricide and regicide, declaring him the greatest enemy under heaven. He said he himself was now rallying to support the grandson of Prince Chu in claiming the throne as the rightful heir, that he was a man returning from darkness to the light, and urged the court’s officials to follow his example and defect to the side of righteousness without delay.

When the news reached the capital, Li Chengyu, prompted by Prince Duan’s reminder, finally thought of Jiang Yi, who had been sidelined by the court for many years. He sent someone to summon him urgently and restore him to service — only to learn that Jiang Yi had already gone to He Xi and taken control of Jing Pass.

The rebel army pressed forward relentlessly, driving as far as the Yong Prefecture area. Once Yong Prefecture fell, they would push into the capital region itself.

And at this moment, as Emperor, his reputation was in ruins — surrounded on all sides, with nowhere left to retreat.

Not only that, but the court’s decrees could no longer be transmitted to the local level. Apart from the Zheng Prefecture, Luo Prefecture, and other places along the road from the Eastern Capital to the capital that had already surrendered to the rebel army, the remaining prefectures and commanderies — though none had openly defected — were all sitting on the fence, paying no heed to the court’s orders to send troops and grain.

Li Chengyu flew into a rage and, ignoring the objections of Guo Lang and others, decided to lead the army in person.

Last month, he personally commanded his remaining forces and joined up with Han Rongchang, making a final desperate bid to turn the tide. Yet his authority and prestige had been utterly shattered, and after he clashed with the rebel forces in Yong Prefecture, the battle had barely been joined when a military officer of the imperial guards — one he had long trusted — burst into his camp at night with his confidants, seized him, and in the early hours defected, delivering him to Shen Yang’s camp as a prize.

By the time Han Rongchang learned of this, it was too late to give chase. Weighing the situation, in order to prevent chaos in the capital and the total collapse of the court, he ordered the news sealed strictly and forbidden from leaking, held his position and refused to retreat, doing everything to protect the capital, while at the same time dispatching a trusted aide to rush a secret letter to Prince Duan in the capital with all possible speed.

In the capital itself, on the surface everything still appeared calm and peaceful — the shops along the streets opened as usual. But the number of people moving about was far fewer than in normal days, with civilians staying indoors, seldom venturing out without cause, and rumors spreading through every lane and alley that the rebel army was about to arrive.

Among the people things were like this, and the civil and military officials at court were even more on edge, panic and anxiety gripping every heart.

Before the Emperor had departed, he had entrusted the affairs of state jointly to Guo Lang and the Yao Marquis. Within a couple of days Guo Lang had fallen ill, turned everything over to the Yao Marquis, and was convalescing at home, refusing to go out and seeing no one — including the many students, disciples, and capital officials who came day after day hoping to seek his counsel.

That day, when he received the secret dispatch sent by the spy he had planted at the front, and learned that the imperial guards had mutinied and the Emperor had been captured, he was thunderstruck. He sat in a daze for a long while, then collected himself. The very first thing he did was send someone immediately to investigate what the Yao Marquis was doing.

With news this grave, if he himself knew about it, the Yao Marquis could not possibly be unaware.

He was soon informed that, just today, a piece of good news had come from the palace — the Empress was with child, and the announcement had been made to the assembled court.

Guo Lang was certain the Yao Marquis would come to find him. Sure enough, before long there came the Yao Marquis, arriving to check on his health. So he roused himself from his sickbed to receive him in the study.

The Yao Marquis expressed concern about his illness for a few remarks, then told him the happy news of the Empress’s pregnancy, and followed that by clasping his hands respectfully and entreating him — saying that he, Guo Lang, was the head of all officials, with unmatched prestige and authority, and he hoped Guo Lang would join him in coming forward together, taking advantage of this auspicious occasion of the Empress carrying an imperial heir to reassure the hearts of the court officials and stabilize the rear, so that they might weather this crisis. He added, as a parting note, that once the imperial prince was born, Guo Lang would surely be invited to become the prince’s tutor.

Guo Lang agreed to everything outwardly, but inwardly his mind was perfectly clear.

The Empress suddenly falling pregnant at this moment was certainly a fabrication put out by the Yao Marquis.

He and Guo Lang were alike — they both knew the Emperor had very little chance of coming back.

After half a year of warfare, by this point, one look at the comparative standing of the court and the Eastern Capital made everything perfectly plain.

At the Eastern Capital, Princess Imperial Li Lihua had supported the grandson of Prince Chu’s claim to the throne in her capacity as the great-aunt by marriage, with Shen Yang as regent. Not only that, but the rebel forces already controlled multiple prefectures and commanderies. And on the court’s side, thanks to the terrible precedent set by Chen Zhude, officials had been defecting one after another to join the rebel army, and Shen Yang’s momentum was growing ever more powerful.

If the capital were truly to fall one day, everyone else might be able to surrender to Shen Yang — but the Yao family, if they tried to surrender, would have no path forward. Only death awaited them.

Now that the Emperor had met with this catastrophe, there was nowhere left for him to turn. He could only place his hope in Han Rongchang. If Han Rongchang could not hold on, then he would simply have to accept his fate. But if Han Rongchang managed to hold the line, or even had a chance of suppressing the rebellion, then when the time came, once his daughter had carried her “pregnancy” to term and “delivered” an imperial prince, moral authority and the laws of succession would be on his side. Then if he could go all out to win over Guo Lang, and have Guo Lang stand with him, it would not be entirely without hope of a fight.

He also feared that relying on his side alone would not be enough to hold the situation together — which was why he had come over, hoping to draw Guo Lang in with him.

Guo Lang showed nothing on his face, agreed to it all, saw the Yao Marquis out, and then sat alone in deep thought for a long while. At last he made up his mind. In the dead of night he slipped out through a side gate of the Guo Mansion, boarded a small sedan chair, and made his way to the residence of Prince Duan, requesting to see him.

Prince Duan had received Han Rongchang’s letter the night before, and had been rattled and sleepless all night, and was still sitting in his study brooding over his concerns. He was surprised to suddenly hear that Guo Lang had come to see him.

He and Guo Lang had never had much interaction in ordinary times — they were no more than casual acquaintances. At a time like this, when Guo Lang had been confined to his sickbed all those days prior, he should suddenly come calling in the dead of night. What could his purpose be?

He mulled it over, then instructed a servant to bring Guo Lang in, and went out to receive him at the entrance to his study. After the usual pleasantries, he skipped the roundabout and asked him directly what the matter was.

Guo Lang’s complexion was ashen. He rose from his seat, trembling, clasped his hands toward Prince Duan, and said through tears: “Reports from the front lines have come — the Emperor has fallen into Shen Yang’s hands, and it seems he is unlikely to survive! With only General Han holding the line alone, I fear he cannot hold for long, and the capital is in grave peril. That Shen Yang is a traitor to the nation, a wolf in ambition. He has taken some boy found from who knows where, called him the imperial grandson, and with this pretense seeks to confound right and wrong and issue commands to the ministers of the court. Many officials of the court, led astray by Chen Zhude’s disastrous example, have defected to the rebel army — even those who have not yet defected harbor treasonous thoughts. I am filled with anguish! Deeply grateful as I am for the grace of emperors across generations, I cannot bring myself to think only of my own safety in this time of national crisis. It is for this reason I come tonight to see Your Highness Prince Duan, with one sincere word to speak from the bottom of my heart.”

He paused: “In this present crisis, there is only one man who can save the court!”

Prince Duan’s heart quickened slightly, yet his expression remained still and composed as water: “Who?”

“Prince Qin, Your Highness! He is a son of Mingzong, the younger brother of the late Emperor, and the imperial uncle of the current Emperor. In this situation, only by inviting him to come forward and take charge can we sweep away the chaos and restore order to the realm!”

Prince Duan looked at Guo Lang, his own mind perfectly clear.

When Shen Yang entered the capital in the future, Guo Lang would not be purged, but keeping the standing he had previously enjoyed would likely be impossible.

But if Prince Qin Li Xuandu were to rise to power — never mind anything else — given the relationship between him and the Princess Consort from the past, Li Xuandu would surely give him some face.

Surely enough, this old fox had already been harboring this intention for some time, which was why he had feigned illness from the day Li Chengyu left and refused to stir from his home.

But this suited Prince Duan’s own thinking perfectly. With him joining as well, it would also make matters far easier to carry out.

Prince Duan gave a nod and rose to his feet: “The Grand Tutor’s words are also what I have been thinking! General Han is sending urgent word from the front — the capital is in danger of falling, and we await Prince Qin urgently to come to our rescue!”