In the Battle of Zhuo Mountain, Li Xuandu crushed the barbarian army. Mili was dead. The various Eastern Di tribes either surrendered or fled. He led his army in pursuit for more than a thousand li, driving deep into the northern territory, and struck straight at the royal court.

In this battle, the heads taken from enemy tribal kings, nobles, and those below amounted to over ten thousand. The horses and livestock seized were counted in the hundreds of thousands. Of the thirty-two tribes beneath the royal tent, apart from a minority who resisted to the last, the rest all surrendered under the lead of their tribal kings.

Kangju, which had previously cooperated with the Eastern Di in attacking the Western Di’s Yinyue City, had its king personally bind himself and plead for surrender. Jiang Yi accepted the surrender on Li Xuandu’s behalf.

But Wuli, which like Kangju had been driven by the Eastern Di, was not so fortunate.

Twelve years earlier, the King of Wuli had aided and abetted the enemy, ambushing and killing a Li dynasty envoy who had been traveling east from Yinyue City.

If this alone had been the extent of it, it might have been compared, however strained the comparison, to the inevitable bloodshed of opposing sides on a battlefield.

But that day, the King of Wuli had not merely ambushed and killed the man. In order to curry favor with the Eastern Di and achieve his goal of displaying his might, he had actually desecrated the corpse as well — an act of savagery so monstrous and outrageous as to defy all human reason.

Twelve years later, this battle saw the King of Wuli captured. His plea for surrender was denied. He was first severed at the waist, then torn apart, and died without a burial place. The kingdom of Wuli was directly annihilated and its territory absorbed, merged into the Western Di. On the map, in the west of Xiyu, the two characters for Wuli were completely erased, leaving not a trace.

The news of triumph spread throughout Xiyu, north and south. When the various kingdoms heard, those that had sincerely submitted to Prince Qin of the Li dynasty — kingdoms like Bole and Yutian — were naturally jubilant. And those kingdoms that had attached themselves to him out of circumstance, upon hearing the news, became completely devoted, severing all disloyal thoughts.

The iron hooves of the Eastern Di had once trampled all through Xiyu. This powerful regime that had persisted in the north for several hundred years had today also crumbled beneath the rolling wheels of the Li dynasty’s advancing war chariot. The national fortune of the Li dynasty surged like a rising sun, and in the fierce blaze of its brilliance, any resistance would prove itself to be no more than a mantis attempting to stop a chariot.

From this day forward, it would be an age of peace, when all barbarians submitted and the four directions came to pay tribute.

For Pu Zhu, the significance of this victory was far beyond this.

When Li Xuandu had set off west to aid the Western Di in battle, she had taken Luan’er with her, going from He Xi to Shuang Shi City. For the past half year, she had been here waiting for him.

It was an ordinary afternoon, warm with gentle sunlight, and outside Shuang Shi City, a column of soldiers was seen coming from a distance.

They had been dispatched to come here and escort her onto the road.

Li Xuandu was still on his way back from the Eastern Di royal court. When he returned, he would accompany her as they went together to receive her father’s remains.

Luo Bao, who had accompanied him on the western campaign, had also come back with this force to receive the Princess Consort first.

His return brought much laughter and joy to everyone in the Protectorate mansion. He described to Ruo Yue, Li Hui’er, A’mu, and the wet nurse Wang Mu the details of every battle he had personally experienced following Prince Qin on the western campaign — especially the final great battle. Both sides had gathered at the foot of the mountain, and at the start, Mili had been incredibly arrogant, driving that unit of heavy cavalry that sent chills down one’s spine, trying to dominate the battlefield.

The battle had already been full of twists and turns, breathtaking at every moment. And with Luo Bao’s supreme gift for storytelling — adding a few embellishments for good measure — he had everyone listening with palms sweating, in extreme tension. When they heard that Qin Xiaohu had been deliberately wounded by Mili and could not be rescued, and was on the verge of dying horribly under the horse hooves of the heavy cavalry, then — thankfully — one man, with the courage of a lion, rode into the formation, first shooting at Mili, then shooting the horse’s eye, and finally snatching the man back from beneath those horse hooves in the formation — everyone let out a long breath of relief.

“Who was the one who saved him?” Li Hui’er couldn’t help asking out of curiosity.

“None other than General Cui Xuan!”

Luo Bao let the suspense build just a little, then announced the name.

Everyone understood at once and praised him as a hero of singular courage.

Li Hui’er imagined that scene from afar and could not help but be carried away, gazing off for a moment in a slight reverie.

Meanwhile Luo Bao continued his narration, describing how Mili, commanding his iron cavalry formation, pressed toward Prince Qin on the slope. He described how Prince Qin, at the very last moment, led the ambushing cavalry in cutting into the formation, destroying the iron array. When he reached the exciting parts he couldn’t hold back, and gesticulated wildly, while everyone followed along with surging blood, so stirred that they could barely contain themselves.

Then, when his tone turned and he described how Prince Qin had personally severed the King of Wuli at the waist, exacting blood vengeance for the Princess Consort’s father, the Left Colonel General of the Palace Guard — the excitement was followed by a long, sighing silence.

After that, Luo Bao cleared his throat and began describing how Prince Qin had shot down the white wolf with a single arrow.

In everyone’s eyes, this scene was like a divine prophecy, heralding the end of barbarian fortune — and the one who ended barbarian fortune was the Li dynasty’s Prince Qin Li Xuandu.

The scene at that moment was enough to shake the soul.

In truth, this so-called “totem divine wolf” that had appeared at Mili’s ceremony of sacrifice to heaven was nothing more than something Mili had raised and kept. Knowing that the emperors of the central plains styled themselves as the Son of Heaven and were fond of all manner of so-called “auspicious omens sent from heaven,” he had privately imitated this practice, releasing the white wolf during the ceremony to make the Eastern Di tribes believe he was heaven’s chosen one. During the great battle, he had also brought the white wolf to the field, originally intending that after winning, he would arrange for the wolf to appear once more on the battlefield, to further prove that his title of Great Khan was divinely granted. He had not anticipated that he himself would end up defeated and in flight, that the wolf would lose its master and wander astray into the battle line, ending up directly before Li Xuandu. Knowing the wolf was a Di totem, Li Xuandu had shot it down with a single arrow.

But was this not also a kind of hidden meaning of fate in the infinite vastness above?

“Tell me — is this not a heavenly omen? Our Prince Qin is a divine auspicious creature descended to earth, so what barbarian deity would not be easily taken in hand……”

Luo Bao spoke with animated delight, and everyone nodded in agreement. Wang Mu’s expression grew serious, and she immediately put her palms together and bowed twice reverently to the heavens.

A’mu was holding the son of the mistress in her arms. Hearing the little Young Master in her arms following the sounds of the people around him babbling away continuously, she bowed her head and coaxed him to smile. As she coaxed him, she thought of all the misfortunes the mistress had suffered in her childhood years, and then thought of everything today. Her heart was filled with warm contentment. She couldn’t help her eye rims going just slightly red — but while no one was paying attention, she quickly wiped the corner of her eye, then raised her head again with a smile and kept coaxing the Young Master, listening to Luo Bao speak.

That night, Luan’er had tired himself out playing during the day and fell asleep early.

Pu Zhu sat beside her son, gazing at his small sleeping face, her thoughts stretching far.

They would set out tomorrow morning.

A wish of two lifetimes was finally about to come true.

Regret, contentment, and deep, deep gratitude.

A feeling that made her want to cry.

She wished the sky would brighten sooner, so she could get on the road earlier. That night she barely slept, rising early the next morning, and getting everything in order. She prepared to go find Shuang Madam to set out together with her — but unexpectedly she was told that Shuang Madam had already left early that morning and returned to her manor, though she had left behind the steward who knew where her father’s grave was and could guide Pu Zhu there.

Over the past year and more, because things had not been peaceful, Shuang Madam had spent most of her time here at the fortress helping Pu Zhu manage affairs. For this past half year, with Li Xuandu away, Shuang Madam had been at her side from morning to night. Now that word had come to go and receive father’s remains, and considering that it had been Shuang Madam who had attended to all the affairs of father’s final arrangements back then — saying this was a debt of profound kindness was no exaggeration — Pu Zhu had told her the news at the time and sincerely invited her to come along.

She had not expected that now, when the moment of departure came, the woman had quietly gone.

Pu Zhu was thoughtful for a moment and rode out after her.

The morning sun had just risen, the morning dew not yet dried, when she spurred her horse and chased after her. After going a few li beyond Shuang Shi City, she spotted a column of people traveling on the road ahead, recognized them as Shuang Madam, and increased her speed, galloping forward. She finally blocked her path.

Shuang Madam stepped down from the carriage. Pu Zhu also dismounted. The two women stopped by the roadside.

The morning breeze tousled her hair. Shuang Madam raised a hand and smoothed the loose strands back into place for her, and said gently: “The man I’ve left behind knows where your father’s grave is. You just need to follow him. Why did you come chasing after me? Delay the journey, and the fault is mine.”

Pu Zhu asked: “Why have you changed your mind, Madam, and decided not to come along?”

The smile on Shuang Madam’s face gradually faded.

She gazed out over the open wilderness ahead, was silent for a moment, then turned her gaze back, letting it fall on Pu Zhu’s face. Looking steadily at her, she smiled and said: “That your father can return home — this is the best thing. My heart is now at peace. I will not go.”

A woman, in the most beautiful years of her life, had met someone and taken a wrong turn, the mistake lasting for a lifetime.

Was it fortunate, or was it unfortunate?

Now in her old age, when she looked back on those years — was it regret, or no regret?

Pu Zhu and Shuang Madam gazed at each other for a moment. She asked no more. She only asked her to wait a moment, walked to her red horse’s side, took something out of the saddlebag, returned to stand before her, and in the questioning gaze she directed at her, passed her the carefully cloth-wrapped object with both hands, saying softly: “Let this stay with you, Madam, as a memento.” She then bowed to her deeply in gratitude, immediately turned, mounted her horse, and departed.

What she left for Shuang Madam were her father’s several volumes of travel journals from his westward journey.

She thought that her father — or perhaps her mother — would know of this in the afterlife, and would not blame her for acting on her own judgment.

She set out that same day, westward. The road was clear and unobstructed, with nothing to block her way. Along the route, all large and small kingdoms, learning her identity, had their kings and princes personally come out of their cities to welcome her and provide every convenience. She traveled by starlight and moonlight, hurrying every day, and after just seven or eight days, had already covered more than half the distance.

That day, as she was on the road, she suddenly saw yellow dust billowing on the road ahead. It seemed a column of soldiers was coming. There were no battle banners or flags of any kind, so she had no idea who they might be. She ordered her retinue to stop and wait to observe.

The column ahead drew gradually closer. Pu Zhu’s heart beat faster. She pushed aside the veil that had been blocking her view, opened her eyes wide, and stared ahead. She was almost in tears.

The one riding at the very front of that approaching column, galloping toward her — it was Li Xuandu, who had been away on the western campaign for so long!

“Prince Qin! It is His Highness Prince Qin, come to receive the Princess Consort!”

Luo Bao, who had come along with her, also recognized the rider and cried out in joyful surprise.

Pu Zhu lightly touched her heels to the horse’s belly, urging the horse forward, riding toward him. Very quickly they met on the road and both reined in their horses, stopping together.

She sat on the horse’s back, eyes carrying the glimmer of tears, watching this dusty and travel-worn man drop his riding whip, nimbly vault off his horse, and stride toward her with great steps. He came to a stop before her red horse. Looking up, he met her gaze, not blinking once.

After a moment, he broke into a grin, reached his hand up toward her, and said softly: “Princess Consort, are you well since we parted? Have you been thinking of your husband, Prince Qin? He has been thinking of you greatly, dreaming of you night after night — and so sent me here, to receive you on the road.”

Pu Zhu could not hold back any longer and burst out laughing even as tears slid down her cheeks. She stretched her hand out and let him take it. With a gentle tug, she slipped off the horse’s back and fell into his arms.

The two horses stood to either side, enclosing the two of them between them, blocking the view of the crowd at each end. Perhaps they could not fully block the view — but he was shameless about it, drawing her into his embrace, bending his head to catch her lips, kissing her on the road, deep and unwilling to let go.