The sky gradually darkened, and the western courtyard of the Commander’s mansion blazed with light.

At the hour of You, the Crown Prince’s party arrived safely and took up residence.

Yang Hong was not adept at social niceties, but having risen to this position, subordinate officials naturally gathered around him. Among them was a clerk he had personally promoted, responsible for keeping records — a man from his home county who had seen much of the world and was meticulous in his thinking. Without any avenue for advancement before, he had had no place to put his talents; now that he had been elevated to an official post in the commander’s mansion, he naturally dedicated himself with all his heart. The clerk advised Yang Hong that now was different from his days as a minor post commander: having risen to this position, as a local dignitary, the necessary receptions and send-offs could absolutely not be overlooked.

Yang Hong was just straightforward by nature, not stupid, and moreover he was a man the Crown Prince himself had elevated — how could he dare show the slightest neglect? So he had the clerk arrange the reception on his behalf. This evening, following the usual conventions of officialdom, a banquet would naturally be held — but the Crown Prince’s court attendant had already declined on the Crown Prince’s behalf early on. He said the Crown Prince always held filial piety and frugality above all and asked Yang Hong not to prepare a special banquet for the Crown Prince, as the Crown Prince would not attend. He further said that with the situation in He Xi gradually settling, the reason the Crown Prince was remaining here, besides handling some remaining matters, was also to await his imperial uncle Prince Qin’s arrival with the little prince. According to the relay dispatches, Prince Qin had successfully received the little prince and entered Yumen Pass, and would be arriving at the prefectural city within a few days. It would be better to wait until the imperial uncle’s party arrived; at that time a banquet could be held to welcome the imperial uncle and the little prince.

These days Yang Hong had followed at the Crown Prince’s side, going about and about, and had personally witnessed the Crown Prince treating worthy men with great respect and humble courtesy. Hearing the court attendant now speak in this manner, he felt even more profound admiration, deeply moved by the good fortune of the nation to have such an heir apparent, and so he complied.

The Crown Prince retired early that night without further incident. Yang Hong unexpectedly found himself at leisure; seeing it was still early, he thought of the fact that Pu Zhu had been here for many days and he had not yet gone to check on her, not knowing how she was getting on or whether his wife was still treating her poorly. He went to find her.

Pu Zhu said she was perfectly well, and that Zhang Shi treated her well now.

Yang Hong was relieved at this, then thought of the large sum of money he still owed her. He explained somewhat awkwardly that although he had now been promoted, his official stipend, while sizable, had been accompanied by people coming under the guise of congratulations with monetary gifts — he had refused them all, and had also firmly forbidden Zhang Shi from privately accepting any. So his funds were still a little short, and he feared he would not be able to repay her so quickly; he told her not to worry, that he would certainly repay her within some time.

Pu Zhu had long since forgotten about that sum of money.

It had originally been Zhang Shi’s money — and right, part of it had been what Li Xuandu gave — and it would not pain her to lose it, let alone lend it to Yang Hong as emergency funds.

She shook her head: “Uncle Yang, I’d forgotten about it even if you hadn’t mentioned it. I’m in no hurry — I still have pocket money for daily use. When you’re more comfortable later, repaying me then is perfectly fine.”

Yang Hong nodded: “Good, good. If you lack anything, or if anything proves inconvenient, just tell me.”

Pu Zhu smiled: “I lack nothing. It’s just that when we were in Fulu Town, every day I wanted to come to the prefectural city to have a look around, and now that I’ve been here this many days, I still haven’t gone out. Tomorrow I’d like to go strolling with A’mu — Uncle, do you think that would be all right?”

Yang Hong thought that as a child the young lady had lived in such comfort and prosperity, yet these years with his family she had not had a good life at all; she had surely been restless and bored long ago. The security here in the border prefectural city had been restored and there was nothing wrong with going out for a stroll. He nodded and said: “Go ahead — Uncle will have a carriage readied for you.”

The next day, Pu Zhu took all the remaining money Li Xuandu had given her and went straight to the south market of the prefectural city. She searched for a long time, and finally found what she wanted in a second-hand goods stall: a zither.

The zither was naturally not some valuable ancient instrument, but it was made of ice-patterned paulownia wood and looked to be in quite decent condition. She plucked the strings on the spot to test its sound, and the stall owner flattered her: “The young lady must come from a distinguished family background. Such zither-playing skill is perfectly matched to this instrument!”

Pu Zhu just smiled and asked the price. The stall owner initially named an exorbitant sum; after much bargaining, they finally agreed on a thousand coins. She carried it home.

This zither had used up nearly all the money she had left. But as long as it achieved her purpose, the cost was worth it.

The second thing she did was send away the maidservant — under the pretext that Zhang Shi’s side was likely very busy with many things in these few days and might be short-handed, so she was lending her maidservant to her for the time being.

Zhang Shi really did feel short-handed in the western courtyard, yet was too embarrassed to ask Pu Zhu for her maidservant — she had not imagined Pu Zhu would take the initiative to offer, and was absolutely delighted. How could she refuse?

With the maidservant gone and no one else around, Pu Zhu went to the rear garden, picked a great basket of apricot blossoms that were in full bloom, asked A’Ju to make apricot flower hair oil for her, the more fragrant the better.

A’Ju was deft and clever; the lotions and fragrant preparations Pu Zhu used for washing and grooming had always been made by her own hands, let alone hair oil. It was just that her young lady’s hair was naturally thick and black, and she simply never used hair oil when combing it — she was always saying she found it greasy and didn’t like it. She couldn’t understand why her young lady had suddenly changed her ways today and wanted her to make hair oil.

Though she couldn’t figure it out, her young lady had asked her, so how could A’Ju refuse? She set to work immediately, extracting the flowers, and once done, she set it aside for the night. By the next day, when the milky liquid had settled, the hair oil for combing was ready.

Pu Zhu sniffed it — sweet and fragrant, she almost couldn’t resist wanting to take a bite. She dabbed a bit on her hair and stood deliberately beneath the apricot tree to try the effect. The result satisfied her greatly.

Everything she needed for her plan was ready. If she dragged it on any longer, Li Chengyu might leave.

When she made up her mind to do something, she did it — she would not dither and waver.

The next day, toward dusk, calculating from the time she had observed over the previous two days that Li Chengyu returned to the western courtyard, she estimated he should be returning soon. She carried the zither to the waterside of the garden pond, and played an ancient piece facing the surface of the water. The piece was called “Pavilion of the Phoenix,” a song of the tale of Duke Mu of Qin’s daughter, Nongyu, who built a pavilion and played the xiao flute, drawing a phoenix and ascending to immortality.

As for Li Chengyu himself: though his abilities in statecraft were only moderate, he was quite accomplished in the arts, loved music, and enjoyed collecting scattered and lost ancient compositions, among which this piece, “Pavilion of the Phoenix,” was his favorite. Pu Zhu had learned the zither in childhood and then left it aside, but in order to cater to his tastes she had applied herself to zither technique again, and though she could not claim to be a master, common techniques and compositions held no difficulty for her.

Above all, “Pavilion of the Phoenix” — because of Li Chengyu’s appreciation, she had studied it countless times in her previous life, and every transition and turn was flawless. What was more, she understood the Crown Prince’s taste in music perfectly; playing the old piece anew, she found it effortless from the start.

In the dusk garden, a subtle fragrance drifted, and the sound of the zither floated over the water’s surface, crossed the wall, and was carried by the breeze into the western courtyard, faint and distant, the tone and melody far-reaching.

Yang Hong was escorting the Crown Prince’s party back to the mansion and entered the western courtyard when he heard a zither melody come drifting over the wall from that direction — it seemed to come from where Pu Zhu was staying.

He had no understanding of such things at all and thought nothing of it, assuming Pu Zhu was now at leisure and was playing the zither for her own enjoyment. But he noticed that the Crown Prince walking ahead was gradually slowing his pace, and in the end came to a stop. He came to a stop as well, waited for a moment, and seeing the Crown Prince still hadn’t moved, was somewhat puzzled and looked toward the Crown Prince’s court attendant, Sun Ji.

Sun Ji was by Li Chengyu’s side and naturally understood him, knowing he had probably been disturbed by that zither music. He turned to ask: “Who is playing? The Crown Prince has now returned and should have quiet above all. Do not disturb.”

Yang Hong quickly said: “It should be a young lady who is a friend of my family staying here. She does not know the Crown Prince has returned. I’ll have someone go and stop the zither so as not to disturb the Crown Prince’s peace.”

Li Chengyu spoke up at this point: “Very fine — this is a matter of elegance. Let her play on; no one is to interfere.”

The Crown Prince had called it fine and a matter of elegance, so naturally no one went to interfere.

He continued walking forward.

The melody was gradually approaching its climax, just about to ascend to the peak — when for some reason it stopped abruptly, as though one breath had been caught on something, unable to rise. After a brief pause it continued, but a false note had appeared.

A very slight false note, which an ordinary listener would not notice at all — but it could not escape Li Chengyu’s ear.

His pace again slowed slightly.

The melody came to an end; the lingering sound gradually dispersed, and there was no more.

What a pity — this performance had given an exceptionally fine interpretation of the piece. One might even say it was the most fitting interpretation Li Chengyu had heard in all his years; yet because of this one error that should not have occurred, it was like a flaw in otherwise perfect jade — most regrettable.

The next day Li Chengyu followed his usual pattern and returned to the western courtyard at dusk. Over the wall came the same piece of music. Just as yesterday, when it reached that crucial passage, the same false note appeared.

The third day was the same.

On the fourth day he had matters to attend to and was still outside during the day, yet his thoughts lingered on the zither sound that in recent days had invariably drifted over the wall at dusk.

This long-lost ancient composition — one could say few people knew it, let alone appreciated it. In the palace, since the emperor did not care for the pleasures of song and music and still less liked the Crown Prince being intimate with musicians and entertainers, a few years ago he had followed the admonition of his Grand Tutor Guo Lang, and had not touched strings or woodwinds again. Those who knew of his fondness for this ancient piece were also very few.

He remembered that Yang Hong had mentioned in passing a few days ago that the woman playing the zither was a young lady who was a friend of his family — at the time he had not asked further.

Now he was somewhat curious as to what kind of woman, in a border commandery like this, should also be so fond of this piece.

Most importantly, he simply had to correct that woman’s mistake!

“Pavilion of the Phoenix” was his most beloved ancient composition; he truly could not bear for someone to keep playing it with such an error, especially at the climax.

This was like a precious object gathering dust — not unlike a wanton waste of something valuable.

That woman playing the zither today was not like the previous few days — she had played one run-through and stopped. The music was still going on. Having played through it once, she paused briefly and began again from the start, as though practicing repeatedly.

Li Chengyu could bear it no longer.

This evening there was a banquet at the commander’s mansion, but at this moment the time for the feast had not yet arrived and he had nothing to do. He brought along a palace attendant who waited on him personally, and paced following the sound of the zither toward that wall, reaching it before long, and found a gate that could pass through — but it was locked.

This was a lock that Sun Ji the court attendant had ordered put on when he inspected the premises before the Crown Prince moved in, naturally to ensure the Crown Prince’s safety.

Li Chengyu had someone unlock it and continued forward. Very quickly he saw a young woman seated at a zither by the pond at the front, beneath an apricot tree. She wore a pale apricot-colored dress, her figure slender and graceful, her hair long and black, styled as an unmarried young woman, deeply focused on playing the zither, completely unaware of his approach.

Pu Zhu had noticed long before. Li Chengyu had finally lost his patience and come over — but she did not turn around and continued playing the piece. When she was almost at the passage she had been deliberately playing wrong, suddenly from behind came the sound of a rhythmic tapping.

She stopped and slowly turned her face in the direction from which the tapping came.

Her husband from her previous life was standing by that gate, holding a branch he had apparently snapped off somewhere, tapping it against the trunk of a nearby tree in time to the melody — tock, tock.

When this young lady turned her face toward him, Li Chengyu felt as if a sudden radiance struck before his eyes. The rhythm he was tapping slowed, and at last came to a stop.

He had taken a Crown Princess three years prior; that Crown Princess died of illness a year later. Although he had not yet taken another, he was accustomed to seeing the powdered and made-up beauties of the palace dressed in court robes.

But this young lady was different. She looked to be only fifteen or sixteen, her skin luminous as snow, her lips cherry-red, her cheeks like peach blossoms, dressed in apricot-colored garments, seated beneath the flowering tree, her complexion so freshly lovely it was as though a flower goddess had just stepped forth from a flower bud — and the Crown Prince suddenly recalled a phrase.

Bright eyes holding spring waters, peach-blossom cheeks smiling in the spring breeze.

Fearing that powder and rouge might soil such a complexion — was that not a description of the face before him now?

Only at this moment the young lady was looking toward him, a surprised expression on her face. She hesitated, then asked in a soft voice: “Who are you? Why have you come here?”

“How bold! The Crown Prince is here — will you not come and pay your respects?”

The palace attendant following behind called out sharply.

The young lady seemed startled and looked at him. She hastily made to kneel.

Li Chengyu also came back to himself, tossed down the branch in his hand, and walked quickly toward her, his face breaking into a smile: “Rise quickly, there is no need for such formality! It was you playing this ancient piece these past few days, I take it?”

Pu Zhu nodded: “Yes — this piece is called ‘Pavilion of the Phoenix.’ My family had a zither teacher instruct me in it when I was a child, and it has always been my most beloved ancient composition. Sadly it has long been lost and scattered, and I am clumsy by nature; without a famous teacher to guide me now, I cannot play it well and am greatly distressed…”

Her fine brows drew together slightly, her expression full of frustration. Then, as if remembering something, she looked at the Crown Prince and her face showed an expression of alarm: “Was it I who disturbed the Crown Prince’s peace? That was thoughtless of me — I beg the Crown Prince’s pardon!”

Li Chengyu smiled and said in a gentle tone: “Do not be afraid of me — you play quite well. It is only that one passage that is slightly amiss. Come here…”

He walked to the zither and sat down, beckoned her over, then lightly plucked the strings, and personally played through the passage she had been playing wrong these past few days.

Pu Zhu listened attentively to the end and widened her eyes: “So that is how it should go! Of course! All those times I reached this passage, I always felt something was lacking. So I had been playing it wrong all along! Many thanks to the Crown Prince for the instruction today! I shall remember it!”

Her eyes shone brightly, and the gaze she turned on the Crown Prince brimmed with admiration.

Li Chengyu was in excellent spirits and smiled: “As you said yourself, this piece has long been lost and scattered; to have learned it in childhood and now be able to play it to such a degree is truly no small achievement — there is no need to be so hard on yourself.”

“May I try, following what the Crown Prince just taught?” she asked timidly.

Li Chengyu nodded, and immediately rose from his seat and stood to one side.

Pu Zhu sat back down, gently drew in her sleeves, exposing her two wrists like jade, and lightly hooked her fingers on the strings, plucked them softly to test, and was just about to play as Li Chengyu had taught her, when at that moment a bee, drawn by the fragrant hair oil she had applied to her hair, came buzzing toward her.

Her expression changed with fright and she cried out softly, “Your Highness!” then dodged away from the bee, appearing very frightened.

As Pu Zhu had originally planned: if the hair oil successfully attracted a bee, she would pretend to be afraid of being stung and seek Li Chengyu’s help. Depending on how the situation unfolded, she could even pretend to inadvertently dodge into his arms, using this to quickly close the distance between them.

It looked as though her plan was working.

Because Li Chengyu was already protecting her.

He spoke reassurances, telling her not to be afraid, swiftly moved in close, blocked the bee, and raised his hand to shoo it away.

No matter how Pu Zhu had imagined things, she could never have anticipated that just as she was preparing to seize the moment and duck into the arms of her husband from her previous life, suddenly two chubby little hands reached over from behind her. With a slap, they beat her to it and in one go squashed that poor unfortunate bee that had flown over by mistake.

This was too unexpected.

Pu Zhu was startled, and turned her face — meeting the delighted, smug expression of a small boy.

This boy with curly hair and blue eyes, she recognized vividly: was this not the little prince A’Shibi Huaiwei, the son of Princess Imperial Jinxi, whom she had seen in her previous life?

When had he arrived in the prefectural city? How had he come to be here?

A crowd of questions flashed through Pu Zhu’s mind.

But all the questions were no match for one greatest question.

She had been thinking things over and had deduced that Li Xuandu’s journey west this time through Yumen Pass was very likely for the purpose of escorting the little prince, because she recalled that in her previous life he and the little prince had arrived in the capital together.

Now that the little prince had suddenly appeared like this, was Li Xuandu also here together with Huaiwei?

That thought made her suddenly tense. She swiftly raised her eyes and looked toward the gate — and her gaze froze there at once.

Li Xuandu had indeed arrived. Not merely arrived — he was right now standing at that gate, looking in this direction!

Pu Zhu felt that the moment her gaze met his as she looked toward him, his eyes were filled with mocking contempt, as if he had seen through her completely.

In truth this was entirely Pu Zhu’s own imagination. What Li Xuandu actually did was stare at her expressionlessly for a moment — nothing more.

But to Pu Zhu, this was a tremendous blow. She felt as though someone had dealt her a stunning blow from behind; seeing this man, the breath in her chest caught for a moment.

What sort of luck was this? Why — why did she keep running into this man, every single time?