Two days later, the Prince of Qin, the Princess Consort, and the little young master arrived at the capital.

The great thoroughfare from the western Yongle Gate to the imperial palace had been swept clean and watered down. Along its entire length, thousands of Northern Garrison imperial guards had been deployed since early morning — each soldier gleaming in bright armor, long halberd in hand, standing in solemn, imposing formation. The imperial clan members and the hundred officials, from Duan Wang and Guo Lang on down, were all arrayed in full ceremonial dress, lined up waiting beyond the city gate. The common people who had gathered on their own upon hearing the news were standing in orderly rows on either side of the road behind the guards, also craning their necks in anticipation, their lines stretching for tens of li.

At midday, when the standards and the silhouette of the approaching procession appeared on the horizon, a commotion rippled through the crowd near the Yongle Gate, and the people nearby began dropping to their knees in welcome.

Duan Wang, Guo Lang, and the rest broke into smiles. They immediately led the assembled imperial clansmen and court officials forward at a brisk pace to receive the arriving party.

The great six-horse carriage rolled steadily toward the city gate. The draping curtains on the front and both sides had been fully raised, leaving everything in full view. Seated side by side in the carriage were a young couple — the man striking and commanding, the woman radiant as gems and luminous as jade — none other than the Prince of Qin and the Princess Consort. Cradled on the Princess Consort’s lap sat the little young master, that jade-carved little child who was clearly not the least bit intimidated by the spectacle, blinking his bright dark eyes and looking about in all directions with lively curiosity.

The people erupted with excitement. From the open fields on both sides of the official road, waves of cheering rose and fell in a continuous roar.

Inside the carriage, the Prince of Qin and his wife smiled warmly, nodding and acknowledging the people on either side of the road. The cheering swelled even louder, wave upon wave, unceasing.

Duan Wang and Guo Lang, at the head of the imperial clansmen and court officials, knelt in greeting on the road, receiving the Prince of Qin and Princess Consort into the city. The diplomatic mission’s carriages followed close behind. Last came Zhang Zhuo, Zhang Shishan, and the five hundred personal guards riding escort, advancing on horseback through the thunderous cheering, heads high and spirits soaring.

The road had been long, but in this moment, every one of them was full of vigor and pride, sharing in the incomparable glory of standing above all others.

Qin Xiaohu rode deliberately at the rear of the column.

Yesterday, Luo Bao had told him that advance word had been sent ahead to notify his family, and they should be at the city gate to meet him today. The Emperor had given him special permission to leave the formation early and reunite with his family, and after that he was to go home and wait at ease for the imperial rewards to be announced.

He had left home as a boy of fifteen or sixteen. Now, returning, he was nearly thirty. Of his family, only his elderly grandparents remained.

The noise around him was deafening. He kept scanning left and right, searching through the sea of faces. As he drew close to the city gate, his gaze suddenly fixed. He quickly dismounted and walked toward the roadside.

A white-haired old man and an old woman, permitted to stand just beyond the line of guards, were leaning on each other for support. They watched the soldiers file past one by one, growing increasingly anxious as the column seemed nearly spent without any sign of their grandson. Then a tall figure strode up to them, calling out “Grandfather! Grandmother!” in a loud, clear voice, and bowed deeply before them. They stared at him — tall and dark-complexioned — hardly daring to trust their eyes. Only after searching his face for a long moment and finding the faint traces of the grandson they had once known did they finally believe what they were seeing. They reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. Grandparent and grandchild held each other, overwhelmed with emotion, all three of them weeping.

Qin Xiaohu and his grandparents wept together for a moment. Then he wiped his eyes and smiled. “Your grandson won’t have to fight anymore after this. His Highness the Prince of Qin has given special permission to leave the formation — so I’m going home with you both right now, to care for you for the rest of your days.”

“Good, good — no more fighting now, we’ll go home straightaway…”

The old couple murmured the words over and over. They thought back to the night years ago when the Prince of Qin and Princess Consort had stopped at their home by chance, and had merely heard a passing mention of their grandson — yet those two had carried it in their hearts all these years without ever forgetting. They were deeply and overwhelmingly grateful. They knelt once more toward the six-horse carriage that had already passed through the city gate ahead, bowing their heads in respect — then rose, supported by their grandson, and walked home with glad and peaceful hearts.

Those nearby who witnessed the scene were moved, some with admiration and some with quiet sighs, and the talk and murmuring lingered for a long time.

Three days later, the Prince of Qin, Li Xuandu, ascended the throne. The era name was changed to Jinghé, effective immediately. An accession edict was issued to the realm.

In the edict, he recalled the great achievements of the Founding Emperor and Emperor Taizong, and those of the Holy and Benevolent Grand Empress Dowager. He expressed his commitment to guarding the realm and upholding its legacy with diligence and reverence, to promoting integrity and justice, to bringing about an era of harmony, to opening channels for remonstrance, to seeking out men of talent, to granting a general amnesty, and to bringing peace and security to the lives of the people.

The first edict he issued after ascending the throne was the investiture decree.

Li Xuandu proclaimed his beloved wife, born of the Pu clan, as Empress. Their son Li Huan, not yet two years of age, was named Crown Prince. The main reception hall was moved back to the Zichen Hall, which had been in use since the time of the Founding Emperor. The Yanhua Palace nearby was designated as the daily residential chambers for the Emperor and Empress.

The second matter Li Xuandu attended to was the bestowal of honors and rewards. The rewards were distributed in two main groups. One group consisted of officials and soldiers who had distinguished themselves in the battles of the Eastern Capital rebellion — among them Han Rongchang and the commander of the Western Garden. The other group was the old soldiers who had won military merit serving under him in the Western Regions. In accordance with established court practice, they were either promoted in rank and title or awarded land on the basis of military service. The sources of land included newly opened frontier territories in the border commanderies, as well as the vast food-producing estates and enfeoffed territories of formerly prominent aristocratic families such as the Chen family and the Xiao family, now forfeited to the state.

The families of the tens of thousands of soldiers who had fallen in battle across various campaigns and whose names had been recorded were also given provisions of condolence and compensation from the court. It was said that this thick stack of name-records — reaching a height of several feet — had been personally compiled and maintained by the Empress herself over the course of these years.

Those who had shed blood in the past had now each received their due in return. It was only right.

Yet within this vast wave of honors and rewards, a few unusual individual cases drew particular attention.

The first was Jiang Yi.

The veteran general Jiang Yi, who had supported the new Emperor’s return and had been silent for so many years, was expected by the court officials to be given heavy responsibilities by the new Emperor, to stand at the head of the court in a position of honor. But to everyone’s surprise, the new Emperor appointed him only as Grand Protector of the Western Regions.

The position was not insignificant in itself, and since it was the post the new Emperor had previously held, succeeding to it carried a certain honor.

But that was an honor suited to ordinary men. After all, the Western Regions were beyond the frontier, and once assigned there as Grand Protector, it meant guarding the Western Regions and holding the northern desert — wind and sand and frost and snow, with nothing resembling wealth or splendor.

For someone of Jiang Yi’s former standing and stature, this post could hardly be called a reward.

Jiang Yi, however, raised not a single word of complaint. After receiving the appointment, he departed the very next day, heading westward out of the pass toward the frontier. This baffled everyone and set the court officials talking among themselves in puzzled undertones.

The second person was Cui Xuan.

His merits and faults were difficult to weigh. In his former days of power and authority, he had also made too many enemies among the court officials. Now, with the new Emperor bestowing honors on his men of merit, everyone watched covertly to see what would come. What they learned in the end was that Cui Xuan had never set foot in the capital at all — reportedly remaining outside the Yumen Pass all along before eventually following Jiang Yi out through the frontier on horseback.

With such an outcome for Cui Xuan, everyone sighed — and then had nothing more to say. As the days passed and the new dynasty’s various affairs unfolded and kept everyone busy, this young man who had once made every official in the court fear him — brilliant as a meteor that blazes into the sky only to fall swiftly to earth — gradually faded from memory, and no one mentioned him anymore.

The third matter Li Xuandu attended to was to lighten corvée and reduce taxation, bringing relief to the people.

The fourth was to rectify the administration and purge corruption from the ranks of officials.

The fifth was to complete a thoroughgoing repair of all post roads across the realm, ensuring that imperial decrees could reach every corner of the country with the greatest possible speed.

The sixth was to train up the military forces, building up defenses against conflicts that might arise again in the future…

His mind was filled with a thousand priorities, and each day brought ten thousand affairs. No matter how much he wished to move swiftly, he could only take things one step at a time.

Three months later, the day arrived for the burial of the Holy and Benevolent Grand Empress Dowager of the Jiang clan.

The Emperor and Empress, accompanied by the little Crown Prince, led the hundred officials to the imperial mausoleum to conduct the solemn funeral rites for the Grand Empress Dowager. That evening, they lodged at the Wanshou Monastery.

Li Hui’er had been granted the title of Princess, and her bond with the Empress was extremely close. The Empress was fond of her and had her installed in the Yining Pavilion beside the Yanhua Palace — barely an arrow’s flight away — and they frequently came and went together, companions from morning to evening. Everyone at court knew that the Empress herself was the person the Emperor held dearest of all.

That evening, the Princess Consort of Duan Wang, who was staying at the Wanshou Monastery to attend upon the imperial party, went to visit Li Hui’er. In the course of their conversation, she mentioned several prominent families in the capital who wished to seek her hand in marriage, and asked whether she had any inclination.

Li Hui’er didn’t even look at the names. She immediately shook her head.

The Princess Consort of Duan Wang paused, somewhat taken aback, then asked gently, “Then is there someone you have in mind? If there is, feel free to say so — whoever it might be, the Empress and I can both help you.”

Li Hui’er’s face flushed slightly. She shook her head at once.

“Truly?” the Princess Consort asked.

Deep in her heart, there was something — a dim and hazy shape, like a shadow, but she could not quite make it out clearly, let alone hold it.

She bit her lip softly, hesitated, then made a small sound of assent. “Thank you for your concern,” she said. “But I truly have no interest in marriage at present. I was raised by the Grand Empress Dowager from childhood. When Her Elderly Highness passed away, I had already set my heart on mourning for her. But in those days, with everything in such turmoil, I was unable to fulfill my duty of mourning. Now that Her Elderly Highness has finally been laid to rest, I wish to observe three years of mourning to repay her kindness in raising me. I have spoken to my imperial aunt about this, and she has agreed. As for anything else — there will be time to discuss it once the mourning period is over.”

Her voice was not loud, but it was very steady, and her expression carried not the slightest trace of reluctance.

The Princess Consort studied her for a moment and silently sighed.

A young woman of marriageable age — now that things had settled down, her marriage ought to be arranged. But no one had anticipated that she herself would propose observing three years of mourning for the Grand Empress Dowager. The Empress, unable to talk her out of it, had eventually agreed, but privately couldn’t bear the thought of it and worried it would delay the prime years of her life. She had quietly gone to the Princess Consort of Duan Wang, asking her to use her authority as an elder and try once more to persuade her.

No one had expected her resolve to be so unshakeable.

The Princess Consort felt even more warmth for her in her heart, just as the Empress did — and felt even more tenderness toward her. She knew that even if she used the Grand Empress Dowager’s wish for her happiness as a reason to press her further, it would likely do no good. She had no choice but to nod and draw her into her arms. “You’re a good child,” she said. “Rest assured — when the three years are done, we will find you the finest match in all the realm.”

Li Hui’er shook her head and said softly, “Please don’t worry on my account. Even if no match can be found after three years, I will be perfectly content. I grew up in the palace and have never seen the world beyond the four walls of the capital. It was only last year, when I followed my imperial aunt to Frost Madam’s city, that I learned just how vast the world beyond the frontier truly is — far beyond anything I had ever imagined. I also heard Huaiwei speak of it — not only is the Western Regions not the furthest west, even the Silver Moon City is not. Beyond Silver Moon City there are many more thriving and magnificent places still. Dawan, Persia, and the Great Qin Empire even farther west… During these three years of mourning, I intend to learn the Western Regions languages, just as my imperial aunt did. When the mourning period ends, I will pass through the Yumen Pass again — to find Huaiwei, and to see all the places Huaiwei has spoken of!”

The Princess Consort was startled at first, then broke into a smile of warm approval. “Excellent! One day your fourth imperial uncle may well appoint you as a female envoy to travel westward!”

Li Hui’er’s face grew hot and she buried herself in the Princess Consort’s arms, protesting that she was being teased — but her bright eyes shone with a vivid and luminous longing.

That evening, the Princess Consort passed on Li Hui’er’s words to Pu Zhu, who realized she had underestimated Li Hui’er all along. She let go completely of any intention to talk her out of it.

That same night, she told Li Xuandu about it. He was genuinely moved and asked Pu Zhu to arrange a language teacher for her as soon as possible. Pu Zhu agreed to everything.

The couple spent the night at the Wanshou Monastery. Early the next morning, just at daybreak, they rose, took their son with them, and set out with only Luo Bao and a few close personal guards to make their way to the Xiling Mausoleum.

This was the mausoleum of Li Xuandu’s father, Emperor Mingzong. The spirit road was solemn and majestic, lined with ancient pines and cypresses. He led his wife and child through the morning silence of the spirit road and entered the main hall to pay homage to his father.

After the rites were completed, Pu Zhu saw him rise but make no move to leave. He remained standing, head tilted back to gaze at the large embroidered portrait of Emperor Mingzong hanging high above. His silhouette was still and silent. She understood that he might need a moment alone, and quietly stepped back with the child, withdrawing outside to wait.

Luo Bao was crouched on the stone threshold outside the hall, speaking quietly to the little Crown Prince.

Knowing Luo Bao had a gift for entertaining children, and that her son liked him, Pu Zhu stood nearby and looked out toward the misty, pale morning light washing over the distant plateau.

Behind her came the sound of Luo Bao calling her name softly. She turned to find her son apparently wanting to find his father, and had crawled right up to the high threshold of the great hall and gone in on his own.

Luo Bao had already gone after him, wanting to carry the little Crown Prince back out before he disturbed the Emperor inside.

Pu Zhu glanced at that figure still standing deep within the hall, felt something stir in her heart, and quietly told Luo Bao to leave him.

Luo Bao immediately stepped back and stood to one side.

Luan’er crawled over the high threshold and made his way inside, wobbling on his plump little legs, then toddled straight to his father’s back and stretched out both arms, clutching his father’s leg as tightly as he could.

Li Xuandu looked down. His son was staring up at him, those dark bright eyes so like his mother’s, mouth open in a stream of babbling sounds, a look of innocent delight on his face. He thought of himself as a small child, and crouched down and swept the boy up into his arms. He pointed to the embroidered portrait before them. “Say ‘Imperial Grandfather!'”

Luan’er tilted his little head. He stared for a long time at the stern-faced figure in the portrait. Finally, following his father’s prompting, he said in his garbled, endearing way, “Im-pe-rial Grand-fa-ther—”

Li Xuandu smiled. He tossed his son high into the air and caught him.

This had been their small, secret practice for several months — kept carefully hidden from Pu Zhu — ever since the incident in the carriage when he had dropped the boy. It was his way of rewarding Luan’er.

Luan’er adored it.

Sure enough, held safe in his father’s firm and steady arms, he waved his little hands and burst into uninhibited, ringing laughter — the pure, clear laughter of a small child, instantly filling the great hall that had always held such solemnity, sweeping away even the faint air of grave dignity.

Li Xuandu looked one last time at the portrait of his father, gave him a nod, and then, carrying his son, turned and walked with long strides out of the hall, toward his beloved wife who was standing outside waiting for him.

He stepped across the threshold of the hall. Behind his wife and to the east, the morning sun rose at that very moment from behind a distant ridge, and in an instant the whole sky blazed with the light of dawn, bathing the entire mountain plateau in glorious, brilliant gold and red.

He held their son in one arm. With his free hand he took hold of Pu Zhu’s hand. In the golden morning light he turned to her with a radiant smile, and said quietly, “Let’s go — we’re going home.”