Today’s visit to Penglai Palace had been disastrous in its experience and wretched in feeling — entirely beyond what Pu Zhu had anticipated.

On the way back, her mood sank uncontrollably, her mind heavy with thoughts. Returning to the courier station, she was met by the steward sent by Guo Lang’s wife, Yan Shi, who had come to fetch her to the Guo household.

A’Ju had already packed everything up and loaded it onto the carriage, and was only waiting for her return.

Not wanting A’Ju to notice her low spirits and cause her needless worry, Pu Zhu smiled brightly and relayed to her the favor and gifts that Grand Empress Dowager Jiang had bestowed, saying they should arrive very soon.

A’Ju was both delighted and moved — moved that the young mistress never forgot to consider even her small act of loyalty at every turn.

In truth, as far as A’Ju was concerned, she had done nothing for the young mistress at all.

Pu Zhu embraced her, and her mood suddenly lifted a little. The strength that had seemed to drain from her body moments ago appeared to return.

In front of A’Ju, she always concealed sorrow and reported only joy — let alone before anyone else. She would never let others know her true feelings of joy or grief.

By the time the carriage arrived at the Guo household and she stepped out, her face already wore the appropriate expression of joyful gratitude.

Yan Shi personally led Pu Zhu to her accommodations — a small, charming courtyard in the rear western wing. The rooms were arranged neatly and with refined elegance. The courtyard also had pomegranate and plantain trees growing in it; at this time of year, the pomegranates were blushing crimson and the plantain leaves were lush and green, a very pleasing sight.

Yan Shi explained that this had been the room of her married daughter, and that all the furnishings had been newly replaced. The room next door was where her granddaughter Yun Niang lived. She said Yun Niang had just become engaged not long ago and would be married the following year, so the two girls could keep each other company in the meantime. With that, she called her granddaughter over to meet Pu Zhu.

Guo’s granddaughter, Yun Niang, was a true daughter of a good family — learned and proper, gentle and warm. As far as Pu Zhu knew, the man she was to marry was a perfect match for her in background, and they were well-suited to each other, a harmonious and respectful couple.

In her previous life, there were times when, swallowing her grievances and sorrows in secret at the Eastern Palace, Pu Zhu would think of Grand Tutor Guo’s granddaughter and feel a little self-pity and envy.

If only she herself had not been struck by such misfortune as a child — if only the Pu Family had continued on as it was — then she imagined that her future self would have been like Guo Yun Niang.

Of course, in this life, Pu Zhu envied her no more.

She had long since thought it through clearly. Each person had their own destined path, and the roads they walked were inevitably different. Moreover, once a person had tasted power, who could lightly dismiss or relinquish it? Only two kinds of people could do such a thing: the first were sages, and the second were those who had been destroyed and consumed by power itself, suffering pain to their very core. She was no sage, and in her previous life she had not even properly tasted the full measure of power — so what destruction could there have been? If there was suffering, it was the suffering of having failed to hold power firmly. And so in this life, she was determined to make up for what she had missed.

After settling in, Pu Zhu asked Yan Shi to take her to pay her respects to Guo Lang and express her gratitude, but learned that the Crown Prince had come and was currently in the study with the Grand Tutor, discussing the classics.

Pu Zhu immediately understood: the Crown Prince’s visit this time was certainly connected to her.

And indeed she was right.

After dark, Yan Shi said that the Grand Tutor was free now and could receive her. Pu Zhu went before Guo Lang, bowing her thanks. Guo Lang had the full manner of a venerable elder; he offered her a few words of comfort and told her to live here at ease from now on. After the thanks had been paid, Pu Zhu came out and returned to her rooms. As soon as she entered, A’Ju handed her a letter.

It had been sent secretly by one of the Crown Prince’s trusted palace servants before he departed. The letter asked her to come out that night for a meeting, saying he had something important to tell her.

As the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday drew near, households across the capital had been putting out various lanterns at their gates one after another in the preceding days.

Empress Dowager Jiang was deeply beloved among the common people, and for her seventieth birthday, the people celebrated her in this way of their own accord, with willing hearts. Though the day of the birthday had not yet arrived, after nightfall the main streets blazed with brilliant lantern light, each night brighter than the last. People had already begun to find themselves unable to wait, and were going out at night to stroll among the market streets — men and women, old and young, all very lively. Girls from ordinary households went out as they pleased. Those from great households were much more particular — besides servants accompanying them, they would generally wear a veil-hat, to avoid the risk of some rogue colliding with them.

Pu Zhu mentioned it to Yan Shi, saying she wanted to go out to see the lanterns. Yan Shi took it to be the whim of a young girl and agreed without hesitation, sending two household attendants to accompany her. Pu Zhu then, in A’Ju’s company, put on her veil-hat and went out, arriving at the bridge at the end of the street nearby that had been named in the letter. Sure enough, there was Li Chengyu, dressed in ordinary clothes and looking like a wealthy young gentleman.

Pu Zhu told the attendants and A’Ju to wait where they were, saying she was going to greet an old acquaintance. She walked over and stopped before him, lifting the veil of her hat.

Li Chengyu’s eyes shone brightly as he spoke in a voice barely containing his excitement: “I’ve finally seen you again! I never thought you would return to the capital so smoothly. If this is not Heaven’s will, then what is? Clearly even the heavens are helping the two of us. On the very day you arrived in the capital, I already wanted to come find you, but I kept being unable to find an opportunity. Today, hearing that you had been taken in at the Grand Tutor’s household, it finally gave me a chance to come out. There is something I must tell you: the Empress wishes to establish the Shangguan Family’s niece as my Crown Princess, and there is also the daughter of the Chen Family. Not only that, but I have also heard that my aunt has recommended the daughter of Marquis Yao. How could I possibly agree? I have been turning it over in my mind these past two days, and it is better to act first. I intend to go before the Emperor tomorrow and request that he agree to establish you as my consort!”

Pu Zhu said: “You must not! Have you forgotten all the advice I gave you before we parted in He Xi? You need not do anything — and you must absolutely not go before His Majesty and mention me even once!”

Li Chengyu hesitated slightly. “I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t understand why you want me to do this. If I do nothing, and someone else is chosen, what will you do then? I don’t want to make you suffer by being a secondary consort. I thought that, taking advantage of your family’s reputation now at its height and the Emperor’s intention to bestow favor on the Pu Family, if I petition to establish you as my consort, the Emperor should consider it.”

The reason Pu Zhu had urged him to restrain himself was this: in her previous life, the reason she had become Crown Princess had nothing to do with Li Chengyu. She had relied on the people around him.

Those people were divided into two main factions. One faction was the Shangguan and Chen families, the other was the Princess Imperial, Li Lihua.

The Shangguan Family had originally pushed their own niece, but after realizing the Emperor seemed to have no interest — apparently unwilling to let the maternal family become too powerful — they decisively abandoned their own niece and instead supported the daughter of Chen Zhude of the Chen Family, who was on close terms with the Shangguan Family: a girl named Chen Huiyuan.

It had seemed as though the matter was all but settled, when, most unexpectedly, on the night of the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday, a scandal broke out: it was revealed that Chen Huiyuan had a secret romantic involvement with a guard in the household. The matter became known to everyone.

This utterly destroyed her prospects.

Later, based on the information she gathered, Pu Zhu concluded that it was very likely the Princess Imperial who had intervened. It was even quite possible that the guard had been bribed beforehand. For the Princess Imperial’s husband, Han Rongchang, and Chen Zhude had long been quietly competing against each other. In this joint suppression of the rebellion, Chen Zhude had handled He Xi smoothly and successfully, while Han Rongchang had nearly come away with nothing. The person least willing to see Chen Zhude’s daughter become Crown Princess was none other than the Princess Imperial.

With both of the Shangguan Family’s candidates eliminated, the only remaining suitable candidate was the daughter of Marquis Yao — the Yao Family — who was on close terms with the Princess Imperial.

The Shangguan Family would never simply yield the ground, so they instructed their people to submit memorials denouncing the Yao Family.

The two sides were locked in conflict, and in the end, reportedly, an official submitted a memorial recommending the granddaughter of Pu Youzhi. He argued that whether in family background, virtue, or talent, she was the only suitable choice.

Pu Zhu thus entered everyone’s field of view. After weighing matters, the two sides had no reason to object. The Emperor also gave his consent, and ultimately, all parties agreed: this was how, in her previous life, Pu Zhu became Li Chengyu’s Crown Princess.

So in this life, there was no need for him to exert himself at all. If anything went wrong, it might spoil things instead.

Pu Zhu shook her head: “Precisely because they are competing with each other, it is possible that neither side will succeed — and that is the opportunity. Do nothing, and do not bring my name up before anyone of your own accord. Act as though you do not know me.” She paused. “I do not want you to earn the name of being lustful and impulsive on my account. Whether I can become your Crown Princess or not, I will leave to fate. If I cannot, and if in the future I can be your secondary consort, that would be all right with me too.”

Li Chengyu’s gaze fixed upon her face. After a moment, he said: “To have come to know you is the fortune I cultivated in a previous life. I will listen to you.” He gritted his teeth. “Rest assured. Even if you cannot become Crown Princess now, I will make sure your wishes come true in the future.”

Pu Zhu nodded with a smile: “Many thanks, Your Highness the Crown Prince.” She glanced around at her surroundings. “If Your Highness has nothing more to say, I will take my leave. Your Highness should also return early.”

She gave him a nod, turned, and walked quickly away.

“Wait a moment!”

Li Chengyu suddenly called out to stop her.

Pu Zhu turned. He was now holding a jade bracelet in his hand — under the lantern light, it was a luminous, translucent emerald green.

Pu Zhu paused. She instinctively wanted to pull her hand back, but it was too late — one of her hands was already clasped in his, and the bracelet had been slipped onto her wrist.

Jade wrist, emerald bracelet — shimmering together in the lantern light, a breathtaking sight.

Pu Zhu, however, felt a little awkward.

Taking it off would of course be wrong, but leaving it on felt somehow strange.

Li Chengyu said softly: “This bracelet has a pair. The other one I will keep with me for now. On the day we are wed, I will help you put on the other one as well. May I?”

Pu Zhu steeled herself and said: “All right.” She saw that he still held tightly to her hand, seemingly reluctant to let go. She glanced behind her and saw a group of young girls from the neighborhood coming along together, laughing and talking as they viewed the lanterns. She hurriedly took advantage of the moment to withdraw her hand, bid him farewell, lowered her veil, turned, and walked briskly away.

She returned to the Guo household and went inside. A’Ju caught sight of the bracelet peeking out from beneath her sleeve and seemed somewhat surprised, and looked up at her.

Pu Zhu had not intended her to notice. Her face grew a little warm, but she kept up an air of nonchalance and smiled: “A’mu, do not worry. Nothing is wrong. I know what I am doing.”

A’Ju’s gaze was full of concern. In the end, she was finally coaxed away to rest.

Pu Zhu removed the jade bracelet and held it up to the candlelight for a long while. Then, suddenly, she saw things clearly.

In this life, she was headed for the position of Crown Princess from the very start. Now that Li Chengyu had made her this kind of promise, how good was that? At the very least, it showed that up to this point, every step she had taken had been a success.

So what had she been feeling awkward about? What was there to feel awkward about?

Pu Zhu finally set her mind at ease, cheerfully wrapped the token of affection in a silk handkerchief, tucked it away in the bottom-most layer of the lacquered cosmetics box, and let out a long breath.

Time to sleep!

…

The long-vacant Changsheng Hall of Penglai Palace was finally alight again that night, its scattered lanterns glowing like stars.

Li Xuandu rested in his old sleeping quarters from his younger years.

The palace maid selected to wait upon him was the most beautiful girl in Penglai Palace. Tonight she had become the object of envy among the other young palace maids.

The little maid, her heart full of nervous excitement, lifted her slender feet — clad in white gauze stockings and silk-faced shoes — and stepped slowly into the Prince Qin’s sleeping chamber in the soft lamplight.

On this early June night, a cool breeze blew through Penglai Palace’s corridors all night long, the hall within was coolly still. Even their sleeping pallets, it seemed, were still spread with quilted bedding — otherwise the chill would seep into one’s bones.

The Prince Qin, however, seemed to feel very hot.

Incredibly, he wore only a thin gauze moon-white robe with a straight collar, leaning back against the couch with a cushion behind his waist, the lampstand with its gilded silver candle tree beside the bed blazing with seven or eight large candles, their flames radiant as silver.

One hand rested on his raised knee, his palm loosely holding a scroll of book. His jaw was slightly lifted back, his posture at ease and graceful.

She had thought at first that he was reading, but soon discovered that the Prince’s lashes were lowered, his gaze fixed and still, as though he had fallen into a deep reverie.

A man of such jade-tree-and-jade-branch distinction — what kind of person could he be thinking of?

Whoever could cast a ripple upon his thoughts must surely be the most enviable person in the world.

The maid thought this to herself in secret.

She had already bathed carefully, purifying every inch of her body’s skin. In her emerald gauze jacket and long brocade skirt, she stood shyly and hesitantly before the Prince Qin’s couch, saw his lashes stir slightly as he raised his eyes and turned his gaze toward her.

From excessive nervousness and excitement, even the delicately powdered shoulders beneath her lovely robe trembled slightly. She said softly: “Your Highness, this servant’s name is Tong Zhu. Does Your Highness wish to rest now?”

Li Xuandu asked: “Did Female Official Chen choose you to come?” His voice, too, was pleasing to the ear — his tone calm and even, carrying even a note of gentle warmth.

Tong Zhu instantly flushed red, lowered her head with its delicate neck, and even the lobes of her ears were tinged with the endearing rosy blush that only young girls possess. She answered yes in a voice like the buzz of a mosquito.

Li Xuandu said: “If you serve me, are you not afraid that in the future you may be sent to the Wuyou Palace again, or sent to keep vigil at the imperial tombs? Perhaps never to return for a lifetime?”

Tong Zhu said: “I am willing of my own heart.” As she spoke these words, it was as if all her courage in this moment had gathered into her body. She could not contain the surge of feeling in her heart. She lifted her head and gazed at the young man before her, and repeated again: “I am willing of my own heart! Your Highness!”

She truly meant it — she would willingly serve him for a lifetime.

Li Xuandu glanced sideways at her and suddenly laughed.

“No, you would not be willing. The reason you say so is that you have never experienced days like those, and you do not know what they are truly like. Day after day, you are surrounded on all sides by high walls with no opening in any direction — you cannot walk out even one step. Each day, all you can do is watch your own shadow lengthen as the sun moves overhead, then shorten again, then lengthen again — over and over, endlessly. The days pass, the nights grow long, and there is no one to speak with. You would envy the solitary wild geese passing overhead — though they had lost their flock, at least they could still fly freely, going wherever they wished. But your youth would be worn away in this cage, and you would watch it die inch by inch, powerless to save it even one fragment…”

His tone was flat, unhurried, yet it carried the deepest and most remote coldness and the most pitiless darkness.

“That is not the most terrifying part. The most terrifying part is not knowing when such torment will end. You cannot see hope. Perhaps for your entire life you will be confined there, and in the end, when you die — white-haired and with loosened teeth — you will still never walk out from those four walls that have enclosed you.”

Li Xuandu smiled: “Even so, are you still willing of your own heart to serve me for a lifetime?”

The color slowly drained from the maid’s powdered and rouge-stained cheeks, and her face turned pale. Whether her knees had gone weak from standing too long, or for some other reason, she suddenly sank to the ground and bowed her head without moving.

After a moment, Female Official Chen personally brought a midnight snack, set it on the table, and said: “You have dismissed the girl? Did you find her slow-witted?”

Li Xuandu did not even look up, merely turned a page of his book and smiled faintly: “Not to my taste.”

The old female official looked at him and shook her head: “Well, suit yourself. Rest early — tomorrow you must see His Majesty.”

Emperor Xiaochang had received the memorial announcing the fourth Imperial Brother’s arrival in the capital and was greatly pleased. He had immediately conveyed an oral decree: Li Xuandu should rest tonight, and the Emperor would receive him the following day.

Li Xuandu made a sound of acknowledgment.

The old female official, still worried about him catching a chill, helped him close the wide-open windows, and then departed.

The sleeping chamber returned to silence.

Li Xuandu read for a little while longer, then snuffed the candles and lay down on his back. He lay with his eyes closed in the darkness, turning over the events of the day in his mind. The scene he had glimpsed that afternoon appeared before his eyes — the girl in blue robes with a crimson sash and peonies in her hair — and he recalled how that evening Huaiwei had come to complain to him, saying that his nephew had been trying to court her. At the time, he had told Huaiwei to hold his tongue and not speak of it carelessly — not a word to be said before their imperial grandmother either. But thinking of the methods she had used to lure the Crown Prince, he could not suppress a cold sneer.

Only someone like Huaiwei, still a child, could be taken in by her.

Li Xuandu turned all this over in his mind for a while, and then suddenly thought of the beautiful maid from just before — whose name even contained one of the same characters as hers — and felt an immediate revulsion.

Perhaps because the windows had been closed, Li Xuandu felt the fire inside him flare up again. Even pulling his robes open at the collar brought no relief — he was stifled and hot. So he swung out of bed, pushed all the windows he had closed back open, breathed out a long breath, and only then finally felt somewhat refreshed.