In the Dharma Hall for the afternoon’s sutra recitation, Li Xuandu was absent.

With the person who used to watch her with that particular gaze gone from across the room, Pu Zhu should have felt considerably more at ease—but the events of midday weighed on her, and her heart was restless.

Thinking back to a few months earlier, when she had just left He Xi, she had not felt a single thread of attachment to that place where she had lived for nearly ten years across two lifetimes. She had felt it was the starting point of her nightmare.

Now, looking back, everything that had happened to her since leaving He Xi had gone wrong—and now even Cui Xuan had changed.

That he wanted to remain in the capital, Pu Zhu understood completely. She also hoped he would rise to prominence in time and restore the glory that the Cui family had held in his ancestors’ day. But their meeting today had left her with such a profound sense of strangeness toward him—especially the way he had challenged her with those words—just thinking of it filled her with sadness.

In this world, apart from A’mu, she had no family. She had no friends either. In her heart, Cui Xuan had perhaps occupied something like a friend’s place. She treasured the unconditional goodwill that the He Xi youth had shown her—and that was precisely why, since coming to the capital, though she was desperately in need of capable helpers, she had never wanted to draw Cui Xuan into her affairs.

And now she had a feeling that, apart from her own wishes remaining the same, everything else had changed—was different from before—Cui Xuan included.

She drifted in thought for a moment, then suddenly remembered the resolve she had made at midday. Not to listen carefully would be like making a wish and failing to honor it—disrespectful. She quickly cleared her mind of its distractions and made herself pay attention to the recitation.

By evening, when the sutra session ended, Jiang Shi exchanged a few words of insight with the master, and the day’s prayers at Anguo Temple were concluded. They made ready to depart.

The western sun cast its slant across the mountain, and evening bells rang out in waves. A few twilight birds swept across the air above the pagoda before the Great Hero Hall, leaving the trace of their wings across the sky.

The abbot led the monks in a line to see them off.

Pu Zhu and Li Hui’er followed Jiang Shi outside. Li Xuandu came in swiftly from the direction of the mountain gate, reached them, and without even glancing at Pu Zhu, simply smiled and pressed his palms together in the gesture of thanks toward the abbot. Then he guided Jiang Shi out, helped her into a sedan chair, and everyone else followed behind, descending the mountain, and then—just as on the way there—boarding their respective carriages.

Huaiwei rode in the same carriage as Pu Zhu and Li Hui’er, squeezing himself into the middle. Because he had enjoyed himself thoroughly today, he talked cheerfully the entire journey about the autumn hunt he was now eagerly anticipating.

“I heard His Majesty will bring his consorts, and many of the noble ladies from the capital will come along with their households too—such crowds of people! The hunting grounds have a detached palace, but when it’s full people stay in pavilion tents. I’ve slept in them before in Yinyue City—you wake up in the night, and when you open your eyes you can see the stars right there above you. Don’t you want to go?”

He tugged at Li Hui’er’s sleeve.

“If you want to go, I’ll go beg Grandmother for you—I’ll ask her to let you come with me!”

Li Hui’er bit her lip, her eyes bright with excitement, but she glanced at Pu Zhu, who hadn’t spoken, and hesitated, saying quietly: “Would I be allowed to go… Fourth Aunt, are you going?”

Before Pu Zhu could answer, the carriage suddenly came to a stop, and a commotion of voices drifted from the front.

Huaiwei immediately stuck his head out the window, chattering, “There are a lot of people crowding the road up ahead… oh, what are they doing? They’re carrying a lot of food!”

Jiang Shi’s carriage had also stopped. Li Xuandu was nearby. Han Rongchang spurred his horse to the front to investigate, and quickly came back to report to Li Xuandu in a low voice: “These are village elders from the nearby Zhai Village and Li Village. Some of their people work farmland for the temple. When they heard that the Grand Empress Dowager had brought the young Prince here today to offer prayers, they remembered the kindness of the late Grand Princess in agreeing to the peace marriage, and the village elders brought their people out to the road to present offerings of food, asking the young Prince to accept them.”

During the wars against Dongdi in the thirtieth year of Emperor Xuanning’s reign, before the peace marriage of Grand Princess Jinxi of the Western Di, many able-bodied men from Zhai Village and Li Village had been conscripted to fight. When the fighting ended, the soldiers were demobilized and returned to their fields. Those old soldiers who had survived to come home had never stopped holding the Grand Princess in profound respect. Now, learning that the son she had borne would be passing by, they had led their sons, grandchildren, and village folk out here to present offerings, as a gesture of reverence and gratitude toward the Grand Princess.

Li Xuandu conveyed the situation to Jiang Shi in her carriage.

Jiang Shi looked at the villagers lining the road, hands raised high holding all manner of food, and was moved. She instructed Li Xuandu to take Huaiwei out, to accept a token portion of the grain and millet offered, and then to have Huaiwei return the courtesy on the Grand Princess’s behalf.

Li Xuandu received the order and came to explain the situation to Huaiwei.

Huaiwei finally understood—the villagers had come with food to present to him… well, not to him exactly, but to his mother, which was nearly the same thing. He had always enjoyed being the center of attention, and was immediately delighted and impatient to go. He agreed to everything Li Xuandu said.

Li Xuandu finished his instructions, then lifted Huaiwei down from the carriage and led him by the hand toward the villagers. When they reached them, he released the boy’s hand. But he himself remained standing at his side—partly to keep watch and prevent him from getting too carried away, and partly as a protective measure, just in case.

The village elder leading them was a white-haired old soldier with a lame leg. He was greatly moved at the sight of Huaiwei, and had a young man present a lamb and a measure of millet. He set aside his walking stick, and with trembling limbs knelt down to say: “In those years, if not for the Grand Princess going beyond the border passes in exchange for peace at the frontier, and the court’s permission for soldiers over forty to be discharged, this old one would never have been able to return home and hold his own children. The Grand Princess’s grace toward the old soldiers is impossible to repay. I offer this milk-lamb and this millet, humble as these things are—they are the sincere goodwill of this old one and his whole family!”

When the old soldier’s words fell, the villagers who had come behind him all presented their offerings in turn. Some brought fish caught fresh that day. Others held up flatbreads. Still others carried chickens and ducks from home. Clearly these were the finest things each family could offer.

Huaiwei strutted over with great self-importance and extended his hand to help the lame old soldier up from the ground. He glanced at Li Xuandu beside him. Seeing a slight nod, his confidence soared. He cleared his throat and declared aloud, repeating what Li Xuandu had told him: “A ruler governing all under heaven places the peace of the people above all else! When my mother went beyond the passes in those years, it was for the safety of ten thousand people. If it could bring security and contentment to you old heroes who served the nation, then my mother’s heart would be greatly comforted.”

He took a small pouch from the hands of Female Official Chen, went to where the millet had been poured, and scooped several handfuls of grain into the pouch. Tying it closed, he declared further: “This old hero and all the village elders’ goodwill has been received in full—it is all gathered in this one pouch of millet. I will certainly bring this millet before my mother!”

Not one of the several hundred villagers was left unmoved. Amid the chorus of bowing and thankful farewells behind him, Huaiwei was led back to the carriage.

The crowd bowed to Jiang Shi’s carriage as well, offering blessings of long life. Jiang Shi had her carriage door opened, and smiled, nodding to the people, asking how this year’s harvest had been and whether life was comfortable. After a round of exchanges back and forth, they at last continued on their way.

Huaiwei had returned to the carriage—the carriage had started moving again—yet he still had half his body hanging out the window, waving and grinning at the villagers seeing them off, until the figures in the distance had entirely disappeared from sight. Only then did he pull himself back in, still caught up in the moment, and asked Pu Zhu how he had done just now.

Pu Zhu had been in the carriage, and had watched the whole scene of the villagers presenting their offerings with her own eyes.

If she had been surprised at first—for in her previous life she had never encountered anything like this—by the end she was deeply moved, and had grown ever more curious about Grand Princess Jinxi. She dearly hoped one day to see her in person, to learn what manner of extraordinary imperial princess she truly was. So many years had passed since her departure beyond the borders, and yet out here in a countryside village, ordinary people still cherished her memory. Now, hearing Huaiwei ask her to comment on his performance, she smiled and said: “Excellent! The manner of a true prince! When the young Prince has grown, he will surely be a remarkable and accomplished lord!”

Huaiwei was thoroughly pleased by the praise, and grinned cheerfully: “Certainly, certainly! When I am grown, my elder brother will be the great king, and I will be his little king to help him!”

Pu Zhu could not help but laugh. She was more resolved than ever that in this life she must protect the young prince well. Even setting aside the larger situation, for such a delightful Huaiwei alone—it was something she simply had to do.

She and Li Xuandu accompanied Jiang Shi to Penglai Palace, dined at the palace, and returned to the Prince’s Mansion after dark.

Pu Zhu came out after her bath to find that Li Xuandu had gone to his study again. She did not dare disturb him at first, thinking she would wait for him to return to the bedchamber around the hai hour as he had the past few days. Then she could rest.

Tonight, however, he was late. The hai hour came and went, and still there was no sign of him.

She had been up early, and the day had been full of exhausting events. Pu Zhu had no choice but to go to the study herself and invite him to come to bed.

He did not even show his face—he simply had Luo Bao come out and dismiss her, saying Prince Qin told the Princess Consort to go and rest first, and not to worry about him.

Pu Zhu assumed he was still absorbed in his Daoist studies. She was genuinely exhausted, and since she had come herself to invite him—and he refused to come—she would no longer wait. She returned to the room, climbed into bed, and quickly fell asleep.

In a hazy dream, she sensed she must have been asleep for a very long time—it was surely deep in the night—when someone else came to the bed.

Knowing he had returned to the room, she relaxed completely, closed her eyes, and drifted back to sleep. The next day, he was up and gone early as usual, nowhere to be seen. When she woke, she found she had somehow ended up on the very innermost side of the bed, practically pressed against the wall, her body in a twisted position. She woke with a sore back and aching waist.

Pu Zhu assumed she had rolled there in her sleep and paid it no mind. She got up, rubbing her waist, thinking about how she had not asked Cui Xuan in the end to help find A’mu’s whereabouts, and wondering what progress Baibi had made.

Though she felt there was little hope, she sent Nanny Wang over to press for an update on her behalf.

Nanny Wang returned to tell her there was still no new progress. They said they had been searching all along, but after that family moved away, they had cut all ties with their former neighbors and relatives, leaving not a single trace to follow. Everyone said the family must have come into money and gone into hiding out of fear people would come asking for loans or gifts—which was why they had made themselves impossible to find.

If the Emperor intended to make a whole family disappear, how could he possibly leave any threads for others to trace? This was a predictable outcome, yet Pu Zhu still felt profound disappointment. She thought of all that A’mu had done for her, how in her previous life A’mu had ended up worked to death—and in this life, even though she had used her foreknowledge to avert that fate, they had only had a few good days together before A’mu was taken away by that so-called son of hers, and her whereabouts were now unknown.

A’mu was surely thinking of her every single day, just as she was thinking of A’mu now.

Pu Zhu’s eyes stung. After much deliberation, she resolved to ask Li Xuandu to help find A’mu’s whereabouts.

In truth, this thought had come to her on the first day of their marriage. She had simply not known how to bring it up. These past few days she felt he had gradually come to accept her presence, and his attitude toward her was not as rejecting as it had been right after the wedding. This was a good sign. She would say a few pleasing words to him this evening, then ask for his help. Judging from the outcome of her previous few requests, she thought the likelihood of him agreeing was quite high.

He was out that day.

The Emperor had assigned him—this idle, drifting prince with nothing to do all day—a task: together with Chen Zhude, he was to oversee the arrangements and logistics for next month’s autumn hunt.

Pu Zhu had made up her mind. She spent an hour having the maids style her hair in the jade cicada chignon that was currently most fashionable among the noble ladies of the capital, tucked a jade-beaded gold step-sway ornament at her temple, and waited for him to return. She waited until the xu hour, until the sky was fully dark, before he finally arrived.

He had already eaten at the palace offices. After returning and bathing and changing, he seemed not to notice Pu Zhu standing right before him, put his hands behind his back, slipped on his wooden clogs, left the bedchamber, and went back to his study—leaving her alone, pacing in the bedchamber, then going to look at herself in the mirror.

A beautiful face. Elegant hair. A gold step-sway ornament.

She finally steeled herself once more, took the late-night snack she had prepared, and made her way to the study.

A warm glow of lamplight came through the latticed window of the study, and Luo Bao stood like a wooden post outside. Pu Zhu asked what Prince Qin was doing. Luo Bao said the Purple Yang Daoist abbot had sent a disciple today with several new volumes of Daoist texts; the Prince was inside studying them.

Pu Zhu nodded, took the snack from her maid, told Luo Bao to step aside, pushed open the door herself, went around a screen of painted gauze, and saw Li Xuandu barefoot, in that lounging posture he favored, lying sideways on the cloud-bed, a scroll of what appeared to be a religious text loosely held in his hand. He was indeed reading.

She entered. He did not so much as raise an eyelid—she might as well have been invisible.

Pu Zhu had set her heart on getting along well with him, and on top of that she needed a favor. She told herself inwardly not to mind his attitude.

After all, in her eyes he was nothing more than a stepping-stone and a tool. Why trouble herself getting into a quarrel with a stepping-stone and a tool?

Pu Zhu smiled and said: “My lord, the autumnal equinox is a time for nourishing oneself—I imagine even your Daoist texts on health cultivation mention this. I made a lotus root and autumn pear jade-dew soup myself, especially for my lord. It’s perfectly suited to this season—sweet and cooling, good for clearing heat. Would my lord try a little?”

Li Xuandu raised his eyelids just slightly and said: “No.”

“My lord, just a taste…”

His brow furrowed with impatience. Pu Zhu immediately fell silent and decided she might as well take it back and eat it herself.

She changed her approach and tried flattery: “My lord, what are you reading?”

Li Xuandu said: “What brings you here?” His eyes remained fixed on the scroll in his hand, his voice dry as kindling.

Since she was already there, she had to say something.

Pu Zhu drew a quiet breath, steadied herself, and finally brought out her purpose, telling him everything. When she finished, she watched his expression and said quietly: “Apart from my lord, I truly cannot think of anyone else I could ask for help. Can you help me once more—to find where A’mu is?”

She held her breath and waited for his answer.

Li Xuandu was silent.

Pu Zhu waited a moment, her heart sinking gradually, sensing he had no intention of getting involved. But she was not willing to give up just like that, and summoned her courage to press on: “I know this puts you in a difficult position. If the Emperor were to find out, it would reflect badly on you. Only…”

“Why not ask the Crown Prince to help?”

He suddenly cut her off and said lightly.

Pu Zhu was momentarily thrown, and at first did not follow his meaning. She said earnestly, “I have told you—from now on I intend to follow my lord faithfully. Why would I ask the Crown Prince for something like this?”

Li Xuandu let out a cold snort. “Never mind, I am not worthy of the task. Did you not make an appointment to see the Crown Prince at Anguo Temple yesterday? You have already met with him—asking is only a matter of a word. Why come looking for me tonight?”

Pu Zhu was startled, and now understood that he already knew about her meeting with Li Chengyu yesterday.

He had buried it so deeply—if she had not come to him tonight with a request, would he have gone on keeping it inside indefinitely?

She could not stop to think about how he had found out. She knew she could not conceal it.

She did not know whether he was also aware that Cui Xuan had been there yesterday. If he did know, and she concealed it, she would be adding fuel to the fire. If he did not know, and she said nothing—what reasonable explanation could she give for going out the rear gate and encountering Li Chengyu? To say she had been strolling and enjoying the scenery—how could he possibly believe that? The more she tried to explain, the worse it would look. She would appear to be hiding something.

Pu Zhu thought it over briefly and decided it was better to explain everything clearly. She said: “My lord, please do not misunderstand. Yesterday I did indeed go out of the temple to meet someone, but the person I wished to meet was Cui Xuan. He had attempted to assassinate you, and I was greatly alarmed. These past days my heart has been uneasy, fearing that some misunderstanding might remain, and I wanted to speak to Cui Xuan and clear matters up, so he would not act rashly again. I had not expected that His Highness the Crown Prince would appear of his own accord. I truly did not make a private appointment with him. But since he was right there before me, I took the opportunity to speak plainly with him as well. I and he have nothing more to do with each other from now on. I intend only to follow my lord faithfully.”

Pu Zhu finished and watched Li Xuandu.

He still lay there at the same angle, his expression showing not a trace of anything, his eyes still resting on the book—she could not tell whether he had taken in what she said at all.

Pu Zhu waited a moment, grew anxious, went up, and pulled the book out of his hand.

“My lord, please listen to me first. Everything I have said is the truth…”

Li Xuandu, his book suddenly taken from him, was unexpectedly furious. His expression darkened, and he raised one hand and pushed her down flat on the cloud-bed.

Usually one would not have guessed it, but his arm strength was actually formidable. Pu Zhu dropped the book, let out a startled cry, and was pinned beneath his hand, knocked flat on her back on the cloud-bed.

There was a soft, clear jingling sound. The gold step-sway ornament tucked in her hair was half thrown loose, askew, nearly falling. That jingling had been the sound of the ornament’s chain of pearls being flung against the green bamboo boards of the cloud-bed.

Pu Zhu felt his uninjured hand pressing heavily down on her right shoulder—heavy as a mountain. He leaned slightly over her, his face turned toward hers, his eyes fixed on her, his expression fierce.

Every drop of blood in her body seemed to rush in that instant to the region of her heart. Her chest rose and fell. She met his gaze with wide eyes. Then, steadying herself with some effort, she repeated her defense in a trembling voice: “If I have spoken even a half-word of falsehood, may heaven’s thunder strike me down…”

Li Xuandu stared at her. The anger that had been on his face a moment before gradually faded, until at last a strange, unsettling smile appeared.

Pu Zhu shivered. Then suddenly the weight lifted from her shoulder—he reached over and slowly drew the gold step-sway ornament from her hair, turned it in his palm, and swung it back and forth in a playful way, setting the chain of pearls hissing and shaking.

“Whatever you were like before—I do not care. But from now on, do not let me discover again anything like what happened yesterday.”

He brought the gold step-sway ornament close to her cheek, and the pearls swung and struck her delicate skin—stinging, sharp.

“Trying to play multiple sides at once—if you take a wrong step and fall, things will not be quite so interesting.”

His expression was hovering between a smile and something else, and he said it softly.