The scout Noble Consort Hu had sent to gather intelligence returned to report that the Eastern Di princess was still practicing polo on horseback, and from the look of her coordination with the trained female servants, she had clearly been playing regularly for a long time.

In truth, there was no need for intelligence to know this — anyone who dared issue such a challenge must have formidable ability.

By comparison, their side had been hastily assembled from mismatched pieces. The Prince of Qin’s consort had just joined. The consort of Prince Duan was getting on in years — she might have skill and experience, but when it came to physical agility and stamina on horseback, she could hardly be compared to younger women.

No one dared to relax. The consort of Prince Duan, in particular, knew full well that while the polo field is indeed a place that creates individual heroes, teamwork is equally indispensable for victory. Considering that she herself had not truly played a serious match in many years, she wanted, to be safe, to hastily invite a man who was expert in this sport to come and give comprehensive guidance.

The first person she thought of was the Prince of Qin Li Xuandu, who had just that day rescued her husband from the horse hooves.

In his youth, the Prince of Qin had been passionate about polo in addition to hunting.

He had once possessed the most expensive polo field in all of the capital: within the imperial palace practice grounds, he had fine soil specially sifted and then soaked with fat oil, the ground repeatedly rolled and pressed to create a surface that spanned a thousand paces in circumference. The resulting field was not only smooth and durable, but even on a blazing sunny day with horses galloping across it, not a speck of dust rose. He had also once complained that the palace guards didn’t dare truly compete against him, and had frequently disguised himself and slipped out of the palace to the polo grounds in the South Market to play pickup games with strangers. One time he had become so absorbed that he forgot to return even after dark, and by the time the guards found him, the entire field was in a roar — he was there, disheveled, galloping across the ground, in a neck-and-neck race with others to seize a leather ball.

When he was fourteen years old, he had led a group of young nobles to a decisive victory against a foreign nation’s team that had come to the capital to show off their prowess. The sight of him then — astride his horse, swinging his mallet, his spirit and vigor transcendent — had left a deep impression on the consort, one she remembered to this day.

She immediately called Pu Zhu aside and explained her thinking, asking her to send someone to invite the Prince of Qin to come.

In truth, Pu Zhu didn’t even know where he was at the moment. Pretending to be unconcerned, she agreed and was about to send someone to his tent on the chance they might find him there. But the excited Huaiwei, who had been following along watching the excitement, promptly piped up: ‘Sister-in-law hasn’t seen Fourth Brother in days! And he hasn’t come to see her either!’

Pu Zhu deeply regretted not having pushed Huaiwei’s head into a hole in the ground and plugged his mouth with mud earlier. She looked at the consort of Prince Duan in embarrassment and explained: ‘He’s been busy these days. For convenience when people need to find him, he’s been staying outside…’

The consort of Prince Duan understood from this that the husband and wife were perhaps having a quiet disagreement, but didn’t expose them. She simply smiled and nodded. Pu Zhu hurriedly sent a royal nursemaid to look for Li Xuandu, quietly instructing her to say it was the consort of Prince Duan’s request. The nursemaid agreed and quickly returned, saying she hadn’t found him — she was told that the Prince of Qin, along with the son-in-law Han and the Khotan prince, had chased prey out of the hunting grounds enclosure that afternoon and had not yet returned to camp.

The consort of Prince Duan could only fall back on a second option. She had someone invite a renowned instructor from the imperial guards to come and give guidance. They hurriedly spent this night before the match arranging individual positions, practicing coordination and tactics, and deep into the night, once the signals for advancing and retreating on the field had been agreed upon, she dismissed everyone to rest and conserve their strength for tomorrow’s competition.

This news had already spread throughout the entire traveling palace.

After returning from the banquet, Xiao Shi had been secretly keeping track of the matter and had left a maid to watch what was happening on Noble Consort Hu’s side. When she learned it was the consort of Prince Duan leading the team, she was convinced they would lose tomorrow, and while sympathizing, also felt she wasn’t quite wise enough. To be still willing to commit so rashly at her age — her reputation would likely be ruined. She was congratulating herself on having avoided this trouble when the maid informed her that not only the consort of Prince Duan but also the Prince of Qin’s consort had joined the polo team — and she had volunteered herself, proposing to take the field of her own initiative. Xiao Shi was astonished beyond measure.

A daughter of a convicted official who grew up in the remote frontier of He Xi — what polo could she possibly know?

Xiao Shi pressed for details, and the maid told her the Prince of Qin’s consort had claimed to have played donkey polo and walking polo in He Xi.

Xiao Shi was momentarily stunned, then understood. She laughed so hard she nearly fell over, tears nearly coming to her eyes. Just then, Lady of the State of Zheng had also heard the news and came looking for her. The two women discussed the matter for a while. Lady of the State of Zheng sighed: ‘I think Noble Consort Hu is in such a panic she’ll try any remedy — it’s not very wise of her. With a ready-made expert like you who should be properly invited, she’s sent up such an assortment. The consort of Prince Duan is passable enough — she might be an old sword that never dulls — but what is this Prince of Qin’s consort about? Donkey polo and walking polo? And they’re actually dragging her up to make up the numbers! What a pity — if they lose tomorrow, the barbarians will surely mock us, and the rest of us will all lose face along with them!’

Xiao Shi waved her hand: ‘Enough, enough — if my leg hadn’t happened to be injured today, how would I be sitting here watching the barbarian woman run rampant? Let us just hope they don’t lose too badly…’

As she was speaking, she saw Lady of the State of Zheng nod toward something behind her and rise with a smile. She turned around to find it was her husband, Shen Yang, who had arrived. He was standing in the doorway, no expression on his face, and it was impossible to know how long he had been there or how much of her conversation with Lady of the State of Zheng he had heard.

As the overall commander of security for this grand ceremony, he had been staying outside the traveling palace these past few days and had not been sharing quarters with her. Seeing him suddenly appear like this, Xiao Shi thought for a moment and then remained lazily seated without moving.

Lady of the State of Zheng covered her mouth and said with a laugh: ‘Since General Shen has returned, I should go — I wouldn’t want to disturb you two.’ She was about to leave with a suggestive wink at Xiao Shi when Shen Yang spoke to her: ‘I have matters to attend to on my side. I only came back to get some clothing. Please, go on with what you were doing.’ He then stepped away into the interior.

Lady of the State of Zheng looked back to see Xiao Shi still sitting in exactly the same position, but with a faintly stiffened expression. She hastily pretended not to notice and excused herself with some pretext and left.

That evening, on the other side of the Western Garden, Li Chengyu and Crown Prince’s Consort Yao Hanzhen also received the news. Their reactions were each their own — not worth describing. Within the Western Garden itself, Li Hui’er and Huaiwei were wildly excited, competing with each other to cheer Pu Zhu on as she returned, saying they would wake up early tomorrow to go to the polo ground and watch her play.

After bathing, Pu Zhu lay down to sleep and rest, preparing herself to face tomorrow’s match.

She had had no mental preparation whatsoever for this competition, because nothing like this had happened in her previous life.

In her previous life during this same period, Li Lihua — shamed over the matter of Han Chijiao’s former wife — had not joined the autumn hunt. And in this life, it was only with her own arrival that such an unexpected turn of events had occurred.

Speaking honestly, even now, Pu Zhu was still somewhat surprised at her own sudden surge of excitement and impulse in that moment.

She was a little ashamed of herself for having volunteered and sought out the limelight.

She knew the reasoning of keeping out of situations that were none of her concern, staying aloof from things that didn’t involve her. She understood these principles of playing it safe and protecting herself, and had originally decided to conduct herself accordingly.

All she needed to do now was quietly wait for Jiang Shi to pass away next year, for the political situation to fall into turmoil, and then act when the moment presented itself. Tonight’s impromptu decision was contrary to her original intentions.

But she did not regret her decision.

With the Eastern Di woman’s challenge thrown down like that, and the consort of Prince Duan — middle-aged — still willing to fight with passion to defend their dignity, while she herself was clearly capable of going up and contributing — if she had simply turned a blind eye out of nothing but self-preservation to avoid losing face, while sitting by and watching that Eastern Di woman heap humiliation upon them, she would not be able to answer to her own conscience.

After all, she had been this dynasty’s empress in her previous life.

This was her responsibility to bear.

That was how she finally told herself.

Pu Zhu quickly cleared away the stray thoughts in her mind and prepared to fall asleep, conserving her energy to face tomorrow’s polo match.

In that last moment before sleep, in a hazy half-dream state, a blurry figure floated up in her mind.

It was the silhouette of a man.

Was he back yet, wherever he was now?

If he knew she was going to take the polo field tomorrow, what would he think?

……

Under the cold and clear moonlight, a golden-eyed jade eagle glided low, closely following its master on the ground.

Beneath the jade eagle, Li Xuandu urged his horse forward, tracking the prey ahead.

It was a very cunning and powerful stag. The stag seemed to sense the approach of its death, and broke into a frantic run. He had lost it several times and tracked it again, relentless and persistent, never once giving up.

With prey ahead and wind howling past his ears, every pore on his body opened wide. Under his clothing, hot sweat rolled freely, and his nostrils were filled with the stimulating smell of blood.

Li Xuandu felt himself returned to his youth. Beneath his skin, he felt a long-absent rush of hot blood. He urged his horse and chased the prey in a wild gallop. When at last he found himself beside a densely forested hillside with what seemed like no path forward, he realized with a start that he had left his companions behind and had likely ventured deep into old forest, losing his direction.

Yet he did not pause for even a moment. He simply stopped his horse, sitting tall in the saddle, and used the moonlight to scan sharply all around, not overlooking any corner covered by the shadows of trees.

The stag, chased for half the night and unable to shake the hunter behind it, was exhausted. Hiding in a stand of trees a dozen or so zhang to his left and front, it once more caught the scent of danger. In a panic, it let out a sound like a desperate cry and suddenly its four nimble, powerful legs sprang into motion as it bolted away again.

But it was too late.

This time, the hunter would show no mercy. It was as though the stag could no longer escape the fate of being prey that had been inscribed upon it since birth.

Li Xuandu’s injured hand was wrapped in a protective bandage. He gripped a long spear with a hard, sharp head and, in the instant the stag leaped out into view, he vaulted from the saddle. His silhouette was like a hawk stooping; landing on the ground, he was about to lunge toward the fleeing stag and end this half-night pursuit when he suddenly sensed something sweep past him — a wind carrying a rank, acrid smell.

His figure froze. He slowly turned his head.

In the moonlight, just a few steps away, a brown bear had somehow appeared from nowhere.

The bear reared up to its full height — at least a man and a half tall — its body enormous as a small mountain, every hair standing on end, looking terrifying. Its great paws raised high in a striking posture, it lunged at him before he had even fully turned.

Li Xuandu rolled sideways and dodged the lunge.

A deep, commanding, threatening growl rumbled from the bear’s chest as it continued to pursue him.

Li Xuandu leaped to his feet, ran to a tree nearby, and swiftly climbed it.

A great wind blew. The stag behind the bushes had long since taken the opportunity to flee. The horse circled nearby in panic. The jade eagle at the treetop beat its wings and called out in sharp cries.

The bear, roaring, charged to the base of the tree and shook the trunk. With a rustling sound, dead branches snapped and leaves fell. The night birds roosting nearby were startled and fled in all directions.

This beast was enormously powerful. In a short while, a tree nearly half a man’s width around began to shudder from its very roots.

Li Xuandu drew a dagger hidden on his body and, timing his moment, launched himself from the treetop in a leap. Landing, without waiting for the bear to turn around, he swung the dagger and plunged it into the back of the bear’s neck. Unexpectedly, the beast’s fur was as hard as iron — the single stab did not go all the way in. The tip slid slightly, the force was absorbed, and the blade went in only halfway, stuck fast. It could not go deeper, and for the moment could not be pulled out.

The bear was wounded and furious. With a roar, it swung a great paw at him. Li Xuandu was forced to release his hold and circled around the tree, moving away.

At that moment, the jade eagle named Golden-Eyes Slave plunged from the treetop in a fierce dive at the bear and buried its sharp beak into one of the bear’s eyes, plucking the eye out in one strike.

The bear grew even more frenzied and swung another paw. The eagle couldn’t dodge in time; one side of its wing was struck, and it tumbled to the ground. It beat its wings trying to take flight, but with its wing injured, it rose a few feet then wobbled and fell again.

The one-eyed bear turned its rage on Golden-Eyes Slave and went after it to tear it apart.

Golden-Eyes Slave was the hunting hawk Li Xuandu had loved most in his youth. It had been kept all these years by one of his early falconers.

His dagger was still lodged in the bear’s neck. He had nothing left to use as a weapon.

He turned and ran back several zhang, grabbed the long spear that had fallen to the ground, and with all his strength, let out a great battle cry, swung his arm, and hurled the spear with full force.

In the moonlight, the spear, carrying tremendous piercing force, flew like a bolt of lightning directly toward the back of the bear that was attacking Golden-Eyes Slave, closing in on its target.

With a dull thud of a sharp object entering flesh, the bear let out a terrible howl, its great silhouette slowing.

The sharp spear had pierced through the bear — from its back, straight through to its chest, buried deep.

The long spear shaft was still trembling slightly.

A moment later, the beast finally toppled over. Its enormous body crushed a wide swath of nearby bushes.

Quiet fell all around. Li Xuandu stood where he was, hot sweat pouring off him.

Golden-Eyes Slave was injured and was still flapping its wings on the ground near the beast.

Li Xuandu’s heart ached at the sight. He wiped the sweat from his face and hurried over. He was just about to pick it up and examine its injuries when he suddenly sensed something wrong. He snapped his head around to see the beast that had just been pierced through the heart rise from the ground again and lunge at him savagely.

In the moonlight, the beast’s two eyes were wide as brass bells, its great mouth wide open, saliva dripping from its fangs, a foul stench filling the air.

Li Xuandu scooped up Golden-Eyes Slave, and though he rolled aside to dodge, he was a step too slow. He felt his left arm go numb. He looked down to find the side of his arm had been caught by the sharp bear claws. His sleeve was shredded to ribbons, and blood was seeping out beneath the cloth.

Golden-Eyes Slave had also taken a serious injury just now.

Li Xuandu’s rage instantly ignited. He set Golden-Eyes Slave down, circled to the back of the bear — which was still lurching toward him — and from the blind side of its ruined eye, soundlessly vaulted up and onto the beast’s back. He yanked out the dagger still lodged in the bear’s neck and, with a twist of his wrist, plunged the dagger again.

The dagger drove into the bear’s other eye socket up to the hilt.

Gritting his teeth, expression vicious, he exerted full force and twisted. With a gush of foul blood, the beast screamed, lurched backward, and fell again. It convulsed for a moment, then was finally dead.

Li Xuandu, having chased the deer for half the night and already ravenously hungry and parched, and now after this fierce battle, was utterly spent. He was crushed beneath the bear. Finally gathering some strength, he struggled to push the foul-smelling beast off him and lay on his back on the ground, eyes closed, breathing in great, heaving gasps.

A long while passed before his violently racing heart slowly calmed. He felt his left arm was still bleeding. He rolled to sit up, tore a strip from his inner robe, bit one end with his teeth, and wrapped and bound the wound. Once the bleeding was stemmed, he pulled out the dagger and split open the beast’s chest, dug out the heart while it was still warm, and tossed this mass of bloody flesh to Golden-Eyes Slave. Once it had eaten its fill, he picked it up and carefully smoothed its ruffled feathers. He let out a whistle.

His mount finally came running back. He took Golden-Eyes Slave and vaulted into the saddle, then, relying on memory to trace the way he had come, urged his horse back at a gallop.

Near dawn, he spotted several hunting hawks circling overhead and knew Han Rongchang and the others must be somewhere nearby. He took out a deer whistle and blew it a few times, then waited quietly where he was.

A moment later, Han Rongchang, the Khotan prince, and the guards appeared from behind a hillside ahead, galloping toward him.

In the forest, fog had begun rising in the second half of the night. Han Rongchang and his group had also become lost and had wandered nearby for the whole night, worried about Li Xuandu’s whereabouts. Now that they had finally found him, they were overjoyed. Drawing close, and seeing clearly that he was covered in blood and filth, they asked in alarm. When they heard he had been hunting the elk and stumbled upon the brown bear, nearly losing his life, they were both alarmed and full of admiration.

Han Rongchang handed him a leather water pouch and said it contained fresh deer blood — obtained by slitting a deer’s throat the night before, still warm.

Li Xuandu was parched beyond bearing. He took it, tilted his head back, and drank the blood.

The blood with its gamey taste ran down his throat and surged into his organs. He finally drank his fill, wiped his face — still streaked with sweat and dried blood — and headed back toward the hunting grounds with the others, following the path they had come by.

As they neared the traveling palace, the sun had already reached its zenith.

Li Xuandu noticed the area was somewhat different from the past few days. Along the way, aside from the necessary guards, there were strangely few people to be seen.

Having been awake all night and having lost blood, he was feeling somewhat weary, and his arm wound was also aching dully. He was about to bid Han Rongchang and Weichi Shengde farewell and go back to his quarters to rest when he saw Luo Bao come running toward him in a hurry, calling out: ‘Your Highness! Your Highness! I’ve finally found you! The Princess Consort is at the polo ground playing polo!’

Li Xuandu was startled. He urged his horse forward and asked for details.

Luo Bao explained the situation, then added: ‘This servant has been looking for Your Highness everywhere — where did Your Highness go…’

Li Xuandu’s brow furrowed slightly. He glanced in the direction of the polo ground, said nothing, turned his horse’s head, and galloped off.