Although night had already fallen, the hour was not yet late.

Luo Bao helped him change his clothes.

Over the years, Li Xuandu had dressed simply. Apart from his court robes, he typically wore a plain Taoist robe at home — either white or pale blue. Even his informal outerwear when going out tended toward subdued, steady colors.

Luo Bao therefore took out a set of dark-patterned blue robes that Prince Qin often wore when going out, and was about to help him dress when Li Xuandu glanced at them and frowned: “Is there nothing else?”

Luo Bao, hearing the apparent distaste in his voice, startled and hastily set those aside, reaching for a set of reddish-brown garments instead.

But he still seemed dissatisfied.

Luo Bao hurriedly rummaged through the trunks again.

Fortunately, before this trip, the Princess Consort had prepared a generous wardrobe for Prince Qin.

After searching for a while, Luo Bao spotted a set of deep sapphire-blue robes with a hidden floral brocade pattern — something he had never seen the Prince wear before. It must have been made especially for the wedding. He took it out and ventured: “Your Highness, how does this set look?”

“Fine, fine — be quick about it!”

Li Xuandu finally gave a reluctant nod and urged him to hurry.

Luo Bao exhaled with relief and carefully helped him dress, taking care not to jostle his injured arm. Once the injury was concealed, he fastened the sash and helped him pull on his boots.

Li Xuandu finished his grooming, stepped out from behind the curtained partition, and headed toward the palace.

The tent encampment was located to the northeast of the detached palace, backed by a forest threaded through with streams, set on higher ground. It housed the nobles and high-ranking officials who had accompanied the imperial hunt. Each tent therefore had more space than usual, with greater distances between them. Besides himself, officials like Chen Zhude and Shen Yang — who were overseeing the various affairs of this autumn hunt — were also frequently sought out through the night on business matters, and most of them were likewise staying in the tent encampment for convenience.

At this hour it was not yet late, and most people had not yet returned to their tents for the night. The distant mountains were traced against the blue-black sky in undulating dark silhouettes. All around was quiet. The lanterns before the tents glimmered like scattered stars, while the outer ring of the camp blazed with torchlight, and the shadowy figures of night-patrol sentries could just be made out moving in the distance.

The detached palace was the most brilliantly lit center of everything after dark — seen from afar, it blazed like a vast constellation of light.

Li Xuandu quickened his pace along the path leading to the palace. When he was almost there, he encountered a group of Imperial Guard soldiers coming from the other direction — apparently just relieved from their watch and heading back to the barracks. They were talking among themselves as they walked, their voices drifting faintly on the breeze. Remarkably, they were still discussing the polo match from that afternoon. After a few exchanges, one of them could be heard saying: “To have witnessed the Princess Consort of Prince Qin playing polo today — that was a blessing worth three lifetimes. If I could ever play a match with Her Highness someday, I would die a happy man!”

This lovesick declaration immediately drew laughter from his companions, who all chimed in: “Keep dreaming! Even if you died, it still wouldn’t be your turn…”

The man seemed unwilling to concede, and jostled laughingly with his companions in mock argument — then suddenly spotted a lone figure standing still in the path ahead, recognized him, and realized with a shock that it was, of all people, Prince Qin himself. All of them went pale with fright. The group fell to their knees and begged forgiveness, and in particular the young soldier who had just been vowing to play polo with the Princess Consort was stricken with terror, kneeling by the roadside without daring to raise his head.

Li Xuandu’s expression remained cold and impassive. He rebuked them briefly and ordered them to return to the barracks immediately without loitering on the roads. The men hurriedly agreed, and once pardoned, scattered away at speed.

Li Xuandu walked on in silence, arriving at the detached palace shortly after. He passed through the guard post and went directly to the quarters of Prince Duan and his wife. When he finally came face to face with them, his expression had already softened into a smile — a completely different man from moments before.

He thanked Princess Consort Duan for the food she had sent, then asked after Prince Duan’s leg injury, saying that he had been busy all day and had not been able to come and pay his respects to his uncle sooner, and that this weighed on his conscience.

Princess Consort Duan smiled and said: “How can Your Highness say such a thing? If not for the commotion of these past two days — the rush to prepare for the match last night, the match itself today, then the imperial banquet afterward — I would have gone to your tents first to offer my thanks in person. It was you who saved Prince Duan; without you, I cannot imagine what his condition might be by now. My husband and I are deeply grateful. It was only a little food — there was no need for you to come all this way to thank us, and yet here you are, even thinking of his injury.”

Prince Duan interjected with a sigh: “A bad sprain like this — I fear I’ll be confined to bed for some days. Truly an undeserved calamity.”

Princess Consort Duan was displeased the moment he opened his mouth, and since Li Xuandu was not a stranger — Prince Duan and he had been close since Li Xuandu’s childhood — she spoke plainly: “You brought it on yourself! However long you’re laid up, I’ll have to wait on you for just as long. I haven’t complained, so what are you complaining about to your nephew?”

Prince Duan hastily shut his mouth.

The Princess Consort grumbled a little more, then let the matter drop. Just as she was speaking, a maidservant entered with word that the Noble Consort had sent over some more gifts. The Princess Consort went to receive them. Taking advantage of the brief opening, Prince Duan seized the chance to salvage his dignity, explaining to Li Xuandu with great earnestness: “Your aunt is just like this — I never quarrel with a woman, I let her have her way. Think about it: if I were to argue with her every day until we were squabbling like fighting cocks, how would that be any way to live? It’s far better to give way to her in small things. The peace and quiet alone is worth it.”

Li Xuandu nodded along agreeably.

Prince Duan continued: “Don’t let her sharp tongue fool you — in private, your aunt is actually very much afraid of me. All I have to do is mention that my injury hurts, and whatever I ask her to do, she does — I say east, she won’t dare go west…”

He looked up mid-sentence, saw that the Princess Consort had returned, and promptly sealed his lips again.

Princess Consort Duan cast a suspicious glance at Prince Duan. Prince Duan looked entirely unconcerned and asked brightly what the Noble Consort had sent.

“You still dare to ask?” said the Princess Consort. “You made such a spectacle of yourself that word reached His Majesty himself — and he’s had the Noble Consort send you two ginseng roots!”

Prince Duan glanced at Li Xuandu with an awkward expression.

Li Xuandu kept his gaze resolutely forward. Princess Consort Duan instructed a maidservant to put the ginseng away, then said to Li Xuandu with a smile: “These are imperial gifts and cannot properly be re-gifted, and besides, they may not suit Shu Shu’s constitution. Once we’re back in the capital, I have some excellent blood-nourishing medicinal herbs at home — I’ll have some sent to your household. Have Shu Shu make a restorative broth with them; she could do with building up her strength. Today’s victory was entirely thanks to her. What a pity you weren’t there — you missed seeing her shine on the polo field, scoring two goals all on her own! I confess I had underestimated her. To speak honestly: last night, seeing that everyone who should have stepped up was busy avoiding the situation, and being unwilling to let the foreign tribes look down on us, I had no choice but to accept the challenge despite my own doubts, with no confidence about the outcome. It was she who saw me shorthanded and volunteered herself to take the field. I didn’t believe in her at the time. Yet she turned out to be a treasure! Not only is she beautiful and good-natured, but she’s willing to take responsibility and rise to the occasion. I truly had underestimated her…”

Once Princess Consort Duan opened the subject, she could not stop praising her, her voice overflowing with warmth and affection.

Li Xuandu listened in silence without responding. He sat a little longer, then rose to take his leave, citing concern that he was disturbing Prince Duan’s rest.

He bid farewell to Prince Duan and left, with the Princess Consort personally seeing him out. As they walked, she said quietly with a smile: “Last night when I hastily assembled a polo team, I originally thought of asking you to come and advise — then I asked after you and learned you were away, so that was that. Don’t think your aunt is meddling, but I know you’re busy; still, no matter how busy you are, you ought to come see Shu Shu more often. How can a young husband and wife stay apart for so many days? It won’t do for the bond between you to grow thin. After all, she is a young girl — even if she misses you, she may be too shy to say so. You ought to be the one to take the initiative.”

Li Xuandu responded respectfully, asked her to go no further, and departed. As he walked back outside, he found himself thinking of the scene he had just witnessed between Prince Duan and his wife.

The Princess Consort might seem quick to scold Prince Duan at every turn, yet her care and tenderness for her husband shone through in everything she said and did.

He thought of his own situation in contrast — last night, he had faced mortal danger and nearly lost his life, yet she had not inquired after him at all, and had simply gone on enjoying the banquet. And what’s more, even Princess Consort Duan knew her childhood nickname was “Shu Shu”? He himself had not known this at all — she had never once mentioned it in his presence.

Li Xuandu felt a sourness rise in his chest and a chill settle between his teeth.

He walked a few more steps, then reconsidered. This Princess Consort had been forced upon him in the first place; she was entirely driven by self-interest and wild ambition, and he had never regarded her as a wife with whom he intended to spend the rest of his life — if he even had a rest of his life to speak of. If that was the case, why should he concern himself with such trivial, inconsequential details?

Li Xuandu quickly put it aside, yet his mood remained low. The pain in his injured arm seemed to intensify. He walked on without quite realizing where he was going, until he found himself before a pink plastered wall, and Luo Bao’s voice came softly at his side: “Your Highness, through here lies the Western Court.” He pointed toward a gate ahead.

Li Xuandu did not particularly want to go in and see her, but he thought of the Princess Consort’s parting words as she had seen him out just now.

He paused, hesitating — then looked up and saw a silhouette standing deep within the opposite gate, facing the direction of the Western Court, motionless, as though gazing fixedly at something.

The gate opened onto a garden courtyard with trees and plants filtering the light. A palace lantern hung in the corridor, swaying in the breeze, its flame shifting and unsteady. The light was dim, but with Li Xuandu’s sharp eyes, how could he fail to recognize the outline and figure of this person? It was none other than his nephew, Li Chengyu.

A surge of inexplicable anger rose in Li Xuandu’s chest. He strode through the gate and up into the corridor, passing by Li Chengyu’s side. As he did, Li Chengyu finally startled and turned hurriedly — his face flushed and slack with drink, half-intoxicated — and managed with some effort to address him as “Imperial Uncle.”

Li Xuandu gave a blank nod, called out “Crown Prince,” and walked past his nephew, heading directly into the Western Court.

Pu Zhu had been very busy that day. After the polo match ended, visitors offering congratulations had come in a steady stream. She had been occupied with receiving guests; toward evening she had attended the Noble Consort’s victory banquet and had only just returned, had not been back long, had just finished bathing. She was wrapped in a pale white silk robe, her sash loosely tied, and sat down at the dressing table.

Several maidservants clustered behind her, helping to dry her hair. As it gradually dried, she picked up a comb and began combing her hair herself. As she combed, she caught her own reflection in the mirror.

The mirror showed her face, still faintly flushed — in the candlelight, vivid and brilliant as a blossoming crabapple flower.

She had been unable to avoid the evening banquet and had drunk quite a bit of wine. She was somewhat tipsy. Upon returning, she had rested a while before going to bathe.

At this moment she still felt light-headed and dizzy. She wanted to sleep, yet as she thought of Li Xuandu, her mind began to drift once more.

After their unhappy parting by the water a few days ago, he had made no appearance at all these past several days. Should she perhaps send someone to inquire after him, as a show of care and concern?

After all, she had no means to lead an army and conquer the realm on her own — she needed him to make her plan a reality. If she truly offended him badly and he bore a grudge, how could she ever bear him a son, become his Princess Consort, then Empress Dowager?

No matter what he thought of her now, whether he wanted to see her or not — if she did what she was supposed to do, she could not go wrong.

Pu Zhu drifted in thought for a moment, then set down her comb and was about to call Nanny Wang, when she saw that old woman — the Yellow One — enter again. She dismissed the maidservants, then knelt beside Pu Zhu and murmured: “Princess Consort, you have been here for many days now — how has it come to this, that you and Prince Qin sleep apart? He does not come here; you should go to him! If things continue like this, how will he come to trust you? How will you accomplish anything? Do not forget — your mother is still waiting for you to go and bring her home!”

Pu Zhu suppressed the loathing she felt and was just about to speak when she heard a maidservant’s voice outside the door: “Your Highness, His Highness has come!”

She startled. The Yellow One’s face lit up with delight; she shot Pu Zhu a meaningful look, rose, and withdrew.

Pu Zhu sat at the dressing table and pretended to go on combing her hair. Through the mirror, she saw Li Xuandu enter and stop behind her.

Her eyes brightened; she was also somewhat surprised.

Except for the day of their wedding, she could not recall ever seeing him dressed in such vivid, brilliant colors as he wore tonight. She had no idea where he had come from.

She composed herself, gently set down the comb, rose and turned to face him, and gave a respectful bow, addressing him as “Your Highness,” then waited for him to speak first. She waited a moment; he said nothing.

Pu Zhu asked softly: “Is there something you need, Your Highness?”

It had been a surge of momentary anger that had driven Li Xuandu here. Now he saw her sitting before the mirror, combing her hair — so completely different from the spirited figure who had swung a mallet on the polo field that afternoon.

Streams of jet-black hair, combed smooth as a length of dark satin, fell to her waist. Her slender form was wrapped in only a thin shift, sashed at the waist — a single delicate handful in the lamplight, still and soft and gently yielding.

He was suddenly at a loss for words. He hesitated, then said: “I went to call on my imperial uncle just now, and as I was leaving, my aunt told me to come and see how you were doing. She said you had worked hard today.”

His arriving unexpectedly had startled her a little — but now it became clear: he had merely been passing through on his way back from visiting Prince Duan. Fearing he might suspect how she came to know how to play polo, she quickly offered an explanation: “In He Xi, many people play polo. Though the conditions were humble, quite a few skilled players came up from that environment. I was always a wild child, and I loved joining in from an early age…”

Pu Zhu was still explaining when a voice drifted in from outside — Huaiwei’s voice, barely audible: “…Has Sister-in-law come back? I want to find Sister-in-law…”

Li Xuandu moved forward suddenly, snatched up a long outer robe lying at the foot of her bed, draped it over her shoulders, bent his head and fastened the front ties with a few quick movements, then took hold of her hand and led her toward the door.

Pu Zhu was pulled along out of the room.

Huaiwei was walking over with Li Hui’er, then suddenly spotted Pu Zhu and came running over, shouting: “Sister-in-law, you’re back! Tomorrow teach me and Ningfu to play polo…”

“I’m taking your sister-in-law somewhere — we have things to do! Come find her tomorrow!”

Li Xuandu cut Huaiwei off, still holding her hand, and left Huaiwei and Li Hui’er standing there as he walked away.

Pu Zhu had no idea what was happening and could only let herself be pulled along. Once they were out of the Western Court, afraid of being seen, she gave the hand still clasped in his a small tug, and said quietly: “Your Highness, please let go first. I can walk on my own.”

He let go. Somewhat tipsy, Pu Zhu followed him in silence out of the palace, then realized he was leading her in the direction of his own tent encampment. Her sense of unease deepened — she wondered what this was all about, whether he had something else in mind.

She held back her curiosity and followed him to the front of his tent, then was brought inside.

This was her first time coming here in all the days since they had arrived.

The branched lamp in the tent held a row of silver candles, the light bright and clear. She stopped and, once she had steadied herself, looked around.

The interior was not especially small. To block the damp, the floor had been covered with felt matting. But compared to the Western Court of the detached palace, it was naturally much more spare. A bed, a writing table, a low table, a high-backed chair, and a few other daily necessities — nothing more.

Pu Zhu took in the room, then noticed a roll of fine linen bandaging on the writing table — the kind used to dress wounds in the army — alongside a vial of medicinal powder for knife wounds and other cuts, and various items such as a small knife and scissors. She assumed it was all preparation for the hunt and thought no more of it. She brought her gaze back and looked at him.

He was still saying nothing, just watching her.

He could hold his silence; she could not bear hers any longer, and asked again: “Your Highness, why did you bring me here — what is it you want?”

Li Xuandu looked at her and finally said: “I’m injured.”

His voice sounded muffled and low.

“Very painful.”

He thought of what Prince Duan had said, and added this second sentence in a strange, almost involuntary impulse.

Pu Zhu startled, then looked again at the things on the writing table.

“Where are you hurt? How did it happen?” she immediately pressed.

“Last night, I went out with Han Consort Prince and the Prince of Yutan and a few others chasing prey and lost track of the group. Alone in the forest, I encountered a brown bear that attacked me. After fighting it, I killed it — but I was careless and got clawed.”

He finished speaking, and indicated his left arm beneath his sleeve.

Pu Zhu’s first reaction was disbelief.

How was that possible?

A brown bear was the undisputed king of the forest — even tigers and leopards dared not provoke one in a fight.

A man attacked by a brown bear who survived — and not only survived, but killed it, and emerged with only a slight wound?

Looking at him now, he did not appear to be severely injured.

Pu Zhu’s gaze fixed on his left arm and she was silent for a moment.

The moment the words left Li Xuandu’s mouth, he regretted them. He was already annoyed with himself for telling her — and simultaneously, a flicker of fresh irritation surfaced in him.

What kind of reaction was this?

He could understand her not caring; but did she think he was exaggerating?

His expression promptly turned cold.

“Never mind. If you don’t believe me, forget I said anything,” he said flatly.

Pu Zhu immediately sensed that something was off. She quickly recovered and moved toward him, suppressing her tipsy haze as she said: “Your Highness, you are truly remarkable — fighting a brown bear alone! Of course I believe you — I was simply too stunned for words just now!”

“Has your wound been properly treated?” she asked, her expression full of concern, and drew a little closer to him.

Li Xuandu had already noticed she was somewhat drunk. Now, as she moved nearer, the faint scent of what seemed to be apricot blossoms mingled with wine drifted into his nostrils — a somewhat heady combination.

Suppressing the scent, he glanced at the face before him — cheeks flushed with a faint wash of wine-stained pink — and gave a noncommittal sound, saying nothing further.

Pu Zhu found herself in an awkward position. She regretted not having immediately played along and soothed him when he first spoke. Now that he was wearing this displeasured look, to force any further show of warmth would only make things more strained.

The two stood in silence, facing each other. He was not looking at her.

Pu Zhu suspected his dislike for her had deepened and felt thoroughly deflated.

In the past, she had never failed to win over anyone she set out to please. In this life, of all people, she had to meet this man — and kept running into walls at every turn.

The wine was still working through her and her head felt slightly light. After hesitating several times, she finally ventured: “Your Highness, if you have nothing further, may I go back?”

He said nothing — his expression turning even colder.

Pu Zhu knew she should leave, bit her lip, then made one final forced effort at warmth: “Then I’ll go for now… there are still several days ahead — please do be careful, and don’t let yourself get hurt again…”

Still speaking, she turned away, pressed her fingertips to her forehead, and took a step to leave — when a hand reached out from behind, seized her by the arm, and yanked her back.

Pu Zhu was already light-headed and completely unprepared. Caught by that half-rough force, she spun around, lost her footing, and stumbled straight into Li Xuandu — seemingly crashing into his injured arm in the process.

She heard a soft sharp sound come from deep in his throat — a sound of pain — and she startled. Her whole body tensed, her legs gave out beneath her; as she began to slide down against him, a heat shot through her waist — he had caught her there with his palm.

Pu Zhu’s heart pounded wildly. She tilted her face up, met Li Xuandu’s expression — which was strange and difficult to read — and instinctively gave a small, feeble struggle, breathed out “Your Highness” — and then saw him looking down at her, studying her face for a long moment, until slowly, at the corner of his mouth, there curved something between a smile and not a smile. In a low voice he said: “My imperial brother commanded you to marry me so that you could spy on me. Spying on me in this way — what exactly do you expect to learn?”

His gaze swept across her face and came to rest at last on her red lips.

“That old woman — the Yellow One — has she not taught you how to serve me, and how to win my favor?”