The sky shifted from the deep blue of darkest night to the blue-grey of pre-dawn, and the horizon to the east began to show the faintest trace of pale fish-belly light. Over the distant hills of the hunting ground and through the nearby forest, a thin veil of white mist lay draped across everything.

Today was not a major hunting day — only a military training and combat drill was scheduled for the daytime, and the soldiers were not required to assemble at the crack of dawn. In this early morning hour, except for the sentries standing night watch, all the people within the hunting grounds — inside and outside the palace alike — should still have been deep in their morning dreams.

Li Xuandu woke, and slowly opened his eyes.

A faint web of red threaded through the whites of his eyes — the remnant of last night’s indulgence.

At this moment the light filtering into the tent was still dim, yet enough to see by. His first glance upon waking was toward the warmth cradled in the crook of his arm.

She lay on her side pressed against him, eyes closed, fast asleep, one arm smooth as a pale lotus root extended from beneath the blanket and draped across his chest. The blanket had slipped partway down and lay half-caught at her slender waist, tracing the graceful lines of her figure. In the soft haze of early morning light, the expanse of snow-white skin showing through scattered strands of dark hair glowed even paler and more luminous, irresistible — as though begging to be pressed with lips.

He lay watching her in silence for a while. The thought of what lay beneath the blanket — her form without a stitch of covering — sent his eyes darkening, and desire began to stir again.

But very quickly, Li Xuandu pushed the thought aside.

She must be exhausted from last night — at the very end she had wept. And after he had carried her back to bed with his fill taken, she seemed to have fallen asleep in a state of hurt and grievance.

He studied her sleeping face — deeply drowsy, utterly unaware that the person beside her had already woken — still sleeping this sweetly, and so deeply that he could not find it in himself to disturb her.

Li Xuandu pressed down the dragon of desire that had begun to rear its head in his body again, and with great effort ignored the softly yielding warmth he had fully enjoyed the night before. He gently drew the blanket back up over her sleeping form, covering the exposed view of her beauty, then lay back against the pillow. In the inch-by-inch brightening of the early dawn, he looked at her sleeping face, his mind drifting over the long thoughts that moved through his heart, and slowly, once more, closed his eyes.

At that moment, from the top of the tent above came a few clear, sweet chirps of a morning bird skimming past. Pu Zhu’s eyelashes gave a faint tremor. She was still desperately craving sleep, but her body seemed to have been strung on a wire somewhere inside, and she jolted awake.

Upon waking, her first sensation was one of aching all over — as though she were on the verge of falling apart.

That wretched writing table from last night — hard as stone — and then with Li Xuandu pressing down on her from above and moving back and forth, it had practically broken her back. She did not know how she had managed to hold out to the very end without returning to the bed; just thinking of it, she was impressed with herself.

But there was no time to feel sorry for herself now. She opened her eyes abruptly, waited for her mind to clear a little, pressed a hand against the small of her back, and struggled to sit up. Her first concern was to find her clothes.

Li Xuandu opened his eyes, stretched out an arm, and wrapped it around her slender waist, pulling her back down and tucking her into the crook of his arm.

“What are you doing?”

He shifted closer to her; his lips came to rest against her ear, and he asked in a low voice — his voice warm and slightly hoarse, carrying the faint, lingering tenderness that follows in the wake of deep feeling.

Too bad Pu Zhu was in no mood for any of it.

The first thought upon waking was to hurry back to the Western Court — while the light was still not fully bright, before anyone might see her.

Last night when she had come here, her appearance had already been disheveled, salvaged only by a full-length outer cape and the deep cover of night. If she didn’t leave now and waited until the sky was fully bright and people were out and about, then going out like this — was she not plainly telling everyone that she had spent the night here, that she and Li Xuandu had done what they had done?

They were husband and wife; even if people knew, it would be perfectly proper — but for some reason she felt a strange, illicit unease about it, as if she were sneaking around in an affair.

“My appearance is a mess. I should go back early before anyone outside catches sight of me.”

She explained, removed the arm Li Xuandu had hooked around her, and sat up again. She spotted her clothes draped haphazardly over the foot of the bed, bent forward to reach for them — her hand hadn’t even gotten there yet — and let out an “ouch” as she fell backwards. And that wasn’t all — he rolled over and pressed down on top of her.

Pu Zhu was startled: “What are you doing now?”

He didn’t answer. A flicker of what looked like thin-edged irritation crossed his face. Without a word, he lowered his head and buried his face against the curve of her neck.

To tell the truth, since waking, Pu Zhu had not felt a single part of herself — head to toe, inside and out — that wasn’t in some state of suffering. Her back ached where it had been pressed against the table, her chest felt sore and tender, her arms were weary and her legs were spent, and the deep and intimate soreness from last night’s relentless strain had not yet fully faded.

Seeing him like this, panic took hold of her.

He had clearly not slept very long last night either, and she truly could not fathom where he found the energy to be starting up with her again at the crack of dawn. Feeling she could not possibly manage another round, she hastily pushed at him: “Your Highness, don’t — I really must go… ouch, you’re hurting me, please be gentler…” She couldn’t help crying out in pain.

She was genuinely in pain. How could he be so rough with her!

Li Xuandu finally released his bite, lifted his head and looked at her face — creased into an expression of honest suffering — and slowly reached out a hand to stroke his fingers tenderly across her lips. His voice came unhurried: “You’re in such a rush to leave this early — afraid your admirers will find out you spent the night here?”

Pu Zhu was dumbfounded.

What was he even talking about?

Hot with indignation and embarrassment, she wanted to punch him but didn’t dare actually do it for fear of truly provoking his anger. She could only move aside the hand that was playing with her lips, push him away, roll over and turn her back to him, and say: “Fine, I won’t go — I want to sleep…” She closed her eyes. But it turned out it was not over yet.

He said nothing further, but began kissing his way across the bare back she had turned toward him, and rubbing his chin against her. When the kisses reached the place where her shoulder blades were — the spot she had scraped raw from crawling through that hole to escape — he stopped.

The scraped skin had long since healed, leaving no trace. The fair, smooth beauty of her back was deeply inviting — one look and you wanted to take a bite, as if only then might the itch at the roots of one’s teeth be properly satisfied.

So he opened his mouth and bit — nipping and nibbling until she was both tickled and stinging at once, her whole body giving a shudder. Her skin rose in a fine wave of goose pimples; she felt her body going soft again, barely her own to command.

She couldn’t hold on any longer, and in a plaintive, murmuring voice she appealed for mercy: “…Your Highness, I’m really still hurting — everything hurts — I’m not going anywhere, I’m exhausted, I want to sleep more…”

Li Xuandu exerted all his willpower to suppress the urge to simply drag her over and take her then and there, his eyes fixed on that smooth, flawless expanse of back facing him in the morning light.

There were a few marks on it now — faint prints like butterfly wings, the kind that told a story.

“Turn over.”

His throat worked. His voice when he spoke was perfectly calm.

Pu Zhu immediately and obediently turned to face him.

He slowly let go of her, lay back on the pillow, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, turned his face, and looked at her sideways. “From now on, you are not permitted to sleep with your back to me.”

Just that?

Pu Zhu exhaled with relief and quickly said: “I’ll remember.”

He looked away from her, closing his eyes again.

Although she was tired, after all that commotion she was no longer particularly sleepy. Seeing that his attitude toward her seemed to have once again cooled, she worried she had offended him. Thinking back over last night, she felt he had seemed to like it when she clung tightly to his back and shoulders — which was also why her arms ached so terribly this morning after everything; it had been even more exhausting than swinging a polo mallet on the field.

She wanted to please him, so she took the opportunity to climb up against his chest and wrap her bare arms around his neck again.

“Your Highness, you are so good to me…” she murmured.

He did not respond, as though he had gone to sleep.

Then, all of a sudden, from outside the tent came a pattering, tap-tap-tap of running footsteps. The sound grew closer and closer, as if heading this way.

Pu Zhu stilled, and gradually recognized those footsteps — somehow familiar.

It sounded like Huaiwei. Who else but Huaiwei walked with that quick little half-running gait?

Why was he here again so early in the morning?

Very soon Huaiwei’s voice came from just outside the tent: “Sister-in-law, are you in there?”

She turned her head and saw the tent flap rustling. He seemed to be trying to lift it, but the flap was fastened on the inside with a tie — Li Xuandu had secured it the night before — and without opening it from within, no one outside could force the flap up.

“Sister-in-law, it’s me!”

Another call from outside. The flap itself couldn’t be pushed open, but a gap along one side was apparently being worked at with someone’s fingers, and a hole was being forced through — and then a round little head came pushing itself into the tent.

Everything happened too fast. Pu Zhu was still lying sprawled across Li Xuandu’s chest, her long hair tangled, barely a stitch of clothing on her — and just as Huaiwei’s head was squeezing its way through the gap, Li Xuandu’s eyes snapped open. Quick as lightning, he yanked the blanket over, covering the woman on his chest completely — head and all — then rolled himself sideways, bringing her with him, lying on his side and using his body to block her from view.

Pu Zhu lay pressed against Li Xuandu under the blanket, not daring to breathe, and heard Huaiwei shouting: “Fourth Brother, you’re sleeping here alone? Where’s Sister-in-law? She didn’t come back last night — she was nowhere to be seen this morning! I’ve been worried sick — where did she go? Get up quickly and go look for her!”

Li Xuandu’s voice, sounding faintly displeased, came from above her: “She’s still asleep! Don’t wake her up — go back first. I’ll send her back to the Western Court in a little while.”

Only then did Huaiwei notice what appeared to be another person on the inside of the bed — that must be his fourth sister-in-law. He let out a breath of relief, then slapped the tent flap, demanding Li Xuandu open it, and complained: “You should have said so sooner — I’ve been worried all night! Quick, let me in. I need to find Sister-in-law! I want her to teach me polo!”

Li Xuandu called out for Luo Bao.

Luo Bao was sleeping in a small adjoining tent nearby. How was he to know there would be an unexpected visitor at this hour of the morning? He had only just gotten up and was still getting dressed. Hearing the commotion, he rushed out — not even having had time to finish tying his trouser sash — and dashed out at full tilt to intercept. But he was a step too late; the little prince had already pressed himself against the entrance of Prince Qin’s tent, and although his body hadn’t gotten in, his head had long since pushed its way through.

Luo Bao heard Prince Qin calling his name and inwardly despaired. He hurried over and pulled the little prince free, coaxing him to go back first.

Huaiwei was impulsive and hot-tempered. He had been wanting to wait for Pu Zhu last night to teach him polo, had waited and waited for no one, and had slept poorly all night. Early this morning he had rushed back again in a flurry — only to find that his sister-in-law had been sleeping here with his fourth brother the whole time, apparently without any lamb between them in the middle. Though he was still half-bewildered about what that meant exactly, he sensed that the two of them were very close indeed, and he was put out — and besides, he hadn’t yet said what he came to say. He refused to leave so easily, shaking his head: “I’ll wait for Sister-in-law and go back with her!”

After a while, Pu Zhu slowly emerged from under the blanket, saw that Huaiwei’s head had been withdrawn back out, and exhaled with relief. Knowing he was still waiting outside, she glanced at Li Xuandu as well — his expression was not entirely pleased.

One was a young child who barely understood the ways of the world; the other was a grown man.

Of course she had to take Huaiwei’s side more.

Pu Zhu gave Li Xuandu a soothing smile, then sat up quickly to dress herself, combed her hair through with her fingers to untangle the mess of it, borrowed one of his hairpins — a man’s pin — and simply pinned her hair up. She was about to drape her long embroidered cape back over herself when she heard him say: “Wait.”

She turned her head.

He got up from the bed, picked up one of his own garments, and tossed it over to her.

Pu Zhu caught it with both hands.

“Put it on,” said Li Xuandu.

Pu Zhu understood. He found the silk shift she was wearing too thin and sheer — not sufficient coverage.

Fair enough. Even with the long cape over it, a gust of wind might still blow it open along the way.

She pulled his garment on over her silk shift. It was enormous — she had to fold the sleeves up, hike up the body and overlap it at the waist, and use the sash to hold it in place so it didn’t drag on the ground. Once dressed, she put the cape back over everything, fastening the ties, and looked herself up and down, deciding she was probably decent enough to go out. She looked toward Li Xuandu.

He was in the middle of dressing himself — with one arm hindered by the injury, his movements were somewhat awkward.

Pu Zhu hurried over and helped him with his robe and sash. Once they were both presentable, she heard the sound of Huaiwei outside talking to Luo Bao. She turned and said quietly: “Shall we go?”

Li Xuandu looked at her. Neither yes nor no.

She stepped up to him, wrapped both arms around his shoulders, and coaxed: “I’m leaving now.”

Still no reaction from him.

Pu Zhu sighed inwardly.

Mercurial and impossible to please — a hundred times, a thousand times harder to coax than Huaiwei!

She thought for a moment, then rose on tiptoe, pressed her lips to his ear, and said softly: “Come to the Western Court tonight — I’ll be waiting for you.”

He looked at her. Seeing her smiling gently up at him, his expression finally softened a little. He stepped forward and led her out of the tent.

Luo Bao had been blocking Huaiwei with everything he had — talking himself nearly hoarse without managing to drive the boy away — when suddenly the tent flap opened and Prince Qin emerged with the Princess Consort. He snuck a glance at Prince Qin’s expression; it did not seem as displeased as he had imagined. At that, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Huaiwei finally saw Pu Zhu appear, called out “Sister-in-law!” in delight, and happily followed along behind her to head back.

The sun had not yet risen. The paths were sparsely peopled. Pu Zhu led Huaiwei back to the palace — Li Xuandu escorting them, then turning away at the gate without entering since he had matters to attend to today. Pu Zhu returned to the Western Court. Li Hui’er had been waiting for her there, and was overjoyed to see her come back.

Pu Zhu honored her promise to Huaiwei and told him she would teach him after lunch, then sent everyone away, soaked in a hot fragrant bath, and when she came out, was genuinely exhausted and wanted to sleep. But Noble Consort Hu’s household sent someone to summon her — the Noble Consort and Princess Consort Duan were in the midst of discussing how, once they returned home, they might organize a new polo team at court and train regularly, so that if such a provocation arose again they would be prepared.

Pu Zhu had no way to dodge it and had to go. She sat through it all while the Princess Consort and the Noble Consort and the others enthusiastically talked over their plans at length. She endured until lunchtime, ate with the group, and returned only to find that Huaiwei and Li Hui’er were already dressed and waiting outside before she’d even had a chance to rest.

Pu Zhu couldn’t bring herself to disappoint them and forced herself to rally her spirits. She changed her clothes, brought the two of them and a few selected maidservants to the riding ground, and began teaching polo.

As wretched as she felt — her whole body still aching, and especially that spot between her legs, which simply could not bear to ride the way she normally would — she endured what felt like punishment as she wriggled her way into the saddle and managed to demonstrate a few basic moves and explain the key points. Then, truly unable to go on, she handed the teaching over to one of the guards who was skilled at polo, reminded Huaiwei to stay in the riding ground and not wander off, and went back to sleep.

The moment she touched the bed and pillow she was out. She slept through a black oblivion of exhaustion, and when she finally woke with her fill of sleep, she found the sun already slanting toward the west — it was nearly evening.

She felt her energy had finally begun to return. After she got up, she asked about Huaiwei and Li Hui’er and was told they hadn’t come back yet.

Pu Zhu headed to the riding ground to collect them. She had not expected to barely reach the entrance when Li Hui’er came rushing out, spotted her, and said in agitation: “Auntie, Huaiwei has disappeared. He was just here a moment ago. I was off practicing riding by myself, and when I came back he was gone. I’ve looked all over the riding ground.”

Pu Zhu was alarmed. She hurried in and found A’Liu — the boy she had assigned to stick by Huaiwei’s side at all times — and pressed him for an account. A’Liu knelt and confessed that the little prince had been happily playing polo, and he had briefly stepped away to relieve himself. In that one small gap — the moment he turned around and came back — the boy was gone. The guards who had been playing polo with Huaiwei had not seen where he went either.

Pu Zhu immediately ordered everyone to fan out and search everywhere. Then she saw Ye Xiao come running in from outside the riding ground. Without time to wonder what he was doing here, she immediately thought of Li Xuandu, and hurried over to meet him, asking him to go and find Li Xuandu to help search for Huaiwei.

Ye Xiao quickly left.

Li Hui’er was stricken with guilt, her eyes reddening. Pu Zhu comforted her, saying that Huaiwei must have just sneaked off somewhere nearby to play and forgotten to come back. She had someone escort Li Hui’er back to the Western Court to rest.

With Li Hui’er gone, Pu Zhu allowed herself to feel the full weight of her own fear and guilt — blaming herself for having gone back to sleep, her heart now a tangled chaos of dread.

Where on earth had Huaiwei gone?

In her previous life, before this autumn hunt, he had already met with an accident in the capital.

In this life, she had warned Huaiwei over and over not to get close to Han Chijiao — and finally that fatal hour had passed without incident. And now he had gone missing again.

She thought of how, just the day before at the polo match, she had seen Huaiwei and Han Chijiao together in the stands watching the game, and how when her side won, the two of them had been shouting and cheering with excitement side by side. At the time it had seemed as though they were growing close again.

Huaiwei knew she disliked Han Chijiao. Perhaps he was afraid she’d say something, and had sneaked off to find Han Chijiao to play while she wasn’t around?

Could it be that in this life too, Huaiwei’s fate could not be changed after all — and that he would end up lost here, delivered into Han Chijiao’s hands like this?

The thought struck Pu Zhu with a terror she could barely contain.

The weather had turned cool enough in the evenings to warrant an extra layer of clothing, yet cold sweat was breaking out across her back. She urgently ordered someone to go and find Han Chijiao, and was quickly told that the young lord Han was nowhere to be found — his servants said he had gone to the falconry and hound kennels.

The falconry and hound kennels were located to the west of the detached palace. To avoid disturbing the animals with noise, they had been placed at a distance of several li from the residence. From the back gate of the riding ground, there was a shortcut to the kennels — a narrow path that had existed since the palace was first built many years ago. Apart from servants going back and forth between the two places, no one normally used it. Over the years it had become an overgrown track.

Of the people around her, including Nanny Wang, everyone had been sent out to search for Huaiwei. Only the Yellow One remained and refused to leave. When she saw Pu Zhu head out, she immediately followed.

Pu Zhu’s mind was in a whirl and she had no time to argue with her. She let her come along.

She took the little path toward the kennels, the Yellow One keeping close behind her. Partway along, she suddenly heard voices drifting out from behind a thicket of bushes to one side of the path.

A man and a woman — and she recognized those voices.

It was Southern Command General Shen Yang and Princess Imperial Li Lihua!

Li Lihua’s voice drifted on the breeze, sounding as if she were being coquettish.

Pu Zhu came to an abrupt halt, signaled the Yellow One to stay silent, and didn’t dare move another step for fear that her footsteps would alert the two. She spotted a massive boulder nearby, and with no other option, crept as quietly as she could behind it, hoping those two would wrap up quickly.

Since the beginning of the year, Li Lihua had been trying to arrange secret meetings with Shen Yang in the capital on several occasions, but he had always found excuses to avoid her. Her resentment had been slowly building. Today, knowing he had gone to the kennels, she had deliberately waited nearby, intercepted him, and led him here.

With a smile she said: “General Shen has become quite the important man these days — getting a single meeting with you is more difficult than reaching heaven itself. I suppose that is fine — I know my place. But I hear that on the night of the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday celebration, my Jiao’er went out of the city and came back slightly later than expected — and even then your men had the nerve to hold him up at the city gate. General Shen, what an impressive display of authority! People say: even without the monk’s face, you should show some respect for the Buddha’s. Does it seem that now even the face of the Empress Dowager of Jiji Palace carries no weight with you?”

Shen Yang was surprised: “Was there such a thing? I had no knowledge of it. Princess Imperial, please be at ease — I will look into the matter once we return and will certainly give you a satisfactory answer.”

He paused: “If the Princess Imperial sought me out only for this matter, I have taken note of it. I have other pressing affairs — I will take my leave first.”

Li Lihua told him to stop. The smile faded from her face. “Surnamed Shen — do not forget how you came to hold the position of Southern Command General! When you were first put forward, how many men had their eyes on that post? And who was your predecessor? That was Jiang Yi! And what sort of family background do you have — how could you possibly be matched to that position? They used your relationship with your uncle against you, citing the risk of internal and external collusion as grounds to oppose your appointment. If you hadn’t come to me, and I hadn’t arranged for someone to submit a memorial refuting those arguments, how could you be where you are today?”

She let out a cold laugh.

“And now that you no longer need me, you’ve changed your face. Others may not know, but I know perfectly well — your ambitions reach far beyond being a mere Southern Command General! Your uncle may enjoy His Majesty’s favor, but no matter how favored, he is still only a eunuch! Inside the palace and out, I am the only one who can truly help you. Never mind that you’ve turned your back on me now — there must be limits to it. If the day comes when you truly enrage me, mark my words: I will make your life very difficult.”

Shen Yang’s eyes turned cold, but his voice remained as courteous as ever. “I fear the Princess Imperial is mistaken — what ambitions could I possibly have? I only hope to advance through diligent effort, step by step, and bring glory to my family. As for the Princess Imperial herself — allow me to offer a word of caution: do not imagine that your friendship with the Yao family will enable you to win over the Crown Prince. In future, the Crown Prince will need to rely on the Shangguan Family — and you are the Shangguan Family’s thorn in the eye. Even the Chen Family counts itself among your enemies. Friendships do not last forever. The Princess Imperial flourishes now, but you cannot see what lies ahead. I am not a man who forgets his debts, which is why I offer this reminder: let us each conduct ourselves with courtesy. If there is any way I can be of service to the Princess Imperial, I will gladly assist. But only to that extent — please do not press me further, and spare us both the awkwardness of not knowing how to face Lord Han Rongchang.”

The color drained from Li Lihua’s face. She was about to snap back, but meeting the pair of cold, indifferent eyes looking back at her from across the way, she wavered.

He had grown his wings and had no further use for her now — he had simply turned and walked away. And yet what he said was true: her own prospects were looking grim. When her mother Chen Empress Dowager died, if the Crown Prince rose smoothly to the throne someday, the Shangguan Family and the Chen Family would never let her off. Han Rongchang had long since grown distant from her — she could not count on him. With only the Yao faction to lean on, she did not think she stood any chance of escaping the reckoning that would come.

Taking it back ten thousand steps — even if she somehow avoided it, she would only be a Princess Imperial who had lost her standing. A phoenix stripped of its feathers is worse than a chicken. She had witnessed too many powerful and illustrious noble families in the capital rise to dazzling heights only to collapse overnight. The mere thought of ending up in such a state herself was enough to make her feel she’d rather not live at all.

She felt a chill run through her.

Her only path forward was to go all the way down this one road — help the man before her realize his ambitions, remove her own nephew Li Chengyu, and put in his place an heir of the Li line who would be friendly to her.

She must not fall out with him, and must not give him any cause for grievance.

Li Lihua quickly made up her mind. Her face broke into a smile once more, and she gave a charming laugh: “Listen to you — speaking so formally. It’s fine, I know you’re busy. I’ll go on ahead.”

“I won’t see you off.”

Shen Yang watched the Princess Imperial’s figure grow smaller and disappear into the distance. He stood in place for a moment, then turned and walked away in the other direction.

Pu Zhu’s palms were already slick with sweat. At last she waited until all had gone. Once she was certain Shen Yang had truly left and was nowhere to be seen, she wiped the sweat from her palms and hurried out from behind the boulder, rushing on along the path toward the kennels.

She rounded a cluster of trees and looked up — the kennels were just ahead, not far now. But the stretch of ground here was somewhat muddy. Her heart was already in a panic, and without a thought she stepped from stone to stone through it. After a few steps, she looked up — and froze in place.

Right there on the narrow path ahead of her, Shen Yang had materialized like a ghost, as though he had been waiting here all along — as though he had been waiting for someone.

To be honest, the conversation he’d had with Li Lihua just now would have been of no great consequence even if it had been overheard. But Pu Zhu thought of the incident that day at Cheng Garden, and her heart lurched with a sudden wild hammering. She instinctively stepped back — and in doing so, her left foot sank into a muddy patch. When she tried to lift it, the embroidered cloud-toed slipper she was wearing pulled free of her foot and was left stuck in the mud.

Shen Yang was already striding quickly toward her, and in an instant he was before her. His gaze swept past her to the Yellow One standing behind, and he spoke: “You — withdraw.”

That old creature seemed to know him from before. Without a word of protest, she stepped back and was gone in a moment.

Pu Zhu’s hands clenched into fists. Her eyes fixed on the man before her, every nerve strung tight.

Li Xuandu was not by her side. She was alone.

Was he going to take this opportunity to silence her? After all, he had killed even the nursemaid of Princess Ningfu that night, just to keep some secret — whatever that secret might be.

Should she scream for help at the top of her lungs right now? Turn and run? Or do her best to appeal to him with words and try to convince him that she posed no threat to him whatsoever?

Which option gave her the better chance of escape?

Pu Zhu stared wide-eyed as he stepped toward her one step at a time. Her mind was working furiously. Just as her nerves reached their utmost pitch — he slowly crouched down.

He extended his hand and pulled her sunken shoe free from the mud, and held it in his palm, apparently examining it.

This alone was peculiar enough. And then, a moment later, something even more peculiar occurred.

He used the hem of his official robe to carefully wipe the shoe clean, removing every trace of mud clinging to the sole. Then he held the shoe out before her skirt, looked up at her with a faint smile, and said quietly: “It is a rare fortune to chance upon Your Highness the Princess Consort here. To be of service to Her Highness is Shen’s great honor. Would Your Highness be so gracious as to raise your foot, and permit Shen to help Your Highness put her slipper back on?”