That night, as everything inside and outside the temporary imperial palace and around the hunting grounds fell into stillness, General of the Southern Bureau Shen Yang, having personally completed the final round of his sentry patrol, concealed himself within the darkness and gazed toward the distant palace complex. His silhouette seemed to meld with the night itself.
Before his eyes, the scenes he had witnessed that day—trailing behind and watching with his own eyes—continued to play out.
That the Crown Prince would move so boldly against Prince Qin this early was somewhat unexpected, though it did not cause him excessive shock.
From the Crown Prince’s perspective, if he had truly grown unable to tolerate Li Xuandu any longer, this was indeed an opportune moment to strike. The chance to eliminate a thorn in one’s side under the pretext of a wild beast attack during the autumn hunt was not something that presented itself frequently.
The Crown Prince’s arrangements today could be called thorough—he had even considered how to better conceal his tracks afterward, attaching the two young lords Yao and Zhang to the scheme.
A pity his luck had run out. At the crucial final moment, the Prince of Khotan had descended from nowhere.
How was it that Prince Wuchi had arrived at this exact location, without receiving an invitation from the Crown Prince?
Shen Yang never believed in luck, especially luck under such extreme circumstances. Had no one been working behind the scenes, it would have been absolutely impossible for this foreign prince to stumble blindly into this trap and unconsciously serve as a disruptor—causing the Crown Prince to hesitate for fear of collateral damage, and forcing the conspiracy to an abrupt and incomplete end.
Then who had arranged it?
It was not Li Xuandu.
Shen Yang recalled the scene he had witnessed at that moment and narrowed his eyes slightly.
Li Xuandu had been riding together with Pu Zhu, their manner intimate. He had clearly just returned from an outing with his wife, still caught up in tender feelings—he could not possibly have made preparations in advance.
Prince Wuchi of Khotan had come together with the guardsman Ye Xiao. But with only the standing of a head guardsman, it would have been impossible to summon a prince of Khotan. And at the time, that guardsman had been with the Princess Consort of Prince Qin.
The most likely explanation was that Li Xuandu’s wife, Pu Zhu, had learned of the Crown Prince’s plot and invited the Prince of Khotan to intervene.
Even Shen Yang had to concede that this woman’s quick thinking surpassed that of ordinary people. Even if he himself had been in her position, he likely could not have devised such a perfect two-pronged method of saving her husband and dissolving the crisis without leaving a trace—not in so short a time.
Yet how had she come to know of the Crown Prince’s plot?
Who on the Crown Prince’s side had their heart inclined toward her?
But this he would set aside for now.
What unsettled Shen Yang most was actually another matter entirely.
Over these years, Li Xuandu had gradually faded from the view of those in the capital. Had it not been for the Jiang family’s birthday celebration, he would likely still be in the Western Sea even now.
Imprisonment, tomb-guarding, and then a posting to the border commandery—eight years in which he had appeared, on the surface, to be a broken man: spending his days in religious study, contesting nothing, striving for nothing. Yet his mastery of the bow and horse was still so remarkably formidable.
To strike a target moving at high speed required not only precision of aim, but also the ability to predict the target’s trajectory—to anticipate where it would be when the arrow arrived, after accounting for the speed of release. This was extraordinarily difficult. The slightest miscalculation and a hit would be impossible, especially under the urgent circumstances of that day. And if the arrow had accidentally struck the Crown Prince, the consequences would have been clear to him.
That single arrow, beyond the archery skill itself, demanded what extraordinary composure in the face of crisis from the one who loosed it.
And yet he had done it—severing the reins with a single arrow.
No wonder the Emperor held him in such wariness.
It was also the first time Shen Yang had understood so profoundly that he had previously underestimated this Prince Qin, who had once been the most beloved youngest son of the late emperor.
Had he died today in the Crown Prince’s trap, one potential great enemy would have been eliminated for the future.
A pity—disrupted by the Prince of Khotan.
A shadow approached from the darkness—the very same attendant who had appeared at Chengcui Courtyard in Chengyuan that night. In a low voice, the attendant reported the information gathered that evening: that during the day, someone had indeed seen the Princess Consort of Prince Qin visit the Prince of Khotan.
Shen Yang said nothing.
The attendant, seeing that he did not speak and unable to fathom what he was thinking, hesitated, then continued to report what he considered the more important matter. In a hushed voice he said, “General, the Princess Consort of Prince Qin keeps an extremely strict watch over Prince A’Shibi. No matter where he goes, if he takes so much as a single step outside, someone is always close at hand, never leaving his side. When he first arrived in the capital, he would often go out and about with Young Lord Han—a pity the message from the Left Great King had not yet arrived at that time. After the Princess Consort entered the capital, he cut off contact with Young Lord Han entirely. Now that we have come here, this subordinate cannot find a suitable opportunity to act. That day when Prince A’Shibi wandered off alone at the riding grounds would have been a perfect chance. When this subordinate heard the news, he immediately brought someone and quietly went down into the valley to search for him—I even passed through that area—but luck was against us, and he turned out to be hanging in a treetop of all places, and the opportunity was lost. This Princess Consort really is far too interfering. If not for her keeping such close watch over Prince A’Shibi at every turn, this subordinate would not be so without an opening. In this subordinate’s view, it would be best to first eliminate her…”
He trailed off and made a gesture indicating disposal.
Shen Yang raised his palm and dealt him a heavy slap across the face—so forceful that the corner of the man’s mouth split open on the spot, and a tooth fell out.
This attendant had served him for many years and had never once received such a blow. Shocked and frightened, not knowing what he had said wrong to provoke such displeasure, he did not even dare wipe the blood from his mouth, and hurriedly knelt to beg forgiveness.
Shen Yang lowered his voice: “Worthless! You cannot even handle a small child, and you dare to speak of other matters?”
Only then did the attendant understand his error, and immediately begged pardon.
Shen Yang said coldly, “Return first thing tomorrow. Wait for my further orders.”
The attendant respectfully acknowledged the command.
The position of General of the Southern Bureau carried responsibilities beyond guarding the imperial city—it also included oversight of the Zhao Prison’s patrols and arrests. Many officials feared him. Those who hated him called him a viper behind his back, cursing him as ruthless and coldblooded, a killer who did not blink. Yet to him personally, no one knew: the stronger the opponent, the more exhilarated he became.
And opponents were not limited to men—they included women as well.
The memory of the day he had tested her, moving to put her shoes on, only to have her lift her chin in haughty refusal and refuse to cast him even a sideways glance—that memory remained vivid.
In his mind’s eye, the image of Li Xuandu holding her and riding together at full gallop that day surfaced again. Imagining how, if he one day had the chance to take this incomparable beauty for himself, to make her lower that proud neck and submit entirely to him—his heart stirred with a thrill it had not felt in a very long time.
He narrowed his eyes, cast one final gaze toward the distant palace complex, and turned to leave.
……
The following morning, barely past the second quarter of the Hour of the Hare, everyone in the West Garden had risen. Huaiwei repeatedly urged the falconer to take good care of his eagle on the road. Li Hui’er put on the traveling clothes she had prepared for the journey. The servants busied themselves carrying packed trunks and luggage out to load onto the carts, making ready to set out.
Luo Bao had returned to the tent before dawn to give the Prince Qin’s belongings one final check, ensuring nothing would be left behind and cause inconvenience. After checking—not a single item missed—he was quite pleased with his own capability. Lifting the tent flap to step out and head back, he looked up to see Prince Qin standing outside with both hands clasped behind his back, as though waiting for someone. He immediately smiled and hurried over. “Your Highness, why have you come here? Are you waiting for someone?”
He had given in to her last night, unable to hold out, and relented.
Though Luo Bao was merely a servant dispatched to attend him by his grandmother in years past, he had nonetheless accompanied him through many years, entering and exiting Wuyou Palace and the imperial mausoleum together. Now, to suddenly let him go—Li Xuandu found himself feeling somewhat unsettled.
But last night he had been moved to softheartedness and made the promise, and it would not do to go back on his word.
Li Xuandu decided it was better to tell Luo Bao himself. That was why he had specially come to find him. Now that Luo Bao had emerged, he thought of what she had said last night about disliking Luo Bao’s appearance, and could not help staring at the man. Looking at his cheerful, pleasant features, he genuinely could not understand what she found to dislike about him.
“Why does Your Highness look at this servant so?”
Prince Qin seemed to be staring at him like this for the first time. Luo Bao felt a creeping unease, touched his own face, and looked puzzled.
Li Xuandu said seriously, “There is something I should inform you of. After we return, you need not accompany us to the Kingdom of Que. You must be tired of attending to people day after day. Rest for a time first, and then I will promote you to estate manager of my fief.”
Luo Bao’s face fell in shock. His first thought was that Prince Qin was giving him a raise in name while demoting him in reality—that he was being dismissed. He dropped to his knees at once. “Has this servant done something wrong? Please instruct this servant clearly, and this servant will certainly correct it. This servant is accustomed to serving Your Highness. I don’t know how to do anything else, and I don’t want to go anywhere else!” His eyes reddened as he spoke.
Li Xuandu felt a pang of reluctance, but kept a stern face. “I tell you to go, so you go! What is all this talk? You won’t have to attend on anyone anymore—what’s wrong with that? Get up!”
He paused.
“Be careful the Princess Consort sees you—you won’t even be able to stay here!”
Having said this, he turned and strode away.
If his master wished him dead, it would take but a single word—let alone merely sending him elsewhere.
Luo Bao dared not ask further questions. He followed dejectedly, his spirit thoroughly deflated, unable to bring himself to do anything else. He found Ye Xiao, with whom he had always gotten along reasonably well, pulled him aside, and poured out his grievances.
Ye Xiao was surprised, then immediately offered congratulations with a grin. “That’s good news! His Highness sees that you have worked hard and loyally, and is arranging for you to gain some experience. When you’re old someday, you can be a country estate manager and enjoy a comfortable life—isn’t that wonderful?”
Luo Bao wore a face of misery. “You’re laughing at me too! I was sent by the Grand Empress Dowager to serve His Highness. In life I am His Highness’s man, in death I am His Highness’s ghost. And now he wants me to manage an estate? He’s clearly washing his hands of me. You call that good news?”
Ye Xiao thought about it—Luo Bao had a point—and expressed his deep sympathy, though there was nothing he could do. Seeing how genuinely upset Luo Bao looked, he asked, “Did you somehow offend His Highness?”
“No!” Luo Bao denied it flatly.
“You must have. You just don’t know how. Think carefully. If you figure it out, there may still be hope.”
Ye Xiao was busy, clapped him on the shoulder, and left him behind as he hurried off.
Prompted by this, Luo Bao racked his brains trying to think of how he might have offended Prince Qin. Then he suddenly remembered the remark His Highness had dropped before walking away—the warning to be careful lest the Princess Consort see him, and that even this posting would be taken from him.
That was clearly His Highness giving him a hint.
He had offended the Princess Consort!
Luo Bao then recalled that the Princess Consort had always given him cold looks. He finally understood completely.
He also knew, of course, that the relationship between Prince Qin and the Princess Consort had advanced rapidly in recent times—he had been involuntarily privy to more than a few of their intimate encounters.
But it had never occurred to him that the Princess Consort, who had been forced to kneel on the floor on their wedding night begging Prince Qin’s forgiveness, could have turned the tables so quickly in so short a time—to the point where she now had a say even in his own comings and goings!
Even more unthinkable was that Prince Qin, who ordinarily appeared so cold and aloof and free of worldly desires in his cultivation of the Dao, had transformed overnight into someone so eager to please the Princess Consort that even keeping Luo Bao around had become so awkward for him.
Luo Bao deeply regretted that he had underestimated this Princess Consort. He had assumed that as long as he devoted himself wholeheartedly to Prince Qin, the Princess Consort’s dislike of him would not matter.
Now he realized he had been gravely, catastrophically wrong.
From the look of things, was Prince Qin perhaps telling him that pleading with the Prince was useless, and that he should go and plead with the Princess Consort himself?
The more Luo Bao thought about it, the more right this seemed. Flustered and anxious, he hurried back to the West Garden, came to where the Princess Consort was staying, and spotted her inside, busy directing people to carry things out. Not daring to enter, he paced in the courtyard for a while. Finally, when the number of people inside had thinned somewhat, he crept in cautiously and called out to the Princess Consort.
Pu Zhu had spotted him coming some time ago and gave a slight frown.
Luo Bao, heedless of the other people still present, immediately dropped to his knees and pleaded, “This servant has something to say. I beg the Princess Consort to give this servant a chance.”
Pu Zhu fixed him with a stare and signaled for her royal nurse to leave. Once everyone had gone, she said coolly, “What is it?”
Luo Bao said, “This servant was wrong! This servant deserves ten thousand deaths. I beg the Princess Consort in her great magnanimity to give this servant a chance to mend my ways. This servant wishes only to serve the Princess Consort until old age!”
Pu Zhu turned to the mirror, angled herself toward the light, and looked at her beautiful reflection. In a level tone she said, “Are you not His Highness’s loyal man? Simply serve His Highness well—how could I dare to have you serve me?”
Luo Bao’s eyes reddened, and still on his knees, he shuffled forward until he was before Pu Zhu.
“This servant has always wished to serve the Princess Consort! It was only that the Princess Consort never gave this servant the chance before! I beg the Princess Consort to take pity and not think me dull—give this servant an opportunity to prove his loyalty!”
Pu Zhu remained unmoved. “You are His Highness’s man. I would not dare. If you don’t wish to leave, go plead with His Highness.”
“It was His Highness who told this servant to go! Knowing the Princess Consort is kind-hearted, this servant came to plead with you. I don’t want to leave. I only wish to serve the Princess Consort!” Luo Bao wept and pleaded without cease.
Pu Zhu stared into the mirror, lost in thought.
This Luo Bao had always treated himself as one of Li Xuandu’s old retainers and would never truly take her seriously. Moreover, he was so tiresome. Having someone like him wedged between herself and Li Xuandu was not a good thing—so last night she had seized the opportunity to use him as a test of Li Xuandu.
The goal had now been achieved.
Luo Bao would no longer dare to look down on her.
But that was secondary.
What mattered most was that this incident proved Li Xuandu could now be swayed by what she whispered in his ear. Even if he was not entirely willing, he would not completely disregard her wishes.
It was not, after all, a major affair—merely dismissing a servant. Yet today he had risen early, and rather than sending someone else to inform Luo Bao, he had personally gone himself. Could she not see what that meant?
She had guessed that this Luo Bao would come crawling to her to beg.
Given that, she ought naturally to give Li Xuandu some face. Lest he think she had driven away someone who had been utterly loyal to him, and harbor resentment in his heart.
Pu Zhu held her silence at first, letting Luo Bao kowtow seven or eight more times before finally saying in an indifferent tone, “All right, get up. Take the mirror, and hold it up by the window where the light is good.”
Luo Bao was startled, then suddenly understood—the Princess Consort was pardoning him. It was like a general amnesty. So overcome with gratitude that he nearly vowed to cut out his own heart to prove his devotion, he choked out, “Thank you, Princess Consort.” He wiped his tears, jumped up, and held the mirror aloft, finding a spot where the morning glow streamed in, and held it there for her to use as she arranged her appearance.
Pu Zhu stepped to the mirror, raised her hand to smooth her temple hair, and after a moment, as though in passing, she said, “We are leaving for the Kingdom of Que in a day or two. I know nothing of things there. Tell me what you know, so I can be prepared. I wouldn’t want to arrive knowing nothing and cause Prince Qin to lose face.”
Luo Bao lowered his voice. “What does the Princess Consort wish to know? Ask away. This servant will hold nothing back.”
Pu Zhu said, “I have heard that His Highness has a cousin there?”
Luo Bao immediately said, “Yes. His Highness’s cousin is named Li Tanfang, two years younger than His Highness. As a child she was often brought to live in the palace for a time, and almost every year during the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday celebrations, she would come with the delegation from the Kingdom of Que and stay for a while…”
He hesitated, and cast a careful glance at Pu Zhu, as if suddenly reluctant to continue.
Pu Zhu said evenly, one word at a time: “Speak. Tell me everything. Not a single word left out.”
“Yes.”
Luo Bao steadied himself and continued: “She and His Highness are truly childhood sweethearts. The Grand Empress Dowager was also very fond of her—she once praised her, saying that for one so young, her bearing and deportment were admirable, and that she had remarkable depth of character. Later, when His Highness fell into misfortune and was sent to Wuyou Palace, she had originally intended to accompany him. His Highness refused. She even knelt before the Grand Empress Dowager to plead, but the Grand Empress Dowager would not agree either, so she returned to the Kingdom of Que. It seems that all these years, she has remained unmarried.”
Pu Zhu stared at the beautiful face in the mirror, suffused with morning light, her hand pausing at her temple, momentarily silent.
At that moment, the sound of footsteps came from outside the door. The royal nurse called out “Your Highness,” and the door was pushed open. Li Xuandu walked in. Seeing Luo Bao standing by the window holding the mirror for Pu Zhu, who appeared still to be arranging her appearance, he stopped in his tracks.
Pu Zhu glanced at Luo Bao and said, “Put it down.”
Luo Bao quickly set the mirror down, called out to His Highness, and immediately shrank to the side, not daring to make a sound.
Pu Zhu turned to Li Xuandu with a smile. “Your Highness, he came to plead with me just now, saying a lot of things I couldn’t quite follow—something to the effect that he couldn’t bear to leave Your Highness, and wished to continue serving Your Highness. I felt rather sorry for him, and now I find myself having second thoughts. I would like to ask Your Highness—perhaps there’s no need to send him elsewhere after all? He may as well stay. Having served Your Highness for so many years, suddenly changing to someone new—I fear Your Highness would find it inconvenient.”
Luo Bao immediately fell to his knees. “I beg Your Highness to allow this servant to remain!”
Li Xuandu looked suspiciously at his Princess Consort and his servant in turn, then gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fine, fine—do as the Princess Consort says. It’s time to go, the carriage is waiting outside.”