Wisps of blue smoke curled from the incense burner. Li Xuandu sat in meditation in the private chamber, facing the direction of the imperial palace deep in the still night. He closed his eyes and sank into contemplation.

He thought of his past—those years as a prisoner and a tomb guardian.

His elder brother had once given him the most meticulous care and guidance, yet later turned him into an accomplice in treachery and filial impiety.

His imperial father had once given him the most exalted glory and affection, and later took it back without a moment’s mercy.

Looking back on this past now, Li Xuandu had long since been able to face it with a calm and serene heart.

He had long stopped blaming his elder brother, and even longer stopped blaming his imperial father. Given the unique positions they had occupied, whatever decisions they made could never be judged by ordinary standards. Indeed—if time could flow backward, flowing back to when he was eighteen years old, he would rather have remained a prisoner in Wuyou Palace than to have purchased his freedom at the price of his father’s dying paternal love for his youngest son.

He truly loved his father.

And yet he was, after all, a mortal being—flesh and bone—and he too could suffer.

His suffering did not come from his fall from the heights into the dust.

He remembered with perfect clarity: during his time guarding the imperial tombs, he had once climbed alone to the top of the ridge at dusk. He had watched the bronze sun sinking in the west, crows crying in raucous disorder, and had lain on a great boulder, sleeping out in the open sky through the night.

That night, the despair he felt in his heart—the sense of being abandoned, of standing utterly alone between heaven and earth, of being a person whose existence was of no consequence to anyone—that was the wound in the deepest part of him that he could not lay to rest.

In the palace, behind those towering walls, young as he was, he had once in his extreme anguish succumbed to delusions—imagining everything returned to before his sixteenth year, that he was still that boy who had galloped down the streets of the capital. He had yearned for this not out of a craving for wealth and glory, but out of a craving for the time when he had still been his imperial father’s beloved son, his elder brother’s youngest sibling.

But nothing could return. He was a person of no consequence to anyone—and that feeling had endured, until her arrival, when it finally began to change.

Li Xuandu thought of her tonight—the way she had poured out her grievances, eyes brimming with tears as she gazed at him—and his mood was somewhat heavy, yet also moved.

He had been a forsaken man, his life and death of no concern to others. Now, suddenly, everything was different.

She had married him, pledged him her life, and called him her pillar of support.

Li Xuandu’s mind held the image of her laying her hand gently over her own belly—she seemed to yearn so deeply to soon bear him a child.

In this world, he was no longer a man of no consequence.

He had become a woman’s husband, and would someday be a child’s father.

What she had said was right. Never before—not until this very moment—had he felt so deeply that his life no longer belonged to him alone. She and their future child needed him.

He suddenly opened his eyes, opened the door, and summoned Ye Xiao. He asked about the progress of the quiet inquiry that she had entrusted to Baibi regarding the search for Ju A’mu.

Ye Xiao said, “The Princess Consort inquired about this the very day after returning. There is no new information from that side yet.”

Li Xuandu deliberated for a moment and gave his order: “Choose a reliable and capable person to handle this matter. Find out where her Ju A’mu is, as quickly as possible.”

Ye Xiao received the command and departed. Li Xuandu found he could no longer remain in the meditation chamber and returned to the bedchamber.

It was already very late, and she was not yet asleep—she lay there looking dispirited.

After Li Xuandu got into bed, he asked the reason. She wouldn’t say at first, but after he pressed her several times, she finally pursed her lips and said that her monthly flow had arrived.

Li Xuandu stretched out his hand and gently massaged her lower belly. “It came, and so it came. Why be unhappy? Is your body uncomfortable?”

Pu Zhu was truly dejected at heart, and buried her face against him with a miserable expression. “I thought I might be carrying a child.”

Li Xuandu was briefly startled, then could not help laughing, and brought his lips close to her ear to murmur, “You have only slept with me a handful of times—how could it happen so quickly? On the way back, you were ill. After we came back, you would have nothing to do with me.”

He paused, then added, “Besides, it may be just as well that nothing has happened yet. This is not a good time to have a child, and you are still young. Wait a year or two—it would not be too late. Do not get ideas in your head—I am in no hurry to have a child.”

Pu Zhu buried her face in his chest and said nothing. In her heart, however, she had made up her mind.

While tomorrow’s departure had not yet come, she would summon the imperial physician and ask what was the matter.

The next day—the last day before setting out—the Emperor and the Jiang family each sent over gifts prepared for the King of Que.

Li Xuandu led Pu Zhu into the palace to offer thanks to the Emperor, and then to Penglai Palace to bid farewell to Jiang Shi.

Huaiwei had come to the capital for nearly half a year—it was time to return. The date had also been arranged: it would be after Li Xuandu came back from the Kingdom of Que, at which point Li Xuandu would personally escort him home.

Regarding the matter of Huaiwei, Pu Zhu still dared not let down her guard. Besides enjoining Li Hui’er to guard Huaiwei carefully and go out of the palace as little as possible, she also had Li Xuandu arrange for a reliable person to act as a personal bodyguard, to wait for their return.

Her reason was that Huaiwei was mischievous, and had nearly met with an accident during the autumn hunt. She was not at ease.

Li Xuandu thought her somewhat over-anxious, but to set her mind at rest, he complied. After leaving Penglai Palace, he escorted Pu Zhu back to the Prince’s Mansion, and then went himself, at the invitation of the Grand Daoist Master, to Ziyun Guan, which he had not visited in some time. There in the pine forest they brewed tea. He listened to the Grand Daoist Master expound on scripture and debate the Dao. Halfway through, a young acolyte came to announce that a lay patron had arrived. The Grand Daoist Master excused himself and departed.

Li Xuandu sat alone beneath the pines for a moment, set down the scripture, and prepared to leave.

He went to find the Grand Daoist Master to bid farewell, and came to the front of the Daoist hall.

The lay patron who had come was a woman—Lady Xiao of the Kingdom of Teng.

Xiao Shi was walking out of the hall smiling alongside the Grand Daoist Master, the gold beads in her hair and on her elegant garments glinting in shifting points of light in the setting sun. She was speaking of matters of patronage when she suddenly caught sight of Li Xuandu approaching from the opposite direction. She froze, then stopped in her tracks, smiling. “It is none other than Prince Qin! What a coincidence. I come here today because last night I dreamed of the Pure Jade Daoist Lord descending on a cloud, and so I came to find the Grand Daoist Master to have a ceremony performed for me. I had no idea I would encounter Your Highness.”

The Grand Daoist Master also smiled at Li Xuandu. “This lady is a patron here, and her merit is immeasurable.”

Li Xuandu smiled faintly. “The hour grows late and I should descend the mountain. I would not intrude on the lady’s matters. Grand Daoist Master, there is no need to see me out.”

He performed a Daoist salute to the two of them, turned, and went toward the mountain gate. Just before reaching it, footsteps sounded behind him—Xiao Shi had hastened after him and called for him to wait.

Li Xuandu stopped. “Does the lady have something to say?”

Xiao Shi gazed at him for a moment. The smile on her face gradually vanished, and she said softly, “Is Your Highness well these days?”

Then immediately she added, “I know how Your Highness regards me, and I am not trying to vindicate myself. It is only that as a woman, I was truly powerless to do otherwise. When Your Highness was sent to Wuyou Palace, I was determined to follow and accompany you, but my family would not permit it—they locked me in the house. By the time I was released, I was no longer Your Highness’s person, and Your Highness had already left the capital. My family arranged for me to marry Shen Yang, but all these years, I have not forgotten Your Highness for a single moment…”

Tears began to glimmer in her eyes.

Li Xuandu interrupted her. “Thank you, my lady. But past matters need no longer weigh on you. I am well now.”

He stepped forward and continued toward the mountain gate.

Xiao Shi, watching his retreating back, suddenly called out again, “Old matters may indeed be set aside. But there is something I must convey to Your Highness.”

She hastened to follow once more.

“It concerns the Princess Consort!”

“She and Shen Yang—there must be something between them.”

Xiao Shi said, one word at a time, in a low voice.

Li Xuandu’s brow gave the faintest furrow.

Xiao Shi, as though she had not noticed, continued: “Your Highness surely has not forgotten what you saw when you arrived that day on the narrow path outside the falconry grounds. To be honest with Your Highness—I was also nearby at the time. The Princess Imperial, with no sense of shame, has been entangling herself with Shen Yang for a long time now. That day, having learned she had once again arranged a secret meeting, I followed to observe. I unexpectedly discovered that after Shen Yang finished with the Princess Imperial, he then met with the Princess Consort. He is habitually crafty; fearing he would notice me, I dared not get too close, and could not hear what he and the Princess Consort said—but their gestures and expressions I could see quite clearly from where I was hidden.”

“You arrived later and saw only Shen Yang holding her shoe in his hand. He would certainly explain everything away cleanly. But what Your Highness did not know was that before you arrived, he and your Princess Consort had already been speaking for quite some time—and he had crouched down, intending to put on her shoe with his own hands, fawning and ingratiating! Although she would not allow it, her manner was clearly that of someone in a quarrel with Shen Yang. The intimacy between them was enough to make anyone sick!”

An expression of disgust crossed Xiao Shi’s face. She steadied herself.

“Your Highness!”

She looked at Li Xuandu, who had remained expressionless throughout, and called out once more.

“I saw it all clearly that day. May heaven strike me down if I speak a false word. My own case, I may simply resign myself to my fate. Seeing Your Highness treat this woman with every consideration, while she treats you in such a manner—I was truly alarmed. I do not know how she explained it to you that day. I am genuinely indignant at the thought of Your Highness being deceived, and I have wanted to tell you for some time, but had no opportunity. Today we happened to meet here, and so I made bold to speak, so that Your Highness may be warned and not be taken in!”

Her final words carried a cold laugh. “Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I truly would not have imagined that she, having barely arrived in the capital, could have already entered into such a relationship with Shen Yang as well. Does she have even half a thought for Your Highness in her heart?”

Li Xuandu stood in the shadow of the falling dusk beneath the mountain gate and looked at Xiao Shi. Suddenly he smiled. “So my lady was also there that day. But you have, I fear, some misunderstanding regarding my wife. The full circumstances of what happened at the time—including the matter of General Shen crouching to put on her shoe—my wife told me everything afterward in detail.”

“Your Highness! You must have been deceived…”

“Xiao Shi!” Li Xuandu interrupted her again, his tone turning cold.

“My wife and I are our own concern. Why should you trouble yourself to such lengths over it? As for how Shen Yang treats you—if you are unhappy, my lady, it would be better to go home and ask him directly.”

“My wife is still at home waiting for me. I will take my leave first.”

Li Xuandu stepped over the threshold of the mountain gate and strode away.

……

Li Xuandu had gone to the Daoist temple, saying he would return that evening. Pu Zhu went back to the mansion and had Imperial Physician Zhang summoned.

This physician had treated her on the road returning from the autumn hunt, and they were by now somewhat acquainted. Seeing the Princess Consort summon him again, he hurried to the mansion, took her pulse, and said the chill was gone. He noted that her constitution tended toward cold, and advised her to take care to keep warm going forward, and to eat foods that warmed and nourished the body.

Pu Zhu sent everyone away, closed the door, took out a small booklet, and handed it over, saying, “This was given to me by a skilled physician. Would the physician please have a look and see whether what it records is feasible?”

Imperial Physician Zhang quickly took it, saw that it was a woman’s guide to conceiving a child, and read through it from beginning to end. When he finished, he smiled and said, “What the book says is not entirely without merit. The guidance on timing of conjugal relations—I approve. But the forced incorporation of the Five Elements and directional principles strikes me as more like charlatanism intended to impress the crowd. And besides, nothing is absolute. Conserving essence and guarding one’s vital force, regulating desires—these do help nourish health and strengthen the body. Yet the Princess Consort must not forget: the harmonious balance of yin and yang is the fundamental principle. Too rigid an adherence to rules would in fact be counterproductive. A moderate degree of restraint, following nature’s course, is best.”

Imperial Physician Zhang also flipped to the few food prescriptions appended at the back of the booklet and nodded. “These few recipes are good. The combinations are well-considered, with the effect of nourishing yin and fortifying essence. The Princess Consort may follow them in daily practice. Make them for His Highness Prince Qin to eat together with you—no need to prepare them every day. Every few days, take one supplementing course, and that will do.” Having said this, he returned the booklet.

Pu Zhu kept her expression nonchalant, told the physician not to mention to anyone that she had asked about this, and saw him out. Then she stared at the small booklet, recalling the suffering she had endured that night lying flat on the table—and moreover had missed the opportunity to be with Li Xuandu—and the more she thought about it, the more furious she became. She carried it over to the incense burner, lifted the lid and was about to toss it in. Then she suddenly remembered that the physician had said the food prescriptions in it were good.

She hesitated, and in the end stayed her hand. She stuffed the booklet into a trunk already packed for tomorrow’s departure, and closed the lid.