Seeing him storm off in such fury, Pu Zhu could not help but worry. She quietly followed him out and peeked at him from behind the door.
He had not gone outside after all. He simply paced back and forth in the courtyard repeatedly, looking restless and overheated.
She had only asked a few questions about his past out of genuine concern, yet he had turned on her again, leading with icy, cutting words that went straight for the heart.
Truly incomprehensible!
Pu Zhu was irritated too. But seeing him in this state, she thought again of what Luo Bao had just told her.
It was strange — her own experiences after the age of eight were, in a sense, somewhat similar to his. Each had their own suffering. Yet when she looked back on it now, what stood out most vividly in her memory was still Ju A’mu and the little moments of their interdependence and mutual protection. Compared to that warmth, the hardship of survival had faded considerably. Yet when she thought of what had happened to him at sixteen — perhaps because Luo Bao had described it too vividly — she could not help but feel he was quite pitiable, even more pitiable than herself.
Then she thought about his hidden ailment. She had brought in a brazier early because she feared the cold, and he had endured it without a word of objection. Could that not be considered a concession on his part? Later, when they had quarreled, he had simply left and gone to sleep in the outer room.
And when she thought of what he had said to her by the campfire the night of the assassination attempt — her feelings were complicated, and on reflection she did not quite believe he could truly follow through on it. It was very likely an empty promise. But it had, after all, been what was in his heart at that moment.
Whatever his considerations had been, he had still pledged to protect her as best he could for the rest of her life — even if he also knew she had deceived him rather badly before.
Thinking it all through like this, no matter how great her anger, it dissipated.
So be it. He had only scolded her once — and it was not the first time. She would not lower herself to his level. Who could blame him — some people were simply born noble.
A phoenix that has lost its feathers is still a phoenix. Those who say it is no better than a chicken are only the chickens themselves, the ones walking on the ground.
That said, she dared not go and provoke a drunk man again.
She hid behind the door and watched.
He wandered around the courtyard for a while, pressed his hand to his forehead, and finally swayed his way back. She slipped quietly back to the inner room, pricked up her ears and listened.
It seemed Luo Bao helped him inside and laid bedding for him in the outer room. He fell drunkenly asleep there.
Pu Zhu did not approach him again that night. Early the next morning, before daybreak even, she heard sounds from the outer room — he appeared to have woken.
As he would need to come inside to change clothes, Pu Zhu initially feigned sleep. But after waiting a good while without hearing further sounds, she could not suppress her curiosity. She crept silently from the bed and pressed herself against the standing screen that divided the inner and outer rooms, gently lifting the corner of the curtain to peer through.
He was sitting cross-legged, facing the east window that was gradually brightening with dawn. His silhouette was perfectly still — he looked dejected, lost in thought. A little while later, the sound of maidservants rising and moving through the corridor outside reached them. He stirred, and got up.
Pu Zhu rushed back to the bed and lay flat, and when he walked in she pretended to have just woken, sat up and stretched lazily, then climbed out of bed and put on her own clothes. She offered, on her own initiative: “Your Highness is awake? Let me help you dress.”
Li Xuandu pressed his lips together. His complexion was slightly pale — still wearing the haggard look that follows heavy drinking. He glanced at her, paused, and said quietly: “Call Luo Bao.”
As expected — still not letting her near him.
Pu Zhu inwardly pursed her lips and withdrew her hands. She did as he said and went out first to summon Luo Bao inside, then looked at the bedding from the outer room.
Luo Bao swiftly and neatly gathered and put away the bedding. Only then did Pu Zhu open the door and call for maidservants to bring water for washing up.
Today was the King of Que’s birthday. When Prince Qin and his consort appeared together before everyone, Li Xuandu was already looking full of vigor, laughing and chatting with everyone, appearing to be in excellent spirits.
It was not a milestone year for the King of Que, and with his old wound flaring up, most day-to-day affairs within the kingdom had already been handed over to his eldest son, Li Siye. Except for difficult matters requiring his decision, he no longer received outsiders as a rule. The birthday celebrations were therefore not held on a grand scale — only a banquet was set in the royal palace, attended by close kin and the noble officials of Que. The men drank in the banquet hall while the royal and noble ladies of the court gathered for their own feast in the adjacent Qingchun Pavilion nearby. In the middle of things, faint sounds of cheering drifted over from the men’s side. Madam Wu sent an old serving woman to see what all the excitement was about. When she returned and reported back, Madam Wu laughed and said: “They say the men are entertaining themselves with pitch-pot over there. The Fourth Prince hit every single toss — ten for ten — completing the full set. And that forced everyone else to drink three cups as a forfeit!”
Everyone clapped their hands and laughed, marveling at Li Xuandu’s extraordinary skill.
A somewhat older kinswoman laughed and said: “I still remember — ten years ago, the Fourth Prince also came here to celebrate the King’s birthday. That scene is as vivid to me now as if it were yesterday. The Prince was only fourteen at the time, his hair done up in a golden crown, wearing crimson robes, and if I recall correctly his mount was a dappled jade horse. The beauty of a young man’s appearance — it was the most remarkable I had ever seen in my life. And not only that — whether it was archery, pitch-pot, or horsemanship, the Fourth Prince was youngest and yet he took the top prize at everything. At the time I wondered which young woman could be so fortunate as to one day win the Prince’s heart. Today, having seen the Princess Consort in person, my curiosity is at last resolved. Indeed — she and Prince Qin are a heaven-made pair, a matched set of jade!”
The others also looked toward Pu Zhu and joined in with their compliments.
She was a guest here, and moreover from the Li dynasty — Pu Zhu understood these Que noblewomen were simply offering courteous pleasantries. Yet whenever Li Xuandu was mentioned, nearly every woman in the room instinctively glanced at Li Tanfang. She had taken note of these small flickers of expression from the very beginning.
Clearly, in the eyes of the people of Que, it had long been assumed — for many years — that Li Tanfang would marry Li Xuandu.
She kept a smile on her face and gracefully deflected the flowery praise directed at her.
Madam Wu also praised her lavishly in every possible way, then glanced at Li Tanfang sitting beside her and said with a smile: “We cannot just let the men have all the fun. Let us play pitch-pot on our side too, to entertain our honored guests. For however many shots miss the mark, one drinks that many cups as forfeit. And if anyone can match Prince Qin and hit the full set, everyone drinks together!”
Everyone enthusiastically agreed.
The men of Que were mostly bold warriors, and while the women did not go as far as wielding swords and riding into battle, they were hardly unfamiliar with pitch-pot as a banquet pastime. The attendants quickly set up the pitch-pot jar in the center of the space, and the ladies took turns going up to throw by order of their seating.
The banquets in Chang’an’s palace were never short of pitch-pot entertainment either. When it came to eating, drinking, and amusements of every kind, Pu Zhu was versed in them all. But today — whether because she had drunk several cups before even starting, already slightly tipsy, or because of her mood — she felt not the slightest competitive drive. Her touch was only middling, and she hit eight of ten. She could have made it nine, but one arrow bounced back out after going in.
Eight out of ten was nothing exceptional, but it was decent enough. Everyone cheered for her; she owed herself two forfeits.
Madam Wu jumped up to stop her from penalizing herself, saying that as today’s honored guest she was exempt by the rules.
Pu Zhu smiled and had her cup filled, then drank both cups down without hesitation, which drew another round of cheering as she returned to her seat.
After several more noblewomen had their turns, it was Li Tanfang’s turn.
The whole room held its breath. She began her throw under the gaze of everyone — and hit seven of ten. When she finished and looked up, finding everyone staring at her with what seemed like astonishment, she smiled and shook her head with self-deprecating humor: “It has been a while since I last played — my hand is a bit rusty. Seven is actually quite good.” And she drank three forfeits.
Having heard her explanation, everyone relaxed and the game continued.
But Pu Zhu caught a glimpse of what happened after she returned to her seat: Madam Wu leaned over and murmured something quietly into her ear, an expression of puzzlement on her face. Li Tanfang smiled and lightly flexed the right hand she had been throwing with, giving a response. With all the laughter around them, the words were inaudible, but reading her expression, she seemed to be repeating the same explanation.
Pu Zhu understood perfectly.
Li Tanfang must be highly proficient at pitch-pot in ordinary circumstances. Madam Wu, who adored her niece, had deliberately arranged this game so Li Tanfang could distinguish herself. Yet she had only hit seven arrows, leaving Madam Wu baffled.
She claimed it was rustiness. But instinct told Pu Zhu she had deliberately thrown fewer than herself — one fewer arrow — so as not to embarrass Pu Zhu in front of the Que noblewomen.
Such a magnanimous and thoughtful Li Tanfang once again brought to Pu Zhu’s mind Li Xuandu’s words — that she was not even fit to carry Li Tanfang’s shoes. The feeling of inadequacy in her heart grew ever more intense.
All around her was the sound of laughter and merriment, and women kept coming up to drink toasts to her. She smiled and refused no one. Her capacity for drink was already shallow, and now alcohol was flowing into a heart already weighed down with sorrow — how could she hold it? Before the banquet had even ended, the room was spinning. Afraid of disgracing herself, she forced herself to hold on, and held on stubbornly until the feast was over. By that point countless people around her had already collapsed in drunkenness. Only then did she rise to bid farewell to Madam Wu and call for her royal attendant and maidservants to help her back.
Once inside her room, she felt a tightness in her chest, rushed to the washbasin and bent over, retching up everything she had eaten and drunk that evening, until at last even bile and tears came spilling out.
When it was all out, her head was ringing, her temples cramping painfully, the whole world swaying around her. She accepted the warm water a maidservant offered, rinsed her mouth, wiped her face and hands — and without even waiting for a hangover remedy, she fell forward and passed out in a drunken stupor.
At the royal palace banquet, the King of Que received the gift that Li Xuandu presented on behalf of Empress Dowager Jiang Shi. He was deeply pleased. Recalling the days of old when Que had allied and fought shoulder to shoulder with the Li dynasty and been granted the Li surname, a surge of pride and sentiment swept over him and he drank a great deal. When the banquet ended, he was drunk, and was escorted to his rest by Li Xuandu and Li Siye.
Once the King of Que was settled, Li Siye asked Li Xuandu to follow him to a private chamber in the royal palace. He dismissed the attendants, posted trusted guards at the door, then smiled and asked: “Well then — did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
Li Xuandu knew he had something to say, and moreover had already vaguely guessed what it was. Thinking of how he had finally, after eight long years apart, seen his maternal grandfather — the old man he remembered laughing like a great bell, now burdened by illness and trembling old age — and thinking too of his grandmother in Penglai Palace, her hair now white as frost, he could not suppress the ache in his heart. He said: “My grandfather and uncles have made their deliberations, have they not? I would gladly give my life to prolong Empress Dowager’s years — but birth, aging, illness, and death are the way of the world. The Emperor presses harder with every step. I fear time is of the essence.”
After the Crown Prince Liang affair, Li Xuandu had been imprisoned and the repercussions had implicated Que. The kingdom was branded as a co-conspirator and came under attack. Had Jiang Shi not spoken up in their defense, what would have followed was difficult to say.
Two years later, Li Xuandu was pardoned. But for Que, with the death of Emperor Mingzong — who had maintained close ties with them — the sword hanging over their heads had never truly been removed.
Especially over these past two years, intelligence brought by secret agents had left the King of Que deeply anxious. Li Xuandu knew his maternal grandfather had gradually developed the idea of relocating the kingdom — planning to move the clan members westward in secret, in batches, returning to their ancestral homeland, to avoid the possibility of the kingdom’s destruction in future.
If the plan could be realized, even if the Emperor wished to send troops to thoroughly root out the perceived threat, he would need provisions sufficient to sustain a large army in deep western campaigns for an extended period, while simultaneously dealing with pressure from the north.
At present, though the Li dynasty was powerful, it was not powerful enough to support simultaneous warfare on two fronts — both in the western regions and in the north.
So this was one viable direction to escape disaster. But a full national migration involved hundreds of thousands of people — not just soldiers, but many women, children, and the elderly and infirm. For them, this would be an extraordinarily arduous long journey, with unknown hardships and trials along the way.
Moreover, the ancestors of the Que people had originally come east out of admiration for Central Plains culture. Now to abandon a homeland that had long been woven into their very flesh and blood — whether from an emotional standpoint or a practical one, this was an immensely momentous event that could not simply be decided overnight.
So for the past two years, the King of Que had only sent men to survey westward migration routes and seek out the old ancestral sites. This plan had never been finalized, and had been kept under the strictest secrecy. Apart from a core handful of people within Que, no one else knew.
Li Xuandu was one of those who knew of the westward migration plan. Tonight, seeing his eldest maternal uncle bring him to this room, he guessed he intended to speak of this very matter.
Indeed — Li Siye walked to one wall, pulled aside a curtain that concealed it, revealing a map hanging on the wall behind. He pointed to the marked routes and invited Li Xuandu to look.
“The route was settled not long ago — this is the safest and most convenient path. If it truly comes to the day when the whole kingdom must migrate west, this would be the road to take…”
Li Siye paused, his expression pained.
“To think that the ancestors of the Que people once came east, hacking through wilderness, arriving here and building everything from nothing — a homeland and a paradise — and now, unexpectedly, we may have to…”
Li Siye’s eyes reddened, his voice growing slightly unsteady. He stopped.
Li Xuandu’s eyes were also tinged with red. “The fault is entirely mine. I have caused grief to my grandfather, my uncles, and the countless people of Que, leaving them unable to live in peace. The danger has reached such a degree that they may even be forced to abandon their homeland—”
Li Siye shook his head immediately. “How can this be blamed on you? If we had not formed an alliance with the Li dynasty back then, our people of Que would have suffered under the oppression of the Di people of the north. In victory or defeat, who could have foreseen the outcome. If worst comes to worst, migrating west is also fine — as long as the people survive, any place can become a paradise. If we must truly seek the source of the disaster, it is no more than the age-old difficulty of a small state trying to navigate between great powers. The situation today is the will of heaven as well. Emperors are ungenerous by nature — and you, born into the imperial family, have suffered all the more for it. When you were unjustly imprisoned, whether it was your grandfather or your uncles, we only hated our own powerlessness in being unable to relieve even half your suffering!”
He steadied himself, and a smile crossed his face.
“Your uncle has called you here because he knows you are skilled in strategy and planning. If the day truly comes when migration is necessary, moving hundreds of thousands of people is no less than fighting a great war. How to arrange the people in batches, supply the journey, ensure their safe passage, and how to pass through the various kingdoms along the way — all of this must be carefully planned. Your uncle hopes you can lend your strength in this matter…”
Li Siye was still speaking when sounds of a dispute came from outside the sealed chamber — the voice of his younger brother Li Sida. He had been stopped by the guards at the door and was calling out loudly.
Li Siye frowned, pulled the curtain back over the map, and went to open the door.
Li Sida had drunk a great deal tonight — his face was flushed red. He pushed his way inside, and the moment he saw Li Xuandu, he came forward and gave him a heavy clap on the shoulder, saying loudly: “Fourth Prince, your second uncle has something he has long wanted to say to you, and since this opportunity has come, I shall say it plainly! The Li dynasty’s emperor is nothing like the emperor of before — pressing too hard, leaving people no way to live. Since he has already decided you want to rebel, why don’t you? Just give the word, and your second uncle will obey without question — I will lead my men and support you with everything I have to cut off that dog emperor’s head, and let you be emperor yourself!”
His bloodshot eyes fixed on Li Xuandu: “Give your uncle a clear answer — will you rebel or not?”
Li Siye was greatly alarmed and immediately cried in fury: “Second Brother, you are drunk! What nonsense are you talking? Hold your tongue!”
Li Sida looked around, then strode to the curtain and yanked it aside, pointing at the map on the wall with a contemptuous sneer: “Elder Brother, I know your thinking — afraid of this, afraid of that, heart set only on leading the clan west. Why should we simply hand over a place we have lived for hundreds of years? I am stating it plainly today — ask me to migrate west, and it will not happen! If the Fourth Prince is unwilling to rebel, then I will rebel myself. You may be afraid; I am not. And my warriors will not be afraid either!”
Li Siye said: “Do you think rebellion is that simple? With just this tiny little nation, how do you expect to stand against the Li dynasty? If it fails, what will the outcome be? The kingdom is destroyed and the clan too! Your warriors may be willing to die, but what of the ordinary people — what becomes of them?”
Li Sida said: “Abandoning our land is no different from death. I trust not all the Que people are spineless! When the time comes, those who want to flee may flee. Those who stay, stay — and we fight! “
He paused, then sneered coldly: “Is not Dongdi trying to win us over? If the Fourth Prince truly will not rebel, and you all leave — I will ally with Dongdi. Even if it is a deal with the wolf, I am willing. For our people of Que, what difference is there between the Di people and the Li people? As for this so-called granted surname, I want none of it! The Li emperor shows no benevolence — do not blame me for showing no loyalty! I would rather go down fighting than let that dog emperor benefit!”
Li Siye was furious: “Fine! Fine! I knew long ago you had different ideas — you have probably already been in secret contact with the Dongdi people, and sure enough, today you come out and say it plainly — alliance with Dongdi!”
In his rage, he suddenly drew his sword.
Li Xuandu stepped forward instantly and seized the hand that held the drawn sword, neutralizing the blade’s momentum. He placed himself between the two uncles: “Both of my honored uncles, please calm yourselves for now. You are both my elders — if things come to this point, how am I supposed to conduct myself?”
Only then did Li Siye release the sword, saying coldly: “Do you know — on the way here, the Fourth Prince was attacked by Dongdi assassins and nearly lost his life?”
Li Sida was taken aback and immediately turned to Li Xuandu: “Is what he says true? Did Dongdi people really try to assassinate you?”
Li Xuandu gave a nod.
Li Sida’s face went ashen. He stood in stunned silence for a moment, then without another word turned and strode away.
With Li Sida’s departure, the room finally returned to quiet.
Li Sida was fierce and brave in battle and enjoyed considerable prestige among the Que warriors. Without the King of Que to restrain him, his open opposition to the westward migration would be something even Li Siye could not manage on his own.
Li Siye was deeply troubled. He steadied himself, then looked at Li Xuandu with a rueful smile. “Forget it — it is late. You go rest for now. Though the westward migration has not been finally decided by Father, I expect the general plan will not change — it is only a question of when to begin. The situation is grim, but within the next year or two, the Emperor should not move against us — it is not that urgent. What remains, we can discuss slowly tomorrow.”
Li Xuandu answered respectfully, told Li Siye to rest as well, and was turning to leave when he heard Li Siye call him back. He stopped and asked: “What else does Uncle wish to say?”
Li Siye appeared lost in thought for a moment, then said: “This matter — I had meant to bring it up the last time I visited the capital to celebrate the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday and saw you there. But the timing was not right then, so I did not. Now that the opportunity presents itself, I shall say it. It concerns the matter of your marriage to Tanfang. I do not know what your current thoughts are on this.”
Li Xuandu fell silent.
If that accident had not occurred when he was sixteen, he would have long since taken his cousin as a secondary consort, as arranged by his late father. But things had gone as they had — first imprisonment, then confinement, then mourning duties at the imperial mausoleum, then the posting to Xihai. He had never been free, never free of surveillance either. And in the few rare, brief contacts he had managed with his uncle over the years, such matters had naturally never been raised.
Now that he had come to Que, the fact that Tanfang remained unmarried to this day made his heart understand clearly — she was still waiting for him.
Li Siye continued: “She is a stubborn-hearted child. Though she has never breathed a word of this in front of me, how could I not know her? You two, though no formal marriage pledge was made when you were young, shared deep affection. Back then, if not for your reluctance to have her share your suffering, she would have gone with you to Wuyou Palace long ago. Having waited for you all these years, she certainly will not mind the formalities of titles and names. Your uncle raises this with you now — not to tell you to marry her immediately, since the time is not right for that. Your uncle only hopes that you can give her a promise. No matter how many years it takes, when the time is convenient, you will take her in — let her attend to you and the Princess Consort. She will certainly be well-behaved and cause no trouble.”
Li Siye sighed deeply, his expression showing his worry.
“Your Highness, our Que is in a time of difficulty. Your grandfather grows old, and his days may be numbered. Your uncle has no talent for kingship, and your second uncle even less so for leading the Que people. I have no alternative but to place my hopes in you. I hope you will take Tanfang — not only for Tanfang’s future, but also because if the worst comes and things truly change, it will help stabilize the hearts of our people. Do not blame your uncle for placing such a weighty burden on your shoulders — I am truly at my wit’s end. Knowing that your body also carries half the blood of our Que people, I implore Your Highness to bear this responsibility!”
Having said this, Li Siye actually rose from his seat and performed a full prostrating bow before Li Xuandu.
Li Xuandu was moved. He stepped forward quickly and caught Li Siye’s arms, holding him up. He hesitated for a moment, then said: “After all, this concerns my cousin’s entire life — please give me time to consider it, Uncle. I will give you my answer in a few days.”