In this lifetime, Li Xuandu had never before felt such a burning desire to see someone’s face as he did at this moment.

The face from his dream—eyes red and swollen—seemed to have been carved deeply into his mind. Her father had been so close, yet he could not draw near. He thought again of what she had asked of him when she had first sought his help, not long after they had met, when she told him her wish. A faint ache tugged at his heart.

He wished he could sprout wings and fly to her side at once, to tell her how deeply he regretted the way he had been at their parting—that cold and hard-hearted manner, so unfamiliar even to himself.

In all the days since he could no longer see her, whenever he had a free moment and his mind grew quiet, his heart would sink into a hollow emptiness that matched.

What is longing? Only today did he truly understand.

When she was not there, that was what longing was.

Urged on by a heart beating with urgency, he could barely wait for dawn to go and bid farewell. On an impulse, he went directly to the golden tent—only to arrive and, looking up at the still-pitch-black sky in the distance, come back to his senses and force himself to hold back. He waited for daybreak.

It was now the fourth watch, and dawn was approaching. Yet every moment of that waiting stretched out unbearably long. At last, when the sky had barely begun to lighten, he could endure it no more and had someone carry his words inside on his behalf.

Princess Jinxi, who had only just fallen asleep not long before, got up in haste—she did not even have time to pin up her long hair, and came out with it hanging loose.

Though spring had already arrived, the morning wilderness of Yinyue City was still heavy with frost and frozen dew. She saw her nephew standing outside, looking as though he had been waiting for some time already—his eyebrows and the top of his hair seemed dusted with a faint layer of frost.

She walked quickly to him and asked with concern: “Why have you come so early, all of a sudden? Has something happened?”

Li Xuandu said: “Aunt, I want to go back. I will bid you farewell and then set out immediately.”

“Why such urgency? You didn’t breathe a word of it last night!”

Princess Jinxi was greatly surprised. When she had asked and he paused slightly, as though a little flustered, and then said quietly: “I miss her somewhat.”

The morning light around them was still dim, but it could not conceal the way something like starlight seemed to have settled at the bottom of his eyes—his gaze shining with a quiet brilliance.

Princess Jinxi started, studied her nephew for a moment, and then smiled.

She too had been young once. She knew the burning torment of longing. She did not try to keep him, simply nodded, and immediately made arrangements to see him off.

And so it was that Li Xuandu left Yinyue City at that dimly breaking dawn and set out on the ten-thousand-li journey home to the east.

He had departed in early February. At that time the steppe was still cold and the sand still frozen; he traveled through frost and ice. As he journeyed eastward, the snow and ice gradually melted. By the time he passed through Yumen and continued east, the warmth of spring grew more apparent with every mile. He pressed on day and night without stopping, and finally, in the early spring of the third month of the year, he arrived back at the capital.

He entered the city just as night fell and lanterns were being lit. The capital glittered, ten thousand households ablaze with light. He rode through half the city, and when at last, about to reach the end of this weary journey, he drew close to the great gate of his princely mansion, a feeling rose unbidden within him—something he had never felt before: a sense of coming home.

This mansion had been his since he was thirteen years old, but even in those first years, it had never felt like home to him—not for a single moment.

Yet now, when he looked ahead and saw the two red glow of the lanterns hanging at the mansion’s gate, a feeling of peace came over him, without any reason he could name.

She should be just behind that gate, inside the courtyard. He would see her soon. He could not help beginning to wonder what she was doing at this moment.

Perhaps she had just finished her bath and was leaning lazily against the south window in a spring robe?

Or perhaps she was sitting with two or three maids, idly playing pieces on a board to pass the long spring night?

In these three or four months apart, he had thought of her nearly every day. Had she thought of him—even the smallest fraction?

Li Xuandu felt his heartbeat quicken. Unable to wait any longer, he spurred his horse to the gate, dismounted and climbed the steps in a few strides, and knocked.

The estate manager, learning of his return, came hurrying out with greetings and inquiries about his journey.

Li Xuandu strode toward the main hall, asking casually as he went: “Has the Princess Consort been well while I was away?”

The manager said nothing. Li Xuandu stopped and turned to look at him—the man seemed to be struggling to speak—and a sudden unease swept through him.

“What is it?”

The manager said quietly: “Your Highness, the Princess Consort has not yet returned.”

Li Xuandu was taken aback.

They had parted at the end of last year when he came out of the Que kingdom. From the Que kingdom to the capital, even traveling slowly, was barely more than half a month’s journey. So much time had passed—how could she still be on the road?

“Where is she?” Li Xuandu raised his gaze and looked at the people around him.

“Where is Ye Xiao? And Luo Bao? Where are they?”

“What exactly has happened?”

His voice suddenly rose, stern and demanding.

The estate manager was frightened and in great haste recounted everything he knew of what the Princess Consort had been through. He said that after she had returned alone from the Que kingdom at the end of last year, she had received the Emperor’s special favor and not long after was sent on imperial orders to pay her ancestral rites in her home region. On her way back, she had learned of a plague in Tongzhou—the local officials were colluding to conceal it—and she had rushed toward the capital, intending to report it to the Emperor as soon as possible. She had not anticipated an attempt on her life: the post station caught fire in the middle of the night, but she had narrowly escaped. Fearing further obstructions ahead, she had entrusted the task of delivering the message to Ye Xiao, had herself stepped off the carriage partway, and since then had vanished without a trace—she had not returned to this day.

When the manager finished recounting the events, he saw the Prince of Qin standing perfectly rigid, his figure motionless, and became somewhat alarmed. He hastily continued: “Your Highness, please do not worry too much. When the Princess Consort split from the group, Supervisor Luo was with her, and Senior Guard Ye ordered guards to accompany the Princess Consort as well. He returned to the capital half a month ago, reported the Tongzhou matter, and then immediately took men back out to search for the Princess Consort. The Grand Empress Dowager and His Majesty have also issued orders commanding local officials to do everything in their power to find the Princess Consort. Word should come very soon…”

Li Xuandu rushed into the main hall, shoved the door open, and swept the room with his gaze. She was nowhere to be seen.

The hall was empty and still, without a trace of her laughter.

He stood motionless behind the threshold for a moment, then suddenly turned and walked quickly to the study.

He had been sent on imperial orders to escort Huaiwei westward; on returning, the first thing he should have done was to report to the Emperor the following morning.

He took up his brush and wrote quickly, completing the memorial that would substitute for his court appearance the next day. He had someone sent in readiness to deliver it to the palace the next morning, and then, without another moment’s pause, set out on the road again immediately—traveling through the night.

Several days later, he arrived at the place where she and Ye Xiao had parted ways. The local officials came hurrying to the post station to pay their respects, reporting that they had already mobilized their subordinates to search everywhere, and asked the Prince of Qin to be patient.

Ye Xiao, who had learned of the Prince of Qin’s arrival from outside, rushed back and came running into the post station. Seeing him standing on the steps ahead, gazing at him without a word, Ye Xiao immediately dropped to his knees: “Your subordinate is guilty—I have failed Your Highness’s trust once more! Your subordinate truly has not forgotten Your Highness’s orders from that day for even a moment, but the Princess Consort insisted—she said some matters outweigh others, and that getting word of the Tongzhou plague to the Emperor’s ears was the paramount concern. Your subordinate had no choice but to follow the Princess Consort’s wishes…”

He pressed his forehead to the ground and did not rise for a long time.

“A mere governor of Tongzhou—how would he dare commit such an act? Was it Shangguan Yong behind the governor?”

After a long silence, Ye Xiao heard a voice above him—restrained in tone—and quickly raised his head to answer in the affirmative.

“His Majesty was planning the Fengshan ceremony at Mount Tai. The Shangguan faction feared that the Tongzhou plague would disrupt the ceremony and displease the Emperor, so they went to extreme lengths to conceal it—so utterly deranged they dared lay a hand on the Princess Consort! That night’s fire was terrifyingly dangerous—if not for sheer luck, the Princess Consort would have come to harm!”

He said this with fierce indignation.

Li Xuandu slowly clenched his fist; his knuckles cracked. He ordered Ye Xiao to give a detailed account of what had happened.

Ye Xiao recounted the events of that night: they had checked in to the post station, fire broke out in the second half of the night, he had rushed in to save her, was accidentally pinned under burning timber and injured. Shen Yang then appeared at just the right moment—not only rescuing the Princess Consort, but at the Princess Consort’s request, also pulling him out.

He pressed his forehead to the ground again, his voice heavy with shame: “Your subordinate was utterly incapable and failed to protect the Princess Consort. Please, Your Highness, punish me as you see fit.”

“Shen Yang of the Southern Bureau—how convenient that he happened to be at that same post station that night?”

Li Xuandu’s eyes darkened, and he pressed further.

Ye Xiao said: “Yes. Your subordinate originally assumed Shen Yang had simply happened to be passing through. After the incident, he also interrogated the post station master and learned it was the governor who had committed the crime, then volunteered to escort the Princess Consort to the capital. At the time your subordinate was injured and unable to continue protecting the Princess Consort and getting her on the road in time, and also feared slowing down the journey, so I agreed to let Shen Yang escort the Princess Consort to the capital. What your subordinate never imagined was that Shen Yang also had ulterior motives—he nearly came to harm the Princess Consort.”

“What exactly happened!” Li Xuandu asked in a sharp voice.

Ye Xiao dared not conceal anything and recounted what followed.

After the Princess Consort set out with Shen Yang, he had ultimately been unable to put his mind at ease. The next day, when his strength had recovered somewhat, he immediately went after them. But a few days later, he encountered the broken bridge that blocked the way forward. He asked the people nearby for information and learned that the bridge had already been down for several days. The previous day, a party of travelers had also been held up here; they had summoned the county magistrate and then the group had changed course, apparently following the magistrate into town.

He asked about their appearance, confirmed it was Shen Yang’s party, and immediately pursued them into town. He made inquiries at the post station and at other locations but found no trace of the Princess Consort. At the time he assumed she must have gone ahead by a different route with Shen Yang, and so he gave chase again—following them for two more days. At every post station he asked along the way, he was told that Shen Yang’s party had never checked in. Knowing something was wrong, he immediately turned back. On the way, he happened to meet the Princess Consort, Luo Bao, and the others—and only then did he learn that Shen Yang had indeed had ulterior motives all along, detaining her at the location of the broken bridge. Fortunately the Princess Consort had managed to rescue herself: after being held in soft confinement for several days, she broke free—and not only that, she had also obtained Shen Yang’s command token. Considering that there were numerous checkpoints ahead and she feared she was already being targeted—that even with the token, it might not be of use—she had entrusted him with the task of delivering the message while she herself stepped out of the carriage and they went their separate ways.

Li Xuandu had not even heard the full account before his expression stiffened completely. He paused, then asked through what was almost gritted teeth: “When you parted that day—what exactly did she say about where she was going?”

Ye Xiao said: “The Princess Consort said she was going to stay with an old acquaintance for the time being, to find a place to lie low, and that this person was very reliable. I asked again and again, but the Princess Consort said it was not convenient to mention the name, and only told me not to worry. She also said she was a little tired and wanted to take the opportunity to rest for a while—that once she had rested, she would make her own way back. Your subordinate had no choice, and dared not stop her. She had guards accompany her and then she left. After your subordinate entered the capital and delivered the message, he came straight back here to search for the Princess Consort. Your subordinate is incapable—he has already searched the surrounding areas far and wide, and still there is no trace of the Princess Consort.”

Ye Xiao had developed a genuine and heartfelt devotion to the Princess Consort of Qin after everything they had been through together—one that came from the bottom of his heart, a willingness to do anything for her. These past days, though the wounds on his own body had not yet healed, he had disregarded his condition and gone out searching every single day. Having no definite news, he had already been consumed with anxiety. Now, facing the Prince of Qin, his guilt was even more overwhelming. Having reported everything, he remained with his forehead pressed to the ground.

Li Xuandu closed his eyes.

Where on earth had she gone? Under those circumstances that day, where could she have gone?

She said she had gone to an old acquaintance. Who among her remaining acquaintances could she turn to?

Yang Hong was not possible. He Xi was too far away. And besides, if it were Yang Hong, there would be no reason she could not say so openly.

But aside from Yang Hong, who else was there, outside the capital, for her to turn to?

He knew her appearance well—had been close to her in the most intimate way a man and woman can be—and yet in a moment like this, when she had disappeared without a trace, Li Xuandu realized, to his shock, that he knew almost nothing about her.

Ye Xiao was still kneeling on the ground, refusing to rise out of self-reproach, asking to be punished.

And what standing did he himself have to punish anyone else for their failings?

Li Xuandu could not help thinking again of the night before they had parted. He had defended the cousin he held dear in his heart, had argued with her, and then over that jade pendant had spoken cold words to her—ignoring her apology afterward, leaving her to grieve through the night without a word of comfort, and the next day saying nothing at all before turning his back on her and leaving.

A thought suddenly arose in his mind.

Was it possible—out of hurt and wounded pride—that she had decided she no longer wanted him, and that was why she had gone like this without returning?

At this moment he was filled with regret.

What did it matter if she threw the occasional fit?

Even being taken in and led about in circles by her—as he had been before—was infinitely better than this: not having the faintest idea where she had gone.

Li Xuandu’s mind was in complete disorder. Seeing Ye Xiao still kneeling there, he told him to get up and asked about his injuries.

Ye Xiao said gratefully: “Your subordinate is fine—nothing serious.”

Li Xuandu then asked which areas they had already searched in these past days.

Ye Xiao said: “With this location as the center, we have sent people every day to make inquiries at all the large and small road junctions going north, east, and south. Because the roads are complex, there is still no word as yet, but we believe something will come to light very soon. Please, Your Highness, set your mind at ease for the moment.”

Li Xuandu immediately asked: “Why have you not searched to the west?”

Ye Xiao said: “Due west is the direction of the capital—the Princess Consort would certainly not go that way. As for northwest—that direction is desolate and sparsely populated. A thousand li away lies Shangjun—too remote, and it is a frontier commandery. We assumed the Princess Consort would be unlikely to have any acquaintance there she could turn to.”

Li Xuandu thought for a moment, and then—suddenly—a name came to him.

Jiang Yi!

Jiang Yi and her father had been close friends in the past.

A reliable old acquaintance. Someone whose name it would not be convenient to disclose.

His instinct told him she had very likely done the unexpected: traveled a thousand li to Shangjun to seek refuge with Jiang Yi.

Li Xuandu’s heart gave a sudden leap. He was just about to speak when a subordinate came running in from outside, reporting that Supervisor Luo had dispatched a guard here to pass on a message: the Princess Consort had arrived at the Shangjun horse farm. Luo Bao had been afraid the Prince of Qin would return and, not finding her, would worry—so he had sent word specifically to report that she was safe.

Li Xuandu closed his eyes briefly, pressing down the surge of wild joy and gratitude welling up inside him, then immediately turned and ran outside.