She didn’t know how much time had passed. The carriage jolted beneath her, and her eyelashes fluttered faintly—Pu Zhu woke.

The carriage still seemed to be moving along a rough road, the body swaying gently, not entirely steady. In her ears, still muffled and indistinct, was the rumbling of the turning wheels—and also… the sound of rain falling on the carriage roof.

In the countryside outside the capital, in the late spring night, while she had slept, rain had begun to fall.

Pu Zhu also realized that she was not merely leaning against Li Xuandu’s shoulder. She had curled herself entirely into his arms, her cheek pressed against his lapel, while his two arms held her steadily, supporting her.

She was in truth already no stranger to this man’s body—willingly or otherwise, they had shared more than one intimate night together.

Yet somehow, it seemed this was the first time she had fallen asleep like this in his arms.

The way he held her gave her the illusion that she, too, could be cherished and indulged by him without limit.

Knowing it was an illusion, her heart still quietly beat a little faster—along with a faint, obscure sense of irritation.

He had plainly said she could lean against him if she was tired.

She must have drowsily burrowed into his arms in her sleep, and he had simply had to hold her like this.

Her eyelids had only just moved the slightest bit before she hurriedly shut them tight again. She lay still in his arms, pretending to sleep, not moving at all.

The carriage continued on, jolting every so often.

Rain fell against the roof of the carriage, rustling softly, like silkworms ceaselessly chewing mulberry leaves.

The night road stretched long, and he held her quietly like this the entire time, never letting go—until at last the carriage finally came to a stop.

Ye Xiao stepped away for a moment, then came back quickly, saying that the owner of the farmhouse by the roadside had agreed to put them up for the night.

“Zhuzhu?”

His voice came gently at her ear, calling her name.

Pu Zhu opened her eyes and met his gaze, looking down at her.

He said it was a poor lodging and he was sorry to put her through it, but they would continue on when morning came.

“When I was young, hunting outside the city, I often passed through this area. I remember one time, it was hot and I was thirsty, and I stopped at this very farmhouse to ask for water. If my memory serves, it was an old couple—their eldest son had died in battle, and they were raising a grandchild.”

He lifted the curtain from the carriage window and glanced out, and added this last remark.

A farmhouse where he had stopped for water as a youth.

Pu Zhu felt a sudden warmth stir in her chest.

She lowered her eyes and said softly: “It’s fine—anywhere to stay is all right.”

He smiled, lifted her down from the carriage.

In the pitch-dark countryside, behind the curtain of rain, the vague outlines of a handful of scattered village homes could be faintly made out nearby.

This house by the road was enclosed by a bamboo fence. The owners had been startled awake by travelers knocking on their door in the night rain. They lit a dim oil lamp and came to open the gate, a dog barking from behind the door.

The owners were indeed as Li Xuandu had said—a couple, elderly now, long past recognizing the splendidly dressed young man who had once stopped by years ago to ask for water. Seeing Li Xuandu, they took him for what Ye Xiao had told them: a merchant hurrying to the capital with his wife to attend a funeral. They saw that this young couple was a handsome match—though both were in plain mourning clothes, an air of wealth and distinction could not be concealed—and they received them with great courtesy and warm attentiveness.

Ye Xiao gave them some money and asked them to prepare a little food. The old couple was delighted by his generosity—one stoked the fire, the other busied herself at the stove, and soon food was brought out.

The two of them sat across from each other, a dim oil lamp burning at the corner of the table, steam rising from the bowl in the basin. The food was all simple country fare. Pu Zhu took a coarse mixed-grain flatbread and—whether from hunger or perhaps the handsome face sitting across from her—found it unexpectedly delicious. She happened to look up and saw that he had set down his food and was watching her. She paused, suddenly remembering the first time they had met, when he had Ye Xiao pass along the note about a “refined lady maintaining quiet dignity”—and then thinking of the graceful bearing of his cousin from the Que Kingdom—and began to suspect he found her crude and unrefined. The food immediately lost all appeal, and she slowly set down her chopsticks.

“Why have you stopped eating?” he asked her.

Pu Zhu held it in as long as she could, then finally could not help herself and said in a small voice: “When I was little in He Xi, in the hardest times, being able to eat something like this was already very good…”

Li Xuandu was briefly taken aback, and a flicker of tender compassion crossed his eyes. He reached over and took a coarse ceramic bowl, ladled some vegetable porridge into it for her, and pushed it toward her. In a low voice he said: “I wasn’t finding fault with you—please eat more. Just now, watching you eat with such relish, I found myself hungry too.”

As if to prove his words, he bit into the astringent mixed-grain flatbread, chewed, swallowed, and smiled at her gently.

A sweetness quietly welled up in Pu Zhu’s heart. She made a soft sound of acknowledgment and lowered her head to eat the porridge he had served her.

After bringing the food, the old woman sat in the corner of the room mending a shoe, glancing from time to time at this young couple. After a moment her gaze came to rest on Li Xuandu’s face, as though something was coming back to her. She stared at him for a good while, hesitated, and finally asked: “Forgive me for asking, sir—have you perhaps stopped to rest at our home before?”

She saw Li Xuandu look toward her, set down what she was holding, and walked over quickly. By the lamplight she studied his face again for several moments, let out a sound of recognition, and a look of delight spread across her features: “Now I remember! It really is you, sir! It must be several years ago now. My grandchild was still small then! It was you—you passed our home that day and came in thirsty to ask for water! In all my life I’ve never seen anyone as fine-looking as you, sir. Your features have changed a little, but once I’ve looked at someone’s eyes and brows, I remember them forever—it’s you, no mistaking it. And that day, when you heard that my eldest son had died in battle young, and my youngest was sickly and couldn’t work the fields, and our circumstances were so hard—you were so kind-hearted, sir, you gave us a good deal of money before you left. Without that money, we would have long since lost the few thin acres of farmland we had. You were our family’s benefactor, sir, and I will never forget your face as long as I live!”

The old woman was overjoyed, bowing and giving thanks repeatedly.

Li Xuandu smiled and told her not to stand on ceremony. He glanced around the room and asked what her youngest son and grandchild were doing now.

The smile vanished from the old woman’s face, replaced by grief: “My eldest joined the army years ago and was killed fighting the Di people. After all that, we managed a few peaceful years, and the grandchild grew up. But a few years ago, word came that the court, to deal with the Eastern Di, was expanding the army and conscripting men. We had two males in the household—one of them had to go—so he had no choice but to join up. That was several years ago now, and there’s been no word at all; we don’t know if he is alive or dead. My youngest passed away two years ago as well. Now there are just the two of us old people left in the house. I don’t wish for anything else—I only pray that my grandchild survives whatever dangers he faces. If my husband and I could live just long enough—long enough to see the day the court defeats the Eastern Di, and see my grandchild come home—I would thank Heaven and Earth with all my heart, and ask for nothing more!”

Li Xuandu was quiet for a moment, then asked for the grandchild’s name. He said he happened to know a few people in the army, and he would note it down first—perhaps in the future there would be a chance to make inquiries on her behalf.

The old woman was so grateful she wept, wiping her tears away. Then she called out her husband as well, and the two of them tried to kneel and bow their heads to the floor before Li Xuandu, but he lifted them to their feet.

The old couple’s profuse and repeated thanks went without saying; they returned the money Ye Xiao had given them earlier and absolutely refused to take it back no matter what. Li Xuandu told them to keep it for now and he would give it to them again when they left the next morning.

Pu Zhu and Li Xuandu went into the room where they would sleep that night. Though the place was simple—mud walls, a paper window—it had been swept clean, and the old woman, fearing there would be many mosquitoes in the countryside, had even brought in a basin of burning artemisia bundles and placed it in the corner of the room.

She had already dozed off in his arms in the carriage, so now as she lay down, she did not feel sleepy. She closed her eyes and listened to the fine, whispering sound of the spring rain falling on the roof outside, and felt that Li Xuandu beside her seemed to be awake as well. She could no longer hold it in, and said softly: “Your Highness, do you know how the Crown Prince came to the throne?”

Knowing he was listening, she told him everything—how she had been summoned by the Emperor to be questioned that night and had then witnessed it all with her own eyes.

He was silent.

“He murdered his own father and his emperor. If he could do such a thing, I am truly afraid he will… with you…”

She stopped, and shrank slightly in the darkness.

She felt him reach over and wrap an arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort, his palm stroking her hair gently a few times. He said slowly: “The Crown Prince seized the throne by such extreme and extraordinary means—though the ministers may not know the full details, they will certainly guess the gist of it. He himself will be uneasy about his own legitimacy; for the sake of justification, the Grand Empress Dowager is the crucial obstacle he must overcome. For the sake of court stability and the welfare of the realm, the Grand Empress Dowager will also come forward to acknowledge him—otherwise there will only be endless calamity and greater chaos.”

“As for me—set your mind at ease for the moment. His father’s method was assassination in secret. Since I did not die, he will not move openly against me at the very beginning of his reign, before his hold on the throne is firm. At least on the surface, he will continue to treat me as his father did before him.”

“That is the situation within the court at present. As for what lies beyond—if my assessment is correct, once word of this change of dynasty spreads through the realm, the Eastern Di will seize the opportunity to make trouble along the borders. It will likely be a probe—not a major war on the scale of the thirtieth year of the Xuanning reign, but there will certainly be skirmishes. And the Que Kingdom will be the first to bear the brunt. My maternal grandfather is still there; internally, the Que Kingdom will be stable for the time being. I will take the opportunity to submit a memorial requesting permission to lead troops. To prevent any communication between me and the Que Kingdom, he will naturally deny the request—but he cannot leave the Que Kingdom unattended either. Having only just ascended the throne, in order to establish his credibility at court and to project authority for the surrounding vassal states, he will have to send troops to intervene. And as for me—the most likely outcome is that he will send me back to the Western Sea.”

“The Western Sea is wedged between He Xi and Tianshui—a barren plateau, short on food, with a total population across all its commanderies of fewer than ten thousand households. Once I return to the Western Sea, it would be like entering an enlarged version of the Wuyou Palace—utterly without any power to act. As for hoping to use the Western Sea as a base from which to eventually take the Central Plains—without food, without money, and with no soldiers to conscript locally, my own forces being just a few thousand mixed troops—trying to stand against a court that can easily mobilize hundreds of thousands of men would be the fantasy of a madman. At the start of his reign, in order first to consolidate his throne and also to pacify the Grand Empress Dowager, unless he can arrange to have me assassinated secretly the way his father did, for him the most convenient handling of my situation would be to follow established precedent and leave things as they are…”

He paused for a moment.

“And that is also what I am hoping for.”

He suddenly turned over and got up from the bed, went to the table, lit the oil lamp, drew his sword, and beckoned to her.

Pu Zhu sat up and leaned forward over the edge of the bed, watching as he used the tip of his sword to draw a map in the earthen floor before the bed.

She had seen this from the time she was small—her father had shown it to her—and she recognized it at a glance.

“The Western Regions—fifty kingdoms!” she said without thinking.

Li Xuandu glanced at her, a look of approval flickering in his eyes, and nodded: “That’s right—a map of the Western Regions.”

It seemed this was the first time he had ever praised her quite like that, and Pu Zhu felt her face warm faintly. Then she thought that he seemed to be laying out his plans for the future—and excitement rose in her heart. She steadied herself, ears pricked, eyes fixed intently on the tip of his sword, afraid that if she so much as blinked she might accidentally miss something.

“Zhuzhu, a hundred years ago, at the height of the previous dynasty’s power, the Di people’s influence was driven completely out of the Western Regions. The many vassal kingdoms of the Western Regions submitted without exception, and the previous dynasty even established a Protectorate in the Western Regions to govern all matters there. East-west traffic flourished, its prestige spread far and wide—reaching at its furthest extent the lands of Kangju and Daxia. Afterward, the Central Plains fell into a hundred years of turmoil, and the Di people rose and took advantage, their influence encroaching into the Western Regions.”

“Since the founding of our Li dynasty, counted from its very beginning, we relied first on the peace-marriage alliance with the Western Di, and then on the ten years your father spent in tireless diplomacy. That period represented the closest our dynasty ever came to controlling the Western Regions—it was during those years that small kingdoms such as Yutian, hearing of our reputation, came to submit. Apart from that, the court has never had real, effective control over the Western Regions. The majority of the kingdoms there—some out of fear of the Eastern Di’s iron cavalry, some seeking to profit—have turned one after another toward the Eastern Di, making the Western Regions like wings beneath the Eastern Di’s arms, supplying an unceasing flow of grain and wealth, while also cutting and severing the east-west road of our Li dynasty at its center!”

He turned toward Pu Zhu, his eyes blazing.

“Zhuzhu, to pacify the Western Regions and sever the Eastern Di’s wings—this has been my dream since childhood. After my sixteenth year, any hope of going west through Yumen to pacify the Western Regions became impossible, and now it is even more out of reach, an empty fantasy. But I have another idea…”

His sword tip traced again across the earthen floor.

“Setting out from the Western Sea, traveling westward along an ancient road abandoned more than a hundred years ago, crossing over the snow mountains, passing through the great desert—one can circle around Yumen and enter the Western Regions. Once I have established a foothold, I will have the freedom to advance or retreat. But…”

He paused.

“Zhuzhu, on the day I arrive in the Western Regions by this route, it will mean that I have broken with the Li dynasty, and from that point forward I will carry the name of a traitor. In the past, I hesitated over this and could not decide. Now I have made my decision. Even so, I still wish to seek the Grand Empress Dowager’s forgiveness…”

Mentioning the Grand Empress Dowager, he stopped and his expression grew faintly somber.

“She has placed the highest importance on loyalty and duty her entire life. She raised me from childhood herself. If I act in this way, I am afraid she will be hurt—even disappointed in me…”

Pu Zhu had not yet had time to feel excited about his plan when she was already caught off guard, and she quickly got down from the bed. After a moment of hesitation, she reached out and gently took his hand.

“Don’t worry,” she said, comforting him. “She will certainly understand. You were forced into this…”

Li Xuandu smiled quickly: “You’re right. And don’t you worry too much either. I will speak with her properly.”

Pu Zhu nodded, and looked at the route into the Western Regions that he had drawn on the ground. She let her imagination carry her to that future day—when he would pacify the Western Regions, conquer the Wuli, and establish achievements even more magnificent than her father’s had been in his time. She felt overwhelmed with excitement, and was just about to ask him something when she heard him speak first.

Li Xuandu said: “Zhuzhu, there is one more thing I must make clear to you.”

She looked at him.

“Even in the Western Regions, I may not be able to establish myself as easily as I have just described. And even if I do succeed in gaining a foothold, any talk of returning afterward will also depend on opportunity. If the realm is at peace and prosperous, then even though the Crown Prince seized the throne by murdering his emperor, I cannot launch a great military campaign and plunge the common people into misery and fire. I, Li Xuandu, am entirely willing to place you in the position of Empress that you have always hoped for—but what the final outcome will be is also a matter for Heaven to decide. So let me ask you once more…”

He paused.

“Zhuzhu, do you truly believe in me?”

Pu Zhu tilted her head slightly back and met his eyes, which were looking down at her.

Outside the room the spring rain fell in a soft, continuous drizzle; inside, the oil lamp burned low and dim, casting a faint heaviness over his features.

Pu Zhu slowly, but with absolute clarity, word by clear word, said: “I believe in you.”

Li Xuandu looked at her and was silent for a long while. He gave her a faint smile and continued: “From the Que Kingdom to the Western Regions, there is also a northern route that has been scouted and found passable, but I cannot use it—if I did, once I arrived in the Western Regions, that road could not possibly be concealed from the court, and it would cut off the Que Kingdom’s only retreat. And this road into the Western Regions is extremely dangerous—that is why it was abandoned and lost to the drifting sands. The route I spent time quietly investigating and scouting guides for in the past—I have mapped it out roughly, but I have never actually traveled it myself…”

He gave a self-deprecating, rueful smile.

“So you see—you have married a useless man. Such as things stand, I must first ask the Grand Empress Dowager to keep you safe in her care. I will verify that the route is secure and passable, and then come to bring you across.”

Pu Zhu’s first instinct was to shake her head.

She did not want to be separated from him—not even for a moment.

But inside, another voice reminded her: he had already made things this clear. If she refused and insisted on following him, what would that be but making herself his burden?

She forced down the disappointment in her heart, and finally nodded: “All right—I’ll do as you say.”