The Great Emperor’s condition worsened with startling abruptness. Not only did it catch the palace completely off guard — it also disrupted the Great Emperor’s own plans.

After Li Huazhang secured the Xuan Xiaowei tiger tally, he quickly set about arranging the aftermath of the Great Emperor’s affairs. He knew that news of the Great Emperor’s death could not be suppressed for long; before much time passed, word would reach Han Jie’s ears. Han Jie was far away in Yizhou, and upon suddenly receiving news of the Great Emperor’s death, he would certainly suspect foul play. Li Huazhang needed to get to Yizhou as quickly as possible to convey the Great Emperor’s dying instructions to Han Jie, lest Han Jie raise troops in rebellion and bring catastrophe upon the land.

But at the moment of the Great Emperor’s death, only Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang had been at his side. Envoys from Taiji Palace arrived at Shanyang Palace in short order, their words probing obliquely at what the Great Emperor had said before his passing. Li Huazhang omitted the part about Xuan Xiaowei and relayed the rest faithfully, yet the eunuch imperial commissioner remained doubtful. Soon afterward, people from Princess Taiping and Prince Xiang arrived as well. Li Huazhang was exhausted by having to deal with all these parties, and though inwardly anxious, could not find the time to address the matter of Han Jie.

By the time Li Huazhang escorted the Great Emperor’s coffin back to Chang’an and formally handed over the funeral rites for the Great Holy Emperor of Heaven — Zetian — to the Ministry of Rites, it was already the twelfth month. Li Huazhang could wait no longer. On the very day he returned to Chang’an, using the observance of mourning as his pretext, he withdrew to the Prince of Yong’s residence, declining all visitors. In truth, he and Ming Huashang traveled light and unadorned, quietly slipping out of Chang’an under cover of darkness and making their way in haste to Yizhou.

During this period, while Li Huazhang was occupied dealing with the imperial family and had no hand free for anything else, Ming Huashang took charge of the black iron tiger tally on his behalf. On one front, she took over the Xuan Xiaowei outposts in the two capitals, Chang’an and Luoyang, gradually replacing key positions with people loyal to herself; on another front, she kept watch on news from Yizhou.

Yet just as she had anticipated, she sent several dispatches to Yizhou demanding that the outposts there report their situation truthfully — and every single one sank like a stone into still water, with no word coming back.

Ming Huashang quickly gave up. It seemed the whole of Yizhou was now under Han Jie’s control. Unless they went in person, there was no way to make contact with the Yizhou outposts.

Once Li Huazhang had arranged the Great Emperor’s funeral affairs, Ming Huashang had also finished tallying the personnel and their travel preparations, and she only awaited Li Huazhang’s return to the residence before they could set out. She did not know how long this journey would take, and fearing that something might happen in Chang’an while they were gone, she sent word to Ming Yuji, Xie Jichuan, Jiang Ling, and Ren Yao just before their departure. She advised them tactfully that with the year drawing to a close, the Empress having passed away, and tributary nations arriving at court for the New Year, there would be many foreign envoys entering the capital — at such a juncture, public order was apt to go awry — and urged them to conduct themselves with care and keep a close watch on developments in the two capitals.

Once everything was settled, Ming Huashang pulled up her hood, and she and Li Huazhang disguised themselves as a merchant caravan, then slipped out of Chang’an without a sound as dusk fell over the city.

After passing beyond the borders of Yongzhou, the two dropped their disguises and rode hard toward Yizhou.

Yizhou was ringed on all sides by mountains, easy to defend and difficult to attack, yet its heartland was flat plains that yielded abundant grain, silk, and salt and iron, supporting a large population. It had always been contested ground, indispensable to military strategists. The Great Emperor’s wisdom in choosing it as the base for a comeback was evident. However, for Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang — two “pacified” outsiders — Yizhou was without question a tough bone to gnaw.

Snow drifted down from the sky, melting the moment it touched the ground. The locals had grown accustomed to this damp chill; pedestrians thronged the streets, and the cries of vendors rose one after another without cease, their enthusiasm for business entirely undimmed by the rainy weather. From some distance away, a shop attendant spotted a striking pair of travelers approaching through the rain and hurried out to greet them: “Young sir, young madam — you’re back! Madam, that bolt of brocade you chose was a fine selection. The pattern is refined and elegant; it truly suits you.”

The attendant moved to take their umbrella for them. The young man, dressed in a pale celadon round-collared robe, thanked him with a word but did not hand over the umbrella. Instead he shifted it to his other hand, turned to the side, and steadied the young woman beside him — wearing a lake-blue cape — as she stepped up onto the stairs, murmuring under his breath: “Mind the slippery ground.”

The attendant rubbed his hands together, feeling rather superfluous. Fortunately, the young woman did not let the attention fall flat. She smiled and said: “Thank you very much for recommending the fabric house to us. Sichuan embroidery really is exquisite — if it hadn’t started raining, I would have been reluctant to come back at all.”

This young woman appeared to be of no great age. When she smiled, her eyes curved like crescents, and her laugh was like the chime of a silver bell — as if the overcast Sichuan sky had brightened because of her. The attendant smiled as well and said: “So long as you enjoy it. Are you newlyweds, sir and madam? The pomegranate blossom pattern from Li Brocade House is our most famous design — bountiful sons and boundless blessings. It suits the two of you perfectly.”

Ming Huashang felt somewhat awkward. Though by now she and Li Huazhang had been married for some time, when she heard someone wish them an abundance of children, she still could not quite feel at ease. Li Huazhang, for his part, showed no reaction at all. He inclined his head toward the attendant, his manner as bright and composed as if he were discussing a point of scholarship: “Thank you for the kind words. My wife’s hair was caught in the rain; please be so good as to heat some water and have it sent to our room.”

The attendant agreed with great enthusiasm and led the two of them upstairs. Once the door was shut behind them, Ming Huashang took off her rain-dampened cape and said with resignation: “What were you saying just now? We didn’t actually come here to look at Sichuan brocade — why did you buy any of it?”

They had disguised themselves as a merchant party come to Yizhou to purchase Sichuan silk, and Ming Huashang had been using the shopping as a pretext to gather information in the streets. She had not intended to actually buy anything. But Li Huazhang, after listening to the brocade house attendant describe the goods, was struck by an unexpected impulse and insisted on purchasing a bolt of silk — and none other than the pomegranate pattern for which Li Brocade House was renowned far and wide.

Because they were still in mourning for the Great Emperor, Li Huazhang had chosen a subdued violet-indigo brocade, yet even so, the plump and abundant pomegranate seeds embroidered upon it were quite eloquent enough in their symbolism. Ming Huashang had been mortified the entire way back, while Li Huazhang — the culprit — calmly filled the hand warmer with fresh coals and placed it in Ming Huashang’s hands, then unhurriedly drew her to sit down: “We came all this way; we can’t very well go back empty-handed.”

Ming Huashang shot him a disgruntled look. “We haven’t so much as caught a glimpse of Han Jie’s shadow, and you’re already thinking about going back?”

The Chang’an headquarters had maps of all the branch stations, so they knew which locations in Yizhou served as Xuan Xiaowei outposts — including the brocade market they had visited that day, near which there was a Xuan Xiaowei contact point.

But knowing the locations did not mean all was well. Every contact outpost operated openly as a business on the surface, and knowing the addresses alone, without knowing the personnel inside or how they functioned, was not enough to fundamentally shake Han Jie’s position.

Li Huazhang remained perfectly calm about this. He carefully warmed Ming Huashang’s hands and said: “Han Jie is no fool. We’ve spent these past few days here posing as customers and scouting the terrain — we know the lay of the land fairly well by now. Han Jie most likely knows we’ve arrived as well. The game of cat and mouse has grown tiresome. Perhaps it would be better to simply tear through the paper window and invite Han Jie out for a talk.”

Li Huazhang always showed this same enthusiasm for tearing through paper windows. Ming Huashang inwardly raised an eyebrow. “You trust Han Jie that much?”

“Of course not,” Li Huazhang said. “Which is precisely why you should leave the city first with the tiger tally and our men. If I have not come out by the Hour of the Rooster tomorrow, that means Han Jie has already harbored treacherous intentions. Take the men and make straight for Yongzhou — call up troops and surround Yizhou.”

Ming Huashang’s expression fell. “And what about you?”

“I must go meet him.” Li Huazhang looked at Ming Huashang with an apologetic expression yet with absolute resolve. “Knowing Han Jie as I do, he is not a man who cannot distinguish right from wrong. But I must prepare for the worst. If he refuses to believe the Great Emperor’s dying decree and has even turned against the Great Tang, I absolutely cannot let you or the Xuan Xiaowei tiger tally fall into his hands. But if he simply does not know that the Great Emperor changed his mind in the end, and is acting out of singular devotion to avenge the Great Emperor — then we cannot wrong a loyal subject.”

Ming Huashang asked: “Do you think he is a loyal subject?”

“In this world, some are loyal to their sovereign, and some are loyal to their country — it is merely a matter of finding common ground while accepting differences, and being at peace with one’s own conscience.” Li Huazhang met Ming Huashang’s eyes with great sincerity. “He and I walk different roads, but I want to give him a chance.”

Ming Huashang sighed inwardly. He always thought so well of people. He wanted to give Han Jie a chance — but how could he know whether Han Jie wished to be a loyal subject? Now that the Zetian Empress had left this world and there was no longer anyone who could restrain Han Jie, Han Jie was entirely free to lead what remained of Xuan Xiaowei and set himself up as a king in Yizhou. When power lies ready at hand, who would willingly retreat from the current and bow his head before the leadership of someone who was once subordinate to him?

If neither side broached the subject, both could continue to play deaf and blind. But if Li Huazhang broached it and demanded that Han Jie declare himself, he would be forcing Han Jie into a corner. If Han Jie flew into a rage, might he not move against Li Huazhang — even capture him as a threat against the court?

Li Huazhang understood all of this perfectly well, yet he persisted always in practicing the virtue of the gentleman: nurturing moral integrity, and meeting others with goodwill. His principles would not allow him to sentence someone without distinguishing black from white. Ming Huashang knew that if she used their bond to press Li Huazhang into leaving with her, he would not have the heart to refuse — but then he would no longer be Li Huazhang.

Ming Huashang took Li Huazhang’s hand in both of hers. “Very well. If you trust him, then I trust him too. I’ll go with you.”

“Absolutely not.” Li Huazhang was startled inwardly and rejected this outright. “You cannot risk your life. If he truly turns out to be a ruthless, ambitious man — you would be in danger if you remained in the city.”

“And you wouldn’t be in danger?” Ming Huashang looked at him stubbornly. “I’ll face it with you. If Han Jie truly has treacherous intentions, having me there means one more person to cover our escape. We made a promise, remember — whatever happens, life or death, we face it together.”

Li Huazhang’s lips moved slightly. He could be unyielding as principle required when it came to himself, but when faced with Ming Huashang, he could never restrain his own private heart. He looked at the clear, resolute light in her eyes and ultimately yielded. He suddenly pulled her tightly into his arms, buried his face at the side of her neck, and said in a low voice: “All right.”

In life they shared the same bed; in death, the same grave. Whatever happened, life or death, they would face it together.

Ming Huashang had initially intended to accompany Li Huazhang to meet Han Jie, but after the two discussed it and each gave a little ground, they settled on a plan: Ming Huashang would take the tiger tally and their men and withdraw to the vicinity of the city gate, while Li Huazhang went to see Han Jie alone. If he succeeded in persuading Han Jie to stand down, nothing would happen — that would be the best outcome. If Han Jie refused to lay down his blade, then master and disciple would have no choice but to meet in battle, and Ming Huashang would send people to assist Li Huazhang while holding the line at the withdrawal route, so they would not end up trapped like turtles in a jar.

Li Huazhang left a message for Han Jie at the contact point, proposing a meeting at Penglai Teahouse at the Hour of the Monkey on the fourteenth. Neither party would bring any guards or weapons — a gentleman’s agreement, a lone-blade appointment.

Soon the agreed time arrived. Ming Huashang watched as Li Huazhang stood straight and graceful, entirely at ease, and truly set off alone for the meeting exactly as the agreement stipulated. She could not help saying: “What if you brought a few people, hidden around the teahouse? In case anything unexpected happens, at least you’d have someone nearby.”

“There’s no need,” Li Huazhang said. “I issued this invitation. I agreed to bring neither weapons nor attendants — naturally I must lead by example.”

Ming Huashang was still uneasy. “But…”

“Huashang, trust me.” Li Huazhang drew close, bent down, and pressed a light kiss to her lips, then murmured in her ear so softly she could barely hear: “Everyone stays with you. The tiger tally stays with you. I’m taking a fake one to meet him. If the Hour of the Rooster arrives and I still haven’t returned, don’t hesitate — take the men and leave the city immediately.”

Ming Huashang’s eyes grew slightly damp. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly on the lips. “Promise me. Come back safely.”

Li Huazhang stroked her hair, held her closely for a long moment, then forced himself to let go. “I will.”

The first group of their people had already changed into ordinary clothes and were filtering one by one toward the city gate. Ming Huashang led the remaining men away; Li Huazhang set off as planned. Concealing one’s tracks was basic training for Xuan Xiaowei. After he left Ming Huashang’s hiding place, he wandered about the surrounding area for a time, and only once he was certain there was no one following him did he make his way toward Penglai Teahouse.

Li Huazhang was never late. That day he arrived a quarter of an hour earlier than the agreed time. The moment he stepped through the teahouse door, he realized the place was full of hidden men lying in ambush.

So Han Jie had not kept the gentleman’s agreement, it seemed.

Li Huazhang acted as though he had noticed nothing. He strolled unhurriedly to a private room, sat down, and set about preparing tea. His movements as he ground the tea leaves and added the water were smooth as flowing clouds, neither hurried nor rushed, betraying not a trace of tension.

As if the person sitting alone deep in enemy territory, with countless hidden arrows trained upon him, were not him at all.

Han Jie had not expected Li Huazhang to truly come alone to this lone-blade appointment. He could not be certain whether or not Li Huazhang had hidden weapons on his person, but there was not a single hidden man in ambush anywhere around the teahouse — Han Jie could not decide whether to call him bold or call him foolish. Han Jie remained concealed in the shadows, watching silently for a moment, then said to his subordinates: “Keep watching. I’m going down to meet him.”

His subordinates were somewhat startled. “Commander, you cannot take such a risk.”

“It’s fine,” Han Jie said mildly. “He came all this way — if I don’t appear, it’ll look as though I’m afraid of them. Watch the roads around the teahouse carefully, especially watch for a young woman with a very sweet appearance who seems entirely harmless. If she shows up, fire the signal flare immediately and close the city gates.”

“Understood.”

The water had come to a rolling boil once. Li Huazhang was just adding the second round of water when the door was pushed open. Li Huazhang glanced up, set the ladle down with perfect composure, and said: “You’ve come. The water only just had its first boil. If you’d taken any longer, the tea would have been overcooked.”

Han Jie sat down across from him and watched him prepare tea at an unhurried pace. “The Prince of Yong has remarkable bearing. Even at a moment like this, you still have the presence of mind to drink tea.”

“That is something you taught me — make nothing visible, and mean what you say.” Li Huazhang opened two tea cups and, holding the teapot handle with his handkerchief, poured the tea, the liquor flowing steadily into the cups. “Please.”

Han Jie looked at the jade-green tea in the porcelain cup and did not move to take it. “I don’t recall ever teaching anything about meaning what one says,” he said slowly. “Only those pedantic classics talk that way.”

“No — you did teach it.” Li Huazhang picked up one of the cups. His fingers were pale and slender, his knuckles finely shaped, his nails trimmed evenly and neatly — pressed against the teacup, they seemed more precious than the porcelain itself. He blew aside the steam and took a light sip. “Back then, it was you who told me: don’t use the ways of the official court on your own teammates. They are the spear that can kill for me, and the shield that can save my life when it matters most. I may not trust my own family, but I can safely leave my back to my teammates. The methods you taught me were different, but the principle underlying them is the same — meaning what one says.”

Han Jie was quiet for a moment after hearing this. Slowly he picked up the other cup and turned it in his fingertips. He inhaled the fragrance of the steam and said with genuine appreciation: “Fine tea. Your sister was never patient enough to fuss over tea, yet you are the opposite — that’s a rare thing.”

He had brought up Ming Huashang without warning. The fingers with which Li Huazhang held his tea cup clenched sharply, the knuckles nearly turning white. He steadied his composure and, following his own rhythm as ever, smiled lightly. “She isn’t lacking in patience; she’s simply lazy. If the tea has already been prepared and someone hands it to her, she’s quite willing to enjoy it. After all, who would go looking for trouble when they could simply enjoy a comfortable life?”

Han Jie raised an eyebrow with a slight smile and nodded. “Well said. But what if your comfortable life is someone else’s trouble? I ask you — should one look for that trouble or not?”

The two parried each other with words carrying double meanings, and gradually the moment of reckoning was drawing near. Li Huazhang slowly turned his tea cup between his hands. “We stand beneath the same sky and walk upon the same earth. Whatever differences there may be between us amount to nothing more than the wise man delighting in mountains and the humane man delighting in water. There is no need for it to come to a point where one of us must destroy the other.”

Han Jie looked at him with a faint, cool smile. “Perhaps because you bear the surname Li, and I am nothing but a commoner. Were it not for His Majesty Zetian, I would have frozen to death on the streets seventeen years ago. This life was given to me by the Wu family. For every day I live, I owe them a day’s gratitude.”

“The Wu family?” Li Huazhang turned the question back on him. “Who is it, exactly, that you are loyal to — His Majesty Zetian, or the Wu family? If the object of your gratitude is the Wu family, then consider: His Majesty Zetian herself issued the decree restoring the Empress title and arranging for burial alongside Emperor Gaozong at Qianling Mausoleum — she was, in a sense, half a member of the Li family. Of the remaining Wu family members, Prince Wei is already dead, which means the object of your loyalty would be Prince Liang.”

Han Jie let out a derisive laugh. Though he said nothing, it was clear he held the Great Emperor’s two indolent nephews in utter contempt. “I’m not a man of great moral principles,” he said. “I only know that kindness must be repaid and enmity must be avenged. As for those grand ideals about family and country, I’ve never had much use for them. I don’t believe what people tell me; I believe what I see.”

“Then all the more reason you should hear the dying decree of His Majesty Zetian.”

Li Huazhang set down his tea cup, sat upright, and addressed Han Jie with an expression of grave solemnity. “Before Her Majesty passed away, she charged me to deliver her verbal decree to you: cease all operations at once; henceforth, all commands are to be obeyed according to the tiger tally’s orders.”

“The tiger tally?” Han Jie narrowed his eyes. The look he fixed on Li Huazhang changed in an instant. “You obtained the tiger tally?”

“His Majesty Zetian herself passed it to me.” Li Huazhang knew that at this very moment there must be countless bows drawn taut, ready to riddle him with arrows at the slightest movement. He ignored the atmosphere bristling with blades and arrows, kept his gaze on Han Jie, and continued with absolute composure: “Since you receive orders from His Majesty Zetian, you certainly understand why she did this. Han Jie, I give you my word — everything I said before still holds. As long as you lay down your blade, no one will be implicated. Everyone can start a new life. I believe that is what everyone hopes for. Family and country need not be opposed to each other; repaying kindness and upholding righteousness need not be opposed to each other either.”

Their conversation had grown increasingly blunt, with less and less room to maneuver. Han Jie gave a cold laugh, and the hand concealed in his sleeve tightened around the hilt of his blade, ready to move at any moment. “The way you tell it, I seem to have become the villain. But you were the only one present at the time. The Li family is nothing if not united — for all I know, you fabricated an imperial decree to help the Li family secure their throne. You may even have killed Her Majesty yourself.”

Hearing Han Jie’s response, Li Huazhang actually felt a measure of relief. What he had feared most was that Han Jie had harbored his own ambitions for rebellion; if that were the case, nothing Li Huazhang said would matter. But Han Jie’s suspicion was directed at the authenticity of the Great Emperor’s decree — which meant that at least for now, Han Jie had not conceived any notion of setting up his own dominion. Li Huazhang’s heart remained as still and clear as a mirror, because his conscience was clean.

Li Huazhang said: “You know better than I do what His Majesty Zetian was like. If she had not truly come to this realization herself, did I have the ability to deceive her right beneath her eyes and walk away with the tiger tally completely intact? She was a sovereign. I hated her for killing my kin, yet I acknowledge her achievements as a ruler — without that acknowledgment, I would not have gone to Shanyang Palace to nurse her during her illness. Now she has died, and she chose to be interred as Empress of the Great Tang. We younger generations are willing to preserve her imperial title and offer her the rites due an emperor. Now that she is gone, the grievances between her and the Li family have all dissolved like smoke. In years to come, when later generations speak of her, they may not even care whether she was the emperor of the Zhou dynasty or the emperor of the Great Tang — for she and the Tang of the Li family have long since become inseparable, intertwined, each containing the other, impossible to part.”

What Li Huazhang appeared to be doing was presenting broad principles; in truth, he was obliquely pointing out several critical matters of consequence. First: all currently living members of the Li family were the Empress Zetian’s own flesh and blood — to oppose the Emperor was to oppose the Empress. By the same token, the Emperor could never revoke the Empress’s imperial title, for doing so would render his own imperial succession illegitimate.

As long as future sovereigns continued to honor the Great Holy Emperor Zetian, what difference did it make whether they were honoring a Zhou sovereign or a Tang sovereign? Furthermore, the Empress had already decided in her lifetime to return governance to the Tang, and it was she herself who had recalled Li Dan and installed him as Crown Prince, and she herself who had conferred the title Prince of Yong upon Li Huazhang. For her to be overthrown and then for someone to attempt a coup to restore her — that would be the truly misguided act. Her genuine political philosophy had always been the succession to the Li family.

Of course, what mattered most of all was that these words came from Li Huazhang. If Li Huazhang had not gone to nurse the Empress during her illness, or if the Empress had died within a month of his arrival, Han Jie would have listened to nothing Li Huazhang said. But Li Huazhang had spent six months at Shanyang Palace. If he had truly wanted to assassinate the Empress, he would have acted long before then — there was no reason to wait six months. And to care for an aged and infirm patient for six months, even if every moment of it were an act — that was enough.

Han Jie understood that what Li Huazhang had said was very possibly the Empress’s true dying wish. Setting others aside, Li Huazhang’s character — at least that — he trusted. But Han Jie had spent too long as a double agent; suspicion ran deep in his nature. He said: “How do you prove what you’re saying is true? Give me the tiger tally. If the tiger tally is real, I’ll believe you.”

Li Huazhang’s gaze was cool and clear. He refused without hesitation: “No. The tiger tally is the token of Xuan Xiaowei. It will not pass into the hands of a second person. If you have treacherous intentions toward Xuan Xiaowei and substituted the tiger tally for a false one, what then?”

If Ming Huashang had been there, she would have been frightened half to death — Li Huazhang had no tiger tally on his person at all. How could he still be this unyielding?

But paradoxically, Han Jie believed him. If Li Huazhang had capitulated, Han Jie would certainly have suspected how he had come by the tiger tally. But Li Huazhang’s manner was utterly righteous, and his refusal was without the slightest hesitation. Only a man with complete conviction in his position would dare to be this forceful — and Han Jie found himself believing that the tiger tally truly had been passed to Li Huazhang by the Zetian Empress.

Seeing Han Jie’s attitude soften, Li Huazhang knew he had played this dangerous gambit correctly. He calmly drank his tea, his conscience entirely untroubled.

Because his reputation in ordinary times was so excellent, even at the several key moments when he had told outright lies, not a single person had doubted him.

Neither Ming Huashang nor Han Jie.

Li Huazhang sighed innocently to himself.

Once the main terms had been settled upon, the rest followed naturally. Li Huazhang grasped the key threads and let Han Jie have his way in all secondary details. Very quickly, by the tacit agreement of the two parties directly concerned, what could have become an armed uprising dissolved into nothing.

Li Huazhang remembered the time he had agreed upon with Ming Huashang. Seeing the sky darken and the Hour of the Rooster drawing near, he bid farewell early and rose to leave. As he walked out, he saw the hidden men lying in ambush outside — yet his expression did not change in the slightest. He walked through that forest of blades and arrows with perfect composure and picked up his umbrella, which he had leaned against the doorway. As he bent down, the hidden men thought he was about to strike and could not help stepping back. Li Huazhang acted as though he could not sense any of this whatsoever. He opened the umbrella, and without a backward glance, walked out into the vast expanse of rain and snow.

The crowd watched the tall, upright figure in celadon blue recede through the rain, and every one of them was moved by Li Huazhang’s bearing.

So this was the Great Tang’s Prince of Yong. Truly gracious and noble, far beyond the ordinary.

Li Huazhang’s demeanor was at ease, and to outside eyes he appeared to be strolling without a care — but in his heart he was quietly thinking about where he might find a horse. If he walked the whole way, he would not only be late, his clothes would be soaked through.

He had no particular concern for appearances, but he could not very well show up before Ming Huashang in a disheveled state. He distinctly remembered Mid-Autumn Festival, when Ming Huashang had drunk wine and in her warm, unguarded state had let slip the truth — that what she liked most about Second Elder Brother was how attractive he was.

The next day, once she was sober, she had offered a long string of compensating remarks about admiring Li Huazhang’s talent and character and so forth — none of which Li Huazhang had believed for a moment.

His little sister was indolent and carefree, with no patience for using her brain. Even her standards for the person she slept beside were thoroughly shallow.

As Li Huazhang thought of Ming Huashang, the keen and bright light in his eyes softened without his realizing it. Through the desolate cold rain, the sound of hoofbeats drew near from a distance. Li Huazhang held his umbrella up and looked: a figure in jade green was approaching from far away. She caught sight of Li Huazhang, dismounted immediately, and came rushing toward him in two or three strides: “Why are you here? Are you all right?”

Li Huazhang’s heart ached as he saw that her clothes were covered in raindrops. He reached out and took her hand, shifting the umbrella over her head. “I’m fine. Why didn’t you put on a rain cape?”

As the Hour of the Rooster drew near, Ming Huashang had grown more and more anxious, and in the end she simply could not bear it. She had left half the men to cover the approach and brought the other half back to look for Li Huazhang — she certainly had no presence of mind to think about putting on a rain cape. Seeing that Li Huazhang was truly unharmed, she could finally let out the breath she had been holding in her heart all this time. “You frightened me to death. Thank goodness you’re all right.”

Li Huazhang laughed and drew her into his arms. In fact the Hour of the Rooster had not yet arrived; even if it had and he had not yet appeared, she should not have come back — the truly righteous and far-sighted thing to do would have been to take the men away and preserve their strength. But the person in his arms was her — who still had room in their heart for any thought of righteousness?

Love, by its very nature, was not rational.

Seeing Li Huazhang appear before her safe and sound, Ming Huashang knew he had succeeded. She did not ask where Han Jie was. She took Li Huazhang’s arm as they walked away, and complained: “It’s so cold in Yizhou. I always thought the south would be warmer than the Guan region, and that winter would be easier to bear — now I know that the cold when it rains is far worse than the cold of snow. Let’s go back to Chang’an quickly.”

Li Huazhang murmured his agreement in a warm voice. The two of them were still talking when a figure in black came striding quickly toward them, dressed in the distinctive Xuan Xiaowei attire.

Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang both sensed something was wrong. They fell silent simultaneously, and the easy, joyful mood of moments before evaporated entirely. The figure in black stopped before Li Huazhang, presenting a sealed letter with both hands. Li Huazhang opened the envelope, and had barely scanned the first line when his complexion darkened.

Ming Huashang caught a glimpse from the corner of her eye. At the very top, she could read the words —

“On the seventh of the twelfth month, the Crown Prince staged a coup, besieging the Xuanwu Gate…”

The seventh day of the twelfth month. That was seven days ago.