The Emperor coughed blood and fell gravely ill, causing an emergency in the dead of night. The Crown Prince in the Eastern Palace and the two Princes of Second Rank residing outside the palace hurried to attend to his illness.

In less than a month, it would be the Emperor’s birthday. If something were to happen to the Emperor at this time, it would be most inauspicious.

The Crown Prince helped the Emperor take his medicine while Prince Qin knelt nearby, feigning sobs. Prince Jin’s crying seemed the most genuine, appearing as if he might faint from grief. The Crown Prince cast a disgusted look at Prince Qin’s artificial tears and Prince Jin’s near-death wailing before leaving the inner chamber.

The palace servants in the Emperor’s quarters scattered like frightened birds. Liu Wengi was summoned by the Crown Prince for questioning why the Emperor had suddenly coughed blood.

Liu Wengi stood before the Crown Prince with downcast eyes, knowing his castration was orchestrated by the eleventh son of the Ministry of Revenue’s director, who had merely been demoted one rank as punishment.

This was all the Crown Prince’s doing.

The Crown Prince viewed him as worthless—he was no good person.

Yet Liu Wengi only showed fear on his face. His master, the Chief Imperial Steward Cheng An, stood beside him sweating cold sweat as the air grew thick with tension. Liu Wengi naturally wouldn’t tell them that the Emperor had coughed blood after learning Princess Danyang could not bear children. Such imperial family secrets were better left unknown.

Instead, Liu Wengi claimed the Emperor had coughed blood after the Wuman King’s departure.

Thus, the Crown Prince summoned the Wuman King to the palace that night.

When Meng Zanshi arrived, he suspected something had triggered the Emperor. But that trigger was his own deliberate doing—he had wanted to test if the Emperor held any genuine feelings for his daughter… Not wanting this to become public knowledge, Meng Zanshi feigned ignorance.

Before the Crown Prince could discover anything, joyous shouts suddenly came from the inner palace: “His Majesty is out of danger…”

Standing outside the palace hall, gazing at the red lanterns stretching for miles, the Crown Prince felt an indescribable sense of disappointment sweep over him.

For a moment, he had hoped the Emperor would simply die. Then he wouldn’t need to struggle anymore—as Crown Prince, he could naturally ascend to the throne.

The Emperor’s deep scheming had left everyone exhausted—

Meanwhile, the Emperor, though out of danger, fell into a deep nightmare.

In this hazy dream, amid boundless white emptiness, the Emperor found himself standing outside Qingning Palace.

Light rose-colored clouds seemed to race across the sky’s edge. In the dream, Qingning Palace was bathed in a soft yellow light, appearing ethereal and unreal. This was the Former Empress’s residence.

The Emperor instinctively took a step forward, then stopped: “Anuan…”

He gazed at the familiar yet strange Qingning Palace, afraid to approach in the dream. He feared finding it empty inside with only dust and cobwebs; he also feared finding Anuan there, looking at him with eyes full of hatred.

In his youth, he married Li Anuan because of the Li family’s great power, which helped him emerge victorious in the struggle for the throne. Though he had used the Li family’s influence, he had genuinely liked Anuan. Before their second son’s death, the Emperor and Empress’s relationship had been as harmonious as any ordinary couple.

Suddenly, the Emperor heard a baby crying. The cry rang out like thunder in the dim dreamscape, making the unreal scene feel slightly more authentic. Along with the infant’s cries, the Emperor heard more voices—

“Her Highness has given birth! It’s a baby girl!”

“Congratulations, Your Highness!”

“Your Majesty, Her Highness is safe, and the little princess is very beautiful.”

Quick, light footsteps came from Qingning Palace—footsteps too small and numerous to be those of adults. The next moment, a young boy poked his head out from the palace entrance and ran toward the Emperor, taking his hand.

The child’s soft, delicate fingers slipped into the Emperor’s palm.

The Emperor trembled and looked down to see the boy’s refined features and thick dark lashes. The boy appeared no more than five or six years old, small in stature yet endearing and lovable.

The Emperor couldn’t help but exclaim: “Er Lang…”

The boy looked up: “Father, let’s go see Mother.”

The Emperor numbly looked down at him, his nose suddenly stinging with emotion.

He knew this was a dream.

Er Lang had left this world ten years ago, at the age of fifteen. Er Lang had never appeared in his dreams, never left him with even a trace of lingering attachment. So whose presence was this dream channeling?

Led by the boy’s hand, the Emperor entered Qingning Palace, afraid to breathe lest the dream end. The dream didn’t fade at that moment—not only did he see his deceased son as a child in the dream, but he also saw the beautiful lady reclining on the bed, holding an infant.

The Emperor stared in a daze. Time and memory were both cruel, their actions like daggers stabbing into remembrance. Though his heart ached as if being cut, he could only watch numbly.

Anuan beckoned to him, her features bearing the gentle kindness of motherhood: “My lord, come quickly and see our little princess…”

The Emperor sat by the bed, lowering his eyes to look at the little princess. Er Lang stood on tiptoe, pulling at the Empress’s arm to peek as well. As the Emperor and Empress chatted idly, the boy stared curiously at the newborn girl without pause. When he reached out to touch her, his mother’s glare made him quickly withdraw his hand with an embarrassed smile.

The Empress asked: “Has Your Majesty thought of a name for our little princess?”

The boy immediately raised his hand: “Let me name her! Let me name her! Father, Mother, can I name my sister?”

The Empress suppressed a laugh: “Do you know enough characters?”

The boy pleaded: “Father can write down the characters he likes, and I can choose from them. I want to name my sister, I’ll be very serious about it.”

Unable to refuse the boy, the Emperor wrote down some characters as he remembered doing, letting Er Lang choose. The boy looked through them carefully before selecting the characters for “Wan” and “Yao.”

The Empress pondered: “Mu Wanyao? ‘Evening twilight, late swaying.’ The imagery is nice, but the meaning is ordinary, and it sounds somewhat sad—not very auspicious.”

The boy declared brightly: “How could it be sad? She’s Father and Mother’s child, Great Wei’s newborn princess. How could it be sad?”

The boy looked up, his grape-dark eyes fixed on the Empress, but the Emperor felt as if he were looking straight into his own heart. The boy continued: “I want my sister to be called ‘Mu Wanyao.’ I chose her name, so I’ll protect her too. I’ll always protect my sister—let’s call her ‘Mu Wanyao,’ alright?”

Mu Wanyao.

Evening twilight, late swaying.

Just as the Empress’s words had prophesied, twilight had fallen, the hour grew late, and she—a small, lonely boat—where could she go?

The one who named her was gone, the one who promised to protect her was unable to keep his word. The Emperor and Empress turned against each other, using her as a sacrifice in their struggle. Then the Empress passed, and everything began to fall.

The Emperor had won this smokeless war, but Mu Wanyao could no longer bear children.

Anuan’s bloodline, the Li family’s bloodline… would finally end in the imperial family.

The Li family’s great defeat meant the Emperor could finally rest easy, no longer worried that if Mu Wanyao bore children, those children—carrying both Li family and imperial blood—might be used by the Li clan to stir up trouble after he aged. Mu Wanyao need not return to Wuman, nor could she help the Li family rise again.

But with this came Anuan’s complete departure.

She had finally disappeared entirely. Of her two children, her son had preceded her in death, and her daughter could not bear children. Her bloodline… now truly only remained in Mu Wanyao—

The Emperor woke from his nightmare at midnight hour.

He sat empty on his bed, staring into the void. Anuan stood there, tears in her eyes, looking at him with hatred.

He finally covered his face as tears fell unexpectedly, and he broke into loud sobs.

These years… these years… had truly been like a nightmare.

He had brought his only remaining trace of Anuan to such a state. He had kept his empire stable, but he had lost everything else—

The Emperor’s sudden, hurried sobs pierced the night, causing the Chief Imperial Steward to rush in to check on him. The Emperor commanded: “Summon Princess Danyang to the palace.”

But just as the servant was about to leave with the order, the Emperor changed his mind and said hoarsely: “Never mind, she should be asleep at this hour—don’t disturb her. Tomorrow, let the Crown Prince oversee the court. I won’t attend. Have Princess Danyang come to the palace to share the morning meal with me.”

The servant went to relay the orders.

Princess Danyang entered the palace the next day.

Mu Wanyao attended to her father as carefully as ever, but her father kept looking at her with sorrowful eyes, making her feel puzzled and somewhat uncomfortable—

Her father’s gaze was as if she were about to die.

How inauspicious—

But in the Emperor’s heart, he was making a firm decision.

He would protect his young daughter.

He had been such a heartless emperor, truly caring only for his imperial power. Before this, he had never spared an extra thought for his young daughter. Only now did the Emperor begin to include his daughter in his calculations, to plan for her—if he were to pass, where would she go—

Taking advantage of the Emperor’s illness and the frequent coming and going of palace visitors, Liu Wengi met with Luo Xiu once again.

Luo Xiu had completed what he had promised to help Liu Wengi with. Of Chief Imperial Steward Cheng An’s most useful disciples, one was dead, and one had been rolled in a mat and thrown out of the palace. The other disciples posed no threat to Liu Wengi, making him the most capable among those serving the Chief Imperial Steward.

As agreed, Liu Wengi gave Luo Xiu the information he wanted.

They met briefly outside the Hanlin Academy, quickly exchanging documents as if nothing had happened.

Luo Xiu asked: “How do I know the information you’ve given me isn’t false?”

Liu Wengi replied: “True information allows us to cooperate. If it were false, once you discovered that, you could report our conspiracy to the throne… You’re an envoy, not a dead man. I wouldn’t dare deceive you with false information unless I had a death wish.”

Thinking this made sense, Luo Xiu finally tucked away the documents and left.

Luo Xiu’s movements were known to the Wuman side.

Because Meng Zanshi had never trusted this person sent by King Ale, he had been curious about what Luo Xiu intended to do in Great Wei. Meng Zanshi had people monitor Luo Xiu, and they reported back his activities.

Meng Zanshi remarked: “Hm. King Ale used his brain for once, instead of just shouting about fighting and killing.”

A subordinate said: “Since Luo Xiu’s actions don’t concern us or harm our interests, we might as well just observe.”

After pondering for a moment, Meng Zanshi asked: “What do you think—if the Southern Barbarians went to war with Great Wei, could Great Wei win?”

The subordinates looked at each other before answering: “If the Southern Barbarian King could unite the four tribes, they might be able to defeat Great Wei. But Great Wei’s territory was vast, and the Southern Barbarians couldn’t sustain such a war. So it’s an even chance either way—it would depend on the rulers’ decisions.”

Meng Zanshi said softly: “Great Wei’s current old emperor thinks far ahead. While he’s in power, I don’t see the Southern Barbarian King gaining any advantage—they’d only be worn down by Great Wei. But if the old emperor steps down, we’ll have to see what the next Great Wei emperor is like… If the Southern Barbarian King wants to wage war, he should wait until the next emperor’s reign. Not now.”

The subordinates didn’t understand why the Wuman King was analyzing this.

While analyzing, Meng Zanshi had already made his decision: “Then I cannot let Luo Xiu ruin my plans now and drag Wuman into a war with Great Wei… Keep Luo Xiu confined until we leave Great Wei. Don’t let him out before then.”

The subordinates agreed.

Afterward, they discussed the military demonstration to be held during Great Wei’s emperor’s birthday celebration next month. They certainly couldn’t participate in the scholarly competitions; as for the military demonstration, while the Wuman King would participate, his old subordinates who had fought alongside him for many years couldn’t take part.

Meng Zanshi stood up, lazily stretching his arms, and smiled: “I’ll see just what level Great Wei’s current military strength is at. I need to have some idea… How could we return empty-handed from this trip to Great Wei?”

On Great Wei’s side, they had difficulty selecting a few young commanders. Among them, they had dragged in Yang Si.

The twenty-five-year age limit had eliminated most generals. After all, older generals were more experienced in warfare.

Besides Yang Si being promoted by the Crown Prince, the court searched and shifted officials around. Finally, finding no one else suitable, they nervously pulled Wei Shu from the Censorate to manage the rear supply lines.

Wei Shu was bewildered at first, then understood as he guessed what was happening.

Originally, he hadn’t planned to participate in either the scholarly competition or the military demonstration. Recently, due to his role in monitoring officials, he had offended many ministers, and Prince Qin’s faction was gathering officials to demote him. But finding an excuse wasn’t easy—now the military demonstration provided the perfect opportunity.

If Wei Shu performed poorly in his role and caused Great Wei to lose face, Prince Qin would have an excuse to deal with him after the envoys left.

The Great Wei court officials were truly desperate and unable to find suitable generals. Since Yan Shang had been specifically named by the Wuman King, they had no choice but to reluctantly make him a “commander.” With commanders paired with generals to direct the troops, they barely managed to fill the required positions.

Since Wei Shu was only assigned to manage the rear supply lines, he focused solely on studying this aspect, not working with the others. Yan Shang had it worse, being taken to the training grounds by Yang Si for daily drills.

Yang Si rarely had the upper hand over Yan Shang in anything, so he was naturally in high spirits these days.

After one training session at the grounds, Yan Shang was nearly exhausted, while Yang Si stood tall and straight as his sword. He draped an arm over Yan Shang’s shoulder and laughed: “For this military demonstration, what does it matter if Meng Zanshi specifically chose you? When the time comes, just hide behind me. With me there, he won’t be able to harm you.”

Yan Shang rubbed his chest, which had nearly been struck hard enough by Yang Si to make him cough blood, and sighed: “Then I thank Third Young Master.”

But Yan Shang quickly added: “However, warfare isn’t straightforward. Even though I believe in Third Young Master’s divine prowess, we should still seek guidance from the court’s veteran generals.”

Yang Si clicked his tongue: “Ask them? If they could defeat Wuman, we wouldn’t be in this situation now.”

Yan Shang replied mildly: “Take others’ strengths to supplement our weaknesses—that’s how to achieve lasting victory.”

Yang Si’s expression grew solemn, and he nodded. Afterward, they went together to visit the mansions of several veteran generals in Chang’an. The old generals shared their knowledge generously, and Yan Shang listened thoughtfully while observing Yang Si beside him.

Contrary to his previous casual attitude, once they arrived, Yang Si’s long eyebrows drew down over focused eyes as he listened with intense concentration.

Yang Si continued to seek instruction from the old generals, asking about military arts. Seeing such a talented youth, they were delighted to teach him, naturally not sparing any guidance.

Yan Shang followed along, watching them discuss tactics, watching the generals teach Yang Si how to set traps and arrange formations… Yan Shang himself was like a mere decoration, as he didn’t appear suited for martial pursuits. Standing next to Yang Si, these old generals certainly preferred Yang Si over him.

Yet Yan Shang felt no jealousy, silently absorbing the generals’ teachings.

For half a month, every day was spent this way—training troops at the grounds while visiting Chang’an’s veteran generals.

However, two days before the Emperor’s birthday celebration, as evening fell, Yan Shang returned to report to the Secretariat, with Yang Si accompanying him. They had agreed that after Yan Shang finished his duties at the Secretariat, they would visit another old general that night.

Yang Si followed Yan Shang, swaggering into the Secretariat. By evening, most officials had left. The few who saw Yang Si, thinking of Young Master Yang’s lawless reputation, merely twitched their eyelids and pretended not to see him.

Yan Shang’s teacher, Minister Liu, still hadn’t returned to work at the Secretariat. This time, Yan Shang was to report to Minister Zhang.

After extinguishing the coals in the stove and closing the windows, Yan Shang organized some official documents. Just as he was about to seek out Minister Zhang, the minister pushed aside the curtain and emerged.

Yan Shang bowed to Minister Zhang and was about to ask Yang Si to wait outside when, unexpectedly, Minister Zhang’s eyes flickered upon seeing them both, and he said: “Chengzhi is here too? Perfect. This is a new order from the Secretariat—you and Suchen should both hear it.”

Yan Shang’s eyes showed slight surprise, but he remained silent.

Yang Si directly expressed his astonishment: “Let me listen to your decisions directly. This is the Secretariat. Isn’t that inappropriate?”

Despite these words, as Minister Zhang turned to enter the inner hall, Yang Si followed without hesitation. Yan Shang shook his head with a smile and followed behind them.

Minister Zhang said: “There’s nothing inappropriate about it. This latest order has already been approved by the Chancellery, and tomorrow it will be distributed to the Six Ministries. In other words, you will know about this order tomorrow at the latest. Since that’s the case, knowing a day in advance and having an extra day to prepare isn’t a problem.”

Yang Si pondered this.

Yan Shang asked: “Is this order related to the military demonstration?”

Yang Si looked at Yan Shang in surprise, wondering how he had guessed.

Yan Shang smiled and explained: “Since the Third Young Master and I are both asked to listen, this matter must involve him. Currently, the only matter involving both Third Young Master and myself that requires preparation would naturally be the military demonstration.”

Yang Si was speechless, while Minister Zhang was already accustomed to Yan Shang’s keen insight.

Entering the inner hall, after Minister Zhang took his seat, he handed the topmost document on his desk to the two of them. As they read it, Minister Zhang said: “The Secretariat’s latest order is that in this military demonstration, Great Wei must not win—we must lose.”

Yan Shang’s eyelashes flickered upward.

Yang Si’s face suddenly darkened: “So our month of training was just to go out there and lose on purpose?”

He threw down the document and turned to leave, about to say he wouldn’t accept this assignment. Yan Shang held back the hot-tempered Yang Si and asked with gentle curiosity: “Don’t be hasty, Third Young Master. The Secretariat wouldn’t issue such an order without reason.

“Since the Minister has told us in advance to prepare, he must be able to explain this somewhat to us two. I also don’t understand—why must Great Wei lose? We’ve trained for so long, yet we’re not allowed to win, only to lose?”

Minister Zhang replied calmly: “On the same day, the scholarly competition and military demonstration will be held simultaneously. In the scholarly competition, how could those barbarians and small countries possibly win? Although Princess Danyang set the rule that only unmarried ladies may participate, even the noble ladies residing in Chang’an are beyond what those envoys could match.

“The Secretariat cannot think of any way for us to lose the scholarly competition. So it must be a military demonstration. One win and one loss—that’s the way of a great nation. If we were to win both, making the visiting envoys mere stepping stones, it would be meaningless. Moreover, there’s much that can be controlled in a military demonstration… Great Wei doesn’t want other countries to understand our military strength too clearly.”

With this explanation, not only did Yan Shang understand, but even Yang Si was convinced and no longer as angry as before.

Minister Zhang glanced at Yang Si and even offered him praise: “Doesn’t Chengzhi think that a beautiful loss is more difficult than a win? Could it be that the mighty Third Young Master Yang only knows how to win, not how to lose?”

Yang Si snorted.

Looking at the sky, he said: “I indeed only know how to win, not how to lose.”

Minister Zhang was left speechless: “…”

Yan Shang smiled in amusement.

Yan Shang coughed once and said: “So, the Secretariat intends to use this military demonstration to probe the military strength of various countries? The Wuman King will lead but won’t allow the Wuman people to participate, so soldiers from other countries will all participate. We can take this opportunity to observe… to create an impressive defeat?”

Minister Zhang nodded: “Great Wei must lose, but we can’t let them see through it. You must make the demonstration very impressive. The demonstration and scholarly competition will last three days—during these three days, you must do your utmost to understand each country’s military strength. This is the true purpose.”

Yan Shang smiled: “I suspect the Wuman King also intends to understand our capabilities.”

Minister Zhang: “Then we’ll see whose skills are superior.”

Seeing he had convinced the two young men, Minister Zhang stood up, leaving them to contemplate their approach.

Walking to Yan Shang’s side, Minister Zhang patted his shoulder and sighed: “Suchen, do you know that your name is now noted in His Majesty’s documents?”

Yan Shang started, quickly realizing: “Because of the South Mountain incident?”

Minister Zhang smiled: “I don’t know. Only that His Majesty has mentioned you, asked about you.”

He hesitated, but to encourage the young man, he added: “I shouldn’t tell you this in advance. But if this information motivates you to help make Great Wei’s military demonstration impressive… it’s fine for you to know.

“The South Mountain incident put your name before His Majesty. If you achieve great merit in this military demonstration… after these envoys leave, if I’m not mistaken, you’ll be promoted.

“In any case, serve well.”

Yang Si stood nearby in shock: “Promoted? So soon? How many months has he been an official?”

Minister Zhang laughed and scolded him: “What position you hold, what rank you’re promoted to, depends on your abilities and what you achieve. For example, if any of you could make the four seas submit, even if you’re currently a mere ninth-rank official, the court could instantly promote you to the fourth or fifth rank.”

Yang Si: “Then am I also…”

Minister Zhang: “Of course, of course. Isn’t the Crown Prince having you participate in the military demonstration also for your promotion?”

Since Great Wei needed to lose the military demonstration impressively, all the previous strategies Yan Shang and Yang Si had discussed had to be scrapped and started anew.

When the order came down, no one explained it to the other generals as Minister Zhang had to them. Some of the selected generals immediately resigned, refusing to continue, among other responses.

Amid the chaos and personnel changes, somehow Yang Si and Yan Shang became the leaders among these generals.

Wei Shu, however, had never participated in their affairs from beginning to end, remaining as quiet as an invisible person.

Under such tense rehearsals, the day before the demonstration arrived. The soldiers who had trained intensely for a month ended their training early that day, with the generals letting them rest to “perform exceptionally well” during the demonstration.

The soldiers naturally didn’t know that their generals’ idea of “performing exceptionally well” meant planning how to lose.

Yan Shang also returned home earlier that day.

During the day, he had again been taken to the training grounds by Yang Si and been thrown about until his shoulders and back ached. After returning and resting for a while, Yan Shang sat at his desk writing for a bit before starting to daydream.

He felt like he hadn’t seen Mu Wanyao for a long time.

She was always like this… when passionate, she couldn’t bear to let him go; when cold, she would vanish completely, impossible to control.

After daydreaming for a while, Yan Shang bathed and went next door to visit the Princess—

Mu Wanyao was sitting in her study, staring blankly at a jar of wine on her desk.

A wine cup sat before the jar with only a bit of clear liquid remaining, showing that someone had already drunk most of it.

Mu Wanyao just stared at the wine jar, struggling with her thoughts.

She wanted to drink… The minister who had sent her the wine said it was newly brewed strong wine from Sichuan, not yet released to the public, and asked the Princess to try it.

Mu Wanyao had happily hugged the wine jar home, but sitting at her study desk, she fell into an inner struggle.

She had promised Yan Shang she wouldn’t drink… but this wine was so precious, and it smelled so fragrant. She hadn’t touched alcohol for a month… how could she resist?

Mu Wanyao had struggled with this jar of wine for half a month, wanting to drink every day, telling herself every day to keep her word and not drink. But today she finally couldn’t resist and secretly opened the jar in her study, drinking one cup.

One cup down, it was indeed clear, fragrant, and delicious.

Then she wanted a second cup…

Mu Wanyao convinced herself: I’ll just drink a little secretly. After all, Yan Shang is too busy to notice—if he doesn’t know, it doesn’t count as breaking my promise.

She happily poured herself another cup of wine and was about to drink it all in one gulp when two knocks came at the study door, and Yan Shang’s voice rang out like a death knell: “Your Highness?”

Mu Wanyao spat out her mouthful of wine, choking until her eyes filled with tears like lakes.

She hurriedly hugged the wine jar, trying to hide it. But the study was empty, and she couldn’t find a place. Hearing the Princess choking inside, Yan Shang worried for her and pushed open the door.

He and Mu Wanyao, who had jumped up holding the wine jar, stared at each other: “…”

The young princess suddenly stumbled backward, leaning against the bookshelf behind her. Her body tilted slightly, but she wouldn’t let go of the wine jar, which somehow didn’t fall from her arms.

Mu Wanyao’s face flushed red as she supported her delicate head, her eyes like spring water, carelessly affecting weakness: “Oh my, my head hurts so much, I think I’m drunk. You… who let you in? Who are you?”

Yan Shang: “…”