Li Wu had brought plenty of silver, fully prepared to accompany Shen Zhuxi through every clothing and fabric shop in Shouchun — only for her, once out on the street, to take not the slightest interest in any of those shops. Instead she wandered about, looking in all directions, until she ducked headlong into a funeral supply store.

The man dressed as a Taoist priest, seeing business walk through the door, hurried forward to welcome her.

Shen Zhuxi declined his invitations for feng shui consultations, grave site selection, fortune-telling, and divination, and said plainly she only wanted incense, candles, and spirit money.

Only then did Li Wu remember — it had been exactly one year since the fall of the Great Yan imperial city. Today was the anniversary of the death of many of Shen Zhuxi’s blood kin.

He reproached himself for not having thought of it at all. When the Taoist priest passed Shen Zhuxi the spirit money and incense, Li Wu stepped forward and took them himself, his expression becoming noticeably more solemn.

“Give me that large palace over there too,” he said, lifting his chin toward a paper-crafted celestial palace in the corner of the shop.

The Taoist priest’s face lit up, and he immediately went to fetch it.

One look at the priest’s reaction told Shen Zhuxi it wouldn’t be cheap. She quickly moved close to Li Wu and whispered, “There’s no need — really. The candles, incense, and spirit money are enough.”

“That’s not enough, and it won’t do,” Li Wu said.

The Taoist priest came back, holding the palace aloft on either side with both hands and beaming from ear to ear.

“Honored guest, this Penglai Celestial Palace was modeled after the unfinished Penglai Palace and made with imperial-grade white deer paper — every detail following official palace specifications. Whoever dwells within will surely be pleased!” The priest extended two fingers and rubbed them together with an ingratiating smile. “A celestial palace of this magnitude — out of the affinity between you and I, I’ll let it go for a mere fifty taels of silver!”

“Fine——” Li Wu was just about to nod when Shen Zhuxi panicked and stepped in front of him. “Fine nothing — it’s not fine at all!”

Li Wu looked at her in surprise.

And she was the surprised one!

What had gotten into him? This was a man who argued the price of a pound of pork — and now he was blinking at a paper palace without a flicker of hesitation?

A paper-crafted palace at fifty taels to start — this was blatant daylight robbery.

Unable to hold back, Shen Zhuxi turned to the wily fake Taoist. “Are you taking advantage of outsiders by quoting us whatever price you please?”

“This humble Taoist has been wronged, honored guest, you——”

“You’re passing that paper off as white deer paper, when it’s plainly nothing but cheap Goryeo paper!”

The priest put on a look of great injury and cried, “Honored guest! This humble Taoist runs an honest business — to say such a thing is to slander——”

“Goryeo paper sells at two taels per bundle at the paper shop. This paper of yours has not been properly burnished — the surface is uneven — and even at a paper merchant, it would only fetch the price of inferior grade.”

“This, this…” The priest’s expression grew flustered, his eyes darting away as he stumbled over his words. “This humble Taoist sells funeral goods, not paper — you can’t compare this palace to loose paper simply because it’s made of paper, can you?”

“Very well!” Shen Zhuxi said. “Since you claim everything follows palace specifications, tell me then — do you know that violating imperial regulations and presuming above one’s station is a crime punishable by the extermination of nine family lines?”

“Nine… nine family lines…” The priest went pale. “This humble Taoist doesn’t know what you’re referring to…”

“Was it not you who just said this palace was made entirely according to imperial specifications?”

“I never said that!” The priest shook his head furiously, like a rattle drum.

“So — this paper palace, being neither made of white deer paper nor modeled after imperial specifications — what price do you intend to sell it to us for?”

“Three taels, three taels! Take it and go!” The priest waved his hands frantically.

The moment Shen Zhuxi handed over the silver, he retreated behind the counter as if fleeing, burying his head in the reorganization of a display rack that didn’t need reorganizing, resolving never to make eye contact with her again.

Li Wu, stifling a laugh, carried the spirit money and incense in one hand and the paper palace in the other, nudging Shen Zhuxi with his shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

Once outside the funeral shop, Shen Zhuxi rounded on Li Wu with indignation. “What was that back there — why didn’t you bargain at all? He was obviously swindling you!”

“We’re buying for your parents,” Li Wu said. “Haggling over the price would make it look like I had no sincerity.”

Shen Zhuxi stared at him, caught off guard by that answer.

“…But don’t you disbelieve in spirits and the afterlife?”

“I do,” Li Wu said, without a moment’s hesitation. “You believe in them.”

Shen Zhuxi took the spirit money tucked under his arm and held it herself.

“…Li Wu, thank you.”

“Next time you want to thank me,” Li Wu said, “try showing it with actions instead.”

Shen Zhuxi was about to ask, but he answered before she could.

“Figure it out yourself.”

When the two returned to the inn, they waited until the moon had climbed into the treetops, then set out with Li Kun and Li Que together to the edge of the moat.

It was not the Qingming Festival or any other customary day of remembrance, and the riverside was deserted — only the willows planted along the embankment swayed gently in the spring breeze.

Without her noticing, a whole year had passed.

For Shen Zhuxi, the density of living in this one year had surpassed all of the sixteen years that came before. She had changed beyond recognition.

These changes, her father the Emperor and her Royal Mother might not have welcomed.

But she had not the slightest regret.

She cherished who she was now. She loved who she was now.

Shen Zhuxi lit the incense and candles, set fire to the small mountain of spirit money piled in the copper basin, and knelt down in the direction of the imperial city.

She had said nothing — yet Li Wu knelt beside her.

Shen Zhuxi kowtowed three full, proper kowtows. Li Wu followed with three of his own. On the last bow, her tears fell, landing on the dry stone surface of the path and leaving a damp spot.

There should have been more than one drop.

“Father and Mother-in-law, please accept this bow from your son-in-law.”

At the sound of that earnest voice beside her, the grief in Shen Zhuxi’s chest was tempered by a flicker of something almost like amusement. She turned to look — and there was Li Wu, all traces of his usual careless ease gone, kneeling with solemn formality and bowing forward with full sincerity.

His kneeling posture was far from ceremonially correct. But his expression was more serious than anyone’s.

“This visit was not well prepared — I ask that Father and Mother-in-law bear with it. Next time I come, I will make this offering with the severed heads of the usurpers. This celestial palace is but a small token of your son-in-law’s respect.”

One glance from Li Wu, and Li Que immediately carried the paper palace to the fireside with both hands.

“I will take good care of the apple of your eyes. Father and Mother-in-law, please rest easy in the heavens.” Li Wu bowed once more, with full gravity.

Listening to his words, Shen Zhuxi felt a tumult of emotions rise within her. The ache behind her eyes threatened to spill over again. She bit her lip and held the tears in, unwilling to let anyone worry on her behalf.

After them, Li Que led Li Kun to offer incense and kowtow as well.

“We don’t know the palace customs,” Li Que said. “But Sister-in-law married Big Brother, so she is our family. We will treat her the same as we treat Big Brother — we will look after her and let no one wrong her.”

“Let no one wrong her, I…” Li Kun held his stick of incense and nodded along in agreement.

Both brothers bowed to the ground.

Shen Zhuxi knelt with her back perfectly straight, feeding sheets of spirit money into the copper basin one by one, her vision blurred by tears. These offerings were burned for all who had given their lives in that great palace — the Emperor, her Royal Mother, Yu Sha… and the many, many innocent souls among them.

Once the spirit money was spent, Li Wu lifted the paper celestial palace and placed it on the flames. Orange fire leapt up from the basin, consuming the palace steadily, the Goryeo paper catching in an instant, the wooden frame beneath it twisting as it burned.

The magnificent celestial palace crumbled.

The four of them sat in silence and watched as the fire burned itself down to nothing.

When they returned to the inn, Shen Zhuxi roused herself to wash up and get ready for bed. Even after lying down, she remained submerged in grief and sorrow. When Li Wu put out the lamp and settled into bed, he gently drew her close, resting his arm around her shoulder, and said quietly:

“…You still have us.”

He was right.

She was not alone.

In the dark, Shen Zhuxi wiped away her tears and gave a firm nod. “Yes.”

Early the next morning, the four gathered in the inn’s common hall for breakfast, and Li Que gave them his report from the previous day’s inquiries around the city.

“Because of His Majesty the Primal Dragon Emperor’s presence in Xuzhou, the city is under strict security measures everywhere. Without a local resident to vouch for you, even a travel permit won’t get you through the gates.”

Shen Zhuxi looked to Li Wu with apprehension. Did they know anyone in Xuzhou?

Li Wu considered for a moment. “We’ll figure it out once we get there.”

“Are you heading to Xuzhou?”

The question came from the next table — it was the fine-robed man who had dismissed his servant the previous evening. Today his table held only a small dish of pickled yellow cucumber, and before him sat a bowl of rice porridge so full it was nearly brimming over. Li Wu glanced at him. “Do you have something to tell us, friend?”

“I have a relative I know well in Xuzhou city who could vouch for you and get you inside — but I have one condition.”

“What condition?”

The fine-robed man tipped the pickled cucumber into his porridge, making sure to scrape out every last bit of sauce from the dish. Only when he held the plate at full vertical tilt and no more liquid would drip did he speak.

“You’re heading to Xuzhou, and I need to reach Yanzhou. As you saw yesterday, my servant stole from me and I turned him out — now I’m traveling alone and likely to encounter bandits on the road. I noticed your companion of nine feet appears to have some skill. Why not travel together — you protect me safely to the border between Xuzhou and Yanzhou, and I’ll arrange a guarantee to get you inside the city. We each get what we need. How does that sound?”

“So in other words, we escort you to Xuzhou for free, and you repay us with a local’s letter of guarantee?” Li Wu said noncommittally. “And what if we reach Xuzhou and you tell me you don’t actually have any relative there — or simply decide to pretend you never made the deal?”

“Why do you think I need an escort?” the man said, scooping up a spoonful of porridge. He crunched his pickled cucumber. “If I fail to get you into the city once we’re in Xuzhou, you’re welcome to take everything I have on me.”

“Friend, no offense to anyone who eats pickled cucumber——” Li Wu smiled, “——but you haven’t ordered anything above fifteen copper coins since we first crossed paths. If I stripped you bare, would I even recover my losses?”

The man didn’t refute this directly. Instead, he reached into the inner lining of his sleeve and gave a slight tug, pulling out the corners of several banknotes.

“During the famine, I made a bit of money reselling grain and flour. If I break my word, you can take all of this — more than enough to cover the fee for an escort of twenty men.”

Shen Zhuxi had no strong feelings either way, and left the decision entirely to Li Wu.

If this man truly could vouch for them at the gates as he said, escorting him in passing wouldn’t cost them anything.

Li Wu set down his chopsticks and said with a smile, “Done. What’s your name, friend?”

“I go by Jiang. And you?”

“My surname is Jia, given name Duck. Beside me is my wife, and those two are my younger brothers.” Li Wu said this with complete composure.

Li Que smoothly followed his lead, smiling pleasantly. “I’m Jia Que. My second brother here is Jia Diao.”

“Brothers Jia — when can we set out?”

“Whenever is convenient for you, Brother Jiang — we can leave at once.”

“Excellent! Then let us——” The man surnamed Jiang immediately made to rise.

Before he had fully straightened, that frame of his — nearly as tall as Li Wu — dropped back onto the bench.

He picked up his bowl of porridge, still unfinished, and drew a long sip. Then he said:

“Let us meet back here in one hour. I’ll finish breakfast and return to my room to pack.”

“Agreed.” Li Wu nodded.

The man asked, “I see that Brother Jia wears plain cloth, yet carries himself with an air of refinement — what line of work are you in?”

“I must confess——” Li Wu sighed with theatrical self-deprecation, “——nothing more than an obscure poet.”