Pu Yuanqiao was consumed with eagerness to return home. After bidding farewell to Prince Qin, he went back to his own tent that very night, packed his things, lay down and closed his eyes for a brief while, and at first light the next morning he rose, gathered his escort, and was just about to set out—when he suddenly saw a party of riders coming toward him at a pace. The man at the head was none other than Prince Qin. Thinking the Prince had risen early especially to see him off, Pu Yuanqiao felt a twinge of guilt; he quickly dismounted and went to meet him, clasping his hands in salute, just about to offer his thanks—when to his surprise Prince Qin said: “General Pu, I will ride back to the capital together with you.”

Only then did Pu Yuanqiao notice that the Prince and his escort were all traveling light, clearly equipped for a long journey. He was momentarily taken aback. When he had gone to take his leave the previous night, the Prince had not breathed a single word about accompanying him today. How had it come about, in just half a night, that he was suddenly leaving too?

It was not that he couldn’t return now—only that the previous night he had appeared completely unprepared. The battle was finished, to be sure, but a large army was still quartered here; if he simply abandoned things in this state…

Pu Yuanqiao had his misgivings. But from years of working together they were well acquainted, and he had few reservations with the Prince; so he said: “This is more than I could hope for. Only—the affairs here, Your Highness—”

He stopped. He saw Li Xuandu smile easily and say: “I attended to everything last night and passed it all on. I have also sent word to General Jiang by messenger; when he receives it, he will take charge of matters.”

Then he paused, his expression turning grave, and said: “To be frank with you—last month I received a personal imperial decree from my Father the Emperor. Besides inquiring about the campaign, he said he had not seen me for many years and missed me, and commanded me to return to the capital as soon as the battle was concluded. I too have been greatly missing my Father and Her Ladyship the Empress Dowager, and seeing that there is nothing more of great consequence here, I have decided to go back.”

Pu Yuanqiao’s last doubts vanished; he said cheerfully: “Nothing could be better! To travel together with Your Highness is more than I could ask for—we’ll look out for each other on the road.”

Li Xuandu exchanged a few polite words and spoke no more. The two parties joined forces, said their farewells to the officers and men who had come to see them off, and immediately set out. They traveled hard, and more than two months later—in the fifth month of that year—the long-traveling party at last arrived in the capital.

As Li Xuandu set foot in the capital and looked upon the willows wreathed in smoke and the flowers in full, magnificent bloom, it struck him that, without his quite realizing it, all those years had gone by. The reckless youth of former days was now returning in glory; thinking back over the past, he was awash for a moment in a surge of feeling.

Pu Yuanqiao, for his part, had no such overflowing sentiment. His heart was set entirely on getting home quickly to see his wife and daughter. The moment they passed through the West City Gate, he said his goodbyes without delay and the two parted ways; he put his horse at a gallop and was off.

Li Xuandu could only swallow the thousand feelings that had welled to his lips, watched Pu Yuanqiao’s hurried figure disappear in the distance, and then headed to the imperial palace himself.

The news of the great victory had been relayed back to the court by eight-hundred-li express courier not long before, sending the whole nation into jubilation.

Emperor Mingzong, though still in reasonably good health, was growing older by the year. In recent years he had turned increasingly inward and had been missing more and more his youngest son, who had always had an honest heart since childhood. Now, learning that the situation had been settled, and reckoning that the Prince should at the earliest be able to return to court in the second half of the year, the Emperor had not expected to receive word that Prince Qin had suddenly returned alongside Pu Yuanqiao right at this very moment. He was overjoyed, ordered the Vermilion Bird Gate of the Southern Palace thrown wide open, had officials of the second rank and below come out to line the road in welcome, and himself waited at the palace gate to receive him. When he laid eyes on him—seeing that his once-young son had grown into a young man of distinguished bearing, upright and outstanding—the Emperor was filled with boundless joy. Father and son spoke of family matters at length; a palace banquet was held to welcome him home, and no more need be said of that.

Li Xuandu was engaged in reunion conversations with his Imperial Father, calling on his grandmother Empress Dowager Jiang, receiving the constant stream of nobility and officials who came to pay their respects—there was no end to affairs, and he was kept busy without a moment’s peace. A few days later, the Emperor brought him along to make offerings at the Imperial Temple; when the ceremony was done, the Emperor gave him an assignment: to deliver sacrificial meat to the Penglai Palace as an offering to Empress Dowager Jiang.

On his way out of the Imperial Temple, near the palace gate, Li Xuandu spotted Luo Bao lurking among a cluster of attendants, craning his neck and peering about looking for him. He knew at once what that meant. Seizing a gap in the proceedings, he slipped out of the procession.

“Your Highness, everything you asked your servant to look into—your servant has found it all out!”

Li Xuandu immediately brought him to a corner near the palace gate and told him to report.

In the wake of the Crown Prince’s coup attempt, someone had submitted a memorial attacking the Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor Pu Yuanzhi, accusing him of being a co-conspirator. Prince Qin had candidly told the Emperor that he had happened by chance to become acquainted in earlier years with Pu Yuanzhi’s granddaughter; it was she who, having heard her grandfather urging the Crown Prince, told him—and it was because of that that he realized the Crown Prince might harbor discontent. Hence he had been on his guard, and it was this that allowed him to detect the Crown Prince’s movements in time, leading his men to defend the Emperor that night and blocking the rebel army outside the palace.

Though the Emperor felt fury at the Crown Prince’s attempt to force his hand, with Prince Qin acting as intermediary to smooth things over, his anger was quickly brought under control, and the subsequent handling of the affair did not spread to affect too many people.

The Emperor took his counsel to heart. Not only did he refrain from punishing Pu Yuanzhi, he actually penalized those who had brought the false accusation as a warning to others. Shortly afterward, Pu Yuanzhi submitted the letter of resignation he had long since prepared and retired to his hometown. Though he had been out of the court all these years, many of his students and disciples still held high positions, and Pu Yuanqiao, on the strength of his achievements in the Western Regions, had been promoted one rank after another over the years. Now, with the court’s great campaign against the Eastern Di ending in decisive victory as well, he was clearly in the Emperor’s favor and held in imperial esteem; his elevation to a marquisate was only a matter of time.

Not only that—everyone in the capital knew that even the current Empress Dowager of the Jiang family was exceptionally fond of the Pu family’s daughter, often summoning her to the Penglai Palace, and frequently bringing her along when visiting temples to offer prayers. Now that she was of marriageable age, it was naturally the case that suitors came seeking her hand in droves.

The situation Luo Bao had investigated was much as Li Xuandu had anticipated.

Those who had expressed interest in seeking a match with the Pu family did indeed include the eldest grandson of Prince Duan, the heir of Marquis Qiyang’s household, and the young gentleman of the Ronglu Grand Counsellor’s household.

Beyond these three, to his surprise, there were also his own nephew Li Chengyu and his maternal nephew Han Chijiao.

Luo Bao had investigated the current circumstances of all five in thorough detail, recording them in a small notebook; after giving a brief report, he handed the notebook over.

Li Xuandu took it immediately, flipped through it, and fell into contemplation.

His maternal nephew Han Chijiao was the son of Marquis Guangping Han Rongchang and his elder sister Princess Imperial Li Lihua. According to what Luo Bao had found, Han Chijiao had happened to encounter her in the palace the previous year and had been unable to get her out of his mind ever since; he had been making a fuss about wanting to marry her.

Han Chijiao was the first to be rejected.

Not only did he fail to pass the appearance standard, his character also wouldn’t do—far too rash and impulsive. And on top of that, the relationship between Li Lihua and Han Rongchang was poor; if the little pipsqueak were to marry into that family, her days would certainly not be happy ones.

Next was his nephew Li Chengyu—the heir of Prince Jin’s household. His appearance was decent, and he was considered accomplished in both civil and martial arts. But his disposition was somewhat weak. How could a man like that properly protect the little pipsqueak and ensure her safety and happiness for a lifetime?

Moreover, though Li Xuandu had only been back in the capital a few days, he had already caught wind of rumors about the secret rivalry between his two elder brothers, Prince Jin and Prince Chu…

Not suitable either. Crossed off.

The third candidate, the heir of Marquis Qiyang’s household—his overall qualifications looked good from all angles, and he was bright and studious. The notebook noted that he had placed on the examination rolls last year at his very first sitting, making him one of the standout young talents of the new generation in the capital.

No flaw whatsoever?

Li Xuandu strained his memory and at last thought of one.

He remembered the family: they were a large clan with many relatives and connections. Where there were many people, relationships became difficult to navigate; inevitably there would be scheming and all manner of unsavory entanglements. The little pipsqueak had been innocent and guileless since childhood, completely unversed in intrigue. If she were to marry into such a household and become its mistress, it would be far too taxing on her.

Also unsuitable. Crossed off.

There was still the young gentleman of the Ronglu Grand Counsellor’s household. From the notebook’s account, this man was also considered one of the young talents of the current capital. However, he was quite dissolute. According to Luo Bao’s investigation, though he had yet to take a wife, he already kept two beautiful concubines in his rooms.

Li Xuandu frowned. Crossed off.

Looking through them all, in the end only one remained—the grandson of Prince Duan’s household, by the name of Li Ding, who was in fact another of his nephews. By any measure—appearance, character, talent, martial ability, family background—he was excellent on all counts; moreover, he was only two years older than the little pipsqueak, making them a very good match. A first-rate choice.

He asked Luo Bao, and was told that Li Ding had been brought to the capital by Prince Duan at the end of the previous year from the post where his father was stationed out of the capital, and was presently residing at Prince Duan’s Manor.

To be thorough, he decided to go and see the young man with his own eyes.

As it happened, Prince Duan’s Manor lay along the route to the Penglai Palace. Using paying a visit to his Imperial Uncle as his pretext, he called at the door.

Since Li Xuandu’s return to the capital, he had immediately become the center of all attention, showered in favor and honor. Prince Duan was greatly pleased to see him take the initiative of calling on him; he summoned his eldest grandson to come out and meet the Prince.

Li Xuandu found that the young man was indeed clear-browed and handsome, a fine figure of a person. Conversing with him, his speech was fluent and his manner modest and respectful. By all appearances, he was indeed a fitting match for the little pipsqueak.

After Prince Duan sent his grandson away, he said with a smile: “This child has also come of the age for marriage talks. Frankly speaking, your aunt met the Pu family’s daughter once at the Penglai Palace and came home quite unable to stop thinking of her—she took a great liking to her. Last year when we brought Li Ding back to the capital, the express purpose was to arrange a match. Only—a fine girl has a hundred families seeking her; the Pu family’s daughter has no shortage of suitors, and my grandson is of plain and ordinary gifts, I fear they may not look upon him favorably. Your aunt, undaunted, sent someone to call at their door and propose. Whether it succeeds or not will depend on the Pu family’s deliberation.”

Leaving Prince Duan’s Manor on his way to the Penglai Palace, Li Xuandu felt a certain relief settle over him.

Prince Duan was an idle, carefree prince—but his standing was what it was. If the little pipsqueak could marry Li Ding, it would indeed be a good outcome for her.

But for some reason, even after the relief passed, there was an empty, hollow feeling lingering at the bottom of his heart—as though…

A little cat or dog he had watched grow up was about to be carried away by someone, never to be seen again.

That wasn’t right.

A grown girl should marry. If the little pipsqueak could marry into a good family, he ought to be happy for her.

Li Xuandu quickly drove away this feeling that had no business being there, and made a mental note that when he next saw Pu Yuanqiao, he ought to remind him to consider a match with Prince Duan’s household. What he feared was that if Pu Yuanqiao were not fully acquainted with everyone’s detailed circumstances, he might make a poor choice, and the little pipsqueak would marry the wrong person. That would be terrible.

With these thoughts turning in his mind all the way, he arrived at the Penglai Palace on horseback.

The palace attendants were delighted to see him arrive and flew inside to announce him. Female Official Chen came out quickly; seeing he had come carrying the sacrificial meat as commanded, she bustled to receive it with all ceremony, washed her hands, and accepted it with due solemnity.

Li Xuandu asked after his Imperial Grandmother, and was told she was in the Fanglin Garden. He told Female Official Chen to go about her business and not mind him.

He was familiar with every corner of this place and made his way along the palace corridor toward the Fanglin Garden. He was nearing the pavilion over the water where the Empress Dowager liked to rest on summer days, when he suddenly noticed a young woman standing by the ornamental fish pond beside the palace corridor, at the foot of the bridge.

The young woman’s silhouette was slender; a translucent gauze flower shawl the color of moonlight was draped over her shoulders, and she wore a graceful pale cyan upper garment with a beautiful rouge-red long skirt below. Her fair hands held a small pot of fish food; she was scattering it into the water, drawing the fish into a joyful competition of tail-flapping and leaping, sending little splashes of water into the air.

Li Xuandu’s first glance made him think this young woman was his niece Li Hui’er, and he was about to walk over; then he looked again and felt that she seemed slightly taller than Li Hui’er, and her figure had filled out a little more than Li Hui’er’s as well—she appeared to be a year or two older.

She was not his niece Li Hui’er. By her clothing, she was not a palace maid either. She appeared to be a young lady from a respectable family.

Since she was not Li Hui’er, Li Xuandu naturally had no wish to disturb her, and was about to take a different route—when he suddenly saw the young woman set down the fish food and turn around with a smile, calling out in a sweet, lively voice to a small palace maid who stood beside her: “Go and check on the Princess! I’ve been waiting for her a long while—why isn’t she here yet…”

Before the words were fully out, the young woman saw Li Xuandu. Their eyes met.

Li Xuandu was struck momentarily dumb.

She was not Li Hui’er. She was a young woman of breathtaking beauty, in the first bloom of her early teens.

Five or six years had passed, and he knew the little Pu pipsqueak had grown up. Occasionally he had tried to imagine what she must look like now. But he had always failed. Every time he thought of the little pipsqueak, what surfaced in his mind was still the image of her as he had last seen her when he left the capital: her head not even reaching his waist, her hair done up in two small bunches.

Yet at this moment, it took no more than a single glance before he recognized her.

This young woman—she was that little Pu pipsqueak who used to trail behind him calling out “Brother Prince Qin!”

Those bright, lovely, liquid eyes—he could not possibly mistake them.

And yet, faced with the young woman standing before him, he truly did not dare presume to claim recognition. Her brows were like kingfisher feathers, her skin like white snow, her teeth like jade shells, her waist slender as pale silk. She stood in the breeze like living jade, graceful and willowy.

A light wind passed, and the petals of the crabapple tree at the bridge’s edge seemed to cling to her with longing, drifting down one by one to settle on her dark hair and her gauze shawl.

This…

Where was any trace of the little pipsqueak she had once been?

From head to foot, she was quite simply a different person entirely…

Li Xuandu was for a moment rooted to the spot.

She was directing a curious gaze toward him, as though taking stock of a complete stranger. At that, a feeling rose in his heart that he himself could not quite name—something like embarrassment, something like loss.

She really had forgotten him. No wonder she had not written him a single letter this past year…

He was just at a complete loss as to how to handle the situation when he suddenly saw her eyes light up; she opened them wide in delighted astonishment and called out: “Brother Prince Qin! Is that you?”

That strange sense of unfamiliarity that had just welled up in Li Xuandu’s heart was instantly and completely dispelled by that one sweet and bright “Brother Prince Qin”—so achingly familiar.

That familiar feeling of old days came rushing back all at once!

She was still herself—she had not forgotten him!

He felt a warmth bloom in his heart. Seeing her seem about to step forward and run toward him, he smiled and was just about to go and meet her—when he saw her suddenly brake herself to a stop, her gaze looking past him. He turned his head to follow her line of sight.

It turned out Li Hui’er had arrived, walking this way together with several palace maids.

Li Xuandu turned back. He saw that she seemed to be flustered; she darted a swift glance at him, then immediately lowered her eyes, and—with a light lift of her skirt—before he had quite registered what was happening, she had already flown past him like a startled deer and was running toward Li Hui’er.

She reached Li Hui’er in a few quick steps, intercepted her, and seemed to want to steer her away.

“Zhu-zhu jiejie, why aren’t you going to look at the fish anymore?” Li Hui’er’s voice drifted over on the breeze.

“The sun is strong—the fish are all being lazy, hiding under the leaves and refusing to come out. Let us go back and keep Her Ladyship the Empress Dowager company instead…”

Li Hui’er was clearly very willing to do whatever she said.

When she finished speaking, she took Li Hui’er’s arm; the two young women murmured and laughed softly together as they walked off side by side.

The air still seemed to hold a faint, lingering trace of the delicate fragrance she had left behind when she flew past him.

Li Xuandu gazed after the figure that had vanished into the dappled floral shadows at the far end of the palace corridor. For a moment his feet were rooted to the ground and he couldn’t quite bring himself to move.