The wind swept through Yumen Pass, past the Fulu Inn with its newly hung bright red lantern above the gate, through the relay towns along the way and across the land slowly recovering life from the wounds of war, until it finally reached the commandery city, crossed over the high walls, drifted into a courtyard, and brushed past a flower trellis, setting the branches and leaves gently swaying.

It was on this sun-blazing, breeze-kissed afternoon that Li Xuandu stepped through the gates of the commandery city and returned to the place where this journey had begun.

The exhaustion of the long road vanished the moment he crossed the threshold. Wang Mu, who had finally arrived here from Xiyu last month, was standing at the gate to the outer courtyard talking with the two midwives who had moved in just a few days earlier. Catching sight of Li Xuandu, she was overjoyed and led her attendants forward to greet him with a bow. She then moved to go and announce his arrival, but Li Xuandu stopped her and continued inside on his own.

He quickened his pace to the entrance of the inner courtyard, and heard the faint sound of voices drifting out on the breeze.

It was her, talking with Luo Bao.

Her voice made him prick his ears without thinking. He slowed his steps and followed the sound quietly, finally stopping at the entrance to the inner courtyard and peering inside.

The flowering trees in the courtyard were in full, abundant bloom, their fragrance filling the air. A’Ju sat with two young maidservants under the eaves of the covered walkway, busily sewing small garments. She lay with her eyes closed in a reclining chair beneath the flower trellis while Luo Bao was washing her long hair.

“…I’m not flattering you, honestly — the Princess Consort truly has the most magnificent hair. I grew up in the palace and have seen many beauties over the years, but in all that time, I’ve never seen hair as fine as yours — so thick, so black, just like silk. Being allowed to wash the Princess Consort’s hair must be a blessing I earned in a past life! Before I came here, I even asked A’mu to teach me how to style hair, and A’mu herself praised my styling and gave me a thumbs-up. Princess Consort, if you don’t believe me, once His Highness returns, I’ll style your hair and let His Highness judge for himself…”

Pu Zhu’s lips curved slightly: “Whether you’re skilled at styling hair, I couldn’t say — but your skill at saying things to make people happy has certainly grown sharper.”

The maidservants beneath the eaves covered their mouths and stifled quiet giggles.

Luo Bao showed not the slightest embarrassment, and grinned: “Thank you for the compliment, Princess Consort, though I truly don’t deserve it. Every word I’ve said comes straight from the heart — not a single false syllable — so how could I possibly be flattering you…”

Though she was certain he would return safely, since he had been gone, Pu Zhu’s heart had been filled with daily longing. And knowing she was about to give birth, she felt both anticipation and quiet anxiety beneath it all. Fortunately, last month A’mu and Luo Bao and the others had arrived here at last — having familiar faces by her side had finally brought her no small measure of comfort.

Knowing that Luo Bao was also just trying to cheer her up, she exchanged a few teasing remarks with him, then smiled without another word, closed her eyes, and listened to him chatter on without pause.

After finishing the hair wash, Luo Bao fetched a thin blanket and draped it over her abdomen, leaving her to keep lying there while he continued to rub dry her hair.

The sun was bright, the floral fragrance growing ever richer, and the scent gradually made her drowsy. Half lost in a haze, she suddenly noticed the voice beside her go quiet, and for some reason Luo Bao’s hands also stopped for a moment. After a brief pause, she felt the hands behind her resume, gently and slowly kneading her long hair dry.

She said with her eyes still closed: “Why did you stop talking?”

She spoke and heard no reply. Finding it odd, she opened her eyes and turned to look — and with just one glance, she froze.

It wasn’t Luo Bao at all.

It was plainly…

Li Xuandu!

He had actually taken the seat where Luo Bao had been sitting, head lowered, carefully drying her hair. Seeing her open her eyes and look over, he raised his head and gave her a soft smile.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the flowers and leaves and fell upon his brow and eyes, and at the bottom of his gaze it seemed as if tiny stars were glimmering.

By the midwives’ calculations, the birth could come any day now. Her body had grown very heavy, and lately even walking was somewhat laborious. But in this moment, she felt inexplicably weightless, and with a cry of delight she scrambled up and flung herself toward him.

He opened his arms and caught her steadily, pulling her into his embrace.

A’Ju, Luo Bao, and the maidservants had all quietly slipped away at some point.

The gentle breeze drifted past, and the flowers and leaves rustled softly. For a long while, he still held her tightly and did not let go.

Pu Zhu’s emotions gradually settled from the initial shock and joy of seeing him. She lifted her head: “Why didn’t you send word before coming back? I was still waiting for news from you!”

He looked at her: “A letter couldn’t travel as fast as I could.”

Pu Zhu laughed and studied him. Seeing that this trip had made him noticeably darker and thinner, she thought of how he used to carry himself with an air of lofty, otherworldly elegance, and suddenly felt a pang of tenderness. She was just about to call A’mu when he suddenly took hold of her hand and would not let go.

She smiled and pushed him: “Alright, let go of me! I want to go ask A’mu if there’s anything good to eat. You must be hungry, yes?” She said this, and then heard him murmur softly, “Not hungry,” as he turned her hand over so her wrist faced upward.

After so much time had passed, the place on her wrist where the sword had cut her still bore a faint scar that had not yet fully faded.

His finger traced over it, and he asked quietly: “Does it still hurt?”

Naturally it had long since stopped hurting.

But something about him was strange. It was an old scar from so long ago — she herself had already forgotten about it unless she happened to see it. Why would he come back and think to ask about this of all things?

She was about to shake her head, but on impulse decided to tease him instead, and nodded: “It hurts! Sometimes it still hurts a little — on rainy days, for instance!”

A look of tender concern surfaced in his eyes. He lifted her wrist and gently kissed it.

The skin where his lips touched tingled faintly. She couldn’t help but laugh and quickly pulled her hand back, tucking it behind her so he couldn’t reach it again. Once she had safely retreated, she laughed: “I was teasing you! It stopped hurting long ago. Why did you suddenly ask about this?”

He made no move to reclaim her hand, and only said: “Zhuzhu, this wound on your wrist — where did it really come from? You clearly wanted to save me, yet you didn’t tell me. If I hadn’t found out on my own, were you planning to hide it from me forever?”

Pu Zhu was genuinely startled this time, but quickly put it together: “Was it Cui Xuan who told you?”

He nodded: “It was.”

Pu Zhu held his gaze, and after a moment, pouted slightly: “Wasn’t everything fine afterward? There was no need to find anyone to rescue you — you came to find me on your own. Besides, at that time, there was no place for me in your eyes. Even if I had told you, you wouldn’t have believed me. You might even have thought I was using a ruse of self-inflicted injury to win your sympathy.”

Her tone was light, yet underneath it, if one listened closely, there seemed to be a thread of coquettish grievance and complaint.

One scene after another from that night passed before his eyes.

Her pale face. The blood seeping from her hand. The casual, unbothered look she’d worn when he discovered the wound in the carriage.

Li Xuandu felt the weight of his self-reproach deepen as he gazed at her, and slowly shook his head: “That’s not how it was. In my heart, I had already made a place for you.”

Her eyes lit up: “Really?”

Li Xuandu nodded: “Yes. Perhaps not long after we first met, I was already drawn to you — so drawn I couldn’t forget you.”

Back then, he had been proud and cold — and yet he had already liked her?

Pu Zhu suppressed the joy that suddenly welled up in her chest, her eyes dancing: “Why?”

Li Xuandu fell silent.

Pu Zhu, getting no answer, felt herself suddenly losing her nerve, regretting that she had pressed the question and caused awkwardness between them.

She was just thinking of how to find something to say to smooth it over, when she heard him speak: “Zhuzhu, I was drawn to you because you are completely unlike me. Before I turned sixteen, there was nothing in this world I could not have — yet everything I had came to me by virtue of my status, not through my own efforts. After I was imprisoned, everything crumbled in an instant, and I found I could not withstand the blow at all. I retreated into Taoism, cut myself off from the world, and told myself I feared neither life nor death, that I had seen through it all. But all of that was self-deception. If I had truly been free and unattached, why would I have suffered so deeply, tormented by a grief I could not resolve all those years?”

“I was born into the imperial family — who could know better than I what power means? Even between father and son, between brothers, the sword of supreme authority turns them against one another. I am only mortal, with unfulfilled wishes and a belly full of unwillingness — yet I never had the courage to face any of it. You once called me useless, and I was deeply offended, and it rankled for a long time. But you were right. I truly was like that. It’s very possible I would have gone on like that for the rest of my life — until I met you. You were unlike anyone I had ever known. In front of me, you hid nothing of your desires and ambitions, and the more you were knocked back, the more fiercely you pressed forward, never stopping until you reached your goal. Your whole being was filled with…”

He paused, as though searching for the right words.

“Vitality! The very vitality spoken of in Taoist scripture — the root of all things, the inexhaustible wellspring of life. To me, you were like that lost vitality of mine. And you were so beautiful — how could I not be moved? Yet even so, I still held myself above you. Clearly already drawn to you, I refused to admit it, and instead kept wanting you to become the kind of woman I was used to — you know the kind, what people call a gentle and composed lady. What I didn’t understand was that while such women are undeniably admirable, there are already thousands upon thousands of them in this world. If you had truly been like them, perhaps I wouldn’t have spared you a second glance.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile: “Tell me, Zhuzhu — was I not both arrogant and foolish?”

Pu Zhu had not expected that with a casual question, he would open himself up to her like this.

So in his eyes, she was this wonderful. Even those past behaviors of hers, the ones she now cringed to remember, he could speak of with such admiration.

These were the most moving words of love she had ever heard.

Her heart was overwhelmed with feeling. She shook her head vigorously.

He smiled again.

“Zhuzhu,” he said, gazing at her tenderly, her name on his lips.

“All the way back on this road, I thought more than once — everything I, Li Xuandu, have become today, I owe to you. If I had not met you when I did, I cannot say what the second half of my life would have looked like.”

“Yu Lang…”

Pu Zhu’s eyes grew red at the corners. She could hold back no longer. With a choked sound, she called his name once, and threw herself into his arms.

Let all the regrets and misses of her past life simply pass.

In this life, he finally belonged to her — completely, wholly, inside and out.

She was content.

Truly content.

She closed her eyes, pressing her face tightly against his chest, tears flowing, still thinking this to herself — when suddenly she felt a warmth spreading between her legs, and her knees buckled, her legs going soft beneath her.

Seeing him seem to notice and look over, she pointed to her belly.

Li Xuandu startled, his expression shifting at once. He swept her up into his arms, turned, and ran toward the house, calling out for help at the top of his voice.

His shout roused A’mu and the others who had withdrawn earlier. They came rushing over, asked a few quick questions, determined that the Princess Consort was about to give birth, and the whole household immediately erupted into busy motion.

Li Xuandu was asked to wait outside the birthing chamber.

He stood outside, and through the door came all manner of sounds from within — including her tightly suppressed, faint moans of pain — and his heart pounded with alarm.

Seeing his face drained of color and beaded with sweat, Luo Bao finally could not hold back and offered: “Your Highness, shall I fan you?”

Li Xuandu did not move.

Why was time passing so slowly?

Never before had a single moment felt so endless.

Every additional minute of waiting was another minute of torment.

He heard another sound from within — what seemed like her straining cry of pain — and he wished he could transfer the pain to himself, to bear it in her place.

She was so delicate. How could she endure pain like this?

“Zhuzhu!”

He could bear it no longer, called her name, spun around, and was about to push the door open — but Luo Bao seized him from behind with both hands: “Your Highness! A’mu won’t let you go in—”

Just then, from inside the door came the loud, clear cry of a newborn.

“Congratulations, Your Highness — mother and son are both safe!”

Very soon, the joyful news rang out from inside the room.

Li Xuandu braced a hand against the door.

He stopped where he was. He wiped the sweat from his face, and let out a long, long breath of profound relief.

When A’mu finally allowed him to enter, his Zhuzhu had already been changed into clean clothes and lay in the bed. She looked somewhat weak still, but there was a smile on her face.

“Zhuzhu, are you alright?” He took hold of her hand and gripped it tight, unwilling to let go.

Pu Zhu nodded.

“You’ve worked so hard!”

Remembering the pain of her labor, his heart still ached.

Pu Zhu shook her head, pointed to the son lying beside her, and said softly: “Look — isn’t our child handsome? His forehead, his nose bridge — doesn’t he look like you?”

The child had a full head of thick black hair and lay quietly beside her, eyes firmly shut, his skin still wrinkled.

He privately thought the baby didn’t look all that handsome — certainly not as handsome as himself. But she had said this, and her gaze upon their son was so full of warm, tender feeling — how could he possibly say otherwise?

So he nodded along: “Yes, yes, very handsome indeed.”