When Li Chengyu finally regained consciousness after his faint, he found himself sprawled limply on the ground. After recovering some strength, he slowly opened his eyes and saw above him a sky drifting with white clouds—a sight he had not witnessed in a very long time.

His mind was still somewhat adrift.

He was the Emperor—the emperor of this empire, and everything belonged to him. Yet treacherous ministers had risen in rebellion, seeking to seize his throne and his realm. His most trusted followers had betrayed him, disregarding his dignity and his commands. Those around him were all treacherous rebels; he was besieged on all sides, isolated and without aid. Even so, fueled by the pride and fighting spirit that were his birthright, he had resolutely led the imperial forces into battle himself.

He had meant to personally turn the tide, to restore order from chaos—yet the outcome was yet another betrayal, and he had fallen into captivity, locked away in a dungeon devoid of light or sky.

That inhuman stretch of days was something he could not bear to look back upon. Boundless, suffocating despair had devoured him; day and night, he suffered unspeakably, as though cast into the depths of hell…

He had thought himself already dead.

Yet now—where was he?

He finally sat up and looked around, finding himself in a stretch of wild, desolate land, surrounded by ancient mountain ranges and towering old trees.

His mind remained muddled. For a moment he was utterly disoriented, uncertain of where he was—until he spotted in the distance a series of burial mounds arranged like small hills, alongside the solemn and stately spirit towers and burial vaults. Something about the sight stirred a flicker of recognition, and his mind snapped back.

This looked like the imperial mausoleum—the one nestled deep in the northwestern mountains of Tachuan, hundreds of li from the capital.

But how had he come to be brought here…

He thought himself in a dream. Then he noticed that others were present. A man stood behind him with a contingent of followers, silent and still.

Li Chengyu had never seen this man before.

The man addressed him as Your Majesty, calling himself a nameless servant who had once served under the Emperor, utterly devoted to him. Though circumstances had forced him to join the enemy’s ranks, he had never forgotten his duty to the Emperor, and had finally found the opportunity he had been waiting for.

He told the Emperor that Shen Yang had suffered defeat, and that the Eastern Capital was in chaos. He and his men had seized upon the disorder to rescue the Emperor and bring him back—originally intending to escort him directly to the capital. But when they arrived there, they found the capital had already changed hands.

Within and without the capital, up and down the court, everyone believed the Emperor to be dead. Even though he still lived, no one gave him a second thought. These people were preparing to support Li Xuandu’s enthronement, though Li Xuandu was still engaged in the siege of the Eastern Capital and had not yet returned. But it was only a matter of time. So they dared not reveal their identities, fearing they would bring deadly consequences upon the Emperor. With nowhere to turn, they had brought him here instead, and taken control of the garrison troops guarding the mausoleum.

What to do next was for the Emperor to decide.

Li Chengyu could not recall ever having such a loyally devoted guard willing to protect him with his life, nor could he remember how the man had managed to rescue him from the rebel forces.

He had no strength left to dwell on any of it.

Besides, none of it truly mattered anymore.

The only thing that still held his attention in this moment was the fact that the capital had utterly abandoned him.

He was the Emperor—he had possessed everything—and yet now, everything that was his was about to be seized by his imperial uncle, Li Xuandu!

Li Xuandu had not only stolen the woman he could not stop thinking about—now he was truly going to take away the throne that was rightfully his!

All the worry and suspicion had become reality. The fear and hatred that had fermented through his father’s generation and seeped into his very blood and bones now erupted completely, consuming him whole.

Returning to the palace and reclaiming what belonged to him became the sole thought in his mind.

Rage surged through him; he was frantic and unsettled. He hauled himself up off the ground, summoned the mausoleum warden, ordered a message sent to the capital, and commanded that Guo Lang and Marquis Yao come to him at once.

The imperial mausoleum had always been garrisoned, but the force was small—only two hundred men.

This mausoleum warden had been posted here after the death of the Grand Empress Dowager of the Jiang clan.

In the days when the capital had been at peace, he had never had the fortune of beholding the Son of Heaven’s true face. Now, confronted with this wild-haired, filth-covered madman who looked like a beggar yet claimed to be the Emperor, he could hardly believe it—but being under restraint, he had no choice but to comply.

Li Chengyu panted with fury, eyes fixed on the warden as the man turned to leave, then suddenly called him back.

He twisted around and stared for a moment at the Hall of Eternal Repose in the distance. His face slowly contorted. Then, turning back, he said each word with deliberate force: “Order the Princess Consort of Qin to come here and see Us as well!”

“Should she dare defy Our command, We shall burn the Hall of Eternal Repose to the ground!”

His face was twisted, his teeth clenched as he said it.

Within the Hall of Eternal Repose still rested the triple-layered coffin of the Grand Empress Dowager of the Jiang clan, awaiting interment.

The warden went pale with shock. Terrified that this madman who had appeared from nowhere might truly commit such an atrocity, he dared not delay a moment longer. He hurried down the mountain, mounted his horse, and galloped furiously toward the capital to deliver the message.

Pu Zhu received this news while still in the commandery city of He Xi.

Half a year had passed since Li Xuandu had entered the pass.

Just days ago, she had received a letter from Li Xuandu saying he had pushed his forces to the Eastern Capital.

By all appearances, once the Eastern Capital fell, this rebellion that had dragged on for over a year would likely be suppressed very soon.

Prince Duan had recently sent an envoy, conveying the court officials’ wish that she travel to the capital in advance.

Pu Zhu had politely declined this proposal.

As the military situation clarified day by day and the rebel forces’ defeat became inevitable, beneath the surface of apparent calm in the capital, currents were in fact churning.

Prince Duan and the others hoped she would enter the capital sooner.

But the Yao family clearly had other expectations.

Before Prince Duan’s envoy had even arrived, someone had already come in the Empress Yao’s name, bearing lavish gifts to call on her. They said the Emperor had sacrificed himself for the nation, and that the Empress Yao was grieving yet bearing it with fortitude, currently resting in the palace while the entire court eagerly awaited her delivery. They also said that if she truly had the fortune of bringing a son of the dragon into the world, they hoped the Prince of Qin and his consort would offer guidance as elders in the future—they would be immeasurably grateful.

Pu Zhu understood perfectly well what the Yao family was trying to do.

Now, while Li Xuandu was still suppressing the rebellion, this was not the moment for her to actively involve herself in the capital’s affairs. Nor did she wish to.

When Li Xuandu had left, Luan’er had just completed his first month. Now the child was half a year old, chubby little arms and legs, rolls of baby fat everywhere. He could crawl and sit, and could already recognize the familiar faces around him. Let anyone tease him, and he would burst into peals of giggles—utterly adorable.

Her son was growing day by day. She longed for Li Xuandu to return soon, lest Luan’er fail to recognize even his own father.

She had not expected that in such a moment, something so momentous would emerge from the capital.

She had long since heard that Li Chengyu had personally led the imperial forces only to be betrayed by his own men and taken prisoner.

She had assumed Li Chengyu was already dead at Shen Yang’s hands. At the time her feelings had been complicated. Thinking back on her past life, she had felt a faint, distant sorrow, alongside pity for his misfortune and frustration at his failures. She had even had someone go to a temple to hold a memorial ceremony for him. She had not expected that he was still alive—and not just alive, but that he would emerge in this way, using the Hall of Eternal Repose as leverage to summon her.

Having suffered tremendous pressure and devastating blows, in his desperation, this man was capable of anything.

If the Hall of Eternal Repose, where her imperial grandmother’s coffin lay at rest, were truly reduced to ashes, she would never be able to forgive herself for the rest of her life.

She dared not delay a single moment. She handed Luan’er over to A’mu and Li Hui’er, who had been staying with her throughout, and set off with Luo Bao and her escort guards. Abandoning the carriage for a horse, she rode day and night without complaint, and in fewer than ten days had returned to the capital and arrived at the imperial mausoleum.

The day she arrived was more than half a month after Li Chengyu had appeared at the mausoleum. Outside the mausoleum gates and every passageway were Imperial Guard troops standing strict watch.

Prince Duan, accompanied by the relevant officials, had been keeping vigil here day and night without daring to relax for a moment.

He came out to receive Pu Zhu and led her inside. Before she could even ask, he told her along the way that the situation was very bad. Li Chengyu appeared to be growing increasingly deranged. At first he had demanded to return to the palace, but when Prince Duan agreed, Li Chengyu refused to come out, convinced it was a trick to lure him out and kill him. Now, no matter how they tried to persuade him, he would not take a single step outside. He had poured out all the oil from several great vats in the hall and the nearby Bright Hall—oil kept for burning the eternal flames—and splashed it throughout the Hall of Eternal Repose. Now he stood at the entrance clutching a lit tinderbox, permitting no one to approach.

Should he set it alight, the Hall of Eternal Repose would become a sea of fire in an instant, and there would be no saving it.

“Who was he with? Did he come here alone?”

Pu Zhu lifted the gauze veil covering her face and pressed forward briskly as she asked.

“According to the mausoleum warden’s report, on that day he appeared out of nowhere with a band of armed men—no one had been on guard against it, which is how the mausoleum was seized. Afterward, when the Imperial Guards entered the mountain, those men apparently knew they were no match and vanished. Only His Majesty remained.”

Pu Zhu knew one account—that the imperial mausoleum had been sited and constructed here not only for reasons of geomancy, but also for the advantage of the terrain. Beyond serving as a burial site, its other purpose was in fact to serve as a defensive stronghold in case the capital were ever attacked by enemies—a place that could protect the flanks. For that reason, the passages here were complex, offering multiple routes in and out. Li Chengyu’s men had likely used the terrain to escape.

While they were speaking, she had already arrived.

Guo Lang was there too—learning that Pu Zhu had arrived, he had just come out to greet her.

His expression was heavy with sorrow. After exchanging a few words of greeting with Pu Zhu, he shook his head and sighed, saying that he and Prince Duan had done everything they could these past days to first coax the person inside to come out, but that person talked in circles and refused to listen to anything, leaving them utterly helpless. Afraid the Hall of Eternal Repose might come to harm, they had finally troubled her to come.

His tone was somewhat different from Prince Duan’s.

Prince Duan referred to the person inside as “His Majesty.”

Guo Lang, however, used the phrase “that person inside.”

Clearly he did not recognize the other man’s identity, and his manner was deliberately ambiguous.

As for the other major court official—Marquis Yao, father of Empress Yao—Pu Zhu saw no sign of him at present.

With the situation urgent, she had no time to ask further questions. Led by Prince Duan and Guo Lang, she hurried toward the Hall of Eternal Repose. She had not even come close yet when, from several dozen zhang away, she heard a furious shout from within the hall: “Stop! Come one step closer and We shall burn this place!” As the voice fell, the hall doors were flung open from within, and a figure appeared in the doorway—hair wild and matted, face caked with filth, waving a burning candle wildly and screaming himself hoarse, eyes darting madly, his clothing in tatters so shredded that their original color was nearly unrecognizable.

This bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Li Chengyu Pu Zhu remembered. The man before her had not a trace of his former appearance—the golden crown, magnificent robes, and bearing of an imperial scion.

Prince Duan and Guo Lang quickly halted.

Prince Duan called out loudly: “Your Majesty, the Princess Consort of Qin has come! Look carefully—is it her?”

Pu Zhu saw his gaze finally fix on her, and said immediately: “Your Majesty! You summoned me—I have come. What is your wish?”

Li Chengyu stared at her for a long, hard moment. His expression gradually began to ease.

Prince Duan let out a slight breath of relief.

“Your Majesty, now that the Princess Consort has arrived, please come out first, and you can discuss matters with her at leisure…”

He brought a few attendants and began trying to move forward while speaking. But the moment Li Chengyu sensed them moving, he suddenly roared furiously again: “Get out! All of you get out! Leave her alone here!” After roaring, seeing that those opposite him had not moved, the murderous gleam in his eyes intensified. He raised the candle in his hand and made as if to set it to a curtain he had already soaked with oil.

“Wait!”

Pu Zhu stopped him, told Prince Duan and Guo Lang to take their people and step back, leaving her alone here.

“Absolutely not!” Both men immediately protested in unison.

“His Majesty appears to be in a state of mental disarray—if he should harm the Princess Consort, what would we do?”

Pu Zhu looked at the figure across from her and saw Li Chengyu’s expression growing agitated again. Fearing he might accidentally set the fire, she no longer hesitated. “I will be careful! Step back!”

“I will persuade him to come out—once his torch is extinguished, you move in to restrain him.” She added this last instruction in a low voice.

Prince Duan and Guo Lang exchanged a glance. Helpless, they could only urge her to be careful, then retreated.

Prince Duan called over several armed guards, and as a precaution also summoned two crack archers who never missed their mark, ordering them all to take up hidden positions.

He cast a glance at the figure in the doorway clutching the flame, steeled himself, and commanded that if any irregularity were detected, they were to protect the Princess Consort’s safety first and foremost—the person inside the threshold must be brought down. Once he had made all his arrangements, he stood to one side in tense, anxious watch.

Pu Zhu stood alone at the foot of the steps outside the hall, facing Li Chengyu with a smile: “You summoned me—I have come. What is your wish?”

The mountain wind swept through in gusts, stirring the hair at her temples. Perhaps from the weariness of her long journey, her face showed signs of fatigue—but it could not conceal her ethereal, jade-like beauty. Her pair of bright, autumn-clear eyes drew Li Chengyu’s memory straight back to the past.

He gazed at her for a long while, thinking of their first meeting under the blossoming apricot tree. He murmured: “We have finally seen you again! We have never forgotten you. Did you know—last year We personally went to He Xi for the express purpose of bringing you back. That damned Han Rongchang! We only learned later that he had deceived Us, saying you had died beyond the pass! When We return, We will certainly deal with his crimes! And that traitor Shen Yang! He used the occasion of the rebellion conveniently—We had no choice but to rush back to the capital first. Later We learned the truth—you were not dead. That is such wonderful news! We have wanted to see you for so long…”

“Your Majesty has called for me—do you have instructions?”

Pu Zhu patiently listened to that torrent of disjointed, rambling words before she responded, repeating her question once more with a smile still on her face.

Li Chengyu seemed to have his train of thought broken. He blinked, stared at her with a vacant expression, as though he himself did not know quite what he wanted. After standing motionless for a moment, his expression suddenly turned vicious.

“They have all deceived Us! Betrayed Us! Not one of them is any good! You too! You deceived Us! You betrayed Us!”

Pu Zhu said: “I did deceive you—that was my fault. Your Majesty, do you still remember? I have already begged your pardon for it.”

Li Chengyu said: “You wanted to become Empress—that was why you approached Us… Yet the Late Emperor wed you to Our imperial uncle… Our imperial uncle!”

His voice suddenly turned shrill again, his eyes filled with resentment.

Pu Zhu immediately cut him off: “Your Majesty, what you say is true. Do you remember—you are the Emperor? Is this really where you should be staying?”

Li Chengyu started, then said at once: “Yes! We are the Emperor! We want to return to the palace!”

“Your Highness, come out—I will escort you back to the palace right now!”

Li Chengyu glanced toward the mausoleum gates in the distance, and his expression tensed again: “They want Us dead! If We go out, they will surely kill Us!”

Pu Zhu said: “Come out, and I guarantee they will not kill you. Your Majesty, you summoned me here—for what purpose? Surely not to have me keep watch over this mausoleum with you and wait here slowly to die? You want to return and continue as Emperor. You can use me as a hostage. It doesn’t matter—I won’t hold it against you. Just now you saw how they treat me—they would not dare harm me. You take me with you back to the palace, and you can continue to be Emperor…”

Li Chengyu’s gaze flickered. He was clearly moved, yet still vacillating.

“You just said I deceived you, didn’t you? This is what I owe you—making amends for my past wrongs. Otherwise, why did you summon me here? Come out, and I promise—they would not dare kill you…”

Her voice was infinitely gentle.

Li Chengyu finally, haltingly, took one slow step out from the threshold. But having taken just that one step, he stopped again, looking around anxiously, his expression guarded.

Pu Zhu suppressed the anxiety in her heart and walked a few steps toward him on her own, smiling and reaching out her hand, continuing to encourage him: “Your Majesty, come—I will take you back now…”

Li Chengyu looked at her, his eyes slowly reddening. He suddenly choked and said: “Only you have ever been truly good to me… Do not worry—so long as you do not flee, so long as you remain by Our side hereafter, We will never harm a single hair on your head. We will fulfill your former wish—let you become Empress, the most honored woman in all the world…”

Pu Zhu held her breath and finally watched him slowly walk until he stood before her. She reached out tentatively to take the flame from his hand. Seeing him hesitate slightly and not immediately release it—but without strong resistance either—she applied a little force and took the torch, then blew it out.

She let out a complete sigh of relief. She was just about to turn her head to check on Prince Duan and the others when suddenly, in a flash of light and shadow, in a moment when she was completely off her guard—an arrow shot past the side of her neck.

She could even clearly feel the arrowwind stirred by the shaft as it grazed past her neck.

The arrow flew unerringly true, and buried itself in Li Chengyu’s throat.

“We will take you back to the palace right now…”

He was still speaking, reaching his hand toward her. The words cut off abruptly. The hand froze in midair. His eyes suddenly flew wide open, and he fell straight backward.

Pu Zhu was greatly startled. When she came to her senses, she spun around sharply.

Behind her was empty space. She could not tell from which direction the arrow had come.

On the ground, Li Chengyu clutched the arrow shaft lodged in his throat, his expression one of agony. He seemed to want to speak but could not produce a single word. Blood and froth poured ceaselessly from his mouth—the sight was pitiable beyond words.

“Your Majesty!”

Pu Zhu cried out in shock and crouched down beside him.

Whatever bond of family affection had lingered from her past life toward him had long since been worn away by the many upheavals and changes of this lifetime. Yet now, seeing him die such a terrible death right before her eyes, Pu Zhu still felt shaken—and some trace of ineffable, quiet sadness.

“Someone come!”

She called out loudly.

Today, from the moment she had arrived and seen Li Chengyu’s frenzied, unfocused gaze, he had seemed like a man who had lost his mind. Yet now, in these moments before his last breath, his eyes gradually became lucid and clear again.

He stopped struggling, and gazed fixedly at her. Then suddenly, as if gathering up every last remnant of his strength, he said with great effort, in a blurred murmur: “I once composed a new piece of music especially for you, and always meant to play it for you. What a pity…”

The words were not finished. A rattling sound rose in his throat, his head lolled to the side, and he breathed his last.

Prince Duan’s heart was hammering.

Just moments before, he had watched the Princess Consort take the flame from Li Chengyu’s hand, and had been about to order his guards to charge forward and seize the man—when, entirely to his astonishment, an arrow had flown in from behind and killed him with a single shot.

Returning to his senses, he turned and saw that Marquis Yao had arrived with his men.

He had long known that imperial power was a thing that devoured people, which was why he had spent the first half of his life as an idle, carefree prince, minding no one else’s affairs. It was only that with the current shifting of circumstances and the turmoil in the court—and with his wife having formed a connection with the Prince of Qin and his consort—he had ultimately been unable to avoid becoming entangled.

At this moment, once he grasped that the arrow had been loosed on Marquis Yao’s order, he could not contain his fury and demanded in a thunderous voice to know what the man’s intentions were.

What enraged him was not only that Marquis Yao had ordered Li Chengyu killed—he was also terrified in hindsight.

Just moments ago he had watched with his own eyes as that arrow grazed past the Princess Consort.

Had the archer’s hand slipped even slightly, he did not dare imagine what the outcome might have been.

Marquis Yao’s expression was agitated as he shouted his explanation in return: “I have investigated the matter thoroughly—His Majesty indeed died for the nation! His name as a loyal and courageous hero is known throughout the realm! And His Majesty was always a man of filial piety and virtue—how could he possibly have done such a treasonous thing? This person is some brazen impostor from who knows where, daring to call himself the Emperor and desecrate His Majesty’s honored name! When I arrived just now, fearing he would harm the Princess Consort, I was momentarily seized by alarm and rashly gave the order. My consideration was indeed lacking—if I have given the Princess Consort a fright, I beg her pardon! My intent was entirely for her safety!”

Li Chengyu was completely dead now.

Pu Zhu reached out and gently closed those eyes that were still wide open, then slowly rose to her feet and fixed her gaze on Marquis Yao.

She understood perfectly well what his motives were.

This dynasty governed by the principle of filial piety.

Li Chengyu having personally led the campaign only to be captured—that was bad enough. But now, having done something like this, even if he were brought back, there was not the slightest possibility of his remaining Emperor.

Not only that—his ignominious survival would be a drag on Empress Yao and the Yao family. Better to use this pretext to shoot him dead with an arrow. That way, at least the reputation of having led the imperial forces and sacrificed himself for the nation could still be maintained.

Prince Duan was a clan elder and kinsman of Li Chengyu. Guo Lang had been Li Chengyu’s Grand Tutor.

Now that Li Chengyu was dead, whatever their private considerations, neither of the two men would be able to do anything other than acquiesce to Marquis Yao’s version of the “misunderstanding”—to preserve some last shred of dignity for the court, the imperial family, and Li Chengyu himself.

This Marquis Yao had a very fine hand in scheming.

Guo Lang’s expression carried a note of grief.

Although for the sake of the nation’s fortunes—and for the future of his own family—he had already resolved to abandon his student and would do everything possible to help Prince of Qin Li Xuandu ascend the throne. Which was why, even earlier, he had refused to acknowledge the man inside who had been threatening to burn the Hall of Eternal Repose as Li Chengyu. But now, looking at the man freshly shot dead by Marquis Yao’s order, thinking that this person had after all been the student in whom he had placed half a lifetime of hope—the bond of teacher and student still had some vestiges remaining.

He sighed deeply, walked over with heavy steps, removed his outer robe, and draped it over his student’s face.

Prince Duan pointed at Marquis Yao, gave a single nod, let out a cold laugh, suppressed the anger in his heart, came to Pu Zhu’s side, and invited her to first return to the capital to rest.

Pu Zhu did not move. She stood gazing at the Hall of Eternal Repose before her and said: “Imperial Grandmother has passed into the immortal realm—it has been so long, and I have only now come. I will not leave tonight. I will stay here and keep vigil for Imperial Grandmother.”

In truth, Prince Duan had already guessed she would make this decision before she even spoke, so he did not try to dissuade her, but nodded: “Very well. I will have preparations made for you.”