After bidding farewell to Frost Madam and setting out, Pu Zhu and Li Xuandu departed with their beloved son, the three of them taking to the road eastward together.

They retraced the path they had once traveled, now with a great army and a procession of diplomatic missions in their wake. Their destination was the same as their starting point all those years ago — the imperial palace in the capital.

Thinking back to those days, they had managed to pass through the frontier only with the help of the Grand Empress Dowager of the Jiang clan. Only five hundred soldiers had accompanied them westward. After arriving in the Western Regions, they had established the Protectorate, faced one crisis after another, fought battle after battle — a long, hard, treacherous road, forged through struggle. Returning now, she had every reason to look back on those hardships and feel the weight of all that had been hard-won. And yet, at each place they passed through, what occupied her thoughts most, what moved her most deeply, was not the dangers and difficulties of the past — it was the memories she and Li Xuandu had made together along the way.

The ghost terrain of the White Dragon Dunes. The relay station at Fulu Zhen. The commandant’s office in the commandery city…

At so many of these places they had left behind small fragments that belonged only to the two of them.

Back then, an oath of eternal devotion and a lifetime of growing old together had still seemed impossibly far away. But he had already begun to protect her. Even the friction and unhappiness born of their disagreements — looking back now, it all seemed so precious, even worth laughing about.

Take that day, for instance: when they stopped again at the Fulu relay station, Pu Zhu found herself thinking of their very first meeting, and how, even as he was leaving, he had not forgotten to admonish her to “conduct herself with the quiet propriety of a well-bred young lady.” She couldn’t help but bring it up. Li Xuandu said nothing at the time, let her tease him as she pleased — and then after they retired for the night, he sent A’mu away with the baby, closed the door, and proceeded to coax and fawn over his disgruntled little wife with every means at his disposal, serving her so devotedly through the night that by morning she could not get out of bed. The entire retinue was forced to halt with them, and half a day’s travel was lost just like that.

With so much sweetness at every turn, the long journey did not feel long at all.

Three months later, in the deep of spring that year, the journey neared its end.

Duan Wang and Guo Lang had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Prince of Qin and his wife for the better part of a year, nearly wearing their eyes out with watching. When they finally received word that the party was approaching, they had been so impatient that they made plans to lead the hundred officials and crowds of citizens out of the capital days in advance, riding hundreds of li to the edge of the metropolitan region to receive them — only to receive a directive from Li Xuandu himself, ordering that no grand mobilization be made, no disruption to the people’s lives, and that he and the Princess Consort would enter the capital on their own upon arrival.

Duan Wang complied with the directive and prepared instead to receive the Prince of Qin and his wife at the western city gate — the Yongle Gate — leading the assembled court officials and dignitaries to welcome them there.

On the appointed day, Li Xuandu rode in a spacious carriage alongside Pu Zhu and their son as they crossed into the metropolitan territory.

Two or three more days of travel, and they would reach the capital.

Li Xuandu had already ordered the army to encamp at the garrison grounds within the metropolitan region. He himself brought only the five-hundred-man personal guard that had originally followed him out through the frontier pass, along with the diplomatic mission, to enter the capital together.

The spring day was bright and mild, with a warm and gentle breeze. The carriage curtains were half-raised. He lounged comfortably, propped on one arm, a book of light reading in his other hand, lying there reading his way through the journey to pass the time.

Pu Zhu sat on the floor mat, playing with their son.

Luan’er played with his mother for a little while, then was drawn by the spring light filtering in through the curtain. He pushed himself up to the window and pressed his face against it, eyes wide, staring at everything outside, one small chubby hand waving at the people passing by the carriage, uttering a stream of babbling sounds.

Zhang Zhuo and the others were all on horseback, riding escort on either side of the carriage. When the little young master suddenly appeared at the window with a beaming face that seemed to be beckoning to them, they were all so startled and delighted they immediately turned to look. Some waved back at the little boy in secret; others made funny faces to make him laugh. The formation of riders fell into complete disarray.

Their son could already walk, had boundless energy, and was lively and energetic beyond measure. Awake, he required someone watching him every single moment. All along this journey, Pu Zhu had been unwilling to have him in a separate carriage, but if A’mu were also riding with them, managing the boy would have been far easier. Today, however, Li Xuandu had been lazy, refusing to go out and ride, insisting on staying in the carriage with her — and so she was managing Luan’er alone, which was quite exhausting.

Seeing the situation at the window, Pu Zhu moved to pull her son back. But he was having too much fun and clutched the window frame with all his might, refusing to let go. She finally had to use force and hauled him back, then dropped the curtain.

Luan’er pursed his lips, his eyes reddening, and began to cry.

Pu Zhu hurried to comfort him, but the tears kept falling. Flustered, she glanced up — and saw Li Xuandu still sprawled there at his leisure, the very picture of a man with no concerns, calmly reading his book as though none of this was his problem. Her irritation flared. “You get out! I want A’mu in here!”

Li Xuandu finally deigned to lift his eyes. He put down the book, stretched out at length, then rolled to his feet, sauntered over, and kissed her on the cheek — telling her to rest and that he would handle things.

“You think you can manage?”

Pu Zhu looked at him skeptically.

“You just rest!”

With one hand, Li Xuandu scooped up his tearful son, sat himself down in a chair, placed the boy face-up across his outstretched legs, and bounced him once on his feet. Then he gave a light flick of his ankle.

Luan’er sailed up like a little ball, and as he came back down, his father caught him on his feet again. Up he went, and was caught again.

At first, caught off guard by the sudden lift, Luan’er gave a startled shudder. But after a few rounds, he found his delight, and promptly stopped crying — bursting into a fit of happy giggles.

Li Xuandu, feeling quite pleased with himself, looked over at his wide-eyed little wife and raised an eyebrow.

Pu Zhu was astonished. She hadn’t expected him to come up with such a way to amuse the boy. Seeing that Luan’er liked it, she let him carry on. But he kept flicking their son higher and higher, treating him like a toy; the last few tosses sent him flying nearly two or three feet off the carriage floor, making her heart leap into her throat. She cried out for him to stop.

“It’s fine. Look how happy he is!”

Li Xuandu grinned.

“Besides, with my skill, would I actually drop your son…”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the carriage hit a sudden bump. He had been too busy flirting with his pretty wife to keep his attention where it belonged, and made a slight miscalculation — and poor little Luan’er, like a small cloth sack, dropped straight to the floor. The movement of the carriage prevented him from stopping, and he went rolling onward with the momentum, tumbling all the way to the far corner of the carriage where he came to rest face-down.

The floor was covered with thick carpeting, and Luan’er had plenty of soft baby fat on him. Even so, when he landed, there was an audible thud, distinctly unpleasant to hear.

Sure enough, Luan’er lay there face-down, utterly still at first, silent for one breathless moment — and then let out a long, earth-shattering wail, followed by full-throated sobbing.

Pu Zhu came to her senses and rushed over with her heart breaking, scooped him up, and held him against her chest, rubbing and comforting him without pause. After quite a while, Luan’er gradually subsided, hiccupping softly in his mother’s arms as the crying finally stopped.

The commotion inside the carriage naturally brought it to a halt. Everyone outside stopped as well. A’mu, Nanny Wang, and Luo Bao from the carriage behind all came rushing up, followed by Zhang Zhuo and the nearby attendants, everyone deeply alarmed.

Pu Zhu shot a glance at Li Xuandu’s deflated expression and calmly explained that the little young master had accidentally taken a small tumble. This sent the carriage driver into a panic — he dropped to his knees and prostrated himself in endless apology.

After a great deal of commotion, order was finally restored. Everyone returned to their places, and the procession moved on.

Luan’er had tired himself out crying, and now, eyes still holding the glimmer of unshed tears, he fell into a deep and heavy sleep in his mother’s soft embrace.

The silent Li Xuandu finally crept forward. He gently gathered their sleeping son from her arms, laid him carefully down, and tucked a small blanket over him. Then he turned to find his little wife still frowning at him, and promptly pressed her down, settled a soft pillow behind her head, sat himself beside her, and set about kneading her waist and massaging her legs with every indication of devoted solicitude.

Pu Zhu held out for a moment, then could restrain herself no longer. She gave him a vicious pinch on the waist. “If there’s a next time, you’ll know what’s coming!”

Li Xuandu sucked in a breath with a sharp hiss.

“Yes, yes, I know — I won’t dare do it again…”

He gave her a cheerful kiss, then gathered her up and settled her against his chest.

“You’re tired too. Sleep a little. Two more days and we’ll be in the capital.”

Pu Zhu closed her eyes and slowly dozed off.

Li Xuandu held her with one arm. With his other hand, he reached over and pulled the sleeping Luan’er’s blanket a little higher, then gently brushed away the tearstains still clinging to the boy’s lashes. He picked up his book again and continued reading.

The carriage rolled smoothly onward. Inside, all was quiet and still.

Out on the main road, coming from the opposite direction in the distance, a convoy of prisoner escorts slowly approached.

The prisoners numbered in the hundreds. They had all been dispatched from the Eastern Capital.

The ringleaders who had followed Shen Yang and the Princess Imperial in the rebellion had long since been executed. These were the lesser offenders — officials who had committed secondary crimes, along with the family members of convicted officials. Among them were members of the Xiao family, and Xiao Shi herself.

At the outset of the Eastern Capital rebellion, the Xiao family had calculated that the imperial court would surely be defeated. They had begun planning for the future early on, reasoning that given their standing and status, if they were to defect, Shen Yang would not only bear no ill will toward them but might actually reward them for joining his cause. And so they had crossed over, following a number of other traitorous officials, and Xiao Shi had gone with them — never expecting the tide to turn so completely. Now the entire group had been sentenced to exile at the frontier, condemned to forced labor.

The road had been long, all the way on foot from the Eastern Capital to here, and every one of them was already exhausted and wretched. Now, with the old capital within sight and the knowledge that they could never return, they were consumed by remorse. Some wept and wailed; others looked as though they wanted to throw themselves from a cliff. The soldiers escorting them were shouting them into order when they suddenly caught sight of a convoy approaching from ahead, and sent a rider galloping forward.

The convoy commander was told the identity of the party coming toward them, and stared in alarm. He immediately ordered his men to herd all the prisoners off the main road, driving them far back into the open field, where they were made to kneel with their heads bowed — forbidden to look up or make a sound.

The prisoners all knelt in the open field. As the procession drew gradually nearer, sharp-eyed ones recognized the standards and the great carriage drawn by six horses, and understood it must be the Prince of Qin returning to the capital. Wailing pleas for mercy rose from the crowd, everyone hoping to be seen and pitied.

Among the procession, a disheveled, haggard Xiao Shi slowly raised her head, her gaze fixed blankly on the six-horse carriage now rolling past before her, her expression hollow and vacant.

After defecting to the Eastern Capital, she had found not the wealth and splendor she had hoped for. Now she had been reduced to a convicted prisoner.

The most likely outcome for the rest of her life was to be assigned, upon reaching the frontier, as a wife to some rough frontier soldier.

A lifetime of luxury — utterly, irrevocably shattered.

Her eyes were riveted to that six-horse carriage. She knew that the Prince of Qin and that woman were in there right now. Her lips trembled without cease, and her gaze grew increasingly wild.

Why had it come to this…

It should never have turned out this way.

She had been the one originally designated to be Li Xuandu’s wife.

If not for the upheaval of that year, the woman riding in this six-horse carriage right now should have been her.

She had come within a hair’s breadth of becoming Empress.

She lurched to her feet and hurtled toward the carriage on the road, heedless of everything.

“Your Highness! Prince of Qin! It’s me — Xiao Ruolan! Save me! In the name of the bond we once shared — please save Lan’er! I don’t want to be sent to the frontier…”

She screamed herself hoarse, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

The convoy commander was horrified. He shouted for his men to rush forward and tackle her to the ground, clapping a hand over her mouth — but her strength was startling, far beyond what anyone expected. She thrashed and struggled with everything she had, and bit down savagely on the hand of the soldier trying to restrain her. When he jerked away in pain, she screamed out again at full volume.

The commander, afraid she would disturb the occupants of the carriage, snatched up a fistful of mud and grass from the ground and shoved it into her mouth. That finally choked off the sound.

Pu Zhu was half-dozing against Li Xuandu’s chest. She dimly heard some kind of commotion from outside and shifted in her drowsiness. “What’s happening…” she mumbled vaguely. “Is someone calling for you…”

Li Xuandu’s gaze remained fixed on the book in his hand. He didn’t even blink. He simply patted her gently and said in a soft, coaxing voice, “Nothing. You misheard. Go back to sleep.”

Pu Zhu murmured her assent. She truly was tired. She nestled into a more comfortable position in his arms, closed her eyes, and fell back to sleep.

The carriage passed smoothly on, speeding in the direction of the capital and leaving everything behind.

—