The border town of Fulu, where she now lived, had come into being on account of the relay station. Standing at one end of town, you could see clear to the other. On the empire’s westward maps, it was no more than an unremarkable small black dot added in recent years to the far western region, far from the commandery city of He Xi to the east—even by fast horse, it took several days to reach. In its early years, the town had housed only garrisoned troops who farmed the land and guarded the beacon towers. After a relay point was established, several hundred households gradually settled here over the years. Now, during the day, people and horses passed back and forth along the road, among them merchants traveling through, and on fair days there was even a small spontaneous market—it looked lively enough.
But at this moment, in the fifth watch before dawn, the surroundings lay utterly silent. All Pu Zhu could hear was the crunch of her own feet on the accumulated snow and the panting of the black dog running beside her.
Once night fell, the huge red lantern hung high at the entrance of the relay station in the center of town—used to guide night travelers—was the only source of light in all of Fulu Zhen, and it stood out unmistakably.
The Yang family was no more than a bowshot from the relay station. Sometimes when Pu Zhu could not sleep in the small hours, she could hear clearly the clamor of travelers and horses arriving from afar and entering the station through the night, and whenever that happened, she could not help but think of her father.
Unlike the awe she felt toward her grandfather, what Pu Zhu felt when she thought of her father was warm and aching tenderness.
Her father had a pair of bright, piercing eyes and was the most handsome, and the most gentle, man in the world. He could easily have been like other young men of prominent clans—relying on his forebears’ merits to secure a prestigious post in the capital—yet at eighteen he had joined a diplomatic mission going west through Yumen Pass and embarked on his life’s path as an envoy. He had crossed through deadly wastelands to reach Yinyue City, where he met the Grand Princess Jinxi, who had been sent in marriage to the Western Di people long ago to isolate the Eastern Di; he brought her gifts from her homeland and the exhortations of the Empress Dowager Jiang, her mother. He had traveled the length and breadth of many nations, persuading and uniting them, reopening trade routes that had once been sealed shut, so that thereafter east and west traveled freely, and the various nations sent envoys bearing tribute in an unbroken stream. He had also, in the course of an embassy, survived a coup in the host country, yet remained calm under fire, directing events and quelling the rebellion, his name shaking all of the Western Regions.
Even now, many of the old soldiers along this western road still remembered the bearing of that envoy from years gone by.
When her father was home, he liked to seat the young Pu Zhu on his knee and teach her foreign tongues, pointing to maps of the Western Regions and teaching her to identify them.
Pu Zhu still remembered her father’s final embassy. The night before his departure, he pointed to a place called Yinyue City on the map and told her that Father would go there once more and return very soon.
But her father never came back. On his homeward journey he was ambushed by the Wuli people, tributaries of the Eastern Di; with only a few dozen men at his side, he met with misfortune and died—not yet thirty years of age.
Pu Zhu was seven that year. Her mother had always been frail, and upon hearing the news was struck with such grief that she fell ill not long after and also died.
It was said that her father’s body had even been taken by the enemy and carried about in all directions to show off their achievement. In the end it was a man—one of their own countrymen who had been captured and had surrendered to the Eastern Di in an earlier defeat—who could not bear it and, seizing his chance, stole the body away under cover of night, so that it could at last be hurriedly buried somewhere out in the wilderness.
From the day he received his envoy’s staff, her father must have known that this was a road from which one might never return.
Yet he still walked it—without hesitation or regret.
To bring her father’s remains back from foreign soil, to let his soul return to his homeland and rest beside her mother in the same grave—this was the greatest wish of Pu Zhu’s life.
Yet in her previous life, even after she became Empress, this cherished wish had still gone unfulfilled.
The Wuli people, sheltering under the protection of the Eastern Di, had never been conquered, and even her husband of that time—the young Emperor—had been helpless in this matter.
Pu Zhu raised her head and cast her gaze toward the distant capital in the east, dimly seeming to see—as in those long-ago days—her young father grasping his envoy’s staff, leading his embassy, slowly riding forth on horseback, traveling this road.
Though Fulu Zhen had not yet existed when he walked this road, his feet must certainly have trodden the very path she was walking now.
Her heart warmed; suddenly she felt that this bitter, desolate border region—this place to which the court sent convicted criminals and exiles, a place that had imprisoned her for eight years—was not as detestable as she had always thought.
She quickened her pace, moving through the pre-dawn dark toward the two points of light ahead, and soon arrived.
The relay station stood four-square: one hundred paces wide, three hundred paces long, with high walls and a deep compound—from a distance it resembled a fortified stronghold.
At this hour, the townspeople were still seizing those last precious minutes of sleep before daylight, but inside the relay station, the day had already begun in earnest. The day before, a party of travelers from the capital had arrived, led by an official from the Court of State Ceremonial. They were to depart at the hour of Chen this morning to continue westward. Because of their large numbers—dozens of people and their horses—preparations had begun at the fourth watch.
At the gate, a man of about fifty was directing people to secure and load sacks of black beans—feed for the horses on the road ahead—counting the sacks and recording them in a ledger as he went, murmuring: “Twenty sacks of black beans, fifty bushels of millet…” He was so absorbed in his task that he did not notice Pu Zhu walking up.
Pu Zhu stopped and called out to him—”Xu Gong!”—and the dog that had followed her barked twice as well. Only then did Xu Chong start and turn to see her. He immediately halted.
Xu Chong was the relay station’s postmaster, in charge of several dozen people. Though only a minor functionary, within Fulu Zhen everyone who met him would address him respectfully as “Xu Gong.”
“Gong” was how ordinary people addressed those of official rank or renown. Others calling him that was nothing unusual to Xu Chong, but knowing her background—the Pu family might have long since fallen from grace, but their reputation remained—he could not presume to accept the title from her. He waved his hand and smiled: “That I cannot accept. Young Mistress, call me Xu Wen instead. Have you come to find your A’mu? It’s cold out—go in quickly, don’t freeze yourself!”
Pu Zhu thanked him and went inside.
She knew the place well. Passing through the main gate, she skipped the main hall and took a side passage through the outer courtyard, arriving quickly at the kitchen tucked against the eastern wall at the rear.
A dim amber lamplight glowed from the window in the kitchen wall, figures moving about inside. The door stood half-open, and a fragrance of food drifted out.
This was the largest relay station along the road west to Yumen Pass. Farther along there were still a few relay points, but they were all very small, with a limited and monotonous food supply—nothing like the provisions available here. So westbound diplomatic missions generally chose to stock up here with as many dry provisions as possible for the road ahead.
Supplying several dozen people with at least several days’ worth of provisions was a formidable undertaking for a kitchen with a limited staff. The scene of industry within was easy to imagine.
Pu Zhu went to the kitchen door. Zhang Ao, the chief cook, and another woman were bent over the large stove, arms rolled up, busy making steamed flatbreads—but A’Ju was nowhere to be seen. The ground near the large water vat in the corner was wet; the water bucket and carrying pole were gone. She must have gone to fetch water.
The station originally had its own well, but it was said that the well water had gone dry from lack of rain, and when it filled again the water turned murky. Until it cleared naturally, the kitchen had to draw drinking water from a public well in the center of the town. Small as the town was, the well was still a full li from the relay station.
A’Ju was mute, patient, and willing—naturally this sort of task fell to her.
Without disturbing the people inside, Pu Zhu turned and left through the station’s back gate. She and the dog that followed her were about to head toward the public well when she looked up and saw a slight, thin figure approaching from the opposite direction, carrying a shoulder pole with two full water buckets. The weight of the load bent the figure’s back slightly, head low, walking quickly this way.
“A’mu!”
Pu Zhu called out and rushed forward. Drawing close, she saw that on such a cold day, the woman’s forehead was beaded with sweat—she had likely already made how many trips back and forth without anyone knowing—and suddenly a memory surfaced from her previous life. Thinking of how soon, in the not-so-distant future, A’Ju would leave her in that way, Pu Zhu could not help but feel her eyes grow hot.
Knowing she could not possibly carry the two buckets on the pole together—they must together weigh seventy or eighty catties—and that forcing the attempt would only risk tipping them and making things worse, she said: “A’mu, rest and catch your breath first. I’ll carry them inside one by one for you.”
A’Ju set down the water pole and stopped. She immediately shook her head and pointed at Pu Zhu’s forehead.
Pu Zhu had grown up with her since childhood. Without words, sometimes without even a gesture—just a single glance—she could understand her meaning.
She was saying: you’ve just been sick; don’t let me catch you doing any work.
It was fortunate it was dark. Pu Zhu sniffed, forcing back the warmth in her eyes.
“A’mu, I really am all better already…”
She had barely gotten out one sentence when A’Ju’s face turned severe and she fixed Pu Zhu with a stern stare.
Half a month ago Pu Zhu had been delirious with fever and unconscious; A’Ju had kept vigil day and night, holding her and weeping silently. After she recovered, as long as Pu Zhu was within A’Ju’s sight, A’Ju would not let her do the slightest bit of work.
Pu Zhu stopped arguing and submitted like a good child.
A’Ju’s expression softened slightly. Then she glanced in the direction of the Yang family home.
Pu Zhu understood at once.
She was asking why she had come here. Pu Zhu quickly pointed at the outer coat she was wearing—A’Ju’s coat—and put on a sweet smile, coaxing her: “A’mu, I woke up and couldn’t sleep anyway, so I brought your coat over for you. A’mu, from now on you must wear it yourself, don’t leave it for me. I’m not cold at all!”
As if to prove she was truly not cold, she at once puffed out her chest and moved to take off the coat and give it to A’Ju.
A’Ju looked at the young mistress before her.
The borderlands were harsh and bitter, the wind and sand like knives, but her young mistress—that little girl who once, padded in thick winter furs, could cry her eyes red from a small tumble that barely grazed her knee—had grown up at last, like young green grass pushing stubbornly through a crack in the rocks toward sunlight and rain. She had the slender, bamboo-like fragility of youth, not yet fully grown, and yet she already had bright eyes and white teeth, a face as lovely as a lotus blossom, and when she smiled, two round dimples appeared and vanished at the corners of her lips. At this moment, that slight figure in A’Ju’s own coat—far too large for her—looked rather like a silkworm struggling inside a cocoon, straining to show a small face with round, wide-open eyes; the sight was at once comical and utterly endearing.
This was her little treasure—clever, beautiful, and considerate, who had never treated her with an ounce of contempt but had always treated her as family.
To think that she herself had once been nothing but a wretched soul sold by her husband’s family during a famine year, worth less than a pig. It was her mistress who had given her a life that looked like something human. In this lifetime, no matter how hard she worked or how exhausted she became, even if it were like being an ox or a horse, she would still feel it was sweet.
So long as her young mistress was safe and well—that was the greatest blessing of her remaining years.
A’Ju could no longer hold her severe expression. She pressed down Pu Zhu’s hands as she tried to remove the coat, smiled, shook her head, and with a gesture indicated that she herself was not cold, then urged Pu Zhu back inside.
Pu Zhu knew she could not win the argument, and that obedience was the surest way to put A’Ju at ease. She had no choice but to comply.
A’Ju soon followed, carrying the water pole, poured the water into the vat, and finally filled it to the brim.
Pu Zhu called out to Zhang Ao. Zhang Ao turned and, seeing her, gave her a sidelong glance and said offhandedly: “Young Mistress, you grow lovelier every day!”
A’Ju wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled, then gestured for Pu Zhu to sit by the stove hearth to warm herself. Without waiting to be told, she went at once to move the split wood stacked in the courtyard.
Pu Zhu sat obediently and took on the role of the girl who tends the fire.
“Last year, not long after the Yang family first moved here, I heard people say that on the day they arrived, more than a dozen unmarried young men from the town all rushed over one after another to help carry things. I thought to myself—those lads, they don’t farm, they don’t work, and they make no talk of taking wives or having children. They spend their days wandering east and west, fancying themselves as free and easy gallants, dreaming their daydreams of riding into battle and killing Di men, winning gold rewards and titles, becoming great officers. When had they ever shown such kindness to a neighbor? Then I asked, and they said that family had a daughter just of marriageable age. Two days later I had a look—and indeed, the girl is a beauty. What kind of girl like that has this place ever produced? No wonder those young lads couldn’t keep their legs from walking over…”
Zhang Ao was naturally full of talk. Once she got started, it was like opening a floodgate, and she and the other woman talked without stopping.
The firewood was not much, and A’Ju soon finished moving it. She came back inside and looked at her young mistress, her gaze full of contentment and pride. Knowing that she must not have eaten breakfast yet, A’Ju washed her hands, filled a clean bowl with a freshly steamed flatbread, and poured a bowl of warm water. She placed both in a wooden tray and, glancing at Zhang Ao to make sure she said nothing, brought it to Pu Zhu’s lap.
Pu Zhu’s stomach had been a little hungry, and so she ate her food while tending the fire, listening with half an ear as Zhang Ao continued: “…At the time I thought to myself, judging by the faces of Yang Houzhang and his wife—one like he’s been rolled in burnt coal, the other like she’s been deep-fried in hot oil—how could they possibly have produced such a daughter? No wonder it turned out later that the young mistress was a native of the capital. I said as much. Even if you ground those two up and poured them into a mold together, you still couldn’t press out a girl with the young mistress’s looks…”
Yang Hong had spent years traveling these border beacon towers, weathered by wind and sun until his skin was coarse and dark. Madam Zhang’s looks were not bad, but her face bore some pockmarks left from a childhood illness, and after moving here the previous year she still carried on with airs from her former position and had not gotten along well with the women of the town. This Zhang Ao had been thinking that Madam Zhang lived in the same mud-brick courtyard as herself yet looked down on her, refusing even to nod a greeting when they passed on the road. She had started out just praising Pu Zhu’s looks, but the more she talked, the more it drifted into mockery of the couple, and she grew more enthusiastic with every word.
The truth was that Pu Zhu held no grudge whatsoever against either Yang Hong or Madam Zhang, and she had no wish to hear outsiders speak disrespectfully of them—even if these were only offhand remarks about appearances. She set down the flatbread she had barely begun to eat.
“Zhang A’mu, what use are looks—you can’t eat them. If it weren’t for the Yang family’s kindness in taking pity on me and raising me all these years, who knows where I’d be now. Zhang A’mu, you’ve always looked after my A’Ju, and I keep all that in my heart. Zhang A’mu was just joking just now, we all know that—only, if such talk were to get out, one can never be sure some loose-lipped person won’t carry it off and make mischief. These days, Yang Houzhang may only be here in this position, but fortune changes, and he may yet rise in the future—you never know.”