Han Rongchang followed and offered his congratulations: “Young miss, I heard that His Majesty yesterday sent an imperial decree to the Guo household, bestowing upon you a marriage with Prince Qin. This is truly a joyous occasion. Once you and Prince Qin are wed, we shall be family.”

Pu Zhu managed a strained smile and murmured a brief acknowledgment.

Han Rongchang had come early to claim credit and had failed — and felt unsatisfied. So he turned to claiming credit before the future Princess Consort of Qin: “Truth be told, I always felt my son was unworthy of young miss. And indeed, you and Prince Qin are a perfect match made by heaven. That day when he came to find me, he entreated me to go and dissuade the Princess Imperial from seeking to betroth her son to you — and as I am always one to help others achieve happiness, I agreed. Not to boast, but if not for me, the two of you would not be where you are today. One might even say I played the matchmaker — though it is a pity for my son, whose marriage prospects remain unsettled to this day…”

Pu Zhu came to an abrupt stop: “Lord Han, what did you just say?”

Han Rongchang said with obvious self-satisfaction: “It was Fourth Brother who came to me that day and asked me to talk the Princess Imperial out of seeking a match between her son and young miss. And it was I who spoke on your behalf before His Majesty to make your mutual intentions known — and it was only then that His Majesty issued the decree.”

Pu Zhu could scarcely believe her own ears.

What had Li Xuandu been doing? He had actually helped her like this? Through a chain of misunderstandings, it had in the end turned into a misunderstanding before the Emperor — and the Emperor, wishing to bring happiness to others, had decreed this marriage between them?

This was too absurd. Her instincts told her that things could not be so simple.

But if not this, then what else could it be? After all, the words from Lord Han’s mouth sounded so perfectly logical and plausible.

Pu Zhu did not know whether she should weep or laugh.

Fate truly made a mockery of people.

She had been reborn and had changed — or had been compelled to change — the destinies of many people. Yang Hong, A’mu, Cui Xuan… and soon Huaiwei, Jiang Yi…

She had calculated and recalculated everything, yet the one thing she had never accounted for was that in the end, she herself would have her fate changed in such a way.

She sat in the carriage traveling back toward the city, her mind in turmoil, her spirit drifting. Without quite noticing, they were nearly at the city gate — when suddenly she felt the carriage lurch, and from beneath it came a sharp crack. The carriage tilted and came to a stop.

The driver climbed down to inspect and cursed under his breath — the wheel had sunk into a muddy rut carved by last night’s rain, and the axle had snapped. It could go no further.

Han Rongchang ordered the driver to pull the carriage to the side of the road, then came to the window and told Pu Zhu that he would go ahead into the city to find another carriage to replace this one, and asked her to wait a moment. He finished giving instructions and was about to leave when he suddenly heard voices from the opposite direction. Several soldiers of the Southern Command, patrolling near the eastern city gate, were passing by without noticing Han Rongchang standing on the other side of the carriage. They talked among themselves as they walked, their voices carrying.

One said: “This morning, the moment the city gate opened, I saw Lord Han the prince consort galloping out of the city in quite a hurry — wonder where he was off to?”

Another said: “Perhaps he was driven out of the city by the Princess Imperial?”

A third voice came: “Lord Han is really quite pitiable — the Princess Imperial, she…” That voice dropped low, as if whispering to a companion, then laughter broke out. “…he probably doesn’t even dare make a sound. To be a man in such a state — what difference is there from a turtle retreating into its shell?…”

Han Rongchang’s expression changed drastically. He clenched his fist so hard the veins on the back of his hand stood out like cords, and slapped his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. With a rasp, the blade was half-drawn, its edge flashing, drawing the attention of those soldiers. They turned back and suddenly found him standing on the roadside behind them — his expression dark and murderous, hand on his drawn sword. They were thoroughly startled. They knew they had stirred up a hornet’s nest. The person they had mocked was a general of the Imperial Guard of the Court of Imperial Entertainments and a titled marquis — no matter how people laughed at him behind his back, to do so to his face was a serious offense.

The soldiers hurriedly dropped to their knees, kowtowing and begging for mercy.

At this moment, a rider came galloping from the direction of the city gate — a man dressed in fine scale armor, high black leather boots, a silver sword belt at his waist, and a jeweled dagger hanging from it. He had a high nose and deep-set eyes, his expression sharp and cold. It was Shen Yang of the Southern Command. He reined in his horse and glanced at the soldiers kneeling on the ground, then turned to Han Rongchang and said: “Lord Han, what has happened? If these men have offended you, speak freely — I will not let them off lightly.”

Han Rongchang stood stiffly for a moment, then slowly released the grip on his sword hilt and let the blade slide back into its sheath. He said flatly: “It’s nothing.”

Shen Yang seemed unperturbed and turned to snap a single word at the soldiers on the ground: “Get out.” The soldiers, as if granted amnesty, scrambled to their feet and fled in disarray.

Han Rongchang paid Shen Yang no further attention. He told the driver to wait, then spurred his horse toward the city gate — and before long returned leading another carriage. He came to the carriage door and called out to Pu Zhu.

Shen Yang remained on his horse at a distance, watching as a slender figure in a purple gauze face veil descended, gathered her skirt, and boarded the other carriage. The carriage door closed, and the vehicle trundled off toward the city gate.

Shen Yang considered for a moment, then called over a subordinate and had the driver waiting by the roadside brought to him. He asked who the woman who had just left was. The driver replied: “She is the young miss of the Pu family, who yesterday received an imperial decree of betrothal to Prince Qin.”

Shen Yang turned his head, his gaze resting on the carriage just entering the city gate ahead, something shifting faintly behind his eyes.

Pu Zhu returned to the Guo household in a state of nervous agitation. By mid-morning, a palace messenger arrived to escort her into the palace to pay her respects and give thanks for the Emperor’s grace.

The Emperor received her once again in the same informal hall as before — the Moon Laurel Hall. He sat behind the table with Shen Gao standing nearby.

Last night’s rain had cleared, and by morning the sky had opened up. A beam of sunlight slanted in through the southern window, making the embroidered golden dragon patterns on the Emperor’s dragon robe glitter and blaze with blinding brilliance.

The Emperor also seemed to dislike the brightness and glanced toward the southern window. Shen Gao understood immediately, stepped over, and closed it with his own hands.

The light inside the hall dimmed at once. The Emperor sat upon the imperial throne, his figure draped in the shadow cast by a curtain hanging to one side.

Pu Zhu stepped forward and bowed. Shen Gao led the palace attendants out of the hall without a sound, and the vast chamber was left with only the Emperor and Pu Zhu.

The Emperor in the shadow looked even more amiable than during his last audience with her. He commanded her to rise, smiled, and said: “We have already asked the Grand Astrologer and the Imperial Astronomers to determine an auspicious date. Once it is set, you and Prince Qin may hold the wedding. If there is anything you lack, or any request you wish to make, say it freely — We shall spare nothing.”

Pu Zhu said she had no requests.

The Emperor nodded: “Once you become the Consort of Prince Qin, you will be in his presence day and night, seeing him morning and evening. If you notice anything unusual in Prince Qin’s conduct, do you know what you ought to do?”

The Emperor’s tone was measured, but Pu Zhu felt a start — she heard something strange beneath those words.

She had been keeping her head lowered. Now, at these words, she hesitated, then slowly raised it to meet the Emperor’s gaze, which was directed straight at her. The smile had entirely vanished from his face, and his expression had grown somewhat dark. She felt a chill, and her mind immediately connected it to what Li Xuandu had done in the past. In an instant — as if struck by lightning — she dimly understood.

Was the Emperor, through these words, asking her to use her position as princess consort, with her constant access to him, to monitor Li Xuandu’s words and actions — his every move?

She also recalled the assassination attempt she had inexplicably faced during yesterday’s summons to the palace, which further confirmed this suspicion.

Yesterday, she had been baffled beyond all understanding. But connected to this purpose, it all became perfectly clear at once.

If the Emperor wished to plant a spy, he would naturally hope the spy could be put to use — and before deploying her, he would first test and examine her. That was entirely normal.

It seemed she had passed the test.

To plant eyes and ears at Li Xuandu’s side — what tool could be more suited than a princess consort who would share his bed and be bound to him in complete intimacy?

Pu Zhu then thought of A’mu — A’mu, who had inexplicably abandoned her and left. And in an instant, everything became absolutely clear.

The Emperor intended to use A’mu as a hostage to coerce her into obedience. No wonder A’mu had left without waiting for her to return.

She must have been forcibly taken away.

This morning she had not been able to work it out, and in her fury she had gone to the temple to confront Li Xuandu.

Now, one matter at a time, everything fell into place.

A layer of cold sweat swiftly broke out across her back, soaking the undergarment clinging to her skin — damp and freezing, deeply uncomfortable.

Beneath her sleeves, her ten fingers slowly tightened, nails digging into her palms. She said: “This humble subject is foolish and slow — please, Your Majesty, make your meaning plain.”

The Emperor said: “We received reports long ago that Prince Qin harbors treacherous intentions and schemes rebellion, yet manages day to day to conceal it with such skill that he deceives those around him. We require you to monitor his every move on Our behalf — in particular his private communications with the people of Que. Once you obtain anything of substance, you must report it to Us immediately without concealment.”

The Emperor’s tone was deep and cold as he spoke, like a keen blade slicing through the vague, hazy veil of warmth that had lain between them.

“Since We ascended the throne, We have governed diligently and brought peace to the realm — ruling over the lands and extending Our reach beyond the seas. Yet now the Eastern Di grow stronger with each passing day, stirring up trouble throughout the Western Regions, seeking to expand, and casting covetous eyes upon Our dynasty without ever abandoning their ambitions. To repel external threats and maintain internal order — both are indispensable. If We do not root out the present peril at Our flanks before it grows too large, once it swells into a threat to Our very core, We fear the consequences: besieged from within and without, the very foundations of the realm imperiled!”

“Pu family — your grandfather served the court as a pillar of loyal and devoted service. Your father was a loyal and heroic minister, his righteous blood and loyal heart shining through the annals of history. As the descendant of faithful ministers, you too should understand the meaning of righteousness and integrity. Do you understand what We are saying?”

The Emperor’s gaze bore down upon Pu Zhu.

Pu Zhu lowered her eyes and said: “This humble subject takes Your Majesty’s words to heart.”

A trace of a smile finally crossed the Emperor’s solemn face. He gave a slight nod and spoke again, his tone returning to warmth.

“You need not worry about your future prospects. Since We employ you, how could We possibly harm you? You are currently a manor mistress with a fief of one hundred households. When the day comes that you have accomplished your task, We will enfeoff you as Lady of the State of Lu — a prosperous land with a fief of ten thousand households. Our word is law, and We shall not go back on it.”

The Emperor paused slightly.

“We have heard that the Crown Prince had a dispute with the Princess Imperial at the Jishangong on that day, apparently on your account. Initially, officials had also recommended you as a candidate for Crown Princess. If in the future you truly render great service to the court, We might well bring you and the Crown Prince together — that too is not beyond the realm of possibility.”

There was a deepened note of significant meaning in the Emperor’s tone.

Pu Zhu was silent for a moment, then raised her head and said: “Your Majesty, this humble subject ventures to ask — A’mu, who stays by my side day and night, where is she now? Was the one who took her away truly her son?”

The Emperor said: “But of course.”

Pu Zhu asked: “Your Majesty, this humble subject wishes to visit A’mu.”

The Emperor said evenly: “There is no need for that now. She has a son and grandchildren, and at her age it is no longer suitable for her to serve you. Besides, she has been fetched by her son — she wants for nothing, and her descendants will care for her filially. She shall live out her remaining years in comfort. What more is there for you to worry about? When the time comes, you will meet again.”

Pu Zhu’s lashes trembled almost imperceptibly. She lowered her head again and said respectfully: “This humble subject understands. Many thanks for Your Majesty’s gracious benevolence. As long as A’mu is well, I am at ease. Your Majesty’s words, this humble subject takes deeply to heart. I am slow-witted and hardly worthy of employment — yet since Your Majesty shows me such favor, and has promised me a golden future, I am deeply grateful. From this day forward, I shall carry out my duties diligently with full loyalty and wisdom, and dare not slacken for even a moment!”

The Emperor gazed at her, satisfaction flowing through his eyes. He nodded and said: “Good. We have nothing further. Go and prepare for your wedding in peace.”

Pu Zhu bowed and withdrew. She left the palace. On the way back, she closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them and spread her palm, staring at the deep nail marks she had pressed into it. The fury she had been suppressing could be contained no longer and burst in full from her heart.

He had arranged an assassination trap to test her face-to-face, ruining her plans.

He had decreed her marriage to Li Xuandu — in truth wanting her as a spy.

All of that — she could endure.

The Emperor commanded the four seas and held power over life and death. As a subject, what room was there to refuse?

Perhaps she might even have genuinely considered obeying — setting aside whether the promised rewards could ever truly be delivered, the prospect was tempting enough.

But this wretched Emperor had stretched his hand toward her A’mu — the one person still living in this world whom she loved most.

He had laid hands on A’mu and used her as a hostage to coerce her — and still expected her to submit meekly and do his bidding?

The Emperor had misjudged her. Not in his wildest dreams!