Li Xuandu and Pu Zhu — one riding in the carriage, one on horseback — accompanied by their guards and attendants, traveled along the tree-lined avenue connecting the two palaces and arrived at Penglai Palace, the last place they needed to pay their respects to that day.

Court Lady Chen, leading her palace attendants, was waiting at the palace gate, joyfully welcoming the newly wed couple inside and bringing them to the East Pavilion of the Jiade Hall, where the Grand Empress Dowager resided in her daily life.

Beside the south window of the East Pavilion stood a grand canopied bed draped with incense-colored cushions, with a low-legged chess table set up in the middle. Huaiwei and Ningfu were bent over the table playing chess, while two young palace maids nearby busied themselves peeling jujubes and chestnuts for Huaiwei to eat. Jiang Shi sat to one side, watching the two of them play with a gentle smile.

Li Hui’er raised her head and suddenly caught sight of Li Xuandu waiting outside the threshold. Her eyes lit up. She tugged at Huaiwei to draw his attention, then immediately climbed down from the canopied bed herself.

Huaiwei turned to look — it was Li Xuandu, whom he had not seen for quite some time. He cried out happily: “Fourth Brother —” Then he suddenly noticed the woman beside Li Xuandu, and was instantly reminded of the matter of Li Xuandu forbidding him to take a consort, while Li Xuandu himself had gone and taken one. His mood curdled at once, and he dropped his smile.

Court Lady Chen came in, smiling, to announce that the Prince of Qin and his consort had arrived. Huaiwei asked Ningfu in a low voice why no one had told him they were coming today.

Court Lady Chen had done it on purpose, instructing Ningfu not to tell Huaiwei in advance, so as to spare him from running back and forth to the palace gate to wait and wearing everyone out. Ningfu pursed her lips in a smile, shook her head, and said quietly: “I didn’t know either.”

Jiang Shi sat upright on the main seat. Li Xuandu led his new wife forward to perform the full kowtow in obeisance to her. Jiang Shi noticed his right hand and asked what had happened, her expression full of concern.

Pu Zhu grew slightly tense and shot a glance at Li Xuandu.

He straightened up and said with an easy smile: “The day before the wedding, I wanted to loosen my muscles and bones, so I took up a sword to practice some of the fencing forms I had learned in my youth. Having been out of practice for so long, I carelessly cut my hand — I have worried Imperial Grandmother needlessly.”

Jiang Shi and Court Lady Chen both wore expressions of concern. Jiang Shi scolded him: “How old are you now, and yet you are this careless? You managed to injure your own hand practicing swordsmanship! I remember that among the imperial physicians, Imperial Physician Ding is the most skilled at treating this kind of flesh and bone injury — has he been called to see it?”

Li Xuandu replied: “It was Imperial Physician Ding who changed the dressing this very morning — we came as soon as it was done. It is only a shallow flesh wound. It will heal within a few days. Grandmother need not worry.”

Jiang Shi cautioned him not to let it get wet or move it unnecessarily until it had healed, and to diligently change the dressing as instructed by the physician. Li Xuandu nodded and agreed to everything, one by one, until Jiang Shi was somewhat reassured. She told them to rise, then turned her gaze to Pu Zhu and asked if she was settling in comfortably at the Prince’s Mansion. She smiled and said: “My grandson has been mischievous since he was small. If he ever bullies you in the future, come and tell Grandmother — Grandmother will take your side.”

Pu Zhu knew that Jiang Shi’s impression of her had previously been only average at best. So in preparation for this first meeting with her as the Princess Consort of Qin, she had already rehearsed, on the way to Penglai Palace, several possible ways the conversation with Jiang Shi might begin, and thought through how she ought to respond.

The one thing she had not anticipated was that the very first thing Jiang Shi said to her would be this.

Even if these words were simply an expression of love transferred from the object of affection, they were nonetheless the only words of warm and kindly concern she had received from another person — apart from A’mu — since the age of eight. They were an entirely different feeling from the so-called concern of elders she had heard that morning from Empress Dowager Chen, which had barely scratched the surface.

Pu Zhu felt a warmth in her chest. Then she thought of A’mu, and nearly let her eyes redden. She forced herself to hold it back, allowing not the slightest change to show on her face. Using the gesture of lowering her head as cover, she said softly: “His Highness has been very good to me and has not bullied me at all. Thank you so much for your kind concern, Imperial Grandmother.”

Jiang Shi and Court Lady Chen exchanged a smile.

Li Xuandu glanced sidelong at Pu Zhu beside him, who was putting on a show of being demure and bashful, and the corner of his mouth gave a slight twitch.

At this moment the head of the palace kitchens came to announce that the meal had been prepared and asked when they would like to eat.

Court Lady Chen said: “The Grand Empress Dowager specifically waited for you all to eat together. You must be hungry — it is time to serve the food.”

Having risen at the fifth watch and eaten only a little that morning without any real appetite, then spent the whole morning kneeling and bowing, exhausted from all the fuss, Pu Zhu was indeed a bit hungry.

Though it was described as a simple family meal, it was still considerably more elaborate than Jiang Shi’s usual dining arrangements.

The palace attendants carried in a large square zitan rosewood dining table, six feet on each side. The table surface was covered with a layer of green spring patterned dining mat, and seat cushions were brought over.

Jiang Shi sat alone facing south. Huaiwei and Li Hui’er sat to her left and right, facing one another. The newly wedded Prince of Qin and his consort faced Jiang Shi, sitting side by side together.

The head of the palace kitchens led the palace maids in setting out tableware — bowls, plates, and cups all of gold-inlaid ivory — and then one by one the various dishes were presented in order. With each dish brought out, its name was announced. Very soon the entire dining table was covered.

Jiang Shi smiled and invited the newly married couple to eat freely and without restraint.

Before her words had even finished, Huaiwei — who had long been salivating with anticipation — immediately took up his chopsticks and reached for a plate of crystal cherry pork in front of him.

Crystal cherry pork was a sweet dish made from the finest fatty cuts of suckling pig — its essence lying in seven parts fat to three parts lean, and sweetened besides. It suited the little prince’s palate perfectly. He picked up a piece and ate with great enthusiasm, his expression utterly blissful.

Pu Zhu had no interest in fatty meat. Having forced herself to swallow that not-so-small piece of fatty meat the night before, just thinking about it now still made her slightly nauseous. She was more drawn to a small dish in front of her called “Glimpse of Spring Waist” — delicate little rolled pastries, not only charmingly shaped but snow-white in their wrapping, each one bound with bright green scallion threads like a beauty’s slender waist, enticing the eye and whetting the appetite. The crab meat filling inside was fresh, tender, and delicious. Adding to that her genuine hunger, she found herself eating one after another, and had eaten quite a few before she stopped. Still feeling somewhat unsatisfied, she raised her head absently and found Li Xuandu looking at her.

His right hand being inconvenient, a palace attendant had been stationed specially at his side to pass things to him, helping him use his left hand with a spoon and knife to eat.

Pu Zhu suspected he felt she had been eating too much, but even without him watching, she knew it would not do to take any more, so she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead.

Huaiwei ate a few pieces of meat, then suddenly remembered something. He set down his chopsticks and had someone bring a portion over to set before Pu Zhu, saying: “Sister…”

He paused, glanced at Jiang Shi, and corrected himself: “Sister-in-law, you eat some too. It’s really delicious.”

Pu Zhu looked at the bowl of wobbling, oil-gleaming fatty meat placed before her and steeled herself to pick up a piece with her chopsticks, put it in her mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed it down together with the mouthful of fat and grease. She managed to eat two pieces with great effort, but truly could not manage any more. She caught sight of Li Xuandu sitting beside her, and on a sudden inspiration, gently slid the bowl of fatty meat in front of him, and said in a gentle voice: “Huaiwei was quite right — the flavor is excellent. Your Highness, you eat some too. It will do you good.”

As soon as her words fell, several of the elderly serving women standing nearby exchanged glances and laughed in quiet amusement.

Ningfu and Huaiwei looked at each other in bewilderment, not knowing what there was to laugh at.

Huaiwei said in confusion: “A’mu Chen, what are they laughing at?”

He would have been better off not asking — the moment he spoke up, even Court Lady Chen found it somewhat difficult to suppress her own laughter.

Pu Zhu had been bewildered at first herself, but when she thought over her own words again, she suddenly understood.

Last night had been their wedding night, and originally they should have consummated the marriage. He had detested her and not touched her, and the two of them had no real marital relations — but outsiders did not know this.

Could it be that her words just now had caused Jiang Shi and Court Lady Chen to develop some sort of misunderstanding they ought not to have?

Her face burned. She quickly stole a glance at Li Xuandu beside her, and met his eyes looking back at her — his expression was not very pleasant. She quickly looked down and said nothing.

Fortunately, that bowl of fatty meat had been dispatched. Li Xuandu did not return it to her. He ate all of it himself.

After the meal, Jiang Shi went to change her clothes. Huaiwei, full and a little drowsy, was led away to rest.

Pu Zhu chatted with Li Hui’er, with whom she was gradually becoming more familiar. Li Xuandu stood in the outer courtyard beside a fish pond, tossing food in to feed the fish, his silhouette unhurried and at ease.

On a previous occasion, Pu Zhu had heard Huaiwei mention in passing that on the night of Jiang Shi’s birthday celebration, when Li Xuandu returned, he had come across Li Hui’er with red eyes, looking as though she had just been crying. Pu Zhu guessed it must have been that night when the sight of things had moved Li Hui’er to grief, stirring feelings about her own circumstances. She had told Huaiwei at the time not to tell anyone else.

Originally the daughter of a Crown Prince, noble beyond measure — then in a single night her home was destroyed. She had grown up under the shelter of her great-grandmother’s protection. Though she lacked for nothing in terms of food and clothing, the grief and pain in her heart was something few ordinary people could truly comprehend.

In her past life, Pu Zhu had had no dealings with Li Hui’er and had naturally paid her no attention. But now, Li Hui’er seemed genuinely warm toward her and eager to be close. The warmth being reciprocated, Pu Zhu found herself developing a few more measures of sympathy for her. She chatted with her idly, while from time to time casting a glance at the figure outside.

Li Hui’er followed her gaze, covered her mouth with her hand and gave a light laugh, saying: “The fish in the fish pond were all raised by Imperial Uncle when he was young — they haven’t been changed all these years.”

Li Xuandu, as if sensing that he had been mentioned, turned his head and looked over.

Pu Zhu quickly looked away.

Jiang Shi returned after changing her clothes and settled herself back into her seat. She looked toward Court Lady Chen. The elderly court lady stepped forward and took from her a silver-chased box about a foot in length that, at a glance, was not particularly remarkable — the silver inlay on the box had darkened to black with age, but this only lent it a quality of ancient plainness.

Court Lady Chen placed the box before Pu Zhu and said it contained some jewelry from the Grand Empress Dowager, given to her as a gift.

Pu Zhu quickly declined.

Jiang Shi said: “Just accept it. It was not specially made for you — it is only some jewelry I wore when I was young. Now that I am old, it serves no purpose sitting here. You are young, so it is just right for you to wear.”

Pu Zhu dared not refuse again, and bowed to accept the gift with gratitude.

Jiang Shi gave a slight nod: “From now on, follow Yuli’er’s example and call me Grandmother. If there is anything you need, no matter what, speak up freely. Since you have become the Princess Consort of Qin, from now on you are like one of Grandmother’s own family. There is no need to stand on ceremony in anything.”

Pu Zhu looked at this elderly woman — the one she had secretly admired since her past life and had longed to take as her model — and felt a warmth rise in her heart. A thought that had long circled at the bottom of her mind suddenly sprang to her lips before she could stop it: “Imperial Grandmother, would you be willing to tell me about what happened in the early years of Xuanning, when the Di people invaded from the north?”

Jiang Shi started, and looked at her.

Court Lady Chen also started, and recovering herself, immediately said: “Your Highness the Princess Consort, perhaps we should speak of something else.”

The words had barely left Pu Zhu’s mouth when she already knew they were inappropriate. She grew a little anxious, and quickly prostrated herself, touching her forehead to the ground, and began to beg forgiveness.

Jiang Shi waved her hand to stop the court lady, and looked at Pu Zhu. She smiled: “You are the first person to ever ask me about such things. Ask freely. What would you like to know?”

Pu Zhu quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

Since Jiang Shi had already granted permission, and from what she could observe of her expression there was not the slightest sign of displeasure, Pu Zhu grew bolder and asked a question that had long intrigued her deeply: “Imperial Grandmother, I have heard that in those days, you were still very young. The Di nation came in force, and the greater part of your court officials feared to fight. Yet you, Imperial Grandmother, were resolute as iron and insisted on going to war. How did you know that battle would certainly be won?”

She finished asking, lowered her head slightly, and held her breath waiting for Jiang Shi’s answer. But for quite some time there was no response.

She stole a cautious glance at Jiang Shi on her seat — she was gazing out the window, her figure still as stone, as though she had sunk into some kind of recollection. Pu Zhu’s heart grew anxious again, afraid her question had been improperly asked and had given offense.

She was just beginning to feel uneasy when she suddenly heard Jiang Shi speak, saying: “What you have said is correct. At that time, I was indeed very young. Taizong had not long passed away, and I was twenty-five years old…”

She exhaled a quiet sigh.

“A twenty-five-year-old Regent Empress Dowager — how could I have been resolute as iron, as you imagine? I too had been bewildered and uncertain, had considered negotiating a peace, but in the end I held firm. A negotiated peace is a poison — a poison that makes a person fall ill without even realizing it, and that one will remain intoxicated by for the rest of one’s life, unable to free oneself. It erodes from within — sucking blood and marrow — until at last it takes your life. Once a nation, out of cowardice in battle, first sets the precedent of seeking peace, the dynasty’s fortunes will wane, and even if it survives, it will only have a half-life of cringing and making do. Ministers will act only to profit themselves, and warriors will grow spineless. Taizong had entrusted the young Emperor to my care — if I responded in such a manner, how could I face our imperial ancestors after my death?”

Her tone grew slightly agitated, then she stopped abruptly.

In the corner of the room, a curl of incense smoke rose slowly from the lid of an incense burner, ascending without sound and gradually dispersing into the air.

Pu Zhu dared not speak, nor did Court Lady Chen. The hall was utterly silent.

Jiang Shi continued: “I am deeply grateful to two people. The first was the elderly king of the Que nation — Yuli’er’s maternal grandfather…”

She paused briefly.

“The second was Li Yan, Prince Dingbei, the father of Jinxi. Had it not been for the support of those two men in those days, I could not have made the firm decision to seek peace through battle.”

She directed her gaze toward Pu Zhu.

“Were you not just now asking how I knew that battle would certainly be won? I dared not be certain of it — but I had a fair degree of confidence in the odds of winning. Since the founding emperor, our dynasty had recuperated and rebuilt its strength even as it sharpened its troops and readied its weapons, preparing for the powerful enemy to the north. The reign of Taizong saw no slackening of these efforts. After two imperial generations, the grain, provisions, and soldiers at my disposal, though far fewer than the Di people who boasted of controlling a hundred-fold military strength, were by no means so feeble as to be crushed at a single blow. The Di excelled in open field combat, and in every battle sought a swift and decisive conclusion, living off the land as they fought. When victorious they advanced with unstoppable momentum, yet they could not fight a prolonged war. Once checked, their supply lines would be severed — and without supply lines, how could they sustain their forces? At that time, old General Liang of our dynasty was most skilled at defensive warfare, and my cousin Jiang Hu was like a sharp blade poised to strike back. So long as we could endure the most grueling opening of the war, drag the conflict out, and hold on for three months — the Di would certainly waver in their resolve.”

The elderly woman’s eyes, usually somewhat clouded in ordinary times, suddenly blazed with sharp brilliance. Her face seemed suffused with a kind of radiance, and one could not help but imagine what kind of beauty and splendor that young Empress Dowager must have possessed in those days as she turned the tide of history.

“Warriors who have been suppressed too long need an opportunity — an occasion to go to the battlefield, to drink blood and win glory through battle. Otherwise, even the most burning blood will grow cold.”

“The nation’s fortunes are like a mountain — even the Zhou dynasty lasted no more than eight hundred years. Yet at that time our dynasty was struggling painfully upward. I hoped that through this one battle, I could push the wheel of this great imperial chariot over the most grueling steep incline — so that the descendants of our Li imperial house would no longer need to exhaust every ounce of strength in bitter struggle.”

Pu Zhu listened, carried away by a wave of admiration, her blood stirring with fervor. Unable to hold back, she said from the heart: “Imperial Grandmother, you are too modest! When I was in He Xi, the common people all called you the Old Queen Mother. In my eyes, you truly are the Old Queen Mother descended from heaven, protecting all under heaven in peace!”

Jiang Shi started, then burst into hearty laughter: “Where in this world is there an Old Queen Mother? Nor do I possess any great powers — it was through the blessing of Heaven and our imperial ancestors that I was able, in those days, to not disgrace my mission and achieve success by a fortunate stroke.”

These were her words, but the delight in her tone was impossible to conceal.

Court Lady Chen had been worried that the Princess Consort might say something wrong and upset Jiang Shi. She had never expected that this recounting of past events would make Jiang Shi — who had not laughed with such whole-hearted joy in many years — laugh so openly. It was truly a delightful surprise.

Court Lady Chen finally let out a long sigh of relief, and a smile spread across her own face.

Li Xuandu leaned against the railing beside the fish pond, eyes closed, letting the breeze wash over him. He heard only faintly the sound of Pu Youzhi’s granddaughter inside offering flattery — and to think she had stumbled upon exactly the right thing by accident. He could not help but curl his lips in a slightly mocking smile.

The newly wedded couple lingered at Penglai Palace a little longer. Prince Qin then led his consort in taking their leave of Jiang Shi. Before departing, he spoke with Li Hui’er in farewell, telling her to come visit the Prince’s Mansion whenever she liked.

Seeing Li Hui’er looking at her, Pu Zhu immediately smiled and said: “Your Imperial Uncle is right — I am idle all day long. Come whenever you like; I will have someone to keep me company.”

Li Hui’er’s face broke into a happy smile. She nodded and gave quiet thanks.

The moment the two of them stepped out of Penglai Palace, there was nothing more to say. One got into the carriage, the other mounted a horse. Back at the Prince’s Mansion, Li Xuandu did not say a single word, left Pu Zhu standing there, and went directly to the quiet room he also used as a study. He was not seen again for the entire afternoon.

As dusk fell and evening came on, the lamps were lit throughout the Prince’s Mansion. Pu Zhu sat alone in the bedchamber, looking at the precious box Jiang Shi had given her today.

The box was filled with all manner of jewelry. In the light of the candles, it gleamed with a dazzling radiance of pearls and precious stones.

She sat lost in thought for a long while, turning over in her mind the people she had encountered at Changan Palace during the day, then thinking back over the stories of the dynasty’s past that Jiang Shi had shared with her — stories she had never heard before. Her confidence greatly bolstered, she hesitated no longer, made up her mind, and decided to strike while the iron was still hot. She would tell him this very evening, making clear to him that the only way forward, if he wished to achieve his ambitions at the least possible cost, was to work in cooperation with her and help each other to completion.

As for her own thoughts and plans — naturally, not all of them could be revealed to him. But the great undertaking of bearing a son could be put on the agenda early. There were other things that could be gradually pursued in good time — but having her own son as early as possible was, for her, the most important foundation of this partnership.

Having spent the day together, Pu Zhu had come to feel deeply that Li Xuandu’s temperament was unpredictable. So a son of her own was all the more essential to her. Otherwise, everything would feel precarious — she would have no sense of security at all.

Nanny Huang glided in without a sound, set down a cup of tea behind her, and said in a low voice: “Your Highness, it is not that this old servant wishes to rush you — but you and His Highness have only just been wed. Drawing closer to one another is never a bad thing.”

This old servant had not only been sent by Shen Gao to relay messages and run errands, but also to keep watch on her. Her manner of speaking was still relatively respectful at the moment, but it was plain she was reproaching her for being useless. It was only the second day of the wedding, and Li Xuandu had buried himself in his quiet room for half a day without coming out.

Pu Zhu suppressed the distaste within her and said coolly: “Prepare the hot bath water. I wish to bathe.”