Nanny Wang was a middle-aged woman with no children of her own. Born with a large dark birthmark across her cheek, she was considered quite unattractive, and had always been looked down upon in the Guo household, fit only for rough labor. When Pu Zhu had first returned to the capital and stayed at the Guo Mansion, Nanny Wang had been assigned to sweep and tidy her courtyard. As they happened to be from the same hometown, she had been diligent and hardworking from the start, and got along well with A’Ju.

Before Pu Zhu’s wedding, this Wang woman had sensed Pu Zhu’s kind nature and secretly hoped to follow her into marriage—but it had not come to pass. These past few days she had been assigned to laundry duty by the estate manager. So when word came that the lady of the house wished to see her, she had no idea what it was about. She wiped her hands clean and hurried over—and upon hearing that she was to attend the Prince’s Consort as a personal servant, she was overjoyed.

The Guo Mansion had so many servants that Madam Yan had no way of keeping track of them all. When she finally saw the woman, she immediately took exception to her plain looks, feeling she would bring shame on the Guo name if she went out in public. She advised Pu Zhu on the spot to choose someone else, offering to assign a more capable person. Pu Zhu declined graciously, saying the woman was already familiar to her and was a fellow townswoman, so there was no need for a change. Only then did Madam Yan relent, instructing Nanny Wang to obey the Princess Consort’s commands and serve her well. The woman agreed over and over again.

Meanwhile, Guo Lang and Li Xuandu were having an equally pleasant conversation, so absorbed that they felt like old friends despite the gap in years—and they had every intention of staying for dinner. However, as it happened to be the day of Crown Prince Li Chengyu’s wedding, there was to be a ceremonial reception at court late in the afternoon, before the Crown Prince departed the palace to escort his bride from the Yao family estate. All members of the imperial clan and civil and military officials were required to attend. Li Xuandu, as the most closely related senior prince in the imperial family, likewise had to take his place.

Naturally, the Crown Prince’s wedding took precedence over all else. Both Guo Lang and Li Xuandu had their own preparations to make, so though they were reluctant to part, they agreed to meet again at a later date. The newlyweds then made their farewells and returned to the Prince’s Mansion.

Li Xuandu changed his clothes and entered the palace.

The moment he left, Pu Zhu made excuses to dismiss Nanny Huang and the other maids, keeping only the Nanny Wang she had brought from the Guo household.

The reason she had specifically requested this Wang woman from the Guo household was that she had noticed the woman was capable and sharp, held no standing there, and would certainly be willing to come—making her the perfect person to carry out tasks Pu Zhu could not personally attend to.

She handed Nanny Wang a small vial of wound-healing medicine, told her to keep it safe, gave her the location of the Imperial Guard’s garrison, and instructed her to quietly make the trip on her behalf to find a guard named Cui Xuan.

“He is a brother to me from my time in He Xi—he has not been in the Imperial Guard long. I have heard that they often sustain injuries during drills on the training ground. This wound medicine is excellent. Please deliver it to him for me.”

Pu Zhu described Cui Xuan’s appearance to Nanny Wang in detail, then repeated her final instructions several times: “You must hand the vial to him in person. If he is not at the garrison, bring it back, and we will find another opportunity. This medicine is precious—we cannot let it fall into the wrong hands for nothing!”

The woman nodded. “Princess Consort, rest easy. I have it all memorized—I won’t make a mistake!”

Nanny Wang tucked the vial safely away, then made the excuse that, having just arrived at the mansion, she needed to pick up a few personal items. She slipped out through a small side gate used by servants and headed straight for the Hanying Gate in the northwest of the capital. Once outside the city walls, she located the barracks of the Imperial Guard, arrived at the gatehouse, and asked the guards to pass word that she was a relative of Cui Xuan’s and had come to see him upon learning he was in the capital.

The guard soon came back with a reply: Cui Xuan had taken leave several days ago and had not yet returned to the garrison.

Nanny Wang had no choice but to turn around and head back to the mansion to report to the Princess Consort.

After she left, two young beggar boys who had been crouching by the roadside as if sunning themselves immediately leapt to their feet and sprinted away.

Nanny Wang made her way back into the city on foot. She was nearly at the mansion when someone gave her shoulder a light tap from behind. She stopped and turned—and saw a young man dressed as a laborer, wearing a pointed, tattered bamboo hat, and gave him a look.

“I am Cui Xuan. I heard you were just looking for me?”

The young man tilted his hat up to reveal his face. His skin was slightly dark, his eyebrows sharp and straight, his eyes long and keen.

Nanny Wang assessed his height—he was very tall, over seven chi, exactly matching the Princess Consort’s description down to the last detail. Certain she had found the right person, she quickly produced the medicine vial and passed it to him, speaking quietly: “This is the wound medicine the Princess Consort asked me to deliver to you. She says it is very precious, so keep it safe for your own use, and don’t let it go to waste on others.” With that, she hurried away.

Cui Xuan stood holding the vial for a moment, stunned. Then a sudden, sharp ache flared from the spot on his shoulder where the broken sword had pierced clean through. His face creased briefly in pain. He pressed a hand over the wound, bit down against the discomfort, and turned away, walking quickly.

He made his way back to a run-down inn near the Yongle West Gate. The guests who lodged there were mostly small merchants traveling between the capital and the Yumen Pass and beyond—Xiyu people and Han people alike, all manner of folk coming and going from dawn to dusk. It was an excellent place to lie low.

Three nights ago, his assassination attempt had failed. Though Li Xuandu showed no sign of reacting the next day, Cui Xuan had not dared return to the garrison recklessly. He had settled in here for the time being, telling Fei Wan to keep an eye on the movements at the Imperial Guard encampment and come report to him the moment there was any news.

His wound was not light. The broken sword had gone nearly clean through his chest. He had been fortunate to react in time—it had missed any vital point. These past two days he had hired a foreign physician to stanch the bleeding and treat him.

He ducked into a small, dark cubbyhole of a room tucked beneath the staircase, lay down, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he slowly sat up, loosened his collar, used his teeth to pull out the stopper of the vial, and tipped out some white powder. He was about to apply it to his wound when his hand stopped.

Something had fallen out of the vial: a tiny scroll of paper.

He unrolled it and read the words written there.

She said the wound medicine was a gift for him—excellent at stopping blood and dissolving bruising. Furthermore, in three days she would be visiting Anguo Temple in the east of the city, and she invited him to come as well if he found it convenient, where they would meet beneath the ancient pine in the back hills.

——

On the high steps of the Taiji Hall, the imperial throne had been set in place. The Imperial Guard, ceremonial attendants, and court musicians were each arranged in their designated positions across the palace courtyard. Civil and military officials and princes of the imperial clan, dressed in formal court attire, were guided by the protocol attendants to their respective stations. When the auspicious hour arrived, the Emperor appeared beneath the great canopy, carried in the imperial palanquin and flanked by his escort, and took his seat on the throne.

The assembled officials stood to attention and bowed in obeisance to the Emperor, as called by the ceremony master. After the bow, the protocol attendant led today’s bridegroom, the Crown Prince, into the hall.

Li Chengyu, clad in ceremonial dragon robes, walked before the throne, mounted the steps, and paid his respects to the Emperor.

Emperor Xiaochang smiled and said, “The Crown Prince today carries forward the ancestral rites. He must follow propriety in full, to express the utmost reverence to Heaven, Earth, and our forebears.”

Li Chengyu bowed respectfully. “Your servant respectfully receives the imperial decree.” He bowed again.

Li Xuandu stood at the foot of the steps and saw everything clearly. The moment the Crown Prince turned, his gaze paused on Li Xuandu for just a beat.

Li Chengyu had often followed him around as a child—Li Xuandu could hardly be said to be a stranger to this nephew of his. And yet in this moment, Li Xuandu perceived with perfect clarity that the gaze his nephew turned on him was utterly unlike anything he had seen before.

Even at the start of the year in He Xi, Li Chengyu had never looked at him this way.

The gaze was ice cold—as if Li Xuandu were a total stranger… or perhaps even less than a stranger. For beyond that coldness, Li Xuandu also caught a flicker of something like bitter resentment.

Li Xuandu knew perfectly well. It was all because of a woman.

The Crown Prince quickly looked away. He accepted the commemorative seal the Emperor bestowed upon him, completed his obeisance, and under the guidance of the ceremony master and the attendants, descended the steps. All the assembled ministers voiced their congratulations in unison and bowed him off, and he strode out of the hall to go to the Yao family estate and escort his bride.

The ceremony concluded. The Emperor left the throne, and the assembled ministers withdrew temporarily to the side halls to wait for the Crown Prince to return with his bride.

The Emperor entered the eastern hall and summoned Li Xuandu for a private audience.

Li Xuandu knelt in obeisance. The Emperor appeared to be in fine spirits today. He smiled and offered a seat, then asked how Li Xuandu found married life.

Li Xuandu smiled and replied, “I am most grateful to Your Majesty for arranging this marriage. For your humble brother, it is like rain arriving at last in a time of drought.”

The Emperor pointed at Li Xuandu and laughed heartily. “Fourth Brother, Fourth Brother—you were such a fine and dashing figure in your day! Elder Brother worried you would bury yourself in Daoist cultivation and cast aside all human bonds. This is just as it should be. At last you have not disappointed my efforts on your behalf—I can rest easy now!”

Li Xuandu smiled without replying. When the Emperor’s laughter subsided, he said, “It has been three months since your humble brother came to the capital. I have had the great honor of witnessing the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday celebration, and now Your Majesty has further blessed me with this marriage. With all matters concluded, if I were to remain in the capital any longer, it might be contrary to protocol, and might invite censure…”

Before Li Xuandu could finish, the Emperor waved his hand. “I have been meaning to speak to you about this very matter, which is why I asked you to stay. I am giving Fourth Brother special permission to remain in the capital—you need not return immediately. First, Elder Brother hopes you will fulfill filial duties on my behalf and bring comfort to the Grand Empress Dowager’s heart. Second…”

The Emperor looked at him. “In about two months, it should be the birthday of your maternal grandfather, the old King of Que. You need not be in a hurry to leave. Stay on, and I will appoint you as a congratulatory envoy at that time—you will go on my behalf, together with your new bride, to Que State to offer birthday greetings.”

Li Xuandu said he would obey, rose from his seat, and bowed in thanks once more.

The Emperor smiled and said, “The old King of Que rendered great service in assisting our dynasty in the past, and has been loyal and faithful all these years, sending tribute annually. Now his great birthday has arrived, and I cannot make the journey myself—sending Fourth Brother in my stead is the most fitting arrangement. This is my heartfelt gesture.”

“Also, next month is the autumn hunt. Fourth Brother, don’t be idle—you must take the lead. After the hunt is concluded, you and the Princess Consort shall proceed to Que State to offer the birthday greetings.” The Emperor added.

Li Xuandu respectfully assented. After a few more exchanges between sovereign and subject, he withdrew and rejoined the civil and military officials in the side hall.

That night, when all the ceremonies were finished and he returned to the Prince’s Mansion, the hour had already passed the first half of the hai period.

The night was deep. His new bride had not yet retired and was still waiting in the bedchamber—apparently aware that he did not like her coming close, she had instructed his habitual attendant Luo Bao to assist him in bathing and changing clothes.

It was now the ninth month. The first half of the night, even as autumn, was still unbearably warm.

In his mountain Daoist hermitage, Li Xuandu was accustomed to throwing open the windows to let in the cool breeze. The city had little wind to begin with, and the bedchamber, with its deep corridors and layered curtains and canopies, made him feel as if he were lying inside a sealed box ever since the first night of their marriage. Tonight was no different. Yet his newly wedded consort beside him was clearly not bothered. Like the night before, she fell asleep shortly after lying down.

He lay listening to her faint, barely audible breathing, and in his mind’s eye he saw the look the Crown Prince had thrown his way that evening. He thought of this marriage—engineered by schemes and absurdity—and of his wife, this vulgar, ambitious little woman consumed by desire for power. The sullen heat in his chest grew even more oppressive.

Even the sound of her deep, settled breathing was, to him, a kind of torment.

In the dark corner of the room, the water clock’s markers rose in silence, hour by hour.

In the second half of the night, Li Xuandu woke from a shallow sleep.

He had dreamed again of his elder brother, Crown Prince Li Xuanxin, long dead for many years now—his blood-soaked form, the sorrowful, guilt-ridden, yet cruel look in his eyes, and that curse that would not be shaken loose.

Li Xuandu lay with his eyes closed in the darkness. He could feel his heart thundering, as if it might shatter his ribs. Sweat poured from him too—beading and rising continuously from his forehead.

That year he had been sixteen, still the golden son of heaven who rode through flower-strewn fields on horseback, and it had been just such an autumn hunt season, rich with deer and abundant grasses. He had received imperial leave, and set out from the capital with a company of guards, bound north for Que State to offer birthday greetings to his maternal grandfather, the Que King.

On the second day after he left the capital, that night, while he lodged at a relay station along the way, his elder brother Crown Prince Li Xuanxin had suddenly caught up with him, bearing a birthday gift. The Crown Prince explained he had been too busy in recent days and had inadvertently neglected this matter, and felt deeply remorseful—so he had come in person to deliver it, asking Li Xuandu to present it to the Que King on his behalf, as a token of his regard and reverence for the Que King.

That his elder brother showed such respect for his grandfather filled the young Li Xuandu with great joy and pride. The Crown Prince also brought food and wine, saying he wished to give him a proper send-off feast.

In those days he was full of sweeping ambition, able to swallow even cloud-dream marshes whole, and his capacity for drink was seemingly without limit. In the presence of the elder brother he had trusted and admired since childhood, he harbored not a single suspicion—and so he drank until he passed out.

Those few cups of wine were the most expensive he would ever drink in his life.

For them, he paid the price of having his destiny torn to shreds.

The next day, when he woke from the agony of his splitting head and opened his eyes, he saw the blurry silhouettes of soldiers from the imperial prison.

The secret key he carried on his person had vanished.

The previous night, that key had unlocked an iron-cast thousand-mechanism box, and someone had taken from it his personal seal. The seal had ended up in the hands of one of his deputy generals.

The direct consequence of all this was that the Northern Bureau’s Eagle-Soaring Guard had allowed Liang Jingzong’s rebel army to pass—and the rebel forces had driven straight into the imperial palace. In the course of a single night, Li Xuandu had become both a treasonous son and a traitorous minister.

Li Xuandu could not say which of those two identities—treasonous son or traitorous minister—was truly the greater torment.

After two years of imprisonment, he had finally learned that he was to be exonerated at last and could leave the Wuyou Palace, those four towering walls. And the price had been his father the Emperor’s death.

In that moment, he had knelt and wept until he nearly coughed blood—for the father who had cherished him and was now lost to him forever, and for his own fate, which, exactly as his elder brother Crown Prince Li Xuanxin had once said, was cursed.

Li Xuandu felt a burning pain in his chest, as if needles pricked beneath his skin. He could no longer endure the stifling heat of the canopied bed.

He wrenched his eyes open and was about to throw off the covers and get out of bed to get some air—when at that moment, the woman sleeping on the inner side let out a vague, mumbling sound, turned over, and rolled toward him again. Then she reached out, groping about as if searching for something. Her hand found his waist and promptly wrapped around it. Her body followed, pressing close, her face burying itself against his chest.

Li Xuandu went rigid.

It had happened last night as well. Near dawn, she had rolled over and wrapped her arms around him. At the time he had removed her hand and simply gotten out of bed entirely, leaving her the whole thing to sleep in by herself.

He had assumed last night was a coincidence. He had not expected her sleeping habits to be so dreadful—tonight she had done it again without the least restraint, pressing herself against him.

Having her press against him like this inevitably brought to mind the scene that had unfolded at the hawking platform the other night.

Naturally, when he thought back on it now, his feelings toward what had happened were entirely disgust and regret.

He was disgusted by her scheming manipulation of him, driven by greed. He was disgusted with himself as well—that he had actually lost control to that degree.

Fortunately, reason had stopped him in the last moment, suppressing the urge to give himself over to indulgence.

When he had spoken those cold words—the second reminder—she had weakly let go of the arms she had wrapped so tightly around him. The sight of her slumped sideways on the ground, her clothing in disarray, helpless and pitiable—that image, rather than drawing a shred of pity from him, had instead given him a twinge of something almost viciously satisfying, as if he had taken revenge.

In order to become Crown Princess, she had schemed tirelessly, employing every base trick available to her. It had been within her grasp—and then, in the very end, it had come to nothing, and she had become his Princess Consort instead.

Though he was deeply unfortunate to have been saddled with such a Princess Consort, compared to his own misfortune, the blow she had suffered in this marriage—and the despair she must feel, now that she knew he had no intention of contending for the throne and could never make her Empress—was surely far greater than his own.

He had quietly waited for her to sink into grief and despondency, to collapse completely—and yet, after only a single night, she had acted as if nothing had happened at all, leading the imperial physician to him as a peace offering and an apology, wearing an expression of apparent enlightenment, as though she had resolved to live contentedly as his wife from now on.

To be honest, seeing her recover from the blow so quickly and face him so calmly without the slightest sign of distress—he was surprised, even a touch impressed.

Li Xuandu was hardly going to believe that a person’s long-held convictions could change so quickly.

His instincts told him that inside this Princess Consort’s head, she was already hatching some other scheme.

What kind of obsession could drive a person to become so utterly changed—even reprehensible—in the pursuit of power?

She was nothing but a young girl of fine jade-like years.

The moment Li Xuandu thought of her ridiculous and relentless ambitions—the way her arms had gone limp and slid from his shoulders at the last moment on the hawking platform that night—anger and revulsion rose in him again, and the heat within him grew ever more unbearable.

Even if he had need of a woman’s comfort, he had no appetite for this Princess Consort of his. That revulsion surged again now, as she pressed herself against him once more.

In the dark he clenched his jaw. He closed his hand around the arm she had wound around him and was about to lift it away—when she suddenly burrowed further into his embrace, pressing even tighter than before. She let out another mumbling sound.

Indistinct as it was, this time he heard it clearly.

She called out “A’mu”—her voice soft and light, with a note of wheedling tenderness. Then she fell quiet again and slept on soundly.

Something strange stirred in Li Xuandu’s chest. The hand resting on her arm stilled.

A moment later, some sensation seemed to seep through his fingertips in the darkness—smooth, supple, and gently cool.

So was the body pressing against him.

In the darkness, Li Xuandu’s throat moved almost imperceptibly.

He closed his eyes, and carefully lifted that soft, boneless arm away from himself, returning it to where it belonged.