The next day, Li Xuandu also did not wake until the sun was high in the sky.

Outside it was very quiet; in his ears there drifted only a few distant bugle calls from some unknown location, making the interior of the tent feel even quieter by contrast. She was curled up in his embrace, still sleeping soundly, breathing softly. This made Li Xuandu feel very calm at heart. He, who usually rose early, now seemed somewhat reluctant to get up, and seeing one of her arms holding him quite tightly, he simply closed his eyes again for a moment.

There were still three days left — a grand hunt, and then the final matters such as the distribution of hunting spoils and the banquet. With that, this autumn imperial hunt would come to its conclusion. Considering that he had other business in the afternoon and could not continue sleeping alongside her like this, Li Xuandu finally rose.

He gently moved aside the arm with which she was holding him, and was just about to sit up when he suddenly noticed that a few strands of his and her hair were still intertwined together.

He paused, and thought of the scene from last night when she had stopped him with absolute seriousness and solemnly performed this act and spoken those words. He was briefly lost in thought.

In his view, her gesture was somewhat childish, and furthermore, he did not quite believe her.

After he had made it plainly clear to her that it was impossible for him to help her achieve her dream of becoming Empress, she had seemingly immediately forgotten the ambitions she harbored, had wholeheartedly turned toward him, and had dutifully set about being his Princess Consort.

Since the age of sixteen, his temperament had changed drastically, and he no longer easily trusted anyone — least of all this woman.

He could not forget how, after they had first become acquainted in He Xi, he had witnessed with his own eyes how she had gone to great lengths and used every effort to scheme her way into becoming the Crown Prince’s Consort.

How could a person change so completely in a short time, becoming an entirely different person?

But even so, for some reason, his mood at the time had been stirred somewhat.

Perhaps it was because of the expression on her face and the look in her eyes when she had done this and said those words — they had been genuinely moving. In her eyes, he could not detect even a trace of falseness.

Or perhaps the fault was his own.

In that sort of situation, he had surrendered to the pleasure his body received, willing to lose himself in it, willing to believe her.

Li Xuandu hesitated for a moment, reached out his hand, wanting to untangle the intertwined strands of hair. At that moment, her eyelashes trembled lightly, and she finally woke as well.

Li Xuandu’s hand stopped, and he watched her.

When Pu Zhu opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was his gaze fixed intently upon her. She quickly realized he had seemingly been about to untangle the intertwined hair, and she became instantly fully awake.

A thought flashed through her mind. She removed his hand, shook her head in refusal, and then her lips pressed close to his ear, coaxing and cajoling, asking him to hold her and carry her before the dressing table.

He was clearly puzzled, but still did as she wished, wrapped her body in clothing, carried her over and set her down, and watched to see what she would do.

Pu Zhu and he knelt facing each other before the mirror. She reached out her hand, took up a small silver scissors, lifted the strands of hair that were still intertwined between the two of them, snipped them off, placed them in a small brocade pouch, tied it shut, and put it away with great solemnity. Only then did she smile at him and say: “This is the evidence of what Your Highness promised me last night — I shall keep it well, keep it for a lifetime. Should you ever change your mind in the future, I will take it out and throw it in your face.”

In some corner of his heart, something seemed to be struck by a blow. A strange, unfamiliar warmth, like a fine spring, slowly seeped forth and gradually filled his entire heart.

Li Xuandu gazed steadily at the beautiful smiling face before him, and was silent.

“Your Highness, why don’t you speak? Are you displeased?”

Pu Zhu put away the brocade pouch, hooked both arms around his neck, and asked him.

Li Xuandu shook his head. Looking at the faint traces of weariness still lingering beneath her eyes, he gently lowered his head, and his forehead pressed warmly and softly against hers.

“You must still be tired. Go back to sleep.”

Pu Zhu shook her head: “I want to help you dress. Once you’ve gone, I’ll go back to the West Garden and sleep.”

Li Xuandu felt even more tenderness for her, recalling that last night he had indulged too much and had clearly exhausted her. After a brief hesitation, he said in a low voice: “Very well. Tonight I won’t be back early — rest early yourself, and don’t come to my tent again.”

She nodded: “All right.”

Li Xuandu patted her head, rose, and carried her back. The two of them dressed and arranged their hair and finished tidying up, then Li Xuandu escorted her back to the detached palace.

That evening when Li Xuandu returned, the tent was empty. Luo Bao said the Princess Consort had not come, and had only sent someone with a late-night snack, still warm, and asked whether he would eat.

Li Xuandu, knowing she liked to sleep, thought it late and did not want to disturb her rest, so he did not go to the West Garden. He ate something and slept alone, but his sleep was not very restful. He woke in the middle of the night and could no longer fall back asleep.

It was still a long time before daylight — quite tormenting. Li Xuandu lit a lamp, took up a Daoist text, and read quietly until dawn.

Today was the grand hunt. In the morning light he set down the Daoist text that had accompanied him through half the night, stretched lazily, and rose.

That evening, Li Xuandu again did not see her come. She had, however, sent another late-night snack. He had little appetite, so he divided half of it for Luo Bao, ate a few bites himself, and feeling somewhat restless, walked out of the tent, gazed toward the lights glowing in the direction of the detached palace, looked for a moment, then asked Luo Bao: “The person the Princess Consort sent — are you sure they didn’t say anything else? Did you forget something?”

Luo Bao said: “They really didn’t say anything else… Only said the Princess Consort wished Your Highness an early rest.”

He stole a glance at his expression when he finished speaking.

Li Xuandu’s brows creased ever so imperceptibly. He stood a moment longer, then turned with his hands clasped behind him and started back toward the tent. Luo Bao suddenly seemed to recall something and added: “Right — Your Highness wished to send the young Prince a hunting falcon, didn’t you? Today the young Prince did come by once and asked about the falcon. This servant saw the young Prince worrying over it so much — if tonight he again can’t see it, he’s afraid he won’t sleep well.”

Li Xuandu’s steps halted. He turned his head, glanced at him, and said: “I was too busy during the day. I’ll send it to him now.”

Luo Bao acknowledged the order.

Li Xuandu went straight to the falconry kennels that night, fetched the jade-beaked eagle he had selected earlier, and brought it into the detached palace, arriving at the West Garden.

The hour was not particularly late, but not particularly early either. Huaiwei had already gone to sleep. Pu Zhu had also just returned from the Duan Princess Consort’s quarters, was preparing to rest, and had just lain down when she was informed Li Xuandu had arrived. She had no choice but to get up.

Li Xuandu pointed to the jade-beaked eagle and said: “Huaiwei has been thinking about it constantly — I’m delivering it for him, so I won’t be too busy tomorrow.” He then ordered someone to take the eagle and send it to Huaiwei’s room to be given to him in the morning.

Now that he had come, there was naturally no reason to leave right away.

The two undressed and lay down on the bed. Li Xuandu saw the exhaustion written all over her face, and could not help but ask what she had been doing all day.

Pu Zhu covered her mouth with a yawn and closed her eyes: “The first half of the day was spent hunting with the ladies. The second half was spent accompanying the Duan Princess Consort and the others at polo. Then in the evening there was yet another banquet — impossible to leave early, and I only just got back a little while ago. After a whole day like this, I’m utterly exhausted.”

Li Xuandu then reached out and gently kneaded her lower back for her. She seemed to find it very comfortable, let out a few murmurs, and after a short while became still, and just like that fell asleep.

Truthfully speaking, this was far from what Li Xuandu had expected.

Those previous few nights, no matter how things were, she never said she was tired, giving him the impression that she wished to be with him and do that sort of thing at all times.

Li Xuandu was by nature extremely restrained in such matters, and could take them or leave them. But he could not withstand her passionate enthusiasm. By contrast, last night sleeping alone, he had actually found himself with a faint sense of the loneliness of a long night.

Tonight she still had not appeared, so he had been unable to stop himself from coming to find her.

Her attitude toward him was no different from before — it was just that after getting into bed, she so quickly fell asleep and left him behind.

Had he not experienced it personally, Li Xuandu would almost have doubted that those several previous nights had been a bewitching dream.

Beyond his surprise, his heart felt vaguely hollow.

Li Xuandu watched her sleeping face for a moment and thought that she was probably truly exhausted.

Since she had no interest, he naturally would not force anything. He tucked the blanket around her and closed his own eyes to sleep.

The next day was the final day of this autumn imperial hunt. The Emperor gathered everyone to perform the ceremonies of sacrificing to Heaven and Earth and distributing the hunting spoils. The two woke early and rose, washed and dressed, went out to attend the ceremonies, and once all the rituals were completed, they were free for the afternoon.

The next day they would break camp and set out for the capital. With this remaining half-day, some people were busy making preparations for the return journey, while others called on friends and, taking advantage of this final time, went out for a last round of hunting and amusement.

After the midday meal, Li Xuandu led Pu Zhu on horseback away from the camp and rode dozens of li to a nearby village settlement.

This settlement had been established for the detached palace and all the people living there served the detached palace. He led Pu Zhu into the settlement, and from an old falconer there, took away a golden-eyed white eagle. Coming back out, they galloped to a high ridge and stopped.

The white eagle flew above the forest, and he dismounted, watching the eagle’s silhouette. Pu Zhu also dismounted from her small red horse, walked over, and asked: “Your Highness, is this your eagle?”

Li Xuandu nodded: “That night when we encountered the brown bear, had it not helped me — pecking out one of the bear’s eyes in a single strike — I might well have been doomed. Yet the eagle itself was also injured, though fortunately not severely, and it has recovered.”

Pu Zhu widened her eyes: “Your Highness really did kill a brown bear that night?”

Li Xuandu turned his face toward her: “Shall I take you to see for yourself?”

Pu Zhu had actually believed it in her heart long ago, but still said: “Yes, let me see it with my own eyes!”

He paused, stared at her for a moment, then turned his face away again, continuing to gaze at the eagle in the distance, and said: “Never mind — I was joking. You saw through me.”

Now that he put it like that, Pu Zhu had second thoughts and worried he was upset, so she quickly tried to please him: “I believe you! I was only joking! Don’t take it seriously.”

Li Xuandu made a noncommittal sound, still looking utterly indifferent.

Here was an open ridge with no one around; Ye Xiao and the other two attendants were all at the bottom of the slope. Pu Zhu reached out and put her arms around his waist to coax him: “I was wrong — Your Highness, please don’t be angry.”

Li Xuandu turned his face, cast her a sideways glance, and reached out with an expression of apparent disgust to pinch her cheek.

His grip was actually not light — it was quite painful.

Pu Zhu let out an “ouch,” covered her face, and swatted at him in anger. He let out a burst of laughter and let her hit him as she pleased, then pursed his lips and whistled toward the distant white eagle.

The white eagle flew back and landed on his outstretched arm, its head held high. In the sunlight, its two golden eyes shone like glass beads, gazing down upon Pu Zhu with a haughty, disdainful air — a manner that bore a striking resemblance to its owner.

Remembering that Li Xuandu had said this white eagle had pecked out a brown bear’s eye in a single strike, and fearing it might peck her too, Pu Zhu hid herself behind Li Xuandu, watching as he gently stroked the eagle’s wings with his hand, then fetched strips of fresh meat from the horse’s back to feed it, his expression focused, his gaze tender.

Never seen him look at herself like that. Pu Zhu silently grumbled inwardly. A moment later, watching him remove one of the golden clasps from the eagle’s ankle and release it from all its bonds — as though intending to let it fly completely free — she truly could not suppress her curiosity and asked: “Your Highness, what are you doing?”

Li Xuandu did not answer her question. He lifted the white eagle and turned his face to ask her: “Would you like to touch it?”

Pu Zhu shook her head and curled up even tighter behind him.

Li Xuandu said: “This was once my finest eagle, named Golden-Eye Slave. I have raised it since it was small. The birds of its kind nest in the cliffs and precipices of the bitterly cold lands far to the east. Every year in winter it must be released to return and build its nest and breed. It too has grown old — whether it will come back in the spring of next year depends on its own fate and the bond between master and bird. It may well fly away this time and never return. If you don’t wish to touch it, fine!” He raised his arm, about to release the white eagle to fly.

Pu Zhu’s mind raced at once.

Did he mean — if she touched his eagle, she would count as one of his people?

“Wait! I’ll touch it!”

She quickly jumped out, stretched out her hand, yet felt a little nervous.

“Will it peck me?”

Li Xuandu’s lips curved up almost imperceptibly and he said: “Call it by name, and it won’t peck you.”

Pu Zhu mustered her courage, extended her hand, murmured its name “Golden-Eye Slave” softly, and carefully stroked its smooth feathers. Seeing the eagle only stare at her without moving, she relaxed, stroked it several more times, then drew back her hand and said to him: “I’ve touched it!”

Li Xuandu released Golden-Eye Slave with one toss of his hand.

Golden-Eye Slave circled above the two of them for a while, then spread its wings and flew off toward the northeast. Its shadow gradually disappeared, and after that, vanished into the clouds.

Pu Zhu quietly watched Li Xuandu.

Golden-Eye Slave’s silhouette had long since disappeared, yet he still stood like that on the high ridge, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the eagle had vanished, his figure motionless.

Pu Zhu waited a moment, then reached out and took his hand, saying softly: “Shall we head back?”

Li Xuandu silently descended the ridge, swung up onto his horse. When she too was about to mount her small red horse, she suddenly saw him lean down toward her, reaching out a hand in her direction.

Pu Zhu was momentarily startled, looked at him, and understood.

So he wanted them to ride together on one horse.

Pu Zhu turned her head, glanced at Ye Xiao and the others following at a distance behind, and while she was still hesitating, saw him raise an eyebrow. She quickly placed her hand in his palm; with one pull she was lifted onto the horse’s back.

She sat before him, one of his arms lightly encircling her waist. Without spurring the horse to gallop, they simply let it carry them back at its own pace.

The autumn afternoon sun was gloriously bright, and in their ears there was only birdsong and the unhurried sound of hoofbeats on the ground. The distant mountains and a stretch of wild forest blazed with color, a gentle breeze stirring her hair at the temples, behind her the warm solid chest of a man.

Pu Zhu slowly leaned back against his embrace, her eyes half-open, half-closed, as the horse rounded a mountain spur. Suddenly she saw a column of mounted men and horses coming from the opposite direction — their clothing and armor vivid and bright, with eagles flying and hounds running, voices clamoring noisily.

It was Crown Prince Li Chengyu and his party.

Seeing the two of them riding together on one horse, the group fell quiet.

Li Xuandu reined in the horse. Pu Zhu also sat up straight.

Across from them, in addition to Li Chengyu, she also saw Shen Yang, and Cui Xuan. The group seemed to be following the Crown Prince on a hunting outing.

She had long since heard about Cui Xuan’s outstanding performance on that day — being recognized and rewarded with a promotion and title by Li Chengyu. She could not help but take a look.

He sat on his horse, and compared to the others around him who talked and laughed freely, his figure was silent, completely unremarkable.

Li Chengyu’s gaze swept over the two who were riding together, then he urged his horse forward to draw near, called Li Xuandu “Imperial Uncle,” called Pu Zhu “Imperial Aunt,” and then smiled and said: “The hunting outing we had arranged — I have kept it in mind all along. Today is the last day of the imperial hunt. Since we happen to meet here, it’s even better than sending a formal invitation. If Imperial Uncle would do us the honor, might we ride out together?”

All the people across from them looked over.

Li Xuandu’s face broke into a slight smile, said that the Crown Prince was too kind, embraced Pu Zhu and helped her dismount, then turned toward Ye Xiao and ordered him to first escort the Princess Consort back. He then spurred his horse and joined the column, and the whole party wheeled their horses around and galloped swiftly toward the open ground ahead.