Pu Zhu had not expected him to ask her such a question.

She was silent for a moment, then raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

“Is Your Highness trying to speak of feelings with me?”

A look of slight unease crossed Li Xuandu’s face.

“Since you wish to speak of feelings — before I answer, let me first ask: you refused to marry your cousin, was it for my sake, or for your cousin’s sake?”

Li Xuandu was taken aback: “What do you mean?”

Pu Zhu gazed steadily at him: “Is this a difficult question? Why don’t you answer? I imagine it can only be one of two reasons. If it was for me — out of fear that I would be hurt — I will gladly give you a proper answer. But if it was for your cousin’s sake — worrying that you have no future and fearing you might one day harm her — then what right do you have to ask me this? Does it matter whether I care, Your Highness? Do you care?”

Li Xuandu was momentarily at a loss for words.

He had only just come to know that Li Tanfang had waited for him all these years.

First there had been the invitation to accompany him to Wuyou Palace, and then there had been the years of her life lost because of him. A person is not made of wood or stone — how could he not be moved by such devotion?

Yet he still did not wish to marry her, and even less did he wish to give her any further false hope, lest she continue to pine away waiting for him. That had been his very first thought when he heard Li Siye and him discuss the matter.

But to refuse in this way, after all that, would be like an act of ingratitude. After all, he had originally intended to marry her, and she had already waited for him so many years.

He had deliberated again and again, and finally, after the fierce battle against the Dongdi cavalry, he had at last followed his true heart and declined the marriage.

Why exactly he had declined — now, facing her relentless questioning, he himself was not entirely clear.

Was it truly as he had told his uncle — that he was worried about his uncertain future and did not want Tanfang to waste any more of her years? Or was it that he was being mindful of the woman before him, the one he had already married?

He knew it well enough: he had been drawn to her in a way he could not control. After their relationship had soured, that feeling — of her being right there before him and yet as unreachable as someone at the far edge of the sky — had tormented him endlessly, often leaving him tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Just last night, and into this morning, in the faint light of dawn, he had watched her curled up beside him, her face showing fatigue yet her sleeping expression entirely peaceful. Thinking over everything from the night before, he had finally made up his mind: from now on, he would regard her as his wife. Even if her nature remained unchanged — even if she remained the woman who single-mindedly pursued power and calculated her every move with him as a pawn.

Let her use him, let her scheme against him — he accepted it. He no longer had the energy to go on being at a stalemate with her.

This was merely a concession on his part. His responsibility.

He told himself: back at the stone pavilion, she had agreed to Tanfang without a moment’s hesitation, treating him as an object. How could he, having sunk so low, truly be so bewitched by such a woman as to lose all sense, surrender himself entirely, and even be willing, for her sake, to let down his mother’s family and disappoint them?

But then, seeing her smile in front of him and say, “Understood — so it was for your cousin’s future, then,” Li Xuandu felt utterly powerless, unable to stop himself from arguing: “Jiashu, hear me out — even though she and I have known each other since childhood, there is no romantic feeling between us. As for you…”

He paused: “I’ve thought about it. No matter how our marriage came about in the beginning, I will treat you as my wife. Even if in the future I cannot help you fulfill your wishes, I will do my utmost to treat you well.”

Pu Zhu did not feel the slightest gratitude — she let out a soft, scornful laugh, her dark hair falling over her shoulders, her bearing alluringly graceful.

“Was it my performance last night that satisfied Your Highness so much? That you can overlook the greed and desire in me that you so despise — and actually regard me as your wife? What an honor.”

Hearing her bring up last night, Li Xuandu felt a flicker of discomfiture, steadied himself, and said with strained composure: “Forget it. If you don’t care, pretend I never said it. I’m tired; we have to travel again tomorrow.”

He got up, turned his back to her, and began to undress.

Pu Zhu looked at his back, a cold laugh growing sharper in her heart, and said: “What’s this — Your Highness tires of speaking of feelings so quickly? Then let me speak of them instead. You were right there by the stone pavilion that day, so I don’t understand: Li Tanfang also schemed for your future behind your back, arranged things without asking you — how is it that her scheming is acceptable, while in your eyes, mine is beneath contempt?”

Li Xuandu’s hand, which had been undoing his collar, paused. He did not turn around, and simply said in a tone of strained patience: “She is not as low as you make her sound. She has her own helpless circumstances. Stop being unreasonable — we have to rise early tomorrow. You should sleep too!”

Pu Zhu nodded: “Her helpless circumstances are nobler than mine — no wonder you have such sympathy for her. Back when you went to Wuyou Palace, she even volunteered to go with you. Such deep and devoted affection — were it me, I could absolutely never have done that. I truly am not fit to carry her shoes. You worry that you have no future, and marrying her would be like harming her, so it makes sense to cherish and protect her. But, Your Highness, let me tell you: you will be Emperor one day. I urge you to take advantage of the fact that she has not yet married another, and that you are still not far from her — go back right now, give her a promise, and let her keep waiting for you. Otherwise you’ll regret it later.”

Li Xuandu spun around sharply, anger written across his face. He met her upturned chin and the pretty face that was staring right at him, drew a long, deep breath, and finally, suppressing his fury, said: “I have told you — I feel no romantic interest in her! I have also declined the marriage! What more do you want?”

He had been thinking of Li Tanfang’s welfare at every turn — driven by the circumstances, he had reluctantly refused the marriage proposal; then last night he had come back and vented his pain and gloom on her herself.

Pu Zhu’s teeth ached with resentment — she hated that last night, not knowing the truth, she had submitted so compliantly.

In front of him, she had long since lost not only her pride but even her dignity. She didn’t care anymore.

If she was going to suffer, he was not going to have an easy time of it either.

“Hand it over!” Pu Zhu said coldly, extending her hand toward him.

He was startled: “What thing?”

She crawled off the bed and walked up to him, reached out, and yanked the jade pendant he had tucked inside his lapel clean out, holding it up in her hand.

“When you were leaving today, she gave this to you, didn’t she? I won’t hide it from you — I also have a jade bracelet that the Crown Prince gave me some time ago, and I’ve kept it all this time only because I haven’t had a chance to return it; I actually want to throw it away and be done with it. If you truly mean to be good to me as you say, then take this thing and throw it away too! Throw it away, and from this point on, whatever you want of me, I’ll do — I won’t say another word that you don’t want to hear!”

“You had someone spy on me?”

Li Xuandu’s face darkened. He reached out to take back the jade pendant from her hand.

Pu Zhu gripped it tightly and would not let go. The silk cord, weathered and weakened by years of age, could not withstand the force of two people pulling against each other — it snapped in the middle, and the jade flew out, hitting squarely on an iron corner of the nearby warming brazier.

With a clear, sharp cracking sound, the qilin-shaped jade pendant broke cleanly in two, and the pieces fell at their feet.

Li Xuandu’s expression changed drastically. He immediately bent down and picked them up. He looked at the two fragments of jade in his palm for a long moment, then slowly raised his face — full of fury.

“Do you know what this is? It was given to me by my late father when I was a child. When I went to Wuyou Palace, this piece was left behind. Tanfang kept it safe for me all these years, and today she simply returned it to me!”

Pu Zhu looked at the jade pendant that had now broken into two pieces in his palm, and only now could she see that it bore raised seal-script characters: ‘Born auspicious and unicorn-like, may you be safe, healthy, and blessed.’ Only now, the eight characters had been split apart, each half resting on one broken fragment.

She froze in place. When she finally came back to herself, she was filled with shame and mortification — and then, seeing the fury written across his face, she felt a surge of fear. She couldn’t help shrinking back slightly, hurrying to apologize: “I was wrong! I didn’t do it on purpose — I thought…”

She stopped. “It is my fault! When we get back, I’ll immediately find someone to repair it — it can certainly be restored to look as good as before, without a trace of the break…”

Li Xuandu clenched his teeth: “You foolish girl!”

He gathered up the jade pieces, lifted the tent flap, and walked out.

Pu Zhu stood alone in the tent, not knowing how much time passed. Then, having lost all strength, she sank down, slowly bowing her head and burying her face in her bent knees, motionless.

He did not return to the tent that night, and Pu Zhu sat through until dawn.

The sounds from outside carried in — Ye Xiao and the others rising and dismantling the tents, preparing to set out.

She raised a face streaked with tearstains that had dried and been wept again, propped herself up with her hands from where she had been sitting until she had gone numb, barely managed to stand, and then heard a commotion outside, as though someone had come from a great distance. A moment later, Luo Bao called out for the princess consort from outside.

Pu Zhu quickly turned away, wiped her face, and answered.

Luo Bao hurried in and said: “My Lady, someone sent by the Grand Empress Dowager just arrived — they say the Western Di King’s health has declined and he is seriously ill. The Grand Princess has sent word calling for the little prince to return at once. The Grand Empress Dowager has commanded Prince Qin, Your Highness, to return as quickly as possible so he can escort the little prince back to the west. His Highness is preparing to ride ahead quickly, and asks My Lady to make her own way slowly back to the capital.”

He finished speaking and immediately began gathering the baggage Li Xuandu would need for his separate journey.

The news hit Pu Zhu’s mind — which had been dull and foggy all night — like a sudden jolt, snapping her sharply awake.

The moment had come!

In her previous life it was the Western Di King who died of illness, and the Grand Princess’s eldest son had inherited the throne. But before long, the new Western Di King also died of illness, and by that time the little prince had long since met his death by accident in the capital. With the Western Di King’s bloodline having no heir, the throne could only pass to a nephew from a collateral branch. This had not only led to the Grand Princess’s tragic and humiliating remaining years, but had directly resulted in the later alliance between the Western Di and the Eastern Di to jointly attack the Li Dynasty, plunging the court into internal chaos that nearly caused its collapse.

The Western Di King must truly be close to death — otherwise the Grand Princess would not be in such urgent haste to bring Huaiwei home. As for why Madam Jiang insisted on having Li Xuandu escort him, the purpose was obvious enough. Beyond ensuring safety on the road, Madam Jiang must certainly have calculated that this critical moment of power transition called for Li Xuandu to go and support the Grand Princess’s eldest son in taking the throne — to ensure a smooth transfer of power and stabilize the situation.

This was a matter of the utmost importance. Compared to this, what had happened between herself and him last night was not worth mentioning in the slightest.

She was not certain whether that young Western Di King would truly die of sudden illness, or whether it might genuinely be a natural death. After all, even in the capital, the sudden death of underage children in the imperial and noble families was not uncommon — how much more so in the lands beyond the border passes. And the importance of the eldest son went without saying; having lost her husband, the Grand Princess could not possibly be inattentive to the safety of her eldest son.

Whatever the eldest prince’s future held was beyond the scope of Pu Zhu’s capabilities. But as for the little prince’s death — if she had once thought it truly accidental, now that she was gradually finding herself in the midst of these surging undercurrents, she had changed her mind.

Her instincts told her there could not be so many coincidences. In her previous life, his accident had very likely been the calculated work of someone with sinister intent, only the method had been crafty, and blame had been pinned on Han Chijiao.

Pu Zhu quickly dressed, lifted the tent flap, and went out, looking around.

It was still early. Out in the open country, dawn had not yet broken; in the distance, white mist swirled. Stepping out of the tent, a wave of cold air rushed against her face.

She shivered, and saw Li Xuandu standing not far ahead, speaking with Ye Xiao and the others — giving some kind of instructions, it seemed. Without a moment’s hesitation, she immediately ran toward him.

Li Xuandu saw her running toward him and stopped, watching her coldly.

“I have something I need to say to Your Highness.” She paid no attention to his look and said.

Ye Xiao and the others immediately stepped back to withdraw.

“Your Highness, I know you and the Grand Princess are both cautious people, and normally it is not my place to speak about the little prince. But he and I have spent this time together, forging a bond — so I make bold to request that Your Highness convey a message to the Grand Princess when you see her: that there is every possibility someone intends harm to the little prince in secret, and that the Grand Princess must take the utmost care.”

Li Xuandu said: “How do you know? Who?”

“Never mind how I know. As for who — whoever stands to gain from it is naturally who. In any case, caution is never wrong.”

Li Xuandu glanced at her evenly: “I will convey the message.”

When Pu Zhu had come running, she had caught a few words of what he was saying to Ye Xiao — it seemed as though he was telling Ye Xiao to remain behind to escort her back to the capital.

She lowered her eyes.

“This journey of Your Highness’s is a heavy mission. You should let Guard Commander Ye go with you.”

Li Xuandu’s expression was cold and indifferent. He answered without addressing her point directly: “After you return, if the Emperor asks you about the gains from this trip, how will you respond?”

Pu Zhu raised her eyes to look at him again, and said softly: “I will answer truthfully. The Eastern Di’s new Khan attempted to win over the Que King, dispatching a secret envoy with promises of reward. The Que King refused and expelled the envoy from the territory.”

Li Xuandu said neither yes nor no. At that moment, Luo Bao came dashing out from the tent behind them, arms full of a packed travel bundle, calling out as he ran: “Your Highness, everything is packed!”

Li Xuandu took it, did not look at her again, took the reins from a attendant’s hand, mounted the horse on his own, and then turned to Ye Xiao, who had come forward to see him off respectfully, and said: “Lead the people and horses back to the capital!”

He finished speaking, wheeled his horse and headed south. Zhang Ting and Shen Qiao followed close behind him. The several silhouettes on horseback quickly disappeared into the hazy morning light at the end of the road.

Pu Zhu pressed down the bitterness in her chest, turned her face, and smiled self-mockingly at Ye Xiao, who stood to one side: “I’ve put you to trouble — you can only send me back to the capital and miss a fine opportunity to distinguish yourself.”

Ye Xiao replied respectfully: “My Lady speaks too highly. To safely escort My Lady back to the capital is equally a worthy task. The hour is still early; My Lady may return to the tent to rest a while longer and set out after sunrise.”

Pu Zhu went back to the tent. A maidservant brought in freshly cooked breakfast. Since they were sleeping out in the open overnight, breakfast was simple — a sweet porridge made of sheep’s milk mixed with fragrant rice, and several filling steamed pastries.

Luo Bao also came in to attend.

Pu Zhu had no appetite at all. She sent the maidservant away and divided her breakfast among Luo Bao. He declined several times, then finally accepted, said gratefully: “Thank you, My Lady!” and began eating in great mouthfuls. When he had finished his own portion, he raised his head and saw that she still had not touched the food in front of her, and said: “Does My Lady not care for this taste? This servant will go see if there is anything else to eat.” He started to get up, and she called him back.

“Do you know about His Highness’s late father giving him a jade pendant as a child? It was a qilin-shaped jade piece, about this big, with characters for fortune and longevity on it.” Pu Zhu described it, gesturing to indicate the size of the pendant.

Luo Bao thought for a moment, then nodded: “Yes, this servant remembers now. That was in the year His Highness was eight years old, when he went hunting with the late Emperor. The guards had shot dead a fierce tiger; the late Emperor took His Highness’s hand and led him over to examine it. Unexpectedly, the tiger had not fully died, and suddenly sprang up again, its sharp claws slashing toward the late Emperor’s chest and abdomen. The guards were all standing a few paces away, and it happened so suddenly that they could not rush to his aid in time. It seemed the late Emperor was about to be slashed by the tiger’s claws, when His Highness suddenly drew the sword at the late Emperor’s waist, raised it, and severed the tiger’s claw. The late Emperor was overjoyed. When they returned, the Khotan Kingdom had just presented a tribute of fine jade. The late Emperor selected a piece, had a craftsman carve it into the shape of a qilin. The late Emperor was skilled in metal and stone work, and personally engraved the inscription on the jade pendant, then bestowed it upon His Highness. Everyone knew of this at the time, and there was no end of praise for His Highness’s fine name…”

He paused, and his expression turned somber.

“Later, that matter occurred, and His Highness was sent to Wuyou Palace. This servant was fortunate to be chosen, under the Grand Empress Dowager’s command, to accompany His Highness there and serve him. Before we set out, this servant went to the princely mansion to pack up His Highness’s belongings, and thought of this jade pendant. I had intended to bring it along for His Highness — thinking that once we got there, it would at least be something to remember, something to hold onto. But it was nowhere to be found. The mansion was in disarray everywhere at the time; it must have been misplaced somewhere and lost.”

He looked at Pu Zhu.

“Since My Lady knows about the piece, it must be that His Highness told My Lady about it.”

When Prince Qin had received the qilin jade pendant as a gift, My Lady had still been very young. Since this sort of private matter relating to a personal keepsake was known to My Lady, it must have been His Highness who told her.

Luo Bao had long since forgotten about it; now that he had told the story, the old memories came rushing back, and he felt a deep pang of regret, unable to help sighing: “Since His Highness told My Lady about it, he must still have it on his mind. It would have been so good if it were still here — at least it would be something to hold onto.”

Luo Bao finished his breakfast, collected the dishes and bowls, and withdrew.

Pu Zhu sat alone in a daze, unable to help herself — she kept turning last night’s events over in her mind.

She didn’t know how things had escalated to that point. She had been relentless and unreasonable, like a shrew, her appearance so odious that even now, looking back on it, she was ashamed to the point of being unable to bear the memory.

What did it ultimately matter why he had refused the marriage?

For him to think about his cousin’s future for the rest of her life — a cousin for whom he held genuine feeling — was that any kind of wrong on his part?

So on this matter, what right did she have to make demands of him, or even to be so outrageously unreasonable — and then to go and destroy this keepsake from his late father, something of such deep sentimental significance.

Li Tanfang had kept it safe for him for eight years. He had had it back for only one night before it was destroyed in her hands.

Pu Zhu sank deep into a crushing, suffocating wave of dejection.

He and Li Tanfang were both noble and admirable people. Had fate not gone awry, had she not forced her way in between them, even if in his previous life at this time he had not yet made any marriage promise, deep in both their hearts they should have been watching over each other, knowing each other truly.

He had said she was not fit to carry Li Tanfang’s shoes.

She had once resented this. But after last night, she had to acknowledge — she was indeed no match for Li Tanfang. Not even close.

This was a fact.

After sunrise, Ye Xiao came to invite her to set out.

All the way back to the capital, she was surrounded by this profoundly dejected mood — until that evening, as night was falling, she finally reached the northern gate of the capital.

The city gate was already closed.

The carriage stopped. Ye Xiao went forward to report her identity to the gate commander, and at that moment, an evening breeze lifted the curtain of the carriage. In the light of the torches near the city gate, a figure leapt into the corner of her eye.

It was Shen Yang!

By such a coincidence, he was also near the city gate at this very moment.

He asked around a few times and learned that this procession was that of Princess Consort of Qin, returning from the Que Kingdom to the capital. He immediately issued the order to open the city gate, rode up to her carriage, dismounted, and said apologetically and with propriety: “The men below did not recognize your carriage, My Lady, and caused offense — I sincerely beg your pardon. My Lady has been traveling a long distance and must be tired; I dare not delay further. Please enter the city quickly.”

Pu Zhu sat in silence inside the carriage with the curtains closed, following the carriage procession through the city gate.

Though she had not turned back and could not see, she had a feeling that he was still back there, just watching her carriage — as though he were staring at her back.

She shuddered awake, the palms of her hands faintly damp with cold sweat.

What had come over her, that she had been so immersed for so many days in that one night’s argument, unable to pull herself out?

She had made serious mistakes that night.

The first mistake was in getting into a verbal dispute with him. Looking back on it now, it had been entirely pointless.

She swore that from this day forward, she would never again lose control over something so meaningless.

The second mistake was destroying his jade pendant.

But the mistake was done — the jade pendant was shattered by her, and it could no longer be undone. What good was it to torment herself over it?

Thinking back to her previous life, when her fate had been like duckweed, tossed from man to man, still hoping for another man to rescue her, and finally dying in despair like that — she shuddered.

Record the debt she owed him. When the opportunity came in the future, repay it in another way.

Let the past be past. She could not keep sinking into it, trapping herself in a cocoon of her own weaving.

The carriage returned to the princely mansion and stopped at the gate. The carriage door was opened by someone outside, and Luo Bao said from beyond: “My Lady, we’ve arrived — please step out.”

She slowly exhaled a breath, stood up, bent down and stepped out of the carriage, descended from the carriage, and walked into the princely mansion.

Li Xuandu had returned to the capital six or seven days ahead of her. The very next day after his return, he had been commanded to immediately escort the Western Di little prince westward back to Yinyue City.

This trip of his, if all went smoothly, would take at least three or four months at the fastest. And by that time, it would be exactly when the plague would break out the following year.

That night, Pu Zhu slept alone in the vast, deep bedchamber of the princely mansion, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

The next day, word came from the imperial palace: the Empress, out of concern for the Que King’s health, specially summoned her to the palace for a conversation.