Two months earlier, Li Xuandu had just come out of the Que kingdom when he received an urgent summons from Madam Jiang along the road. After racing back to the capital, he met with Madam Jiang that same night and learned more of what had transpired.
Huaiwei’s elder brother, the eldest prince, had been frail since childhood. He had contracted a sudden serious illness some time before, and despite all medicines proving ineffective, he unexpectedly died within just over ten days. The Western Di king’s own health had not been good for the past several years, and struck by this blow, his condition worsened. According to the judgment of the physician who had once accompanied Princess Jinxi to Yinyue City, he likely did not have much longer.
The events had unfolded suddenly—first the loss of the eldest son, and now the imminent loss of her husband. Princess Jinxi, overwhelmed with grief and frantic with worry, sent an urgent summons for her youngest son to return to the city.
Li Xuandu, bearing Madam Jiang’s instructions, set out the very next day to escort Huaiwei westward toward home.
When Huaiwei had come, his party had included envoys, guards, attendants, and servants—several hundred people in all, a grand and elaborate procession. For this return journey, however, there were only a few dozen carefully selected, robust guards. To ensure they arrived as soon as possible while keeping Huaiwei safe, Li Xuandu arranged the itinerary with extreme tightness. Huaiwei, for his part, seemed to have grown up overnight—he did not complain or cry out in hardship even once along the road. The party crossed through yellow sands, passed through oases, endured wind and dew by day and night, and on this day finally arrived at Yinyue City, where the Western Di king’s golden tent was encamped.
Princess Jinxi received the news and sent the Lady of Rouliang—a court lady of Chinese origin who had come to this place with her from afar—to lead people out of the city to receive them. The princess herself came out of the golden tent early, craning her neck in expectation.
Carried on the wind, she heard the sound of hoofbeats and camel bells drawing near. She looked up and saw several banners rippling in the wind appearing on the distant horizon, with a party of riders beneath them heading this way. Before they had even arrived, a child, unable to contain himself any longer, spurred his horse free of the group. He reached the front, flipped down from the saddle, and came running with cries of “Mother.”
Who else could it be but her youngest son, Huaiwei?
Princess Jinxi also hurried forward, caught her youngest son as he threw himself into her arms, and held him tightly for a moment before releasing him to look him over.
It had been nearly a year since they last met. Not only had he grown taller, but he also looked sturdier than before—no longer carrying the childlike air she remembered; faint traces of a young adolescent had begun to emerge.
Delighted as she was, she saw him look up and ask about his father and brother, tears gleaming in his eyes, and her own eyes could not help but sting with heat.
She suppressed her grief with great effort and offered a few words of comfort to steady his emotions, then looked toward the party of riders who had halted before her.
A young man dressed in plain blue clothing strode over with vigorous steps. When he reached her, he did not immediately speak, but simply stood quietly beside her and Huaiwei, gazing at her steadily, not blinking—and only when she finished comforting the child and looked toward him did he give her a slight smile, bow with proper respect, and say: “Aunt, I am Xuandu!”
In the years after the Prince of Qin lost his mother and lived in the Penglai Palace, he had largely been cared for by Princess Jinxi, and the bond between aunt and nephew was deep. The year she left for the frontier beyond the passes, the Prince of Qin had been only seven or eight years old.
Through all these years, Princess Jinxi had often thought of her nephew—of how, on the day she was married off, he had escorted her farther and farther, refusing to turn back and leave, until at last he had followed her all the way to twenty li west of the city.
She had also often worried over him, wondering what kind of person he would have become after all he had endured once he grew into a man.
Today she finally saw him.
The young man before her—wind-worn and road-weary, his clothes dusted with yellow sand—stood straight-backed, and even at first glance, through the dust that could not quite conceal what was, plainly, a striking and handsome face, she recognized the familiar contours she knew so well, and those eyes—bright and full of light—exactly as they had been in childhood.
“Yuli’er!”
Princess Jinxi called his childhood pet name before she could stop herself, then immediately went forward and helped him rise, clasping his arms with both hands, her eyes growing faintly moist. She studied him for a long moment, then lifted her hand with tender affection and brushed a cluster of fine sand that had settled into the collar of his robe during the journey.
“How have these years been for you?”
Li Xuandu grinned. “Your nephew has been doing very well.”
“And you have taken a wife!”
He paused for a moment, as though just remembering, and added this in as an afterthought.
Princess Jinxi was overcome with a mixture of sorrow and joy. She nodded, then steadied herself and said: “Good—that is good. Come, follow me. They are all waiting for you.”
Sorcerers performed rituals; physicians applied medicines. Yet the Western Di king’s condition continued to worsen day by day. These days he was almost entirely unconscious, and his situation had become extremely critical.
Li Xuandu visited the Western Di king where he lay unconscious on his sickbed, gently patted the head of Huaiwei, who stood nearby wiping away tears, then turned and went out. In his capacity as the Emperor’s envoy, he received the various important figures of the Western Di people.
Beneath the golden tent of the Western Di, four men held power. In order of influence, they were: the Left Worthy King, the Right Worthy King, Wanqi Commander Shan Yang, and Mili—the Western Di king’s nephew.
During this period, all major affairs of the golden tent had been adjudicated by Princess Jinxi, with execution delegated to Shan Yang and the Right Worthy King—who had arrived at the golden tent from the right tribal territory a few days ago when the Western Di king fell critically ill.
The Right Worthy King had always been obedient toward the Western Di king and Princess Jinxi.
Shan Yang came from a distinguished noble lineage, commanded heavy troops, and after the death of his first wife had married Lady of Rouliang—who came from the Liang clan, one of Princess Jinxi’s court ladies—thus pledging his loyalty to Princess Jinxi as well.
Both men had arrived early at the golden tent that day, bringing their subordinate grand commanders and senior officers with them to pay respects to Prince of Qin Li Xuandu.
The Western Di king’s nephew Mili, however, pleaded illness and did not come. And the Left Worthy King—who should have arrived at Yinyue City the previous day—was still nowhere to be seen by this hour.
Mili’s absence was unsurprising enough. He had always refused to submit to the golden tent and harbored ulterior motives—Princess Jinxi had known this perfectly well and had prepared herself for his non-attendance. But the Left Worthy King was another matter entirely. He was the Western Di king’s clansman, the most powerful and highest-ranking lord among the four—first in the hierarchy, with thirty thousand cavalry under his command. Though he was not aligned with the Eastern Di like Mili, he was on close terms with Mili, and had long disapproved of the amity between the Western Di king and the Li Dynasty, openly opposing it on multiple occasions—until the previous year, when his beloved grandson had developed a severe illness for which neither sorcerers nor physicians had any remedy. Princess Jinxi heard of it and sent physicians to treat the child carefully, ultimately saving his life. Only then had the Left Worthy King finally held his tongue.
Much as she did not want to face it, Princess Jinxi knew in her heart with great clarity that the day her husband left was perhaps only a matter of days away. In her position, even as she grieved the continuous loss of family members, she had to consider the question of succession.
Her husband had already spoken his will while lucid—to pass the throne to Huaiwei. Of the four men, the Right Worthy King and Shan Yang had both clearly expressed their support as well. But the Left Worthy King’s stance remained extremely important.
If he followed the Western Di king’s decree, then with only Mili left, he could not raise any real waves.
But if he failed to make his position clear, or even—if he supported Mili—that day would surely bring with it a storm of blood.
By all reckoning, he should have arrived by now.
Princess Jinxi was growing somewhat uneasy and was about to send someone out of the city again to investigate when a squad leader came running in with urgent news he had just received.
The previous day, while the Left Worthy King was on the road coming here, he had been ambushed by a stray arrow. He himself was unharmed—a false alarm—but a warrior at his side, in the act of protecting him, had been struck in the chest by the arrow and was fighting for his life.
The Left Worthy King was convinced that the Li Dynasty viewed him as a thorn in its side and intended to eliminate him—so that Princess Jinxi and her son could smoothly take power. He had been furious on the spot and turned around to go back to the left tribal territory, declaring that unless Princess Jinxi personally delivered the culprit and the mastermind behind the attack to him, he would not appear for the Western Di king’s funeral, no matter what.
Everyone present was shaken by this sudden development and broke into heated discussion.
Shan Yang leaped to his feet: “It must be Mili—he is scheming behind the scenes to frame Princess Jinxi! I will take my men to deal with him right now!”
The Right Worthy King was older and more seasoned; he frowned deeply and stopped Shan Yang: “Without evidence, if you go looking for him, he will not admit to anything. Be careful—he may use it to cry injustice and rally support for himself, which would only be more detrimental to the Princess Consort.”
Shan Yang swallowed his rage and thought for a moment: “Then I will go to the left territory and explain things clearly!”
A lesser king said: “The Left Worthy King’s temper is notoriously stubborn—everyone knows this. With all due respect to the Wanqi Commander, unless there is conclusive evidence to prove Princess Jinxi had nothing to do with it, not even the Right Worthy King going in person would likely do any good, let alone you.”
Shan Yang slammed the table in fury: “This won’t do, that won’t do—then what in the world should we do? Are we simply to let Mili’s scheme succeed?”
Princess Jinxi gestured for everyone to be silent. After a moment of quiet deliberation, she said: “Let me go. With something like this happening, the Left Worthy King growing suspicious is only human. I will go in person and explain the situation to him.”
Everyone immediately objected: “The Princess Consort and the young prince must not leave the golden tent even one step for the time being!”
Princess Jinxi smiled. “I know the Left Worthy King. Though he is a bit stubborn, he is not entirely unreasonable. And I did save his grandson’s life—that still carries some weight, and I can still say a word or two.”
She looked around at them: “You watch over the Khan, protect the young prince. I will go and invite the Left Worthy King to the golden tent!”
“Princess Consort, I will go with you!”
Shan Yang and several lesser kings immediately volunteered.
“Aunt, let me go instead.”
At that moment, Li Xuandu, who had been quietly listening from the side all along, suddenly spoke up.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Li Xuandu rose to his feet. “Aunt needs to look after the Khan and bears the responsibilities of the golden tent—she should not go out at a time like this. The Left Worthy King suspects our dynasty. I am the Emperor’s envoy; since I am already here and have encountered this situation, if I do not go, who should?”
Shan Yang was delighted and said at once: “That is the very best arrangement! Princess Consort, do not worry—I will go with you and will certainly protect Prince of Qin well!”
Princess Jinxi still hesitated. Li Xuandu stepped in front of her and gave her a slight smile, then said in a low voice: “Aunt, I have taken a wife now—I am no longer the Yuli’er who needed your care before you left for the frontier. Moreover, I spent carefree years in my youth and picked up a few words of the language beyond the passes, and fortunately have not forgotten them entirely. I cannot promise that this trip will succeed in bringing the Left Worthy King here, but Xuandu will do his utmost. Please give me this chance.”
Princess Jinxi looked at her nephew standing before her—a head taller than herself already—and thought of the vow he had made as a child of seven or eight when she was about to leave. A warmth surged through her heart and she finally nodded: “Remember—once you reach the left territory, assess what you can and cannot do. If things do not go well, it does not matter; there are other ways to handle it. Your own safety comes first!”
Li Xuandu nodded in agreement, arranged the companions who would travel with him, changed his clothes, and that same day, with Shan Yang accompanying him, set out for the left territory.
The left territory lay to the east of Yinyue City, its domain bordering the Eastern Di and the Wuli people, which made its position all the more strategically important. This was also why Princess Jinxi had decided to make the trip herself, even knowing the risks.
On the next day, Li Xuandu’s party entered the left territory. Mounted scouts had already carried the news ahead to the Left Worthy King.
In the evening, Li Xuandu galloped up to the Wang tent. He saw soldiers lined up in formation outside the tent. The Left Worthy King’s grand commander emerged, looked Li Xuandu over, and a flash of contempt crossed his eyes. “You are the Emperor’s envoy from the Li Dynasty, the Prince of Qin? The Left Worthy King permits you to enter—but only you alone. Remove your sword!”
Shan Yang immediately objected: “That will not do! We have come with sincere intentions, but who is to say you will not play tricks on us? I must enter as well!”
The grand commander smiled without warmth: “Shan Yang—the Li Dynasty people are full of crafty schemes. The Left Worthy King was taken off guard before and nearly suffered for it; today he is giving them a chance out of great magnanimity. This is not your domain; it is not for you to dictate.”
Shan Yang was about to argue further. Li Xuandu gave him a slight nod, signaling him not to bother.
He dismounted, removed the sword at his waist himself, handed it to a guard at his side, then stood still and allowed himself to be searched. When the search was complete, he straightened his clothing, then stepped forward and walked toward the Wang tent.
Spears and halberds bristled like a forest; killing intent filled the air. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and strode through the encampment, walking directly into the enormous Wang tent.
Inside, the Wang tent was packed with Di nobles of the left territory—their braided hair and left-side lapels in plain view. As he entered, every pair of eyes glared at him, and some even gripped the hilts of the blades in their hands, the rings on the handles clanging together, creating a suffocating atmosphere.
Li Xuandu’s expression remained composed. He stopped at the center of the Wang tent and directed his gaze toward a middle-aged Western Di man seated on the throne opposite him. After a brief appraisal, he said: “You are Left Worthy King Sanggan?”
The other party was a prince of the Li Dynasty. Based on the current relationship between the Western Di and the Li Dynasty, and speaking strictly of rank, a mere Worthy King naturally fell beneath him.
Sanggan’s face was dark and sullen. He let out a snort. “I take it you are the Prince of Qin. No need for pleasantries. You have only just arrived, and I suffer an assassination attempt. Might the Prince of Qin have any views on the matter?”
Li Xuandu said: “May I ask the Left Worthy King—did you capture the archer that day?”
“No.”
“Then how does the Left Worthy King conclude this had anything to do with our Li Dynasty?”
“My left territory has never supported the golden tent in its cringing submission to your Li Dynasty. Now that the Khan is close to his end, you fear I will disrupt your plans—if not you, then who would set an ambush to kill me on the road? If I had died, the left territory would fall into chaos. Not only could you then install that little Han Chinese boy on the throne—you could even use the opportunity to attack my domain, seize my people and livestock. What a wonderful arrangement that would be, would it not?”
As the Left Worthy King finished speaking, curses erupted throughout the great tent. The clashing of sword rings grew louder, unceasing.
Li Xuandu clasped his hands behind his back, eyes cool as he watched the left territory nobles who were glaring at him and looked ready to draw their blades and charge at any moment. He waited for the cries of rage to gradually die down, then walked over to stand before a Di warrior holding a bow, and indicated that the warrior should hand the bow to him.
The warrior immediately tensed, his expression guarded, and stepped back a pace. Those nearby were all watching.
The noise within the great tent fell silent.
“What are you doing?”
The grand commander who had led him inside spoke up, his voice wary.
Li Xuandu paid him absolutely no attention. He turned his face slightly toward Left Worthy King Sanggan on his seat: “The Left Worthy King is convinced this was done by my Li Dynasty people. I will now prove to you that it was not. I wish to borrow a warrior’s bow and arrows for a moment. Only—I do not know whether you gentlemen have the courage for it.”
Not a sound in the great tent.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of Li Xuandu’s mouth.
“I came here with only my body, carrying nothing of iron. Yet I had not expected that you gentlemen would not even dare let me touch a bow and arrows. In that case—never mind. I have nothing more to say. Whatever the Left Worthy King wishes to do, my Li Dynasty will accompany you to the end. I take my leave!”
He turned and started to walk out.
The left territory nobles exchanged glances, and looks of indignation soon surfaced.
“Halt!” Sanggan barked, and ordered the warrior to pass the bow and arrows to him. He said coldly: “I want to see how you will try to wriggle out of this.”
Li Xuandu stopped, took the bow and arrows, weighed them in his hand, then directed the warrior to remove his hide armor, stripping off seven pieces one after another, which he had stacked and nailed to the wall of the great tent. He then had a burning tallow candle placed in front, stood back, retreated to the far side, and drew the bowstring and nocked an arrow, shooting in that direction.
The arrow left the string and flew with a sharp crack. In the blink of an eye, the light of the tallow candle—which had been burning just a moment before—went out. He had shot through the wick; the candle body did not move at all, leaving only a wisp of blue smoke curling upward. Then the arrow struck the stacked hide armor with a dull thud.
A warrior went to retrieve the armor from the wall.
The arrow had pierced through all seven layers and pinned the armor tightly together!
The Di people were skilled archers, but even a marksman chosen from a hundred would not dare guarantee that with a single arrow he could simultaneously extinguish a candle flame and pierce seven hides.
A heavy silence fell over the great tent. The grand commander who had led him inside showed an expression of shock and fear. No one had anticipated that this Prince of Qin from the Li Dynasty—who looked for all the world like a young scholar—would have such archery skill.
Sanggan said with a dark face: “The Prince of Qin’s archery—I have witnessed it. But I fail to understand what this has to do with the assassination attempt.”
Li Xuandu returned the bow and arrows to the warrior, who had been staring somewhat vacantly, and turned. “If the arrow that day had been one I fired, I will say plainly that I could have killed the Left Worthy King on the spot—no one here should disagree with that?”
Everyone exchanged glances.
“That is what I wish to tell the Left Worthy King: if the Princess Consort had intended to assassinate you, she would either not act at all—and once she did act, she would plan it with meticulous care, leaving no room for you to survive. How is it that, as in that day’s child’s play, the Left Worthy King walked away without a hair out of place, with only a subordinate of yours wounded? Would she not be leaving behind a disaster for herself? My aunt—if she were truly such a reckless and foolish person, how could she have held the golden tent as its Wang consort all these years?”
Silence fell over the tent.
Li Xuandu wore an expression of assured disdain.
“Furthermore, I tell you: my archery skills are nothing but a trifling trick. Among my forces, there are crack marksmen whose skill far surpasses mine! If the Princess Consort wished to find one or two lethal assassins, it would be the easiest thing in the world. Would she entrust so crucial a task to the kind of blunderers who botched it that day?”
Sanggan’s expression cycled through varying shades. At last he said with barely restrained fury: “Is it Mili? Is he the one who schemed behind our backs to plant this on the Princess Consort?”
Li Xuandu said: “Whether it was him or not—the Left Worthy King may go confront him in person at the golden tent and the truth will come out.”
Sanggan kicked over the wine table before him and leaped to his feet with a roar: “All my warriors—mount up and follow me! We ride for the golden tent at once!”