Madam Jiang received Guo Lang and Li Chengyu in the Jiade Hall. Li Chengyu knelt and confessed his own failings — that he had been unable to detect Prince Liu’s treacherous intentions in time, allowing the conspiracy to succeed, resulting in the late Emperor’s death. He explained that midway through the Empress Dowager Chen’s funeral procession, he had been compelled to use military force to suppress Prince Liu’s rebellion, thereby causing a disturbance that alarmed Madam Jiang.

After Li Chengyu had finished his self-reproach, Guo Lang gave a detailed account of the earthshaking events that had unfolded on the funeral road the previous night. When Madam Jiang learned that even Prince Chu’s young grandson had been eliminated by Prince Liu that very night, and that the Crown Prince had arrived with his men hoping to rescue the child only to find him already dead, and that despite exhaustive searching in the chaotic aftermath the body had not yet been found to this day, she could not hold back her tears.

Once Madam Jiang’s grief had settled somewhat, Guo Lang respectfully requested that she issue an imperial decree as soon as possible in her capacity as Grand Empress Dowager, to suppress the rumors and reassure the people’s hearts.

In other words, he hoped Madam Jiang would formally confirm the charges of treason against Prince Liu. By doing so, all of Li Chengyu’s actions would be deemed lawful under dynastic protocol, beyond reproach.

Madam Jiang agreed at once, but asked that the case files on Prince Liu’s rebellion be submitted to her, along with evidence and witness testimonies, for her to review before issuing the imperial decree.

The audience had reached this point, and Madam Jiang’s response did not deviate greatly from what Guo Lang had anticipated. He exhaled a quiet breath of relief. After all, he could guess at least something of what had truly happened that night. As for Prince Chu’s mansion’s grandson — Guo Lang’s own conjecture was that it was very likely the Crown Prince who had ordered him eliminated as well, to prevent someone from one day raising the banner of ‘vindicating Prince Liu’s name’ and rallying around Prince Chu’s bloodline to establish a rival faction. After all, when Prince Chu died of illness back then, the Dong family had also withdrawn from the central government — but a centipede dies but never falls down completely. Who could guarantee that no one would seize the opportunity to stir up trouble in the future?

The trouble now was that the grandson had died without a body to be found.

This was a serious problem. Had the grandson truly died in the chaos of battle, his body simply lost? Or had some scheming person hidden him away, keeping him as a precious bargaining chip?

The deeper one thought about it, the more troubling it became.

This made Guo Lang all the more uneasy, all the more consumed with anxiety, which was why he so urgently needed Madam Jiang to step forward and speak. Now that she had given her promise, the problem was mostly resolved. Her request for the case files on Prince Liu’s rebellion was perfectly reasonable.

But just as that long exhale was not yet finished, it stopped again.

Madam Jiang then proposed the establishment of a Western Regions Protectorate, saying the purpose was to coordinate with the Western Di forces in the Western Regions, to demonstrate the Li dynasty’s martial resolve, and to ensure that during this transitional period of imperial succession, the Eastern Di would be intimidated and not dare harbor any reckless ambitions or make large-scale moves — lest they place excessive pressure on the court.

The matter of establishing a Western Regions Protectorate had already been placed on the agenda during the reign of Emperor Mingzong, but for various reasons it had never been realized. With Mingzong’s death and Xiaochang’s ascension to the throne, the matter had gone no further.

Now Madam Jiang was unexpectedly reviving this old proposal. After making the suggestion, she asked the court to consider it, and if feasible, to select a suitable candidate for Protector-General as soon as possible, submitting the selection along with the evidence of Prince Liu’s rebellion for her review.

“These two matters — one concerns the imperial bloodline, the other serves the long-term interests of the nation. I have no ulterior motive, but I must approach them with care.”

Those were Madam Jiang’s final, meaningful words.

After withdrawing from the Penglai Palace, Guo Lang understood one thing clearly.

After years of staying out of court affairs, Madam Jiang had finally made her move today.

She intended for Prince Qin to become the Western Regions Protector-General. A general in the field need not heed every command from the throne. This would help him remove the sword that had been hanging over his head ever since Emperor Xiaochang had taken the throne.

It was plain to see that his student — the Crown Prince, Li Chengyu — who desired a smooth accession and needed his act of slaughtering his brothers to be legitimized, was not in much of a position to say no.

This was a game in which both sides could only achieve their goals through mutual compromise.

After daybreak, the civil and military officials and noblewomen who had halted on the funeral road for three days were at last able to continue on their way. They reached the imperial mausoleum and interred Empress Dowager Chen in haste before returning to the capital, where a new funeral announcement and another grand burial awaited them.

A month later, the dust had settled. The exhausted officials were finally able to catch their breath. Shortly thereafter, the candidate for the Western Regions Protector-General that Grand Empress Dowager Jiang had proposed was quickly decided upon: Prince Qin, Li Xuandu.

The proposal had first been put forward by Prince Duan, together with the Han family and several other old noble families from the founding era. Once raised, it received immediate approval. Among the court officials, those who had not spoken chose silence; not a single person stepped forward to oppose it.

Li Chengyu swiftly gave his approval, and then the new Emperor held his enthronement ceremony. Grand Empress Dowager Jiang, who had not shown her face since the Thousand Autumn Festival the previous year, accompanied the new Emperor to the Imperial Ancestral Temple to pay homage to the ancestors.

Throughout this month and more, everything had been in turmoil. As the entire nation was occupied with the mourning rites, calamity struck again: half a month earlier, urgent reports had arrived from the north saying that Eastern Di forces were massing at the border, seemingly poised to cross and attack. The hearts of the people in the capital were gripped with anxiety. Madam Jiang did not let Pu Zhu return to Prince Qin’s mansion — under the pretext of needing companionship, she kept Pu Zhu in the Penglai Palace all this time, right up until today.

Today was a fine, sunny day. Birds sang and flowers bloomed throughout the palace.

Li Xuandu had been at the imperial mausoleum all this time. Several days earlier, with all the ceremonies for Emperor Xiaochang’s grand burial concluded, he had finally returned to the capital. He came to the Penglai Palace today for two reasons: first, to visit Madam Jiang; second, to take his leave.

As the inaugural Western Regions Protector-General, he was about to depart the capital and set out on the unknown road that would take him beyond the passes and into the west.

Madam Jiang received him in her bedchamber. Today she had not dressed simply as she usually did; she wore a special palace gown of crimson silk embroidered in gold and silver with beaded auspicious ten-thousand-character patterns, and she looked hale and spirited. She watched Li Xuandu kneel before her knees to take his leave, and smiled as she bade him rise.

Li Xuandu did not rise. He bowed three times more, his voice faintly choked: “Because of this unfilial grandson’s affairs, Imperial Grandmother has suffered worry and trouble. This grandson is deeply ashamed. Imperial Grandmother’s kindness is engraved upon this grandson’s heart. It is not known when he will return from this journey — this grandson only hopes Imperial Grandmother will take good care of herself and enjoy peaceful years to come, and not worry on this grandson’s account.”

Madam Jiang told him not to worry about her either, and urged him to be careful in all things once he was beyond the passes.

Li Xuandu agreed, but remained kneeling before her, hesitated, then kowtowed again and said: “Regarding Zhuzhu, this grandson has something to say. The Western Regions are unlike the interior — this grandson’s journey will be fraught with peril along the way, and those small kingdoms out there are fickle, swaying between our Li dynasty and the Eastern Di. When this grandson thinks of what happened to Zhuzhu’s father, his heart grows uneasy. Moreover, even after this grandson arrives there, he fears he will be unable to look after her safety before he has established himself. Therefore, this grandson wishes to entreat Imperial Grandmother to look after her on his behalf for the time being, and allow this grandson to bring her over once he has settled. That way would be better for her.”

Madam Jiang looked at him, pondered a moment, and said: “On this matter, let me first ask her and see what she herself has to say.”

Pu Zhu had been hiding outside all along, and had heard every sound from within with perfect clarity.

She felt a mix of frustration and bitterness in her heart.

When Li Xuandu had previously planned to take the Western Sea road, he had wanted to leave her with Madam Jiang, and she had said nothing.

Now that he could pass through Yumen Gate, he still wanted to leave her behind.

Did he truly dislike her so much that he couldn’t wait for her to transfer her affections to someone else?

A surge of hot blood rose in her chest. It took considerable effort to hold herself back from rushing in immediately to interrupt him. Hearing Madam Jiang speak thus, she took a deep breath, steadied her emotions, and walked inside, kneeling beside him. After listening to Madam Jiang ask her what she wished, she raised her head and looked at Madam Jiang: “With all due respect to the Grand Empress Dowager — though I am without talent and without skill, I do not fear hardship and danger. I will do my utmost to look after my own safety, and will not hold His Highness back!”

As she finished speaking, from the corner of her eye she glimpsed Li Xuandu turning to look at her.

She kept her eyes fixed, unblinking, on Madam Jiang before her.

Madam Jiang looked at her. After a moment, as if having made up her mind, she spoke again — this time, she addressed Li Xuandu.

“You two are husband and wife,” Madam Jiang said. “You should support each other. Separation is not good. Moreover, Zhuzhu has such resolve — that is precious and rare. Take her with you.”

Li Xuandu and Pu Zhu — who had turned to face him — met each other’s eyes. A trace of complex emotion flickered across his face. He paused, then turned back and said quietly: “This grandson obeys.”

Madam Jiang nodded and added: “However, beyond the passes it is not like the interior — there are indeed many hardships and dangers. In the days ahead you must treat Zhuzhu well. Grandmother will not permit you to wrong her in the slightest.”

Madam Jiang had commanded Li Xuandu to take her along, and Pu Zhu was already very happy — she had not expected this additional admonishment to him. She couldn’t help herself; with a small sense of triumph like a victor’s, she stole another glance at the person beside her. She saw his eyes fixed on the ground, answering yes, his manner appearing quite obedient.

Madam Jiang gave a few more instructions and finally smiled and nodded: “In the days ahead, so long as you two are of one heart and support each other, I will have nothing to worry about. Since you are to leave together, there is surely much to prepare, and I have no further matters here. Take Zhuzhu and go.”

Li Xuandu said nothing more, obediently rose and turned to leave.

Li Hui’er, her eyes red-rimmed, saw Pu Zhu out of the palace with reluctance. Pu Zhu spoke soft words of parting to Li Hui’er. Just as she was about to pass through the great doors of the bedchamber, she stopped and turned for one last look. She saw Madam Jiang being supported by Lady Chen the court lady, slowly coming out, and finally standing behind the threshold of the palace steps, watching as she and Li Xuandu departed.

The late spring sunlight fell upon the palace steps. Madam Jiang’s white hair stood out all the more clearly, yet a smile rested at the corners of her lips. Seeing Pu Zhu turn to look back, she waved her hand, gesturing for her to leave the palace.

The sorrow of parting in Pu Zhu’s heart grew deeper in that moment. Then Li Xuandu, who had walked ahead of her and was already through the palace gate threshold, suddenly turned and ran back — he rushed back to the foot of the palace steps, swept aside his robe hem, knelt upon the hard brick ground, and kowtowed three times with deep reverence toward Madam Jiang, who stood behind the threshold at the top of the steps. When he finished, he rose, turned, and strode quickly away.

This time, his figure finally disappeared entirely beyond the palace gate.

On the road back to Prince Qin’s mansion, Pu Zhu sat inside the carriage, and it seemed as though the image of Madam Jiang standing smiling behind the threshold of the palace steps as Li Xuandu turned back to kneel and bow, the faint shimmer of tears at the corners of her eyes, still floated before her.

In today’s meeting, Pu Zhu had noticed that Madam Jiang had worn a smile throughout. Only in this final moment had her emotions finally shown through.

Pu Zhu was deeply moved by the profound devotion between these two grandparents — no, this grandmother and grandson — at the moment of their parting. In her heart she silently prayed: may this separation still find another reunion, and may that reunion find everything still as it was today — bright spring sunshine, pine and cedar standing shoulder to shoulder.

Back at Prince Qin’s mansion, Li Xuandu went into his study.

Pu Zhu had long since prepared herself to follow him, and had already quietly ordered people to pack what she would need to bring. After returning, she settled the personal matters she needed to take care of before leaving. Nanny Wang also came back and reported to her the latest news from the Hundred Manifestations Bureau.

Nanny Wang told her that the Hundred Manifestations Bureau had confirmed the exact information: the person she was looking for was in the Shen family’s household. But that was all they could do. How to rescue the person from the Shen household was beyond their power — she would have to think of another way herself. There was also another piece of news: Shen Gao had died protecting the Emperor and had been honored with a lavish burial. His nephew Shen Yang had now hurried back and was managing the funeral affairs.

Pu Zhu sat alone in her room for a moment, finally made up her mind, and went to the study.

She knocked on the door, gathered her courage, and for the first time laid out all her worries plainly for Li Xuandu, finishing with: “Your Highness, A’mu is the last family member I have left in this world. Though it is an unreasonable request, I still beseech Your Highness — could you think of a way to help me rescue her?”

Li Xuandu was personally organizing things in the study. Books were everywhere, scattered every which way, the room looking extremely disorderly.

He was neatly packing some Taoist scriptures he had borrowed from the Ziyang Taoist Temple into a book chest, and instructed Luo Bao to send someone to return them to the true master. After listening to her words, he said: “I forgot to tell you — half a month ago, I already sent Ye Xiao to handle this matter.”

Pu Zhu was stunned. When she recovered, she was full of surprise and even more moved — she could not help but let the rims of her eyes turn faintly red. The small trace of grievance she had harbored at his not wanting to take her along vanished like smoke.

“Thank you so much, Your Highness, for thinking of this. I am truly deeply grateful!”

Li Xuandu raised his gaze from the book he was leafing through and looked at the visibly moved Pu Zhu, explaining: “If your A’mu were to fall into the new Emperor’s hands again, it would be disadvantageous for you — and even more so for me. This matter has never been just your concern alone; you needn’t worry about it.”

Pu Zhu was slightly taken aback, and for a moment could say nothing. She watched him go back to his work and, unable to help herself, tried to ingratiate herself by saying: “Your Highness, let me help you pack too…”

She picked up a few books that were sitting on the small table beside her and offered them to him obligingly.

Li Xuandu looked up, took the books, but did not put them into the book chest — instead he gently set them back on the table with a faint smile: “These few volumes are not to be taken.”

Pu Zhu sheepishly withdrew her hands. Standing there a moment longer, feeling there was no proper place for her in this room, she changed course and said: “Then I’ll go check on what I need to bring, in case anything is missed. I’ll go now.”

Li Xuandu nodded: “Go.”

Pu Zhu quietly turned her head at the doorway and glanced at him.

He still had his head lowered, busy with his own work.

She bit her lip and walked out.

In the traveling luggage she would bring the next day, aside from the necessary clothing for all four seasons, what she brought most of were medicines for all manner of ailments and various backup supplies she might need once they arrived there.

Night gradually deepened. Li Xuandu had still not returned to the sleeping quarters. Pu Zhu waited alone for a long time, could not hold back any longer, and went looking for him in the study — only to find he was no longer there.

She thought of a place and turned to go to the Hawk-Releasing Terrace.

She passed through that half-open old gate, following the small path still swallowed by wild grass, until at last she found herself before the tall terrace. Sure enough, from a distance she could see a figure lying face-up at the top of the terrace.

That figure was swallowed by the night, only a faint, vague outline remaining, quiet and still, as if he had fallen asleep right there on the Hawk-Releasing Terrace.

Pu Zhu hid behind a crumbling wall and, oddly, could not find the courage to show herself. She watched in silence for a moment, then quietly withdrew.

That night, he did not return until the second half of the night. Pu Zhu pretended to be asleep. He tiptoed onto the bed, lay down, and seemed to sink into slumber, and so they remained until dawn.

The next day was the day Li Xuandu, Western Regions Protector-General and Prince Qin, was to depart the capital and travel west. Those traveling with him were few: aside from a guard escort, there were guides, interpreters, and a physician. Once they reached Yumen Gate, five hundred soldiers would join him beyond the passes.

On that day, only Prince Duan and Han Rongchang came to see Li Xuandu off. Prince Duan wore an expression of undisguised melancholy, while Han Rongchang was laughing and talking freely, saying that once he had seen Li Xuandu off, he too would set out northward. The Eastern Di were causing trouble at the northern border, and the Que King had sent word — the court had dispatched Han Rongchang to go stabilize the frontier.

Li Xuandu and he bid each other to take care, drank the wine Prince Duan poured, gripped Han Rongchang’s hand tightly, then bowed in thanks to Prince Duan. He turned, mounted his horse, and led the party away.

Pu Zhu sat in a simple carriage, gazing at the capital growing ever more distant behind her, thinking of how she had arrived the previous year. It had been this same deep spring, yet her heart’s state was already completely different.

When she had first arrived, she had been full of anticipation for this place.

Now, as she was leaving, facing the capital being left further and further behind by the carriage, she felt not the slightest attachment or reluctance.

The only thing she carried in her heart was A’mu.

If only A’mu could return safely and accompany her on this new journey, she would have no further regrets whatsoever.

But could her A’mu actually come back?

……

Shen Yang looked at the mute woman he had found and found standing before him, his expression composed, but his heart wavering with indecision.

Not long after Li Chengyu’s enthronement, the Emperor had come asking him for someone — a mute servant woman who had been secretly detained by his late uncle Shen Gao in order to coerce the Princess Consort of Prince Qin, a woman who had served by the Princess Consort’s side.

It was said that this mute woman had accompanied the Princess Consort for many years, from childhood to adulthood, from the border to the return to the capital. The Princess Consort and she were deeply bonded, as close as mother and daughter.

After returning, Shen Yang had quickly found this mute woman. Brought along with her were the people said to be her son and daughter-in-law.

Her son and daughter-in-law were easy to deal with — mercenary sorts. They had no genuine feeling for this mute mother they had not lived with for many years, and with simple intimidation they became terrified of being implicated themselves. They kowtowed to the mute woman, abandoned her without a backward glance, and left.

Now only this mute woman the new Emperor wanted remained, and Shen Yang hesitated over what to do with her.

The Emperor wanted her, and as a subject he could not possibly refuse.

The people had already come; they were waiting outside.

But simply handing the person over like this — when he thought of how the new Emperor, once his position was secure, would certainly use this mute woman as a tool to threaten the Princess Consort, his heart felt a measure of reluctance.

He pondered for a long time, then slowly walked to stand before the mute woman and spoke a few quiet words to her. Then he ordered someone to bring her out and hand her over to the people waiting outside.

He watched the mute woman’s figure gradually disappear, thinking of how just now her face had been pale, the rims of her eyes wet, her lips faintly trembling, and he slowly exhaled a long breath.

He too was unwilling to let the Princess Consort of Prince Qin lose this mute woman just like this, but even more could he not allow this mute woman to fall into Li Chengyu’s hands.

This course of action, while somewhat harsh, was not without a measure of aid for the Princess Consort.

At least in the future, she would no longer be held hostage because of a weakness that could be exploited.

Whatever she might feel afterward — whether she blamed him or understood him — he was truly helping her solve a problem.

Shen Yang thought this to himself.

A’Ju sat in that small carriage that had come to collect her, not knowing what destination awaited her.

But in her heart she had finally come to understand — it was exactly as she had been guessing day after day in her heart all along: she had already become a thing that others used to threaten her little mistress.

As she was now, she was not only of no use to her little mistress — she was a burden, a complete and utter burden.

If she did not die, and instead went on being carried away in a muddle like this, she would only bring more trouble to her little mistress in the days to come.

She pulled out a hairpin from her hair, and without hesitation pressed the sharp tip against her own throat and thrust it in.

……

A month later, Pu Zhu returned to He Xi.

The national mourning had just ended, and the border was unsettled. Yang Hong had gone personally to the frontier to patrol in defense against Eastern Di harassment, and was unaware that the Prince and Princess Consort of Prince Qin were passing through. Pu Zhu, knowing that she and Li Xuandu’s identities were somewhat sensitive right now and wishing to avoid any awkwardness, had not sought him out when passing through the prefecture city. The whole party traveled quietly and inconspicuously, arriving on this night at Fulu Zhen — the place where she had once lived — and lodging at the Fulu postal relay station she knew so well.

The relay station director was still Xu Chong, as before. He had been informed a day earlier that the newly appointed Western Regions Protector-General, Prince Qin Li Xuandu and his wife, would be arriving, and had made all his preparations. Tonight he received the party and entertained them warmly.

Back in a familiar place, she thought of the days she and A’mu had worked here — A’mu had arranged for her to tend the fires. She thought of the first time she had encountered Li Xuandu, when he had come across her and Cui Xuan meeting secretly in the middle of the night outside the town. Though she was weary from the road, Pu Zhu’s heart was turbulent, and she had no desire to sleep at all.

Li Xuandu was nowhere to be found tonight, and had still not returned to the room. Pu Zhu’s heart had a touch of concern. She had been sitting in the relay station room for a moment and was just thinking of going to look for him when Luo Bao suddenly came in, grinning broadly and saying: “Princess Consort, please come quickly — there’s good news.”

Pu Zhu asked him what good news, but he would not say, wearing an air of mysterious secrecy, just saying it was good news.

Pu Zhu was drawn into curiosity. Since there was nothing else to do, she followed him out of the room, saying as they walked: “If you’re tricking me, I won’t forgive you!”

Luo Bao said: “How would this servant dare trick the Princess Consort — wait until you see for yourself, and you’ll know.” So saying he stopped in front of a room, pointed inside with a smile: “Princess Consort, look who’s in there.”

Pu Zhu suddenly thought of someone, and her heartbeat quickened — but she dared not believe she could be so lucky.

She hesitated for a moment, then finally raised her hand, tentatively, and slowly pushed open the door in front of her that was ajar. She raised her eyes and saw a woman sitting in the room, who turned her head. Their eyes met.

She froze.

“A’mu!”

She came to herself, called out in a loud voice, and tears burst from her eyes at once. She flew forward, heedless of everything, and dove headlong into A’Ju’s arms.

She clutched her A’mu tightly, burying her face in A’mu’s familiar warm and soft embrace. She laughed for a moment, and new tears flowed out, and she could not hold back her weeping, crying and crying without stop.

A’Ju was also weeping, tears streaming down her face. She held her little mistress tightly, and after a moment, gently patted her body, soothing her.

Luo Bao stood to one side, his own eyes reddened. He lowered his head and wiped his eyes, then retreated out of the room, walked to the courtyard outside, and said to Li Xuandu: “The Princess Consort has already seen A’mu — she is overcome with joy, and holding her, laughing and crying, just like a child.”

Li Xuandu glanced at the room where a lamp burned bright, and was silent for a moment, then turned to Ye Xiao: “You’ve worked hard on this trip, and have accomplished great merit. Go rest!” Then he said to Luo Bao: “You go attend to the Princess Consort.”

In the room, Pu Zhu embraced A’mu, crying and laughing. After a long while, when her emotions had somewhat calmed, she remembered, wiped away her tears, and turned her head to see Luo Bao had come back of his own accord, his own eyes red as a rabbit’s, and asked: “What are you crying for?”

Luo Bao sniffled: “This servant saw the Princess Consort crying, felt it was heartbreaking, and so also cried a few times along with her.”

Pu Zhu couldn’t help but laugh, letting out a small giggle, and still held A’mu tightly. She suddenly noticed a scar on A’mu’s throat and gave a start: “A’mu, what happened to you? How did you get hurt there?”

A’Ju hurriedly shook her head, signaling that she was fine and telling her not to worry.

Luo Bao could not help saying: “Just now I heard Guard Commander Ye say that the new Emperor was going to take A’mu away, and he followed and intercepted them, rescuing her. Fortunately he acted in time — if it had been a little later, A’mu might have been gone! She was in the act of ending her own life right then, stabbing at her own throat with a hairpin…”

Pu Zhu was stunned. She stared at A’mu, and tears gradually filled her eyes to the brim. Seeing A’mu shake her head with a smile, she embraced her again and choked out: “A’mu, you were afraid of dragging me down, and that’s why you didn’t want to live anymore, isn’t that right? Stabbing yourself like that — didn’t it hurt?”

Tears fell.

A’Ju looked at her steadily, raised her hand to wipe away her tears, thought for a moment, then pointed at her and then pointed at her own heart, and shook her head.

Pu Zhu understood at once — A’mu was saying that she herself was in her heart, that she loved her, she wanted to protect her, and so she did not feel any pain at all.

Pu Zhu wept again. Then she saw A’mu take her hand and push back her sleeve, looking at the clearly visible scar still on her wrist, appearing shocked and worried. Pu Zhu hurriedly smiled: “I accidentally cut myself, it doesn’t hurt. And it’s been healed for a long time already. A’mu, don’t worry.”

After comforting A’mu, Pu Zhu told her where they were going.

“A’mu, from now on we will never be separated again, all right?”

A’Ju, with tears in her eyes, smiled and nodded hard, hugging her tightly.

Night deepened gradually. Pu Zhu had at last said everything she wanted to say to A’mu, and let her rest first. She herself went to the mirror, wiped away the remaining tear traces on her face, returned to the room where she was lodging, and saw that Li Xuandu had come back to the room, but was not asleep — he was still sitting at the table, reading by candlelight.

She slowly walked in and thanked him.

Li Xuandu raised his eyes and saw her standing before him, her beautiful eyes unblinking and fixed on him, full of gratitude. He smiled.

“No need to thank me. I said so before — this is my affair too. It is enough that your A’mu has come back safely.” He finished speaking, and seeing her still standing there, paused: “If there’s nothing else, go to sleep. We still need to travel in the morning.”

He put down his book, stood up, walked to the bed, took off his outer garment, kicked off his boots, lay down and closed his eyes.

Pu Zhu slowly took off her clothes, leaving only a light, thin gauze sleeping gown, blew out the lamp, and crawled onto the bed in her usual way. In the darkness, she did not realize her knee pressed on the hem of her garment, and kept crawling — she was tripped, and lost her balance with hands and feet, and tumbled right onto him, the softness of her chest pressing unintentionally against his arm.

She felt his body seem to stiffen for a moment, but he did not move, as if silently waiting for her to climb off by herself.

After that night in the upper prefecture, the two had not been together like that again.

Perhaps because it had been so long since he had touched her, this unintentional bodily contact with its small intimacy actually made her heart beat a little faster, her ears grow slightly warm.

She hesitated.

Perhaps it was the hazy night that gave her great courage — by the time she came to her senses, she found that not only had she not climbed off him, but she had instead reached out her arm and lightly wrapped it around the neck of this man lying on his back in the bed beneath her.

“Your Highness…”

She heard another low sound, as if containing a few thin, fragile breaths, a soft and tender call, sounding near her ear.

It was her own voice. After a moment, she felt he was still not moving, yet had not pushed her away either.

“Your Highness…”

She gathered her courage and called to him again, her voice sweet and gentle, like a piece of candy that would melt the moment it was placed in the mouth. She closed her eyes, pressed her slightly warm face against his chest, opened her mouth, and like a small beast, gently caught his lapel with her teeth, pulling it slightly to one side, and bit into the patch of his chest that was exposed.

A pair of hands suddenly rested on her waist, gently lifting her off him and setting her aside.

Li Xuandu’s voice followed, sounding near her ear. He seemed to hesitate, then said quietly: “Zhuzhu — if I remember correctly, these next few days should be your fertile days. I know you want to have a child, but now is not yet the right time for that. Once we get there and I’ve established a foothold, we’ll consider it depending on the circumstances. Is that all right?”

He paused, then continued: “In the future, you don’t need to deliberately try to please me — truly. Rest assured: what I have promised you, as long as I can do it, I will not go back on my word.”

When he finished, he arranged her body — which had been left lying askew without moving an inch after he pushed her away — and held her so she was lying properly, lay her on the pillow, and then pulled the blanket up for her. In the end, as if coaxing a child, he patted her head and said “sleep now,” then withdrew his hand and quietly turned over.

And so it all ended.

A tear, from the corner of Pu Zhu’s closed eyes, quietly slid down and fell into her hair at the temple.

The feeling she had experienced in the wild village outside the capital that night swept over her once again.

On that day at the horse paddock in the upper prefecture, the thousand-li longing, the full passion he had felt for her, had been cooled by her indifference and heartlessness. Had he now completely seen through the true face beneath her beautiful exterior, and from now on would never be infatuated with her again?

Hearing the meaning behind his words just now, it seemed he intended to go on living with her like this — politely, with mutual respect, indefinitely. He would treat her well and fulfill his responsibilities, but she would probably never again have the chance to hear him say, as he had under the wisteria arbor swing that day, that he was fond of her, that he missed her.

Why was it that her heart ached faintly, and even breathing felt like it could not go on?

In the darkness, she touched the scar on her left wrist — the one that would perhaps take a very long time to fade — and thought of how A’mu had said tonight that she was in her heart, that she loved her, that she wanted to protect her, and so her wound had not hurt at all.

What about her then? Pu Zhu asked herself inwardly — had she fallen in love with him, fallen in love with this man named Li Xuandu?

Was that why, that day, to free herself and save him, she had not hesitated to hurt herself, just like A’mu — not feeling any pain at all?

Was that why, that day, she had answered Madam Jiang that she wanted to go beyond the passes with him and was unwilling to stay behind in the capital alone?

Was that why, tonight, she had wanted to sleep with him — not at all for the reason he mentioned, to please him, or for the purpose of having a child?

Even though he had not said it wrong either — in the past, those had indeed been her thoughts.

She slowly opened her eyes, turned her face, and stared at the shadowy outline of the figure who seemed to have already fallen asleep, lying beside her.

She had wounded his heart, let his passionate feelings grow cold. She regretted it, truly — but what was the use of regret?

She no longer had the attraction for him she had once had.

He would no longer be infatuated with her!

After a wave of sadness that felt as if she were about to suffocate, Pu Zhu took a deep breath and commanded herself to calm down.

He had said everything so plainly just now — she would not force it either.

But…

She rubbed the scar on her wrist again and again. The small figure inside her heart, the one that had vanished for a long time, stubbornly raised its head once more, and finally jumped back out.

Li Xuandu could stop being infatuated with her, could stop loving her — but she could not truly go on despising herself forever.

Even if in the future she still held becoming Empress as her goal, what she ought to do was become a woman who could stand shoulder to shoulder with him — one who would make him not out of good manners, but sincerely, take back those words about her being unfit even to carry shoes for others. That was the kind of Empress she should become.

She might lack sufficient capability and competence, but what she was never short of was a steadfast will and an effort that would not give up.

Besides, no matter how bad things were now, they could not be worse than before.

Even A’mu could come back, could once again accompany her at her side — was this not a fortunate new beginning?

Stumbling and tumbling, in this life she had finally walked to this point, and very soon she would be beyond the passes.

New things, all of them, were waiting for her ahead.

She quietly wiped away the tear trace at the corner of her eye, and in her heart, addressed herself, speaking each word one by one.