The sun was about to rise, and the moon had not yet faded.

The pale jade disk of the moon hung dimly on the horizon, spilling its white light over the rippling mountain valleys. A ribbon of cloud-mist, carrying the dew of early morning, drifted through the still air like a silk sash — swaying, flowing, brushing over the blooming Summer Cloud flowers. A single translucent dewdrop trembled on a delicate snow-white petal.

A lean, clean hand, slender and sure, pressed the mouth of a long-necked porcelain vial gently against the dew-laden petal. In an instant, the plump round drop tumbled into the bottle.

Morning dew is fleeting — dreamlike, as if it were never really there.

The hand capped the almost-full vial and tucked it into the blue-green silk sleeve, damp with the morning’s moisture. Then it reached down and broke off a single slender stem, a white flower in full bloom, and held it gently.

Fu Xuanmiao held the white Summer Cloud blossom and slowly straightened up.

A morning breeze moved through the mountain valley.

His tall figure rose like a blade of jade-green, straight and still on the vast open earth. His pale blue-green robes shifted and sighed around him, giving off a soft, rustling sound — like a rain that, once begun, would never stop.

At the foot of the mountains on the horizon, a brilliant trace of gold was straining with all its might to break free from the dark.

The dew in the valley had nearly all been gathered, and the vial in his hand was full. Yet Fu Xuanmiao remained where he was, motionless, waiting quietly for the moment of sunrise.

Through the mountain valley, the morning calls of birds began to ring out.

The blazing orb finally broke free from the grip of darkness and rose slowly above the mountain peaks. The morning sun poured its countless threads of golden light across the earth, driving out the last shadows left by the night.

All living things rejoiced, welcoming the new dawn.

Fu Xuanmiao looked straight at the blinding golden orb in the sky, letting the golden light saturate his field of vision.

How dazzling.

How warm.

How utterly beyond reach.

Fu Xuanmiao stood without moving for a long while. Yan Hui, standing to the side in attendance, grew uneasy. He had heard of people going blind from staring directly at the sun for too long. He hesitated at length, then thought of the departed Yangliu, thought of how there was no longer anyone left to remind this young master to look after himself — and for reasons he could not explain, a wave of compassion rose in him. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out:

“Young Master, one cannot stare at the scorching sun for too long — take care not to harm your eyes.”

Having spoken this overstepping remark he had never intended to say, Yan Hui bowed his head in apprehension. More surprising still — the young master was not only not displeased, he actually replied:

“Yan Hui — do you know… how one might come to possess the sun?”

“Possess the sun?” Yan Hui was startled. He instinctively looked up at the blazing orb in the sky.

The sun was rising, its light filling the valley, gilding the lush grass with a border of gold. Every white Summer Cloud blossom shone in the breeze. The sun drove away the cold mist and shadows in the valley and gave its warmth without distinction to all things beneath heaven.

Possess the sun?

Yan Hui bowed his head again, full of confusion and trepidation. “The sun hangs high above, rising in the east and setting in the west, unchanged over thousands of years. How could any mortal possess the sun?”

“Why not?” Fu Xuanmiao said softly. “There is precedent.”

“Precedent?” Yan Hui looked up in astonishment.

“…Hou Yi once possessed the sun.”

Yan Hui did not understand, and instinctively wanted to ask — but when he looked ahead, there was only a retreating figure.

Fu Xuanmiao had walked toward the carriage not far away. Yan Hui quickly pressed down the question that had surfaced in his mind and hurried after him.

The carriage set off again, hooves striking the ground in a steady clatter. Fu Xuanmiao pushed open the half-drawn window and placed the Summer Cloud blossom — set into a small vial filled with clear water — where the sunlight could reach it.

He then drew out from his sleeve the porcelain vial of Summer Cloud dew he had spent the entire night collecting, and set it beside the flower on the table.

Fu Xuanmiao gazed quietly at the delicate white blossom, and thought: Xi’er, when she sees it, will surely be pleased.

He thought: in a day or two, he would personally bring Xi’er here to watch the sunrise at this very spot.

He thought: if she liked it, he would have this entire valley of Summer Cloud flowers transplanted and replanted at the Jianzhou palace garden.

He thought: there was a natural hot spring in the western outskirts of Jianzhou. He might as well build the Princess’s residence there, so that she could bathe in warm waters every day.

He thought of many things. Many things.

The first signs of a thaw had appeared. The past he had longed for and cherished would return to them once more.

A flicker of blue at the window suddenly caught his eye. Fu Xuanmiao’s attention shifted from the Summer Cloud blossom to the bright day outside.

An ice-blue butterfly was fluttering nearby, its broad wings rippling with a mesmerizing shimmer. Fu Xuanmiao watched it and found himself falling into a reverie.

Many years ago, he had hidden a jarful of butterflies just like this one inside his wide sleeve and secretly brought them into the heavily guarded Imperial Palace.

His father and the late Emperor were meeting in the imperial study. The supervising eunuch had summoned a young page to accompany him in walking the imperial gardens. When they were finally alone, Fu Xuanmiao found a casual excuse and managed to send the young page away. He made his way to the Peach Blossom Garden — the place where the Princess of Yue was often seen chasing butterflies — and looked out at the sea of flowers filled with pink-winged butterflies but no one in sight, and hesitated.

Even if he were to meet the Princess of Yue as he had wished — what then?

She was White Noble Consort’s daughter. But she knew nothing of the old grievances. Could he truly drag an innocent child into his affairs?

Fu Xuanmiao lingered in the Peach Blossom Garden for some time without reaching a decision. And the Princess of Yue, who ought to have appeared, did not appear. He took it as heaven’s will, and in the end chose to turn and leave.

He decided to leave her entirely out of his plans.

He went to the bank of some unnamed lake and opened the small wooden jar that had by now taken on the warmth of his body.

The butterflies, vivid and many-colored, took flight — fluttering upward like snowflakes.

He threw the empty wooden jar into the lake and turned to leave.

He had nearly walked beyond earshot when a splash sounded from behind him. Immediately after came the panicked screams of palace women.

He looked back. The figure of the Princess of Yue rose and sank in the water. Through the flying spray, he caught a glimpse of a childlike face, frightened and helpless. Those clear eyes — too clean for this world — plucked at something in his heart, making it impossible for him to turn away from what was before him.

Beside the lake, aside from the Princess of Yue’s own attendants, he was the only other person there. Neither the Princess nor her attendants had noticed his presence. He could have turned and walked away. He could have pretended to know nothing, left with a clean conscience — without shouldering any moral reproach, and allowing White Noble Consort to lose an important pawn. But in that moment, his mind was utterly blank.

By the time he came back to himself, he had already plunged into the water with a splash and was swimming with all his strength toward the Princess of Yue — who was being carried further and further away by the current, her body sinking lower and lower.

This time, he and those clean eyes met.

She was struggling uselessly in the water, swaying like a small, helpless piece of duckweed. Her legs kicked hard beneath the surface, sending wave after wave of water spreading outward. Her lips were pressed tightly shut out of fear. Her neck was stretched upward with all her might, yet the water kept washing over her mouth and nose — until only her eyes remained above the surface, pouring out a desperate plea in his direction.

Those shimmering eyes, brimming with terror and desperate entreaty.

She was the drowning person.

And he was her straw.

In that moment, Fu Xuanmiao suddenly felt something open within him, clear as light. He could control her life and death. He could control her joy and her sorrow. He could control her fate.

He — who had been helpless as duckweed, tossed by the currents of an unforgiving fate — could seize another piece of duckweed, and become her only anchor.

In the moment he lost focus, the Princess of Yue’s figure had already disappeared beneath the surface. A flurry of hurried footsteps sounded from the bank, followed by a series of splashes — palace attendants who could swim had apparently jumped in after her.

Fu Xuanmiao held his breath and plunged beneath the surface.

His wide sleeves unfurled in the water. The jade pin slipped from his hair; his black hair came loose and streamed and floated in the current.

He found her in the lake-green water — a shape descending. Those eyes, which had for reasons he could not explain moved him, were wide open, fixed on him with all their remaining strength. He knew — he would be the only straw she could cling to for the rest of her life. And she knew — he was the only straw she could hope for in this moment.

Fu Xuanmiao’s hesitation in the water lasted only the barest instant. The next moment, he kicked off from below, broke through the current, and shot toward her like an arrow.

The Princess of Yue reached out toward him with all the strength she had left.

He saw that small, pale hand, and without thinking reached out and closed his hand around it with firm strength.

Fu Xuanmiao held her hand, pulled her close, and began to swim upward with her.

Even in her extreme panic, the Princess of Yue did not cling desperately to his collar or wrap herself around him in a way that would hinder his movement. She paddled her feet clumsily beneath the water, doing her best to lessen the burden on him.

The surface drew closer and closer.

Sunlight blazed on the water above; the silhouettes of butterflies could be made out in flight. Shimmering ripples swirled above their heads. The quiet sound of water surrounded them — like wind whispered in their ears. To Fu Xuanmiao, the world had not felt this peaceful in a very long time.

At last — they broke through the surface and returned to the open air.

Only then did the Princess of Yue throw her arms around his neck, drawing deep, gasping breaths of air, her eyes wide and dazed, darting every which way like a startled bird.

Once he had brought her to shore, the palace attendants immediately surged forward in a crowd. Fu Xuanmiao was pushed to the edge of the group. He stood alone outside the circle of people — watching the Princess of Yue surrounded by everyone, draped in robes, offered handkerchiefs, showered with concern — while the wet robes on his own body grew heavier and heavier. The wind seemed to pass over him, and it was growing colder.

No one noticed his presence.

Except the Princess of Yue.

“Give it — give it to him too…” The Princess of Yue pushed away the handkerchief a palace attendant offered, shaking from the cold, stumbling over her words. Her eyes went to him, pushed to the outer edge of the crowd, and she said, “You… who are you?”

In the sunlight, the water’s ripples danced — not only on the lake’s surface, but in her immaculate eyes.

Fu Xuanmiao looked into her eyes and said: “Chan Yu.”

“What?”

“My name is Fu Xuanmiao. My childhood name is Chan Yu. I am the son of Fu Ruzhi, the current Chancellor.” Fu Xuanmiao raised both hands and knelt in the direction of the Princess of Yue. “…Chan Yu pays his respects to the Princess.”

That had been their first meeting.

His fate — and hers.

Fu Xuanmiao looked at the Summer Cloud blossom in full bloom, and made up his mind. When he returned, he would tell her that for her sake, he was willing to stop here. As long as Shen Suzhuang remained obedient, he would go on being a loyal and capable minister. As long as she was willing to have a change of heart, he would set aside all past grievances and begin again with her from the very start.

What the previous generation owed him — it ended here. For her sake, he was willing to let go of everything from before.

By the time the carriage returned to the encampment, the sun had fully climbed high into the sky.

Fu Xuanmiao stopped before the entrance to Shen Zhuxi’s tent, holding the fragrant Summer Cloud blossom and the vial of Summer Cloud morning dew. The absence of anyone at the entrance gave him an uneasy feeling. Acting on a premonition, he did not lift the curtain — he pushed straight in with long strides.

The tent was empty.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Yan Hui sensed something was wrong and immediately shouted for the nearest guards.

“You were ordered to watch over the Princess — where has she gone?!” Yan Hui demanded furiously.

The guard was both shocked and terrified, and instinctively dropped to his knees.

“The Princess… the Princess did not go out to look for Lord Fu?”

“Impossible!” Yan Hui’s heart lurched. “The Princess had no passage token — how could she possibly leave the encampment? Where has the Princess actually gone? You had better tell the truth at once!”

“The Princess truly did go to find Lord Fu!” the guard said in fearful desperation. “Did Lord Fu not give her his personal jade pendant, granting her free passage?”

“You—” Yan Hui’s fury surged, but before he could speak, Fu Xuanmiao cut him off.

“What jade pendant?” he said.

“It was… it was the pendant Lord Fu always carries with him…”

The guard stared at Fu Xuanmiao’s expression with mounting dread, his voice growing smaller and smaller until it faded to nothing.

“Was she alone when she left?” Fu Xuanmiao said.

His voice had returned to its usual calm and low tone. But within that calm, it was as though a tremendous surge was coiled and hidden — suppressed and dangerous, sending a chill down one’s spine.

“Find out — was she alone when she left?”

At Fu Xuanmiao’s single command, Yan Hui quickly uncovered the answer.

“The Princess of Yue… did not leave alone. A report has come from the prison wagon — she used the young master’s name to take the prisoner Bai Rongling away…” Yan Hui said uneasily.

For a long time, not a sound came from the tent.

The air seemed to die. Fu Xuanmiao stood without expression and without movement — as though he, too, had died.

After an interval no one could measure, he finally spoke.

“Ready the horses. Muster the troops.”

“The prisoner Bai Rongling has taken the Princess hostage and fled. I will personally lead the troops in pursuit.”