Watching the Emperor approach, Gu Yanxi stepped back several paces to keep his distance. Were it not for the spreading crimson soaking his chest, his footing was as steady as that of someone entirely unwounded.

“Gu Yanxi — you—!” The Emperor’s fury was past containing. He threw his voice toward the door: “Attendants — summon the imperial physicians! Summon the imperial physicians at once!”

Lai Fu’s heart lurched at his post by the entrance. He sprang up to run to the Imperial Medical Office — and at the same moment, Hua Zhi shot out a hand and caught him. “Shao Yao — find Shao Yao!”

Lai Fu reversed direction without a moment’s hesitation and ran the other way.

Hua Zhi bit down hard into the flesh at the back of her own hand. Inside the room there were only two people — the Emperor was unharmed, which meant the one who was harmed could only be Yan Xi.

She had been turning over how to resolve the situation, thinking through what Yan Xi might do to walk away unscathed without provoking the Emperor’s wrath. But she had not imagined that Yan Xi would choose to wound himself as his way out.

She should go inside. She wanted to go inside. It took every last measure of self-possession she had to keep her feet from moving.

In the Emperor’s eyes, she was the source of the conflict between him and his nephew. If she entered now, she would very likely ignite the Emperor’s fury all over again, making things worse — making Yan Xi’s blood a waste.

Bear it. Just a little longer. Wait for Shao Yao. Hua Zhi’s teeth pressed harder without her noticing.

Inside the hall, Yan Xi had slid down to sit against a pillar. He looked at the hilt of the dagger buried halfway in his chest, then reached up to pull it out. This time the Emperor was finally close enough to stop him — he seized his nephew’s hand with both of his own, his features twisted and ferocious with the effort, every trace of imperial composure stripped away.

“A woman! For the sake of a woman — you strip yourself of your identity, you stake your own life, and after all I have taught you — this is how you repay me, defying me for the sake of a woman?!” The Emperor laughed coldly. “Do not tell me the imperial household has produced a lovesick fool.”

Gu Yanxi closed his eyes, unwilling to argue. He could not explain to a man who possessed countless women that he wished to live out his days beside just one — to wander the three great mountains and the five great peaks with that same one woman, to have a child who looked like her, and to grow old at her side.

He knew there was no point in trying.

If he had known it would come to this, he should have come better prepared. He should have worn an extra layer, for one thing. It was actually quite cold after removing the thick official robe. Or perhaps it was that the blood was leaving him too quickly — he could feel the warmth flowing out of the wound and turning cold by degrees, sticking to the garment against his chest. Deeply unpleasant.

Hua Zhi was going to be angry. He had promised her only a few days ago that he would discuss it with her before revealing his identity — and yet when he had learned that Hua Zhi had been called to the palace, when he had understood what his imperial uncle intended, he had been incapable of thinking so carefully.

That was the man he had honored as a father. How could he — how could he do something like forcing Hua Zhi into the palace?

The Emperor had also run out of force. He sat down on the ground, exhausted, his mind thick and muddled. He tried to think clearly about all of this, but his spirit would not cooperate. A heaviness pressed at his chest; everything felt wrong.

A loud crash — the great doors of the hall were kicked open. Shao Yao flew in like the wind. She did not spare the Emperor a glance, but dropped to her knees at her brother’s side, tore open the front of his robe, took one look at the raw and bleeding wound, and shot her brother a withering glare. Then she took his wrist and pressed her fingers to the pulse — his heart was beating far too fast; she could barely make it out. She slapped herself hard across the face. The pain brought her back to herself, and she read his pulse again.

Lai Fu glanced at the state of things inside the hall, then tiptoed over to fetch a chair and helped the Emperor to his feet and into it.

Only Hua Zhi remained standing at the doorway. The sight of all that dark red spreading over white linen struck her eyes like a blade. She raised her gaze — and met Yan Xi’s.

There was grief in his eyes. And there was also a release that she understood.

She stepped across the threshold and came to Yan Xi’s side, crouching beside Shao Yao to look at the dagger still buried in his chest. The material — it was the same as those few pieces he had given her.

By now Shao Yao had already laid out her set of gold needles. With a swift, sure hand, she inserted them one by one into the acupoints across his chest; the bleeding visibly slowed before their eyes.

Then she swept her entire medical case off the ground, upended it, and began sorting through the scattered contents. From among them she pulled out a vial, yanked out the stopper, seized Gu Yanxi’s jaw without ceremony, and poured the contents into his mouth. Then she selected several bottles that only she could identify without confusion and set them in order to one side. She picked up a larger one, opened it — and the sharp, heady scent of strong spirits filled the air. “Hua Zhi, pull out the blade.”

Hua Zhi heard the sound of her own swallow. Yet her hand moved without a moment’s hesitation, closing around the hilt — pressing down — then one firm pull. A spray of blood, and the dagger was free. Shao Yao immediately upended the entire bottle of spirits directly into the wound.

Gu Yanxi, who had made not a sound when the blade was drawn, let out a low grunt.

The hand holding the dagger trembled, barely perceptibly. Hua Zhi did not look up at the eyes she knew were watching her. She followed Shao Yao’s every movement — watching her clean the wound, watching her apply layer after layer of medicine, watching her take up the gold needles.

Then she watched Shao Yao sweep all the little bottles and vials back into the case as though sweeping dust from the floor — not a word spoken — and run out of the hall with it clutched in her arms.

The sound of her footsteps, quick and uneven, faded into the distance. The great hall, already vast, seemed somehow even quieter than before.

Hua Zhi helped Yan Xi to his feet. “Be it charges or be it execution, we await Your Majesty’s decree.”

Gu Yanxi was unwilling to let Hua Zhi strain herself. He held himself upright by his own effort, keeping his weight off of her. Hua Zhi gave him a sidelong look, then pressed herself under his arm and forced him to lean on her, shouldering the greater part of his weight as they walked out.

The hand hidden in his sleeve had clenched into a fist. His lips were pressed together so tightly they had all but disappeared. The Emperor watched as the two of them walked out of the hall leaning against one another, and for a long, long time, he did not take his eyes away.

The road out of the palace was a long one. On this evening it felt especially without end. The wind stirred the lanterns along the covered walkway, their light shifting and unsteady, casting shapes in the dark that seemed like many figures hidden in the shadows — living ones, or perhaps dead.

Hua Zhi no longer felt the cold. A faint sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead; her breathing had grown uneven. Yet she held the person beside her steady and sure.

Then came the sound of footsteps — quick, uneven, pattering from some distance behind them and drawing steadily near. Hua Zhi knew without looking who it was. Sure enough, before long the weight on her eased, as Shao Yao moved in from the other side to take her share of Yan Xi’s weight.

The redness around her eyes told Hua Zhi she had gone somewhere to cry in secret. Hua Zhi reached over and patted her head — as much comfort as the moment allowed — and together they walked slowly onward.

She dared not walk too quickly, afraid the wound would reopen.

Gu Yanxi glanced to his left, then to his right. It seemed to him that everything he had was here. A quiet satisfaction took shape somewhere inside him; he pulled both of them gently closer, drawing them against him. Both noticed. Neither looked up.

She did not know how long they had walked. At last, the palace gates came into view.

Outside the gates, the Hua Family carriage had been waiting for a long while. Ying Chun had bitten through the skin on her ninth fingernail by the time she finally saw her Miss return — looking, on the surface, unharmed — and with her, Master Lu, who clearly was not well.

She hastily signaled to Li De to bring the carriage forward. The small group helped Gu Yanxi up into the carriage together.

A gust of wind swept through. Hua Zhi stood on the running board and looked back — one last look at the palace, black and deep as something that had swallowed mountains of the dead. She hoped, with everything in her, that she would never in her life have occasion to walk through those gates again.

Author’s note: The second chapter really could not be salvaged and will need to be rewritten — three updates tomorrow. Many readers have said the writing in this story is visually evocative; that is because every scene is staged in my mind beforehand — every movement, every position, every shift in each character’s state of feeling, all rehearsed in my head before I write. Which is why I write slowly.