According to the rites of the Great Qing dynasty, an emperor was to be interred twenty-seven days after his passing. If the imperial mausoleum had not yet been completed, the body would be enshrined in the Hall of Venerated Ancestors in the interim. The late Emperor’s mausoleum had already been built, so no delay was necessary.

“The court has settled on the posthumous title of ‘Xiaocheng’ for my Imperial Father. What does the Grand Tutor think?” Before lessons began, the Crown Prince spoke up unexpectedly.

Looking at the Crown Prince, who carried himself with ever-growing composure, Hua Zhi set her lesson notes aside. “How could it possibly be this official’s place to comment on such a matter? Though since Your Highness raises it… could it be that this posthumous title was chosen by Your Highness yourself?”

The Crown Prince smiled with pleasure — as expected, the Grand Tutor understood him best. “The ones the others proposed were all too demeaning to my Imperial Father. Even if certain things came to pass, there is no precedent for a son to trample on his own father’s reputation. Of course, there is another possibility — they were digging a pit for me to fall into. I simply didn’t take the bait.”

Xiaocheng — filial devotion, and the preservation of what was inherited. It was a fitting enough title. Though the late Emperor had never achieved great merit for the nation, he had done his best to guard the realm of the Great Qing dynasty throughout his life. It was a passable match. Hua Zhi observed the Crown Prince’s expression of excessive delight and, without warning, said: “The thirty-second passage of the Doctrine of the Mean.”

A sudden quiz like this was nothing new to the Crown Prince — the Grand Tutor had always done this back at the Hua home, and he began to recite by reflex: “Only those of perfect sincerity under heaven can order and adjust the great relationships of mankind, establish the great foundations of humanity…”

As he recited on, the Crown Prince’s voice grew smaller. He had been getting a little too pleased with himself lately.

When he finished, Hua Zhi said nothing further, simply gave a nod and began the day’s lesson.

The Crown Prince and Bailin exchanged a glance, both instinctively drawing their necks in. An unhappy Grand Tutor was not to be trifled with.

The Empress Dowager, who had been listening outside the door for a brief moment, smiled to herself. The Crown Prince had the temperament of youth — if the person standing before him were an elder statesman, or if someone else had become his Grand Tutor, no words would ever truly reach him, no matter who spoke them. Yet Hua Zhi had reined him in with nothing more than a single recitation. This was simply the way of the world — one thing mastering another. For the Crown Prince, being mastered by someone was not in itself a good thing. But if that person was Hua Zhi, she could accept it well enough.

“Count the time — when they take their break in the middle, send over some pastries and a strengthening soup. The Grand Tutor has been working hard.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Though the late Emperor had departed and a young Crown Prince now held the reins, the Great Qing dynasty seemed entirely unshaken. Everything ran in proper order — if anything, the court officials appeared more united than before. With the exception of Hua Zhi, even those who had contributed to the new reign had done so in minor ways only. This, paradoxically, gave everyone a more equal opportunity to make their mark. They were all striving to distinguish themselves and catch the Crown Prince’s eye. Across the entire court there was a palpable sense of spirited effort and forward momentum.

And yet, danger had never truly passed.

On the day the spring imperial examinations concluded, the sound of urgent hoofbeats rose outside the eastern city gates. The rider on horseback carried the banner of Shouyai Pass, holding his imperial dispatch token high above his head as he rode at full gallop, his hoarse voice cracking as he shouted out: “Urgent report from Shouyai Pass!”

It was a military courier.

The city gates opened at once. All pedestrians cleared the way. The courier did not slow his pace by a single step as he charged into the city. Two more riders followed closely behind him, shouting with everything they had: “Urgent dispatch — all civilians clear the road!”

The shouts and the thunder of hooves intertwined, shattering the loosened, festive air the capital had settled into after the examinations. Many people stopped in their tracks to watch the riders disappear into the distance, exchanging bewildered glances with those around them, unease creeping into their hearts. The east… that was Shouyai Pass — the First Pass of the Great Qing dynasty.

The courier reached the palace in the shortest time possible. He practically fell from his horse, his legs trembling so badly he could not rise to his feet.

Two imperial guards took turns carrying him on their backs into the main hall. He fell to his knees on the ground with a thud. His lips were cracked and bloodied, his hair in wild disarray, and his voice came out in a rasp, forced up from the very depths of his body: “The Chaoli tribe has attacked Shouyai Pass. The garrison general, General Sun… has fallen in battle!”

The news — completely beyond all expectation — struck the Crown Prince like a blow. He shot to his feet — then with every ounce of self-control he possessed, forced himself back down into his seat. “Summon the Regent, the Duke of Founding State, and the Six Ministers of the court to the palace at once.”

Lai Fu answered in acknowledgment and moved immediately to arrange it. Before leaving, he cast a quiet glance at Hua Bailin. Bailin understood, and stepped forward slightly, drawing closer to the Crown Prince’s side.

The Crown Prince closed his eyes. When he opened them again, much had settled within him. “Pour him a cup of water.”

The courier gave his thanks and drained the cup in a single breath — the rawness in his throat finally eased a little.

“Tell me everything in full detail.”

“Yes. Right up until the moment I was ordered to ride for the capital, we had not yet determined how many men the Chaoli tribe had brought. They did not attack from the direction of the sea islands where they reside — they came down from the north by river, which is why we were caught completely off guard and why the outcome was… was…”

The memory of the scene that day overwhelmed the courier, and he pressed himself flat to the ground, his voice breaking: “They came specifically for General Sun. They knew him intimately — they knew he always personally led the left vanguard. They concentrated the bulk of their forces almost entirely on the left vanguard. The other battalions were pinned down and could not send reinforcements. General Sun… General Sun gave the order for us to fall back and hold Shouyai Pass. The entire left vanguard… completely annihilated — to the last man.”

The Crown Prince’s fist clenched tight. He had met his maternal grandfather only a handful of times. In his heart, his grandfather had been a mountain — standing firm at Shouyai Pass, holding those wicked forces at bay, winning peace and safety for the Great Qing dynasty. His grandfather had been an invincible hero in his eyes.

And now, the mountain had fallen.

The mountain had fallen.

“Bring out the map.”

Hua Bailin retrieved the map swiftly and spread it open. The Crown Prince’s gaze fell on Shouyai Pass.

He had never been there, but in the Upper Study Room he had listened to the old teachers of the day lecture about Shouyai Pass, about the Chaoli tribe who had been driven to the eastern sea islands. Their voices had carried such pride. Yet they had never once spoken of the successive generations of generals who had garrisoned and guarded Shouyai Pass.

Those men — the deeper their loyalty to the nation, the greater the debt they owed to their families. His maternal grandmother had single-handedly and steadfastly held the Sun household together like a fortress. From the time he could remember, he had met his grandfather only three times. His ailing wife could not be returned to. His daughter who had died could not be returned to. By the time news reached him that his grandson was being mistreated, the moment had long since passed. The great and small affairs of his household seemed entirely removed from him. His home was in the capital, but what ordinary men experienced as the most routine of days was, for him, the most precious of memories. Day after day he had kept his vigil at the frontier. Day after day he had drilled his troops. He had given everything to this nation, and now he had given his life.

Those days he had been wronged and overlooked — who still remembered them?

In his youth he had once been a high-spirited young nobleman with no lack of pride. But who still remembered that?

Everyone had taken it as a matter of course that General Sun would guard Shouyai Pass. No one came to relieve him. No one came to take his place. He had kept that watch for twenty years — from the vigor of youth to the grey of his temples — and in the end he had died far from home.

This was his life — the life of General Sun, the life of his maternal grandfather.

He could already picture tomorrow’s court session: the officials rushing to condemn his grandfather’s defeat before they so much as acknowledged his merits. Because he had lost. History remembers only the victorious. And the world that reads history knows only the victorious. Yet among a hundred or a thousand generals, perhaps only one becomes a celebrated commander. What of the rest? What of the other nine hundred and ninety-nine? They too had drilled their troops with diligence. They too had once burned with lofty ambitions. They too had endured years of lonely vigil at a remote post. They too had been loyal to their sovereign and devoted to their country.

Perhaps they had met the very same fate as his grandfather — singled out and struck down precisely because they had made themselves too formidable a threat.