Catching the familiar medicinal scent, Su Luoyun knew the princess was still drinking the remedy she had prepared for her.
Since the medicine could still pass her lips, the princess’s aversion toward her had evidently not yet reached a point past all endurance.
Luoyun had known Princess Yuyang for a long time. Whether she had been of humble station or had later become the Shizi’s consort, she had always had occasion to interact with the princess. She understood the princess’s character well enough — born of the highest imperial blood, the only hardship the princess had ever known in her life was the matter of the heart. Nothing else had ever truly tested her.
Such a person might sometimes act with a certain high-handed willfulness, yet she was still, on the whole, a reasonable woman — quite unlike the wild, unpredictable chaos of that second Fang daughter.
And so, having heard the princess’s words, Luoyun felt a degree of relief on her young sister-in-law’s behalf. She offered Princess Yuyang another respectful bow, then turned and withdrew.
Princess Yuyang had half expected the Shizi’s consort to weep and make a great show of remorse, to beg her forgiveness at length. But as it turned out, this female merchant schemer had done nothing beyond putting in a word for her sister-in-law, and nothing more. The princess watched the retreating figure and could not help feeling a flicker of annoyance.
Princess Yuyang had gone to Hui City in a fit of pique, and the first few days of eating well and diverting herself had been pleasant enough. But as the days stretched on, she found herself without anyone fit to speak with. The official ladies of Hui City were plentiful, yet they were all common flatterers — the princess had not even the inclination to play cards with them.
The previous day, on account of their son’s wedding ceremony, Zhao Dong had managed to carve out a few hours from his pressing duties to keep the princess company for half the night.
Though they were a middle-aged couple, this brief separation had lent the reunion a sweetness not unlike that of newlyweds, and in the intimacy of the bedchamber, the princess at last could no longer hold back — she told him of the grievance she had carried since that day she visited the military camp.
Zhao Dong had no recollection of having let anything slip while drunk, yet hearing the princess speak of it, he had a vague sense it might have happened. For a moment, he felt rather guilty toward Yuyang, but had no idea how to coax a wife with soft words the way younger men could. He simply rubbed the back of his head and said with a frown: “Drunk talk is no better than wind. You actually took it to heart? I’ll drink less from now on — and you forget those words too.”
With Zhao Dong, Princess Yuyang had always needed only a little sunshine and warmth to bloom. Since he refused to admit that his drunken words had been the truth in his heart, the princess felt considerably better for it.
Now that husband and wife were reconciled, the princess found herself not quite so angry at Su Luoyun — who had merely been caught in the middle.
Had Luoyun just now lowered herself a little further, apologized more humbly, and pressed her to return to the Wang household in Liang Zhou, the princess might very well have seized the offered foothold and agreed.
But who could have foreseen that the wretched girl would think only of pleading for her sister-in-law, with not a single thought toward inviting the princess back?
Now that her temper had cooled, the princess found herself wanting to revive a little of that former friendship with her old companion — but there was no graceful step down to be had. She could only stand upon her high vantage point, looking out in all directions with no way to descend.
This left her heart feeling somewhat stifled. Some merchant she is, she thought. Not an ounce of social perception.
As for the socially imperceptive Su Luoyun — the moment she stepped out of the princess’s reception hall and turned around the corner of the building, she came upon the young newlyweds walking toward her hand in hand.
Han Yao appeared to have slept poorly. No amount of powder concealed the shadows beneath her eyes, and she looked wan and listless.
Zhao Gui Bei, in contrast, wore an expression of unabashed joy, walking along and helping to adjust a hairpin that had come slightly loose in Han Yao’s coiffure.
Han Yao was murmuring in a low voice: “If Mother takes a dislike to me when we go in, you have to help me—”
Zhao Gui Bei said at once: “You are so well-behaved — why would Mother dislike you? With me here, do not be afraid.”
Luoyun smiled at the sight of the two newlyweds and called out: “Go on in quickly — the princess is waiting for the two of you to serve tea.”
Han Yao flashed her sister-in-law a bashful smile, then followed Zhao Gui Bei into the reception hall to perform the tea ceremony.
Zhao Dong, pressed by his duties, had spent only half the night with the princess before departing before dawn, leaving word for the princess to receive the new daughter-in-law’s tea on his behalf.
As the princess herself had told Luoyun — whatever her hundred grievances with this marriage, she could see how genuinely delighted her son was, and had not the heart to throw cold water on his happiness.
She had lived in the Wang household long enough to know that Han Yao had nothing like her sister-in-law’s cunning calculations. The girl was straightforwardly honest and would not be difficult to get along with.
If she made things hard for Han Yao, her son would be caught in the middle, which would only trouble him. He was out on the front lines now, risking his life alongside his father — the princess had no wish to give her son cause for distraction that might lead to some mishap.
And so the tea ceremony proceeded smoothly enough. The princess even did the new bride considerable honor, instructing her own attendant nanny to select several pieces from her own dowry ornaments to bestow upon Han Yao as gifts.
Watching her son’s wedding, Princess Yuyang could not help but feel the weight of passing years. The infant who had slept with his tiny fists clenched tight — in the blink of an eye, he had taken a wife and was preparing to start a family of his own.
From now on, she feared her son would have his own small household to tend, and would no longer be able to give much of his time to her, his mother.
At this thought, an inexpressible loneliness settled in the princess’s heart.
Though she also knew that this was largely a consequence of leaving the capital. The territory around Hui City and Liang Zhou was only so large, and there were precious few people here one could truly talk with — and of those who suited her temperament as the female merchant schemer did, there was only one of that kind in all the world, with no other branch to be found.
She could only hope the conflict on this frontier concluded soon. Once she returned to the capital, she would be surrounded by old friends and confidantes, and she need not think again about this unsatisfying friendship with the female merchant.
At this thought, her gaze drifted to the window. Here in the north, the summer flowers bloomed unusually late, hanging sparse and scattered on the branches. By now, the capital’s summer blossoms must have spread into a full tapestry of color. She wondered how her royal father and the empress dowager fared in their health.
Meanwhile, the dust-covered envoy made his way back to the capital and gave the Emperor a detailed account of his ill-fated assignment from beginning to end.
When he reached the part about the waystation being robbed by the Tiefu, His Majesty struck the table in fury, then could not stop himself from breaking into a fierce bout of coughing.
Only when a eunuch brought tea and His Majesty had drunk two sips did the rage subside somewhat.
The great Wei harbored intentions of negotiating a peace, yet the Tiefu barbarians had shown such extraordinary insolence. Their hearts deserved the harshest judgment.
When he heard that Han Yao had — with remarkable convenience — been given in marriage to Zhao Dong’s son just before the envoy’s arrival, His Majesty could not help but raise his graying brows.
The question of who Zhao Gui Bei ought to marry had, in truth, been a matter the Wang family had deliberated over for quite some time.
Ever since learning that his daughter Yuyang had consumed the miscarriage-inducing herbal solution and would likely never bear another child, the Empress had come to him on several occasions, suggesting that the Wang family had several nieces of suitable age who could be matched to Zhao Gui Bei — a marriage that would strengthen the family connection.
The obvious intent was that, fearing Yuyang would remain childless and thus lose her influence in future, the Empress wished to place another Wang family niece beside Zhao Gui Bei.
Yet in Emperor Wei Hui’s eyes, Zhao Dong was his son-in-law, and one of the rare military commanders who had not fallen under the Wang family’s control.
He had no liking for this proposal to deepen the family ties, yet could not readily refuse Empress Wang. And so he had simply posted Zhao Gui Bei — still unmarried — to the northern frontier.
He had not expected Zhao Gui Bei to marry in the north, and of all things, to take Prince Beizhen’s daughter as his wife.
Emperor Wei Hui sat in silence for a considerable time, weighing the matter.
But it was not resentment over the loss of a candidate for the marriage alliance that occupied him — rather, he was assessing whether it was fitting for the son of a fierce general like Zhao Dong to become the son-in-law of a remote and obscure branch of the royal clan like Prince Beizhen.
After turning it over, Emperor Wei Hui concluded that while the match was not ideal, it was unlikely to produce any real trouble.
Zhao Dong had been kept idle and out of active service for many years since marrying Yuyang. The only reason he had been deployed at all now was that the court had no other capable commanders to send. In all likelihood, once this frontier crisis was resolved, the Emperor intended to strip Zhao Dong of his military command and return him to a life of comfortable idleness.
If that were to be the case — an idle general’s son taking for his wife a descendant of a deposed branch of the imperial family — it amounted to very little of consequence.
He thought, too, of Prince Beizhen Han Yi: even in his youth, when he had come to the capital, he had been like his son Han Linfeng — absorbed in eating and drinking, without an ounce of ambition. Reflecting further on the marriages Prince Beizhen’s household had made across several generations — weddings to the daughters of corrupt officials or to blind merchants’ daughters — even if one handed this father-and-son pair a pair of sharp tiger’s claws, they would not know how to put them to use.
With this in mind, Emperor Wei Hui allowed his unease to ease somewhat.
At this point, a nearby official ventured cautiously: “Your Majesty, with the Tiefu acting so brazenly — even daring to raid the imperial waystations — do you still wish to proceed with the marriage alliance?”
Emperor Wei Hui coughed several more times, then lifted the layers of his wrinkled eyelids and asked, with weary detachment: “How much territory within the Twenty Prefectures do the Tiefu still actually hold along the border?”
An official below answered: “Recently the Iron-Masked Army has continued to storm and seize cities in succession. According to the latest military dispatches, the Tiefu have been driven back north of the Black Water River. Of the Twenty Prefectures, those actually controlled by the Tiefu now number fewer than seven.”
Emperor Wei Hui half-closed his eyes and said slowly: “The Iron-Masked Army. In barely a month, an obscure, upstart bandit force from nowhere has driven the ferocious Tiefu into one retreat after another. Let me ask you this: if that bandit force were to completely pacify the Twenty Prefectures and thus develop its full strength — and then, like the rebel Qiu Zhen before them, turn to attack the cities of our great Wei — how long could our forces as they now stand hold out?”
The assembled officials exchanged glances and fell silent, unable to answer.
Emperor Wei Hui gave a long, desolate sigh. “It is only with age that one comes to understand — the greatest fear is to be old and weakened while those surrounding you are strong in body and full of predatory ambition. The Tiefu are greedy and hateful, but to destroy our great Wei is not a thing they could accomplish quickly. Yet this Iron-Masked Army, raising the banner of recovering lost territories — they not only storm cities and break down defenses against the Tiefu, they also employ the arts of winning the hearts of our Wei subjects. That is what truly makes their intentions the most deserving of judgment.”
When he finished speaking, the several officials hastily expressed their agreement in unison.
Emperor Wei Hui then said: “Negotiating peace with the Tiefu is a matter of utmost urgency. Since Prince Beizhen’s household has already given its daughter in marriage, we must simply select another woman from the imperial clan. Only by reaching an accord with the Tiefu can we join forces with them and first eliminate this wildfire-like Iron-Masked Army.”
Though the peace overture to the Tiefu had already been dispatched, the imperial proclamation naming the princess to be sent in the alliance bore only a title — no personal name. Whichever woman of the imperial clan was sent, so long as she bore the Han surname and was an unmarried young woman in her prime, that was sufficient. In any case, her original name would be concealed, a title bestowed upon her, and she sent as though she were a daughter of the Emperor himself.
Just as Han Linfeng had anticipated — at this critical juncture, the Emperor had no inclination whatsoever to spare thought on whether some remote branch of the clan had been up to something.
With those words, the assembled officials now fully grasped what lay behind the Emperor’s thoughts: Emperor Wei Hui had ranked the threats to imperial authority by degree of danger, and was focused on cutting down the most pressing ones first.
Every official standing in that study was a man skilled at reading the imperial mind. And so they voiced their agreement in succession and said nothing further.
Meanwhile, in the empress’s chambers — the empress, who had long been claiming illness and rarely receiving visitors — was speaking privately with the Sixth Prince, who had come to inquire after her health.
“Your father has been eating even less again these past few days.”
Hearing his mother’s words, the Sixth Prince raised his eyes in faint alarm. In someone of advanced age, a sudden loss of appetite was never an auspicious sign.
Thinking too of how much thinner his father had become of late, the Sixth Prince tightened his voice: “Then Father’s imperial health—”
Empress Wang raised her eyes to look at her son. “You concern yourself with your father’s health now? Better to think about how many times His Majesty has summoned you of late, and how many times he has summoned the ninth one.”
The Sixth Prince felt an involuntary twitch at his eyelid. Lately, his father had summoned him almost not at all. The ninth one, on the other hand, had been called into the imperial study on several occasions — no one knew how many times he had been currying favor.
Empress Wang said coldly: “His Majesty has recently ordered the imperial daily records revised. Nothing else has been altered — but a great many accounts of his daily conversations with the ninth one have been added. Do you know why?”
The imperial daily records documented only the monarch’s ordinary routines; they were not formal history. But when an emperor passed from the world, the inscriptions for his memorial tablet, the tributes composed in his memory, and the biographies written in his honor all drew from these records as their foundation.
Consider the late Crown Prince, who had died young: in the daily records, there were extensive accounts of his conversations with his father. Being the heir apparent, the emperor’s daily guidance of the heir was recorded with particular care, to serve as a written testament of a father’s benevolence and a son’s filial devotion within the imperial family.
Now, for the Emperor to suddenly, quietly, commission additions to his daily record of exchanges with the ninth one — this was clearly not some sudden outpouring of paternal affection. It was a deliberate effort to establish for the ninth one an image of one who constantly received the emperor’s guidance and instruction, who was intelligent and humble, and who was fit to be named heir.
At this realization, the Sixth Prince was entirely overcome with agitation, and cried out in grief and fury: “Father — how can he do this? Casting aside the proper order of birth and seniority to favor the son of a scheming consort!”
Empress Wang showed no surprise. She said with quiet composure: “From the moment he stripped Wang Yun of his military command, I knew what he intended. Has not the capital’s city defense been reshuffled recently? Quite a few of your people have been removed from their posts, have they not? The time to read the imperial proclamation naming an heir must be drawing near.”
The Sixth Prince shot to his feet. With fury, his entire face twisted slightly. “How can Father do this — does he not fear that the Changxi Wang clan and all the other great families will object to naming the ninth one?”
Empress Wang curved her lips faintly, her gaze turning steely. “Has he not found a formidable father-in-law for the ninth one? The Fang family in recent years has produced capable officials in abundance, with many distinguished members throughout the clan. Both you and Prince Rui are married to Fang daughters — whichever one His Majesty designates, the Fang family will throw its support behind. With the Fang family as his backing, what does our Wang family — already in our declining years — amount to?”
Hearing his mother’s analysis, the Sixth Prince sank back limply into his seat. “Then — I shall have to address the ninth one as Your Majesty? He and I have too much bad blood between us. How could he possibly tolerate me?”
Empress Wang looked at her son’s dejected expression, rose slowly, and walked to his side. Then, without warning, she raised her hand and struck him across the face.
The Sixth Prince’s cheek flushed red from the blow. He stared blankly at his mother. Empress Wang said, her voice low and stern: “And to think you are a grown man — already planning your retreat before the battle is even decided. Your sister has more backbone than you. My children — we who are born of Wang Quanxue — must not speak of surrender until our goal is achieved.”
The Sixth Prince startled under his mother’s rebuke and did not even dare raise a hand to his stinging cheek. He straightened at once and lowered his voice: “Does Mother have some means of remedy?”
Empress Wang looked directly into her son’s eyes and said in a low voice: “Your father’s heart is set like stone. What means of remedy is there? Nothing but snatching chestnuts from the fire — seeking victory through risk.”
She paced the floor a few steps, then returned to her son’s side and murmured: “The ninth one may have won your father’s favor, but he has not won the hearts of the common people. Back in the days of Yan County, he allowed his subordinates to embezzle the public funds meant for flood control works — to this day, the river embankments in Yan County still lack sufficient funds for proper repair. Word has it that Yan County suffered another famine this spring and is now full of destitute wanderers. If that resentment among the people is properly directed, it becomes a matter of where popular sentiment turns. If the capital and its outskirts are crowded with displaced persons bearing grievances against the Ninth Prince — at such a critical juncture, how could your father defy the will of the people and name a prince with a ruined reputation as his heir?”
The Sixth Prince’s mind began to stir. “The idea is to manufacture public resentment and destroy the ninth one’s name?”
Empress Wang shook her head slowly and murmured: “That alone is not enough. Once there are agitators in the capital, His Majesty will inevitably have to bring in additional troops. If the Wang family’s forces can seize that opportunity to infiltrate the city, it will not matter that your father reshuffled the city’s defenses and removed your people beforehand. Your father is of advanced years — it is time he enjoyed some well-earned rest.”
At those final words, Empress Wang suddenly reached out and seized the Sixth Prince’s shoulder, gripping it with all her strength.
Feeling the pain press into his shoulder, the Sixth Prince drew another sharp breath. He had finally understood his mother’s meaning. She was — she intended to seize the throne by force.
At the thought, he could not suppress a shock that ran through him. His eyes widened, and he looked at his mother with uncertain hesitation.
The empress knew her son’s temperament better than anyone. He had always been a man who acted only when success was nearly certain. Hearing her speak so radically now, he would surely be unable to make up his mind.
Yet Empress Wang had already deliberated over this for a very long time.
She continued to persuade him: “In those earlier days, when the Holy Virtue Emperor was under siege, your imperial grandfather seized his moment with decisive action, and drawing on the combined strength of the Fang family and the Wang family, he at last reached the throne. Without his bold resolve, there would be no glory and honor for you imperial princes today. If you hesitate and waver, so be it. But you must understand — the kind of life those princes of remote branches lead, exiled to desolate outposts like Prince Beizhen’s household, passing their days in muddle and obscurity — that is what awaits your children and grandchildren tomorrow.”
At these words, the Sixth Prince could not suppress a shudder.
By what right? He was undeniably the true-born legitimate son, and his mother’s family was the Changxi Wang clan, whose influence permeated the entire court.
If he were to simply surrender the throne to a dull-witted son of a scheming consort — what joy would life hold, and what fear in death?
The person who understood His Majesty most deeply had never been the court officials — it had always been this white-haired mother of his who knew the Emperor best.
If his mother had guessed that his father was about to name Prince Rui as the imperial heir, then he had no choice but to seize his moment, and fight for whatever chance remained to him.
That day, after the Sixth Prince and Empress Wang concluded their secret conversation, he left the palace in great haste.
As he was departing, he caught sight of the Ninth Prince arriving at the palace in response to an imperial summons.
The ninth one, his belly somewhat rounded, was making cheerful conversation with several officials who were just leaving the palace. They were deep in animated talk, and no one glanced in the Sixth Prince’s direction.
Those departing officials were all the Emperor’s most trusted inner circle — men who had clearly received word of the shifting winds.
The Sixth Prince gave a cold smile. How little he had expected that he, a prince of the imperial blood, would come to know so early in his life what people meant by the phrase “the world’s warmth and coldness.”
He did not go over to make an awkward intrusion and scatter the ninth one’s lively exchange with the high officials. Instead, he turned along the corridor to one side and departed with his attendants.
Among the gathering, the Ninth Prince caught sight of his sixth elder brother’s retreating figure and allowed himself a pleased smile, then continued in high spirits to exchange pleasantries with the assembled officials.
Just these past few days, his consort Fang Jinshu had joyfully given birth to a son.
When Fang Jinshu had first fallen pregnant, she had kept restless company with the empress during card games at the palace, and there had been signs of a threatened miscarriage. Fortunately, after that, the defenses within and outside his household had been made thorough and secure, and the danger had passed without serious consequence.
Yet after a month of measures to preserve the pregnancy, the child still came two months early. Though the infant was delicate and frail, he was a boy. And this meant that Prince Rui’s household now had a legitimate male heir to carry on the bloodline.
In the midst of his wild elation, Prince Rui also understood clearly — the last obstacle blocking his path to the throne had been swept clean away.
Summer had now arrived, and the grand and glorious road stretching before him, Prince Rui, had only just begun.
Within a few days of the envoy’s return to the capital, His Majesty issued another decree, selecting a young woman from another branch of the imperial clan to be received at court and given a title. Once her princess title had been formally bestowed, she was to proceed to the Tiefu king’s encampment for the marriage alliance.
At the same time, Zhao Dong received seven consecutive imperial edicts rebuking him in harsh terms, condemning him for his failure to suppress the enemy effectively and his apparent disregard for the Emperor’s trust and favor.
The Emperor simultaneously issued Zhao Dong a formal military directive: if he could not suppress the Iron-Masked rebel army with dispatch, the position of Supreme Commander of the northern frontier would be handed to someone else next month.
This was, in truth, deeply unjust to Zhao Dong.
After the Iron-Masked Army had evaded several of his pursuit campaigns, in recent weeks they had at last begun to meet his encirclement offensives head-on.
Zhao Dong had observed, with growing astonishment, that the Iron-Masked Army had at some point entirely changed its methods of movement.
Gone was the scattered guerrilla skirmishing. Instead, the numerous small, dispersed guerrilla units had gradually begun to converge, forming an iron fist, and arraying themselves in proper battle formation to meet his assaults directly.
What had been nothing but a ragtag volunteer army held together by passion and conviction had, at some unknown point, seemed to receive the infusion of a new commanding spirit — as though guided by a seasoned and cunning general. With sound tactical direction, their fighting capacity had grown sharper and more ferocious than ever.
In several direct engagements, Zhao Dong had found his own formations split apart and scattered by the enemy’s battle arrays, forcing him to sound the retreat far earlier than he wished. His losses in these engagements had been severe — great numbers of his soldiers captured and absorbed into the enemy’s ranks.
Privately, many of his commanding officers had begun to mutter dispirited talk.
Before each engagement, someone would say with bleak self-mockery: “Well, I suppose today we’re sending new recruits to the Iron-Masked Army again.”
Zhao Dong had happened to overhear this once, and naturally dealt with the offenders by military law, punishing severely those who had shaken the troops’ morale.
But one could silence a man’s mouth while being unable to govern his heart. If he could not find a way to break the enemy’s battle formations and turn the tide of war, then without another engagement being fought, men would begin slipping away in secret to join the volunteer army.
Now His Majesty was sending edict after edict, condemning him for negligence in preparation for battle and inability to swiftly eliminate the enemy. Zhao Dong fixed his bell-large eyes on the blank sheet of paper on his desk, picked up his brush, and dashed off his reply to the memorial in a few quick strokes.
His aide picked it up, took one look, and winced, saying with a mournful expression: “Supreme Commander — you cannot write the plain truth like this. Even though the court has continued to cut military pay, and the soldiers below have now gone two months without receiving their wages — at a moment like this, if you say that morale is unstable because of the pay shortage, it will look like you are shifting the blame, and it will only make His Majesty more displeased.”
Zhao Dong said with a dark expression: “If the court were truly facing hardship, a delay in military pay would be understandable. But look at this — in the terms of the peace with the Tiefu, they are not only sending a woman of the imperial clan, but also sending along a dowry of one hundred thousand taels of silver. Is it that the court has no money? No — they would rather feed that silver to wolves and tigers than give the soldiers fighting and bleeding at the front their rightful wages.”
As he spoke, Zhao Dong’s fury mounted with every word.
In his youth, he had taken up the military life not merely to provide for his family, but because of the ideal of defending his homeland.
Yet now — though he held high rank and great authority — his convictions found no one to honor them. Let alone the soldiers under his command; even he himself no longer understood what meaning lay behind each battle he fought.
The aide sighed. He had followed the General for many years and knew his temperament well. Here in the military encampment in the northern lands, letting off steam was one thing — but if it truly reached the Emperor’s eyes, it would be the General who suffered for it.