Those great noble families, who had previously had no connection whatsoever with the remote and obscure Beizhen princely estate, would now certainly be sharpening their wits to burrow their way into the imperial inner palace and into the households of both imperial princes.

Qian Xiaoyu thought to herself: if she were in her sister-in-law’s position, she would surely feel as though a thousand-jin weight had been suddenly dropped onto her shoulders, leaving her with no time to catch her breath — let alone smile.

Thinking this, Qian Xiaoyu felt stifled herself, and could not help but let out a quiet sigh on her sister-in-law’s behalf.

Su Luoyun, in truth, was not at all struggling under the weight of anxiety the way her sister-in-law imagined.

Though the gate tower above was thronged with powerful nobles and buzzing with noise, her mind kept drifting away to thoughts of sour plums soaking in sugar syrup. She had no idea why, but the taste of that sweet-and-sour combination had suddenly come to her, and she found herself craving it intensely.

The more she craved it, the less she could have it just then, and a faint expression of wistful longing crept across her face.

Unfortunately, this occasional drifting of hers was read quite differently by the ladies around her.

Everyone knew that the Shizi’s marriage had been nothing more than the retired Emperor playing matchmaker in his muddled fashion — the Shizi had drunkenly accosted a blind merchant girl by the roadside, been unable to shake her off, and been punished by the Emperor. That was all there was to it.

Yet now, times had changed beyond all recognition. Han Linfeng was the legitimate imperial son of the Emperor himself — how could a merchant’s daughter possibly be a fitting match?

No doubt Su Luoyun herself knew she was out of her depth and living in perpetual anxiety about it.

With that thought, those noblewomen who had previously offended Su Luoyun badly felt their hearts ease somewhat.

Throughout history, the first thing a new Emperor upon his accession did was forge ties with the great noble families to consolidate imperial power. The new Emperor’s ascension had caught the great families off guard, but after their clan patriarchs convened at the Duke of Lu’s estate to deliberate, they settled their minds and prepared to meet change with constancy.

The marriageable daughters of each household would have their betrothals put on hold for now; the finest among them would be selected to fill the new Emperor’s inner palace. As for the Emperor’s two sons, both households were also notably sparse in their domestic arrangements.

The legitimate son Han Linfeng, though already married, had received that marriage as a humiliating jest of a decree — he himself was surely not very pleased with it either.

Why else had that Su Luoyun gone so long after the wedding without becoming pregnant?

Once the new Emperor was enthroned, Han Linfeng himself would likely be looking to replace her with a more suitable consort.

And so the people gathered around the new Emperor each turned their own mental abacus, calculating their respective futures — until a long, sonorous blast from a horn drew their scattered thoughts back to the present.

The Iron-Faced Army, awaiting the Emperor’s review, was about to enter the city. Commoners from the prefectures and counties surrounding the capital had all come to watch the spectacle, crowding forward to catch a glimpse of the Iron-Faced Army — that seemingly divine force that had recovered the lost northern territories.

In an instant, the streets inside and outside the capital were packed with people. Beneath brilliant sunlight, as company after company of tall and powerfully-built Iron-Faced soldiers marched past, the crowd erupted again and again in cheers and jubilation.

The man riding at the very head of the procession was tall and imposing, clad in heavy black armor. The mask upon his face was unlike any of the others — carved in the image of a vividly lifelike and ferocious mythical beast, the Taowu.

This beast was the legendary son of Zhuanxu, born with rebellion in his bones, inherently stubborn and unteachable beyond all correction.

And the man who wore this divine beast’s mask was very much like that proud and ungovernable creature — going his own way without yielding, yet creating an achievement without equal in the world.

The common people knew that the figure at the head of the procession was the legendary war god of the Iron-Faced Army, and could not help but erupt in cheers and jubilation, tossing flowers toward the war god in a steady stream.

When the war god reached the base of the city gate, he swung down from his horse and performed obeisance toward the new Emperor above, then slowly removed the mask from his face.

The moment the mask came off, a collective gasp went through the crowd around him — this war god was far too young, and far too remarkably handsome. And some among the capital’s most well-informed residents, looking at this war god’s face, felt a faint sense of recognition…

At that moment, the war god spoke in a voice that rang out clearly: “Your servant, Han Linfeng, acting upon the command of his Imperial Father, brought fifty thousand Iron-Faced Army soldiers of the northern territories into submission, led the army in battle to recover eighteen prefectures of the northern homeland. Further acting upon the decree of the Grand Emperor, the sagely Emperor Weihui, restored order from chaos, pacified the rebellions of the various princes, escorted the former Emperor back to the palace, and supported Imperial Father’s accession to the throne. I now request that Imperial Father review the Iron Army, and grant recognition to these iron cavalry soldiers who defended home and country in the north!”

At this, the tens of thousands of soldiers behind him, a vast dark mass, dropped as one to their knees and cried out in a thunderous roar: “Long live His Majesty, ten thousand years, ten thousand upon ten thousand!”

The sound rolled and reverberated like thunder, surging straight to the heavens above and striking the eardrums and hearts of all who heard it.

It also made the assembled ministers standing on the gate tower understand at last why the new Emperor had added the military review to the enthronement ceremony.

The new Emperor was showing everyone who questioned the legitimacy of his accession exactly what entitled him to sit upon that throne.

So the new Emperor’s legitimate son Han Linfeng was the legendary Iron-Faced War God himself — the one who had sent the Tiefu tribesmen fleeing in terror at the very sound of his name, the man who had commanded the Iron-Faced divine cavalry to achieve one miracle after another?

Even those among the capital’s common people who had once witnessed the former Beizhen Shizi making a drunken spectacle of himself in the streets could only murmur to each other in stunned disbelief.

The new Emperor Han Yi spoke from the gate tower above: “The Iron-Faced divine army has rendered incomparable merit for great Wei! The achievements of our son Han Linfeng in recovering the lost homeland must not go unrecognized. Today we bestow rewards upon the Iron-Faced soldiers, and grant provisions to the three armies — grain and colored silks, three hundred head of cattle and sheep, a thousand jars of imperial wine. We shall drink with our soldiers until we are all drunk together!”

At these words, the soldiers cheered once more, and all together prostrated themselves in gratitude for the Emperor’s immense grace.

The ministers standing on the gate tower exchanged glances — they plainly felt this was a ploy by the new Emperor and his son to buy popular acclaim.

The two of them, father and son, might have co-opted Cao Sheng’s rebel forces and used them to claim the glory of restoring the lost homeland. But having Han Linfeng impersonate the Iron-Faced War God to this extent — was it not treating everyone who knew him as a complete fool?

Those old companions of the Shizi who had returned to the capital early to recover from injuries — Guo Yan, Lu Kang, and their sort — did not have the rank to ascend the gate tower, but standing beneath the city gate, they were already struggling to suppress their laughter.

Han Linfeng had always been on the same level as them — how had a year or so back in Liangzhou turned him into a celebrated war god?

Just then, Han Linfeng vaulted back onto his horse, spurred the animal forward, and rode circuits around the parade ground before the city gate. His fluid, powerful bearing drew every eye and would not let them go. Then Han Linfeng released the reins entirely, reached back to draw his bow, twisted his body and turned fluidly in the saddle, and loosed several arrows in rapid succession at the four banner poles standing on either side of the city gate.

When the arrows, whistling through the air, cut through the cord-loops that held each banner furled, those loops snapped at the shot, and the great flags — nearly forty feet in length — cascaded down with a sweeping rush, unfurling to billow in the wind.

Each of the four flags bore auspicious characters congratulating the Emperor on his accession.

Yet what everyone witnessed was something else entirely: this man who had once lain drunk in the gutter — the legendary Iron-Faced War God — demonstrating the divine archery of a hundred-pace marksman.

This was not a trick of showmanship that could be learned in a day or two. The way he moved carried the unmistakable gravity of a seasoned general forged through countless battles among tens of thousands of troops. Even some of the military officers present could recognize in him certain unconscious habits of motion that were only ever formed through the killing ground of real warfare.

In an instant, every doubt — among those above on the tower and below in the crowds — was swept away by the precision of that riding and archery. Exclamations of astonishment rose from every direction, everyone murmuring in unison: “He truly has this kind of ability!”

The Princess Rui, standing on the gate tower beside her parents, watched the man on horseback with eyes that lit with a strange brilliance. She said softly, “Do you see? That is the man I have loved. He is one in ten thousand among men — how could any common person compare to him…”

Standing beside her, the Duke of Lu was nearly frantic with the urge to clap his hand over his daughter’s mouth — to say such things at an occasion like this, she must have truly lost her mind.

Yet as the Duke of Lu and his wife watched the dashing figure galloping on horseback, the regret within them continued to swell. If they had only known from the start that his dissipation was a disguise, why would they have ever intercepted that letter and obstructed their daughter’s match?

The Duke of Lu turned to look at his daughter again. She was in the full bloom of her youth, and though she had borne a son, her beauty remained undiminished. The only question was whether Han Linfeng still had any room in his heart for the second Fang daughter…

Not just Fang Jinshu — there were other well-born young women among the crowd, equally transfixed, unable to tear their eyes away. Luoyun, standing on the wall above, looking down at the agile figure on horseback, had once again been struck breathless by how remarkable her own husband was.

For a moment, Luoyun entirely forgot about her sugared sour plums. Without thinking, she rested her hand on her abdomen and thought, full of boundless pride: “Little one, can you see your father? He is the war god — undeniably and without question.”

The new Emperor Han Yi also watched his son with satisfaction and pride. Unlike those emperors who harbored unease at their sons’ abilities, he and this son of his had traveled through hardship together, supporting each other through cold stares and difficult days, and clawed their way through to the other side.

Even the Grand Emperor had envied him for raising a son of such transcendent talent — how could he, as a father, not be proud? This was a son he had personally instructed and carefully cultivated from childhood. So today, in addition to reviewing the troops and rewarding the army, he intended to announce, before his assembled ministers and all the people of the realm, another matter of great importance.

When the cheering and jubilation below the city walls had finally subsided, the new Emperor spoke once more: “The calamity of the recent upheaval arose because no heir had been established, causing unsettled hearts and disorder throughout the realm. Therefore, upon my accession, I shall establish a Crown Prince. I hereby name my eldest son, Han Linfeng of the Han clan, as the imperial heir and Crown Prince, in order to steady the hearts of the people and safeguard the realm, so that the common people need no longer suffer the scourges of war.”

When these words fell, the tens of thousands of soldiers below erupted once more in cheers, calling out long life to the Crown Prince — and that wave of sound drowned out the voices of the noble families behind the new Emperor, who had scrambled to speak in objection before the words were barely out of his mouth.

However, after the great ceremony was concluded, the ministers pressed forward one after another to advise the Emperor that, since His Majesty was in vigorous health, the time had not yet come to establish a Crown Prince. The Emperor had been drinking on the gate tower the day prior — could this announcement not be attributed to the words of an inebriated man and set aside accordingly?

The new Emperor now began to understand the frustration that the Grand Emperor must have felt, sitting in this position all those years. The men standing in the Hall of Supreme Ultimate were not ministers at all — every last one of them was a meddling father-figure who thought he had authority over everything.

Every matter had to be contested and opposed, and all of it backed with classical citations and argued with named precedents.

Their objection to naming Han Linfeng as Crown Prince, for instance, rested on the fact that his birth mother was of low origins — and of foreign blood at that. To name him Crown Prince, they argued, risked polluting the pure lineage of the imperial bloodline.

If a Crown Prince truly had to be named so soon, then a son born of the Emperor’s legitimate principal consort would naturally be far more appropriate.

And most importantly: the Emperor’s inner palace had previously been sparse, his line of descendants thin. Now that the daughters of all the great noble families would fill the inner palace, the Emperor would have many more children in time to come. What if a dragon son of even greater virtue and talent should be born? Would it not be awkward to have named a Crown Prince too hastily?

When all their arguments were stripped away, what they truly meant was simply this: a future Crown Prince with no blood ties to the noble families would be far too difficult to control.

Emperor Han Yi listened to the whole of it and then replied with measured calm: “Across the land of great Wei, people of every tribe exist, and mixed bloodlines have been the reality for a hundred years. If you gentlemen wish to be so particular about it, anyone among you whose ancestors had even a distant foreign relative among their kin would not be fit to stand in this court either. My eldest son bears the Han surname; he is my own flesh and blood. Furthermore, he was registered under his principal mother’s name from childhood — his status as legitimate son is unassailable. As for my future children, however excellent they may be, they will have an elder brother above them. The order of seniority is the fundamental principle of the realm. The way you gentlemen are objecting so strenuously makes me wonder — do you perhaps each have a favored younger son you are hoping to elevate above the legitimate heir to inherit your own noble titles?”

At this, every minister was immediately struck dumb.

Just as the Duke of Lu and the others refused to give up and were opening their mouths to press further, the new Emperor spoke again: “I am not like the Grand Emperor, who was raised from boyhood on classical learning and developed a gentle and accommodating character. I come from Liangzhou. I grew up from childhood in local military camps, knocking about with a bunch of rough soldiers, and my way of dealing with people and affairs has absorbed more than a little of the military camp’s approach. Even when my own son misbehaved as a child, it was a leather strap applied without mercy. I have always found military discipline admirable — in a military headquarters, one follows the general’s lead and there is no room for dissenting voices to upset the order. I have already announced the choice of Crown Prince before the Iron-Faced Army, the people of the capital, and all of you, the assembled ministers. And yet you gentlemen still wish me to retract my decree? Fortunately, this is the court and not a military camp — otherwise, by Liangzhou military code, anyone who pressured their superior into reversing his words would be punished without question: a hundred lashes of the leather strap, then dragged to the wilderness to feed the wolves.”

As he spoke these words, the new Emperor Han Yi retained the same mild and earnest expression he had always worn — and yet delivered the most unsparing of words in the most indifferent of tones.

The ministers in court were old hands at bargaining with emperors. In the past, even when the Grand Emperor had been driven to furious anger by their pressuring, he had to restrain his temper out of regard for the immense power and influence of the great noble families. At most, he would dock their salaries or sentence them to kneel as punishment.

But this new Emperor from Liangzhou was something else altogether. He showed no sign of anger or agitation — he simply said, cheerfully and calmly, that ministers who defied him would be fed to the wolves.

This… was this not the conduct of a tyrannical and benighted ruler?

The new Emperor, having finished delivering his rather alarming words, stood up and said, “If there are no other matters, all of you may go home at an early hour as well. Your households have sent so many flower-like beauties into the palace — it is only right that I be given some time to appreciate them.”

With that, Han Yi waved his hand and strolled out of the hall ahead of his ministers without ceremony.

When he turned out of the front hall and was walking through the rear garden, he found his son Han Linfeng waiting at the side of the path, as though he had been watching for him.

And so father and son, as they used to do in Liangzhou, walked together through the garden and talked over what had happened in the front hall.

Han Linfeng was aware that the noble families had opposed his being named Crown Prince. But he did not even ask his father about it. He simply mentioned that he had already dispatched men to escort their family from Liangzhou — his mother, and his younger brother and sisters. According to reports from the relay stations along the route, they were traveling by water and should arrive in the capital before long.

Han Yi nodded, then suddenly turned and waved away the eunuchs and palace maids trailing behind them. He turned back and sat with his son in the garden pavilion, saying with quiet reflection, “In the past, I often thought that if I could recover our ancestors’ legacy, it would surely be a deeply satisfying thing. But now that I truly sit in this position, the golden dragon throne is surrounded on all sides by bottomless precipices. Do you understand this feeling?”

Han Linfeng nodded and said in a low voice, “What weighs on Your Imperial Father is nothing other than personnel and the treasury. The old ministers the Grand Emperor left behind, presuming on the depth of their roots, harbor ambitions of isolating Your Imperial Father and taking the government into their own hands. And the treasury, after years of continuous warfare, is nearly depleted. At present, refugees fill the roads and the dead of famine lie everywhere — you urgently need a sum of money to stabilize the realm.”

Han Yi looked at his son with approval. “If I did not know your capabilities, even when the Grand Emperor offered the throne to me I would not have dared to accept it. Without someone to carry things forward, the ancestral legacy would have crumbled all the same.”

Han Linfeng gave a slight smile, then said with some earnestness, “Were it not for my father, and for the ancestral legacy, I would have had no wish to come to the capital either. I would have been quite content to live quiet days with my wife and children.”

Han Yi reached out and clapped his son on the shoulder. “Your wife has only just become pregnant — and you are already pining for the domestic life? Word has it that the Tiefu king in the north, hearing of the upheaval at our court, is stirring again and plotting to retake the lost territories. You, as Crown Prince, are renowned precisely for your command of the military — the northern frontier must be kept stable. But in the near term, your own inner court also seems to be catching fire. The Duke of Lu has been dropping hints left and right about placing people in your Eastern Palace. Are you willing to receive them?”

Han Linfeng pressed his hands together in a formal gesture and replied, “Those most capable carry the heaviest burdens — I ask that Your Imperial Father shoulder this one on my behalf and accept them all into your own inner palace first. Luoyun has only just become pregnant, and it is genuinely unsuitable to bring new people into my palace at this time. With too many eyes and hands about, I fear that someone with ill intentions might tamper with things — something as sordid as what Empress Wang did, harming the children and grandchildren of the imperial line.”

Han Yi felt his son’s reasoning was sound, though the delivery left something to be desired, and he let out a cold snort. “Your wife is sharp enough to outwit anyone. Would she truly be harmed?”

Han Linfeng said helplessly, “Her morning sickness has been severe. On the day of Your Imperial Father’s enthronement and military review, she came down from the gate tower and was immediately overcome with such violent vomiting that she nearly lost consciousness. It is said that in the early months of pregnancy one ought not to make the news widely known — she has not yet announced that she is with child. And yet ladies from every household have been taking turns calling on her, which is exhausting in itself.”

Hearing that his daughter-in-law was worn down by the endless social obligations, Han Yi showed no particular concern. He simply said, “Don’t worry. Your mother is coming. Hosting banquets and taking tea with ladies is exactly what she enjoys most — by the time she arrives, your future Crown Princess will probably find that when she wants to gather a group for a round of Flower Cards, she can’t get anyone to join her.”

Han Linfeng knew well his mother’s talent for organizing social gatherings. Now that she could finally have her heart’s desire and enter the capital in full glory, she would likely be in high spirits for days, holding grand banquets one after another to celebrate.

Thinking of Luoyun’s current condition — forcing herself to keep up with all this social activity despite her state, for the sake of the greater picture — Han Linfeng had never longed so urgently for his mother’s swift arrival as he did now.

As for Luoyun, it was not for the sake of cutting a fine figure before others that she was forcing herself to receive these noblewomen. The true reason was simply this: there were rather too many of the great ladies who had previously given her offense.

Some of the discourtesies she herself had long since forgotten — but the parties who had committed them remembered with perfect clarity.

Had they simply not come, that would have been that.

But after the Duchess of Jun — driven by the Duke of Jun — arrived at the Palace of Guanju with her hair in disarray, dressed in rough sackcloth, eyes red from weeping, and a bundle of brambles on her back, prostrating herself to beg forgiveness for her offenses, the number of people who seemed to be following her example had begun to multiply.

If this was not brought to a halt promptly, the entrance to the Palace of Guanju would soon be crowded with sobbing senior noblewomen, all of them cutting their flesh and offering it up in penitence.

To save the new Emperor from being tainted with the name of someone who dealt harshly with the wives and dependents of former court officials, Luoyun had no choice but to pretend to a convenient case of forgetfulness, greeting every caller with a smile regardless of their history.

It also served to settle the hearts of the old ministers and smooth the transition as the new Emperor took the reins of power.

Performing cheerfulness for the public in this manner had left Luoyun genuinely exhausted. She too was ardently hoping that her mother-in-law, the rightful Empress, would arrive soon, so that those ladies might have another person to flatter and pay court to.

In the midst of this eager anticipation, the boat carrying the Empress finally reached the capital.

Yet the scene was quite unlike what Luoyun had imagined — her mother-in-law radiant and triumphant, savoring the realization of long-held dreams. The former Wang Consort, who had not yet been formally invested as Empress, was carried off the boat on a stretcher.

This gave both Han Linfeng and Su Luoyun, who had come to receive her, quite a shock.

Until the woman on the stretcher, the née Zong, gripped Han Linfeng’s hand through her tears and asked urgently: “Have you and your father committed some great crime? Are they luring us here so they can execute the whole family together?”

Only then did Su Luoyun understand with sudden clarity: her mother-in-law, all the way up in the northern territories, had simply not believed that her husband and her son had actually become Emperor. She had assumed that some newly powerful rebel lord had tricked them into coming to the capital to be silenced and killed — and had been frightened literally ill with that conviction.

Afterward, from Han Yao’s own lips, Luoyun heard the story in far more vivid detail.

“My little brother is an absolute menace — give him a fright and no one’s held responsible. Just because he had read a few more history books than most, he convinced himself entirely that it was a trap. First he urged Mother and me not to board the boat. In the end, even when every local official in Huicheng came to persuade Mother that she must not delay the journey and keep the Emperor waiting, she still refused to board. With no other option, and terrified of failing in their duty, several of the escorting soldiers had to cover their faces so Mother wouldn’t be able to hold a grudge against them, and they simply hoisted both Mother and Han Xiao bodily onto the boat. Once they were on board, Han Xiao’s mouth never stopped. He sat there with a funeral face, methodically reciting every method of torture used on condemned traitors, until he had frightened Mother so thoroughly that she had nearly lost her soul entirely.”

Su Luoyun could well imagine her young brother-in-law’s talent for embellishment, and could easily picture what her mother-in-law’s state of mind must have been throughout the journey — much like being escorted to the underworld to report to the King of Hell.

That she had not been frightened to death by her own son along the way was worth calling a supreme stroke of fortune.

Had she truly died of fright halfway to the capital, how would history ever record the story of this ill-fated Empress? And what words could possibly be found to describe the cause of her death?

Luoyun could not help herself — she had barely heard the first half of her sister-in-law’s account before she was doubled over with laughter, nearly convulsing with it.

Han Yao had been driven to absolute distraction by that mother and son pair on the journey, unable to reason with either of them no matter what she said. But now, watching her sister-in-law laugh with such wholehearted abandon, she found herself belatedly realizing that the whole thing was actually rather amusing, and she too began to laugh along.

“I was feeling a little unwell this morning and got up rather late — I haven’t gone to pay my respects to Mother yet. How is she?” Since the Emperor had not yet formally invested her as Empress, Luoyun had not yet changed the way she addressed her mother-in-law.

Han Yao had just come from the Palace of Jiankang, where née Zong resided, and had surely paid her respects there already — Luoyun might as well ask her how things stood.

Han Yao handed her sister-in-law a cup of sour jujube broth, then said, “How else would she be? Once Mother saw Father wearing the imperial dragon robes and finally understood that all of this was real, she was stunned completely speechless. Even this morning she was still asking me — had she been ill? Because everything felt hazy and unreal to her, as though she kept dreaming that she had become an Empress.”