In the fishing village deep in autumn, the chill seemed to seep up out of the very sea spray. Wave after wave washed against the shore, rising and receding, and with each cycle the air grew colder still. Prefect Liu, having not slept a wink all night, rubbed his hands together and ordered the third young master’s carriage prepared, personally lining it with felt and setting a warming brazier inside. Only once the autumn sun had shown its face above the clouds did he send someone to wake Cheng Chang.

Cheng Chang had by now realized why Prefect Liu was so anxious to rush him back to the capital. The start of winter was drawing near, and the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday fell just after it—if he could make it back to the capital in time to celebrate his great-grandmother’s birthday, it would count as quite a feather in Prefect Liu’s cap as well.

The journey back to the capital from the fishing village would take at least half a month. Though Prefect Liu was eager to set out, he didn’t dare push the pace too hard along the way. The third young master had only just been found, and while his health seemed fine, he had, after all, just survived a brush with death—and with the weather growing colder by the day, they’d surely find themselves in the depths of winter partway through the journey. Such conditions could ill afford to exhaust him further. Even on the rare occasion they pushed on an extra half hour or so toward dusk, Prefect Liu would anxiously study the third young master’s expression for any sign of displeasure.

Fortunately, this bodhisattva of a young prince never gave him any trouble—aside from being somewhat sparing with words, he was otherwise easygoing, setting out and stopping whenever asked, quite unlike the troublesome young prince of rumor.

With men from the Palace Command accompanying them along the way, the duty of personally guarding Cheng Chang fell to the Imperial Guards. Yun Xi rode alongside, with Ke Yong and Tian Si trailing behind the soldiers. She had set out in a state of frantic worry, but now that she’d finally found Cheng Chang, a great weight had lifted from her heart, and on the journey back, her spirits had eased considerably.

And yet, watching the carriage rumbling along ahead of her, Yun Xi couldn’t help but notice that Cheng Chang had, for some reason, barely spoken to her these past few days. She knew he’d been harmed by the “Noble One” and had wanted to ask him exactly what had happened, how he’d gone missing. She’d even thought that once back in the capital, before any official duties were assigned to her, she might help him track down the Noble One’s whereabouts. But since he hadn’t brought it up at all, she found it difficult to press the matter herself.

Yun Xi remembered the last time she’d seen Cheng Chang before his disappearance, at Manjusri Temple, when he’d told her she needn’t trouble herself with his case any longer.

He’d said the case truly had nothing to do with her, and that now that she’d been made a captain and no longer served at the Capital Prefecture, investigating cases wasn’t her duty—there was no need to push herself so hard.

Thinking of this, Yun Xi felt a certain dejection settle over her.

She and the third young master had originally been two people with nothing whatsoever to do with each other, brought closer only by this case. And now, with one casual remark, he’d pushed her back to arm’s length, transforming once more into that figure up among the clouds, wrapped in mist, moving among moon and stars—visible, yet forever out of reach.

Their party, soldiers and Imperial Guards combined, numbered nearly a hundred, traveling along the official road, resting at post stations along the way each day, taking a midday meal before pressing on in the afternoon to reach the next station by nightfall.

That noon, having eaten a simple ration of dry provisions, Yun Xi was leading her horse to a mountainside stream to drink when she heard someone call from behind her, “Captain Yun.”

Yun Xi turned to find the maid who usually attended Yu’er.

“Captain Yun, my young mistress isn’t feeling well. Could you come take a look at her?”

Among their party, aside from Yu’er and her two maids, Yun Xi was the only other woman. Seeing the worried look on the maid’s face, Yun Xi scooped up some water from the stream to wash her hands, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

Yu’er was resting in a small side room of the post station, her face deathly pale, both hands clutching her abdomen as she curled up on a small bamboo bed, looking as though she hadn’t a shred of strength left in her body. Seeing Yun Xi arrive, she called out with effort, “Captain Yun.” After a brief pause, she added, “Captain Yun, my monthly courses have come, and the pain is terrible…”

Yun Xi was startled for a moment before understanding what was happening.

Having practiced martial arts since childhood and being strong and healthy, she herself had never once suffered pain during her monthly courses, but she’d heard that some women of weaker constitution often suffered unbearable cramping whenever their courses arrived.

Yun Xi knew nothing of medicine and had no idea how such menstrual cramps ought to be treated. She stepped closer first to check, and seeing no stains on Yu’er’s skirt and jacket, felt a little relieved, then poured her a cup of hot water and asked, “How are you feeling? Can you still travel?”

Yu’er bit her lip and, with great difficulty, shook her head. The maid beside her said, “Captain Yun, you may not know this, but ever since my young mistress’s courses began, she’s always suffered terrible cramping whenever they come, and each time it lasts at least two or three days—sometimes as long as five. Right now she’s in terrible pain; never mind traveling, it’s hard to say whether she can even sit up.”

Yun Xi frowned slightly and walked to the window to look out. The soldiers were already lining up to depart. Cheng Chang, having finished his midday meal, was being led by Prefect Liu toward the carriage.

Yun Xi asked, “Doesn’t the prefect have a physician traveling with him? Has he examined her?”

Yu’er, still in too much pain to speak, let her maid answer instead. “Captain Yun probably hasn’t suffered from menstrual pain herself. This kind of cramping isn’t really an illness—it just has to be endured until it passes, so medicine can only ease it a little at best. And I know the remedy by heart myself—my young mistress already sent me to ask Physician Yu earlier, but he didn’t have enough of the right ingredients on hand.”

Yu’er looked at Yun Xi and said with effort, “This morning I already had a feeling something was wrong, and I mentioned it to my father. But father said the third young master was rushing back to the capital for the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday, and we absolutely couldn’t afford any delay. And, well, being a man, he doesn’t really understand these things women go through. No matter what I said, he just told me to bear with it, and said the third young master was of such exalted rank that it wasn’t right for us to inconvenience him. Maybe it’s because I was so anxious about it, but this time my courses came even more painfully than usual…”

With that, she looked at Yun Xi with a pitiful expression. “Captain Yun, what should I do? If I can’t keep up with the third young master’s carriage, will I be left behind alone out here on the road?”

Though they were at a post station along the official road, it was the start of winter now, the land frozen and desolate, hardly a soul to be found along the way. A delicately raised young lady, rarely venturing far from home, being left behind out here in the mountains would understandably fill her with panic.

Yun Xi explained, “The Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday falls right after the Winter Solstice. With the cold weather along this road, and travel by night ill-advised, the schedule is already very tight. The third young master truly cannot afford any delay.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “Here’s what we’ll do—I’ll stay behind with you at the post station, and once your pain has passed in a day or two, I’ll ride with you to catch up.”

Hearing this, Yu’er’s eyes brightened slightly, and she said gratefully, “That would be wonderful. Truly, thank you so much, Captain Yun.”

Yun Xi nodded and was about to step out to report this, when unexpectedly, Yu’er called out again, “Captain Yun.”

She hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Captain Yun, when you go report this, could you not tell the third young master that it’s because I’m sick that you’re staying behind?”

She stammered, “Because I, because I’ve already offended the third young master once before. This time, with my illness delaying the journey again, I’m afraid he’ll be displeased, and might take it out on my father later.”

Yun Xi was taken aback. She’d meant to say the third young master wasn’t the sort of person to do that, but the words caught in her throat before she could speak them—she felt there was little point explaining away the world’s excessive prejudices to someone so convinced of them, and simply nodded. “All right. If anyone asks, I’ll find some other excuse to explain it away.”

Yun Xi left the post station to find Cheng Chang already being led up into the carriage by Prefect Liu. She hurried over, but as she drew close, her steps suddenly faltered—she found herself, for some reason, recalling how distant Cheng Chang had been toward her these past few days.

Standing not far from the carriage, she hesitated for a moment, then, instead of reporting to Cheng Chang directly, went to explain the situation to the accompanying Imperial Guard commander. She then called Tian Si and Ke Yong over, told them about Yu’er’s situation, and instructed them, “If anyone asks where I’ve gone, tell them I’m feeling unwell and need to rest at the post station for a couple of days—I’ll catch up on my own after that.”

She reasoned that since she’d been trailing along behind the third young master’s carriage anyway, at some distance, and since he’d barely spoken to her these past few days regardless, a two-day absence would likely go unnoticed.

Tian Si said, “C-Captain Yun, let, let us stay behind with you.”

Ke Yong added, “That’s right. Even though this is the official road, you won’t see a soul for half a day out here. If you’re alone protecting three women without a shred of strength between them, what if something dangerous happens?”

Yun Xi smiled. “It’s fine, I can manage on my own.” She glanced at Cheng Chang’s carriage and instructed, “You two look after the third young master well these next two days. I don’t know any of the others well, and even with the Palace Command’s men around, I can’t feel entirely at ease.”

He was someone she’d finally, after such difficulty, found again—she absolutely had to see to his safety above all else.

With that, without further argument, she waved Tian Si and Ke Yong off and headed back toward the post station on her own.

Noon had already passed, and the carriages and horses rumbled off once more. Cheng Chang sat in silence in the carriage, and after a while, unable to help himself, lifted the curtain to look back.

Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu were riding right behind the carriage, and seeing Cheng Chang lift the curtain, they both looked back at him with the utmost deference.

Cheng Chang said nothing, watched for a moment, then let the curtain fall.

Sun Haiping stayed quiet, but Zhang Dahu, scratching his head, also looked back along the procession, seeing nothing unusual.

Before long, Cheng Chang lifted the curtain again and looked back.

Sun Haiping still said nothing, but Zhang Dahu, utterly bewildered, followed Cheng Chang’s gaze once more and asked, “Young Prince, did you drop something?”

Cheng Chang, holding the curtain up with one hand, asked after a long moment, “Captain Yun—has something delayed her?”

Zhang Dahu let out a startled “Huh?” and looked back again, only then noticing that Yun Xi, who had always trailed at the very end of the procession, hadn’t caught up at all.

Zhang Dahu said, “I don’t know, Young Prince. I’ll go ask Commander Zhang.” With that, he spurred his horse forward to the front of the line. Sun Haiping, meanwhile, cautiously studied Cheng Chang’s expression and asked carefully, “Young Prince, since Captain Yun hasn’t caught up, should we halt the procession and wait a while for her?”

Cheng Chang glanced out at the empty wilderness and the mountains beyond, and nodded. “Yes.”

In truth, he’d noticed the moment Yun Xi had been called away by Yu’er’s maid to the post station. Later, once he’d boarded the carriage, he’d assumed she would catch up as usual—but instead, after leaving the station, she’d paused for a moment not far from his carriage, then turned and went to find the Imperial Guard commander instead. Now, having traveled this far already, it seemed she was still back at the post station.

It wasn’t that Cheng Chang was unwilling to ask Yun Xi directly what exactly had delayed her. But these past few days, Sun Haiping had spilled out, one after another, every reckless thing the old him had ever done—and more often than not, Yun Xi had been right there to witness it firsthand. Even though those past follies hadn’t truly been committed by the person he was now, everyone has some sense of shame, and this reversal of time and space had added a fresh, uncomfortable layer of color to that old young prince’s reputation, leaving him strangely hesitant now.

The third young master had been remarkably easygoing throughout this entire journey, never voicing an opinion on how the schedule was arranged. Now, with him suddenly calling to halt the procession, the Imperial Guard commander at the front and Prefect Liu trailing behind were both badly startled, and everyone gathered around the carriage at once to receive instructions.

Seeing that the procession had already stopped, Cheng Chang didn’t hesitate further and asked directly, “What’s delayed Captain Yun? Why hasn’t she caught up?”

Commander Zhang said, “Reporting to the third young master, she said she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to rest a couple of days at the post station. She said she’d catch up once she’d recovered.”

Cheng Chang was struck still upon hearing this.

Yun Xi was an exceptionally resilient person, always putting duty above all else—she’d stayed silent through injuries on more than one occasion. For her to remain behind at a post station now over some bodily discomfort, whatever this “discomfort” was, it must be something quite serious indeed.

Thinking this, Cheng Chang’s brow furrowed slightly. He gazed out at the near-deserted mountain wilderness, uncertain whether she could manage alone out there.

Seeing his young prince’s expression, Sun Haiping asked, half in understanding, half in alarm, “Young Prince, should we turn back to the post station to check on her?”

Cheng Chang said nothing, glanced at Sun Haiping who’d asked the question, and after a long moment, let the carriage curtain fall.

The entire party was left divided by that single curtain into two separate worlds, all utterly at a loss for what to do—until, from within the carriage, Cheng Chang gave a flat, quiet order: “Turn back.”