Cheng Chang sat up abruptly, as though he had just returned from the underworld, gasping for breath in great gulps.

He undid his robe and looked down at his chest.

It was smooth and unmarked. No wound at all.

What… was going on?

Cheng Chang sat there in a daze, and for a moment he could hear almost nothing at all. Slowly his heartbeat settled, and only then did he hear someone calling to him.

“Young Prince—”

“Chang’er? Chang’er!”

Cheng Chang turned his face toward the voice. Prince Cong’s consort was sitting by the edge of the bed, traces of tears still at the corners of her eyes—she had clearly been crying not long ago. Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu stood behind her, watching him with anxious faces.

So he was still in Da Sui?

Cheng Chang felt a moment of blankness.

He’d thought that old monk just now had already summoned his soul back—so it turned out the man was some half-trained hack who couldn’t even do that properly?

Seeing that Cheng Chang had finally responded, the consort quickly made room at the bedside and sent for the imperial physician to check his pulse.

After the examination, the physician rose and cupped his hands in salute, addressing the consort: “Your Highness need not worry. The Third Young Master’s body is sound. His earlier unconsciousness was likely due to overexertion. With careful nourishment and rest, there should be no lasting harm.”

The consort nodded and asked Cheng Chang, “Chang’er, how do you feel?”

“Mother, don’t worry,” Cheng Chang said. “I’m fine now.”

Sun Haiping brought water for him to wash his face and fetched breakfast. Cheng Chang ate together with the consort, and afterward stayed to talk with her for a while.

The consort had gone a full day and night without rest, keeping watch over Cheng Chang, and was truly exhausted now. Seeing that he was well, she let the servants lead her off to rest.

Cheng Chang sat in silence for a while, still unable to fully return his thoughts from that upheaval across time and space.

The soul-summoning hadn’t worked—so then why had he been sensing the modern world so often?

Countless possible answers surfaced in his mind, but none of them could be confirmed; there was no evidence to support any of them.

Cheng Chang decided that idle speculation like this was getting him nowhere. He pulled his thoughts back and asked about something else instead: “How long have I been asleep?”

“Reporting to the Young Prince, you’ve been asleep almost three days.”

Almost three days?

Which meant—today was already the twelfth of February?

Cheng Chang remembered that the Marquis Zhongyong’s former subordinates had arrived in Jinling on the tenth of February, would rest for a day, then head to Xishan Camp on the night of the twelfth, and set out for Lingnan the following morning.

Less than a day remained before Yun Xi marched to war.

Before he’d fainted, the only thing left for the Marquis Zhongyong’s case was the final testimony from his former subordinates before it could be closed. Now that those subordinates had reached Jinling, their testimony should already have been submitted to the Ministry of Justice.

Once the Ministry of Justice compiled the case file, they could submit the memorial closing the case to Emperor Zhaoyuan’s desk today—but since this memorial implicated Prince Yun, the emperor might not be willing to deal with it right away. He could easily drag it out for several days.

Cheng Chang had been planning to get the Marquis Zhongyong’s case closed before Yun Xi departed for the front.

Thinking of this, he got to his feet and reached for the official robe hanging on the cabinet, intending to change.

Sun Haiping asked, “Young Prince, are you going to the Imperial City Bureau?” Thinking that Cheng Chang had only just woken and his body hadn’t recovered, and that going out to handle affairs now would only exhaust him further, he added, “Young Prince, let this humble one go to the Imperial City Bureau in your place.”

“The Imperial City Bureau?” Cheng Chang paused, startled.

“Weren’t you going to find Master Wei?” Sun Haiping looked at him, puzzled by his reaction. “Before you fainted, didn’t you tell Su Tai to go to the Imperial City Bureau to find Master Wei? But you never said what you wanted him to look into, so Su Tai never went.”

Cheng Chang’s hands slowed on the robe’s ties. With Sun Haiping’s reminder, it came back to him—right before he’d fainted, he’d been investigating the matter of Fang Fulan’s father, Fang Yuanshan, and had just learned that Fang Yuanshan’s meteoric rise years ago was very likely connected to the missing Fifth Prince.

He should go find Wei Jie—but Yun Xi was leaving for Xishan Camp tonight, and the Marquis Zhongyong’s case still wasn’t settled.

Cheng Chang said to Sun Haiping, “Have Su Tai go to the Imperial City Bureau later and pass a message to Wei Jie—tell him to start from Fang Yuanshan’s case and look into the bloodshed at Mingyin Temple all those years ago.”

With that, he told Zhang Dahu to ready the carriage, and hurried off toward the palace.

———*—

It was the Flower Festival that day. In Da Sui, the Flower Festival was observed with particular care. During the day, unmarried young ladies would cut paper flowers and make offerings to the flower deity; in the evening, they would go down to the riverbank to release lanterns and make wishes.

In years past, Yun Xi had either been on night duty at the bureau or out on patrol during the Flower Festival. Last year she’d taken an assignment at Zhang Huailu’s post, keeping watch over Cheng Chang at Jiangyun Pavilion, and had happened to witness him fall into the water. This year, with a rare stretch of free time, she was actually able to stay home and cut paper flowers with Mingcui, A’Ling, and A’Jiu.

The Marquis Zhongyong’s former subordinates had arrived in Jinling on the tenth. Yun Xi had specially led a thousand soldiers out of the city to receive them. The subordinates numbered just over four hundred—not a huge number on paper, but a dense mass in person—so rather than bringing them into the city, Yun Xi had taken them around the outskirts directly to Xishan Camp to settle in.

In truth, the Marquis Zhongyong’s former subordinates numbered far more than that. After Zhaoyuan’s betrayal, Pei Lan had been ordered to the Tage grassland, and most of the old troops had been reorganized by the court and placed under Pei Lan’s command. Those who, like A’Jiu, wished to serve only the Yun family had been kept together by A’Jiu’s father, Qin Zhong, and withdrawn to Jishan Fu on the northern frontier to await new orders from the court—a wait that had already lasted four years.

Yun Xi was to march out early the next morning, and by rights she should have gone to Xishan Camp early that day. But Cheng Chang had said before that he wanted to come see her off, and if she left too early, she was afraid she wouldn’t get the chance to see him.

Yun Xi truly wanted to say goodbye to Cheng Chang, but after waiting two full days with no word from him at all, her mind kept wandering even as she cut paper flowers, her gaze drifting again and again toward the courtyard gate. Distracted, the scissors slipped between her fingers and nearly cut her hand.

Seeing this, Mingcui asked, “Young Miss, are you waiting for someone?”

Before Yun Xi could answer, A’Jiu, sitting cross-legged nearby, spoke up. “What would she be waiting for—she’s just eager to get out there and fight!”

She hopped down from the tall wooden stool, came over to the table, and poked idly through the finished paper flowers, picking out a particularly vivid peony. “A flower fit for the wealthy and noble! This one’s good—give it to me. I’ll hang it at the top of a tree!”

Bai Ling said, “If Sister A’Jiu likes it, then of course, take it.”

Pleased, A’Jiu tucked the peony away and asked, “What else can you cut? How about cutting me two gold ingots?”

Mingcui pressed her lips together and smiled. “Little Sister A’Ling has clever hands—she can cut anything well. Sister A’Jiu could have her cut you a whole array of a hundred flowers.”

“Anything at all?” A’Jiu seemed skeptical. She rummaged through the pile of colored paper on the table and pulled out a sheet of red paper. “Actually, I’m not so fond of flowers and grass and the like. How about this—cut me a general, holding a long spear, looking mighty and imposing.”

Bai Ling nodded, took the red paper, thought it over carefully, and set the scissors to work.

In a moment, a human figure gradually took shape on the red paper. Mingcui, watching beside her, suddenly exclaimed in surprise, “Young Miss, Sister A’Jiu, come look—isn’t this Young Master Yun Luo!”

Yun Xi looked over. The figure on the red paper wore armor, its brows sharp and fierce—it really did bear an eight or nine-tenths resemblance to Yun Luo.

“Let me see!” A’Jiu snatched the figure with one hand, examined it closely, then slapped Bai Ling on the shoulder in delighted surprise. “It really does look like him!”

She was utterly taken with the little paper figure, turning it over to look at it again and again. She meant to tuck it into her waist pouch, but worried it would crease and lose its shape, so instead she rummaged through Yun Xi’s cabinet, found a small square wooden box, and placed Yun Luo’s likeness inside. Then she turned to Bai Ling, eager. “Can you cut me a few more people?”

Bai Ling asked, “Who else would Sister A’Jiu like a likeness of?”

“Cut A’Ting, and cut Old Zhong too.” As A’Jiu said this, she remembered that on the day her father had brought the Marquis Zhongyong’s former subordinates back to Jinling, only Yun Xi and Fang Fulan had gone to greet them—Bai Ling hadn’t been there. “Never mind, you’ve never seen Old Zhong. Cut one of me instead—make my figure bigger than A’Ting’s and Yun Luo’s, more imposing!”

Bai Ling nodded, carefully selected two more sheets of red paper from the table, and picked up her scissors again.

Watching Bai Ling cut so skillfully, A’Jiu grew curious herself and picked up a random sheet of paper, trying to copy Yun Luo’s figure by comparing it to the finished one.

Her hands were clumsy, though, and after cutting for a good while she still hadn’t produced anything recognizable. She gave up at once, glanced over to see that Yun Xi’s cutting looked just as lopsided and crooked, and pulled her out of the room. “A’Ting, let’s go down to the Qinhuai River. I want to release lanterns—it’s the Flower Festival today, we can do that.”

Yun Xi said, “Didn’t we bring back a few lanterns already, on the Lantern Festival?”

“Those are long gone!” A’Jiu said. “You mean the prayer lantern that little prince from Prince Cong’s household gave you? While you were off at Mingyin Temple those two days, your sister-in-law released it with me, Mingcui, and A’Ling. We each wrote a wish on our lanterns too. You know what, that lantern really was effective—your sister-in-law wrote ‘may the wrong be righted’ on hers, and look, the Marquis really was cleared!”

She hooked her arm through Yun Xi’s and pushed her toward the gate. “Come on, let’s go. If we don’t leave now, it’ll be dark soon, and we’ll have to head to Xishan Camp.”

Hearing this, Yun Xi’s heart sank. She stopped in her tracks and said to A’Jiu, “A’Jiu, I have something to take care of—I can’t go to the Qinhuai River with you.”

“What thing? Why haven’t I heard you mention it before?”

Yun Xi didn’t want to hide it from her, but wasn’t sure how to explain, so after some thought she simply said, “I made plans with someone beforehand. I need to… go say goodbye to him first.”

With that, afraid A’Jiu would press further, she hurried out through the gate, untied her horse from the post, swung herself up, and waved back at A’Jiu. “I’ll come back as soon as I can!”

It was nearly the hour of shen, dusk not yet fallen. At this hour, the people of Jinling were either busy at home preparing the evening meal, or already down at the Qinhuai for the Flower Festival, so the streets were fairly empty. As Yun Xi rode toward Prince Cong’s residence, she thought to herself that she would just see him once, tell him she was leaving, and ask him to take care of himself—that would be enough.

Besides, the whole of Jinling already knew they were close. What difference did it make if she stopped by the gate of his residence without even going inside?

As she rode past a narrow lane, a carriage came toward her from the opposite direction. At first Yun Xi paid it no mind, but as they passed each other, something suddenly struck her as odd—the carriage looked familiar, and the driver… looked even more familiar.

She reined in her horse abruptly, turned it around, and looked back at the carriage.

The carriage had turned around too.

The driver was Zhang Dahu. A moment later, someone stepped down from the carriage—dressed in moon-white everyday robes, his brows and eyes like ink washed across paper, holding a bright yellow imperial edict in his hand—and walked leisurely toward her.

As he drew closer, Cheng Chang unrolled the edict. “Lady Yun of the Marquis Zhongyong’s household, receive the edict.”

Yun Xi startled for a moment, then quickly dismounted and knelt on one knee. “This subject is present.”

“By the mandate we hold, it has now been established that in the northern campaign years ago, when Marquis Zhongyong Yun Shuguang pursued the enemy beyond the border, it was due to a shortage of provisions, and there was no fault of overreaching for merit on his part. Let the Ministry of Rites post public notice, proclaim his innocence to all under heaven, and bestow upon him a golden seal and purple sash in recognition of his service—”

Yun Xi, hearing Cheng Chang begin to read the edict, hadn’t quite registered what was happening at first.

Though Emperor Zhaoyuan had ordered the Three Judicial Offices to investigate and clear the Marquis Zhongyong’s wrongful case, the matter implicated Prince Yun, and the process of the investigation was bound to be fraught with difficulty. Even once the case could be closed, she’d expected the emperor to drag his feet for another ten days or half a month. She hadn’t imagined that Cheng Chang would manage to settle it before she even marched out.

Cheng Chang rolled up the edict and said gently, “His Majesty has already ordered the Ministry of Rites to draft the public notice—it should be posted tonight. As for your brother inheriting the title, that will probably have to wait until you return from Lingnan.”

Seeing that she was still kneeling, he reminded her, “Aren’t you going to accept the edict?”

“Yes.” Yun Xi quickly reached out her hands. “This subject thanks His Majesty for his great mercy.”

For years, she’d had no day where she could hope her father’s name might be cleared. Hearing this news today, it was as if a great stone that had hung over her heart had finally settled to the ground. She was overjoyed.

Taking the edict, she rose to her feet and couldn’t help but ask, “Why is it the Third Young Master who’s delivered this edict?”

Cheng Chang said, “The Ministry of Justice’s memorial closing the case had already reached the imperial desk. I went to the palace to see His Majesty and told him you were marching out tomorrow. He wrote up the edict and had me bring it over first.”

Cheng Chang knew perfectly well that Emperor Zhaoyuan had no intention of approving the Ministry of Justice’s memorial so soon.

If anyone else had pressed him, he might not have agreed—but as luck would have it, the one pressing him today was his own nephew, whom his own son had tried to have killed several times over. Wanting to keep up appearances, the emperor had had no choice but to draft the edict.

Yun Xi knew that although Cheng Chang made it sound simple, the effort and exhaustion behind it couldn’t be summed up in a few words.

She couldn’t help but say, “Third Young Master, you worked day and night for my father’s case. I truly don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Cheng Chang said. “You’re marching out tomorrow morning. Getting this settled early means you can go with an easier mind.”

He knew the old emperor didn’t like the idea of him and Yun Xi together. But so what? The old emperor’s displeasure was the old emperor’s own business—he knew who he liked, and that was enough.

Yun Xi said, astonished, “Did the Third Young Master go specifically to request this edict from His Majesty before I marched out?”

“Didn’t I already tell you?” Cheng Chang said lightly. “I’m courting you.”

There was a very tender smile in his eyes, cool and clear—fainter, somehow, than even this early spring breeze, and yet it struck at her heart in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Yun Xi couldn’t help but smile too.

She pressed her lips together and lowered her eyes, unsure for a moment what to say back to him.

She thought to herself that really, he didn’t need to court her at all.

Cheng Chang glanced at the sky and said, “I calculated the time—if you leave for the camp at the second watch, we still have two hours. Shall we spend the Flower Festival together?”

Last year’s Flower Festival was when he’d first arrived here. Counting today, he’d known her exactly a year now.

Yun Xi nodded, glanced down at the edict in her hand, and said to Cheng Chang, “Third Young Master, wait here a moment. Let me take the edict back to the house, and I’ll come right back.”

With that, afraid of wasting even a moment, she swung back up onto her horse and rode off at once.

Zhang Dahu, who had been listening in a daze off to the side, finally grasped one clear point and came forward to ask, “Young Prince, are we spending the Flower Festival with General Yun?”

Cheng Chang glanced at him and said nothing.

Zhang Dahu, excited, went on, “Wonderful! Last time I saw General Yun liked releasing lanterns, I was even planning to buy a few before she marched out and give them to—”

“No need to give her anything.” Before he could finish, Cheng Chang cut him off.

He pointed at Zhang Dahu and instructed the two guards beside the carriage, “Hurry up and haul him back to the residence.”