Chapter 19: The Longest Day

Light snow descended in the afternoon hours, each flake pattering with delicate persistence against the roof tiles. The snowfall thickened gradually, transforming from sparse crystals into substantial flakes, yet Xichangjing's temperate climate refused them purchase. They fell without accumulation in the courtyard, melting instantly upon meeting the ground and leaving the bluestone slabs glistening with moisture.

Within the study, a charcoal fire burned with quiet warmth, creating a sanctuary against the cold. This day marked the final court session before the Longevity Festival—after today's deliberations, officials of every rank would enjoy respite. The Longevity Festival traditionally granted seven days of rest: three before the sacred day and four after. On the festival itself, the Emperor would perform the ritual sacrifices to Heaven at the Circular Mound Altar in the southern suburbs, then host a magnificent banquet for his officials. Those same officials would enter the palace to offer their congratulations and attend the feast, their supposed day of rest consumed by ceremony and obligation.

Four days remained before the Longevity Festival, at the threshold of the three-day holiday. After the morning's court proceedings, Gu Xi returned to his residence study, exchanged his formal robes for a lined cotton garment, and leisurely prepared his tea service before summoning his daughter, Wan Niang.

Observing the falling snow, Gu Wan Niang donned a light fur cloak and made her way to the study with graceful, measured steps, Qiu Cui supporting her arm. Upon discovering her father personally tending the charcoal brazier, she swiftly took the tongs from his hands and carefully arranged the silver charcoal pieces within the small clay stove.

After a moment of contemplation, Gu Xi spoke. "In today's court session, the Prince of Qin expressed certain... resentful sentiments."

The tale he unfolded began with the recapture of Xichangjing. The Prince of Qin had led a vast army to escort the Emperor's triumphant return to the capital, all officials following in procession. The civil and military ranks received rewards commensurate with their achievements. Gu Xi himself was elevated to Grand Secretary by imperial decree—a position equivalent to Prime Minister in all but name. Pei Xianze ascended three full ranks, achieving what no subject had since Emperor Taizong: appointment as a first-rank military officer, granted the titles of Grand Commandant and Minister of War, while concurrently serving as Military Governor of Zhenxi. Never before had a Military Governor held the Ministry of War simultaneously—such positions were reserved for princes governing remotely. For a subject to receive this honor represented unprecedented imperial favor. Cui Yi also received the title of Grand Commandant, though this served primarily as an honorary distinction. The Emperor further bestowed upon him incalculable wealth in gold and silk. Cui Yi then led the Victorious Army eastward, returning to the secondary capital of Luoyang.

Only Prince Qin, Li Yi, relinquished his command of the Expeditionary Army. His military accomplishments were truly without parallel, yet he had already been enfeoffed as Prince Qin—the most prestigious title among all princes, leaving no greater reward to bestow. Therefore, with the empire now pacified, he surrendered his various military positions: Grand Commander of the Expeditionary Army, Grand Marshal of the Armed Forces, and Military Governor of Zhenxi.

Gu Xi, ever the capable minister, devised an alternative means of recognition. He proposed that the court honor the Prince of Qin's achievements through his lineage. The Ministry of Rites thus suggested that the Emperor's first wife, the late Princess Dong of Liang who had passed many years prior, should be posthumously elevated to Empress with the title Zhaocheng. This followed proper precedent, and the Emperor naturally assented. Furthermore, though the Emperor had ascended the throne, he had remained a widower for many years without remarrying—not by choice, but by circumstance. As Prince of Liang, he had been so insignificant among the late Emperor's sons that even his father had forgotten this son had remained without a wife since Princess Dong's death, never arranging a new marriage for him. There existed a reason for this deliberate neglect. The Prince of Liang had always favored Consort Pan, but her father, Pan Qian, had earned the late Emperor's profound displeasure. Knowing the late Emperor would never approve making Consort Pan his Princess, the Prince of Liang had vaguely delayed, ceasing to petition for another wife. This situation persisted until Sun Jing's rebellion, when the rebel forces ransacked the Prince of Liang's residence. They dragged the ailing Prince from his sickbed and casually cut down Consort Pan as she attended him, killing her where she stood. Her remains had vanished completely, lost somewhere in the chaos—perhaps thrown into some mass grave by the rebel army. The memory filled Li Fu with regret and anguish, a deep, unhealing wound.

The Ministry of Rites then proposed that since the Emperor remained without an Empress, one should be selected. This reasonable suggestion met with ready agreement from the court officials. The Emperor himself was quite amenable to the idea—he had long desired to marry a daughter from the prestigious Lu family of Fanyang. The Lu family possessed such a daughter who, at twenty-eight years, remained unmarried. Since age twelve, she had been betrothed multiple times, yet each fiancé had died under various tragic circumstances. Imperial Preceptor Wu had examined her face and declared her destiny truly exceptional—all previous betrothals had been unsuitable, which explained the untimely deaths. This woman was destined to marry the most noble of husbands, and after marriage, she would bring prosperity and longevity to him. For this reason, she had remained unwed until twenty-eight, awaiting a suitable match.

Li Fu heard from State Preceptor Wu that Lady Lu possessed immeasurable nobility in her fate, destined for a nobleman's marriage, and would bring great fortune to her husband. He thought her perfect—as Emperor, who existed more noble than himself?

This Empress selection satisfied the entire court. Even the civil officials recognized the Emperor's unprecedented wisdom in choosing Lady Lu of Fanyang to appease the powerful families. After all, the empire was newly established, the dynasty only recently restored, its foundations still unstable. With powerful military generals commanding vast forces and Cui Yi leading the Victorious Army occupying Luoyang, the nation faced threats both internal and external—a truly precarious situation. The urgent necessity was indeed to select an Empress who would help pacify and win over the aristocratic families.

With the Empress chosen, Xue Qian, the Vice Minister of Rites, submitted a memorial proposing to posthumously honor Lady Liu—the Prince of Qin's mother—as Empress.

This created an enormous predicament. Setting aside all other considerations, the Emperor was inherently muddle-headed and petty by nature. Posthumously honoring his first wife, Lady Dong, had been merely a matter of propriety and form. Privately, he secretly longed to also posthumously honor Lady Pan as Empress. He deeply missed the gentle, affectionate Lady Pan, and he favored her second son, Prince Qi, Li Lai, whom he desired to recognize as a legitimate heir. However, he could not openly express this wish, knowing the court officials would certainly object. Lady Pan's father, Pan Qian, had been dismissed for corruption and greatly disliked by the late Emperor, who had even called Pan Qian a "worm." Were he to posthumously honor Lady Pan as Empress, someone would inevitably resurrect these past grievances, attacking the already deceased Lady Pan, which would likely prove detrimental to Prince Qi, Li Lai, as well.

He was already deeply aggrieved by his inability to posthumously honor his beloved Lady Pan, especially when Prince Qi, Li Lai, entered the palace and inevitably reminisced about his birth mother. Once, the prince had even shed tears, saying, "If Mother knew Father is now the Emperor, how happy she would be!"

Li Fu truly cherished this son and deeply missed Lady Pan, who had been his companion for so many years. Therefore, he had secretly resolved to find an opportunity to posthumously honor Lady Pan as Empress, refusing to betray her deep affection for him. Before that opportunity could manifest, the Ministry of Rites proposed posthumously honoring Li Yi's birth mother, Lady Liu, as Empress.

Wouldn't this make Lady Pan's chances of receiving such honor even more remote?

Lady Liu? Who was Lady Liu? He had even forgotten what she looked like, remembering only that she came from an exceedingly lowly background—a mere servant purchased by Princess Dong. Besides, if it weren't for Lady Liu giving birth to a son like Li Yi... Thinking of Li Yi, he felt a surge of deep unease. This son was born on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month—an inauspicious month and an inauspicious child, said to bring misfortune to his parents. Sure enough, Li Yi's birth mother died shortly after his birth, and Li Fu had always feared this son would eventually bring about his own death as well.

He suspected Xue Qian was attempting to flatter Li Yi or acting upon Li Yi's orders. However, upon hearing the Vice Minister of Rites' suggestion, the court officials found the reasoning sound. The Prince of Qin had recovered lost territories, reversed the tide of war, and restored order to the nation. To leave such monumental achievement unrewarded would be profoundly unjust. Posthumously honoring his mother as Empress would cost the court nothing while providing meaningful recognition.

In essence, Lady Liu had given birth to a son like the Prince of Qin—a tremendous contribution to the nation, the court, and the entire realm. Should she not be posthumously honored as Empress?

Though Lady Liu had passed away many years ago, making the posthumous title merely nominal, this honor should suffice to comfort the King of Qin. Indeed, upon hearing that his birth mother would be posthumously honored as Empress, Li Yi, uncharacteristically, did not refuse but instead remained silent.

This indicated the King of Qin genuinely hoped his birth mother, Lady Liu, would receive this honorary title. The court officials became invigorated and began submitting their memorials. Some acted from genuine impartiality, believing it the proper course of action. A smaller faction, however, harbored selfish motives—because the King of Qin came from the military and was not particularly close to civil officials, they secretly hoped to curry favor with him through this opportunity. A very few possessed ulterior motives, wanting to use this situation to undermine the King of Qin.

Therefore, for the first time, nearly all court officials unanimously declared that the King of Qin's mother, Lady Liu, should be posthumously honored as Empress.

This enraged the Emperor, who believed the King of Qin was wielding his power to coerce him into posthumously honoring Lady Liu as Empress. During the court assembly, in Li Yi's presence, he denounced Liu's lowly birth and declared her unworthy of posthumous elevation to Empress.

When the courtiers first witnessed the Emperor's furious expression, they felt somewhat apprehensive. Upon hearing his reckless words, however, they all paled with shock. Initially, when the Emperor rebuked Li Yi for harboring wolfish ambitions, Li Yi merely knelt and listened as usual. But when the Emperor denounced the Liu family's lowly birth, Li Yi involuntarily raised his head. Seeing Li Yi look up at him on the throne with a gaze as sharp and cold as ice, the Emperor trembled—whether from surprise or fear, none could say. He then slammed his hand upon the imperial desk and cursed, "You rebellious son, why don't you utter a single word? Are you secretly criticizing me in your heart?"

The Emperor's indiscriminate scolding of his son embarrassed the assembled courtiers deeply. Li Yi, however, remained stubborn, continuing to kneel in silence regardless of how the Emperor berated him. Finally, Gu Xi could bear it no longer and stepped forward to speak on the Prince of Qin's behalf, advising, "Your Majesty, the Prince of Qin is both Your Majesty's son and Lady Liu's son. As a child, the only way to repay the kindness of one's parents is through filial devotion. His Highness's actions stem merely from filial affection for his birth mother. I hope Your Majesty will understand and show compassion."

Though Li Fu was muddle-headed, he recognized that while he could scold his son, since the Grand Secretary had intervened, he could not refuse to show some consideration. Therefore, he ceased his verbal assault on Li Yi.

Gu Xi seized this opportunity to further advise, "Your Majesty possesses a benevolent heart and cannot forget those you have known. This demonstrates Your Majesty's profound affection and righteousness. Why not posthumously confer the title of Empress upon both Lady Pan and Lady Liu? Wouldn't that achieve the best outcome for all concerned?" As Prime Minister and renowned capable minister, he was attempting to smooth over the conflict. He knew the Emperor still missed Lady Pan deeply, so why not follow his wishes and posthumously grant her the title of Empress? It would require only an imperial edict, along with a golden seal and golden册. If the Emperor agreed to posthumously honor Lady Liu as Empress, the matter would be resolved peacefully.

However, upon hearing these words and observing Li Yi kneeling silently, Li Fu was instantly enraged. He roared, "Since it's a posthumous Empress title, then she would be my wife. Lady Pan is virtuous and kind, and was once deeply beloved by me, no less than Lady Dong. She naturally deserves to be posthumously honored as Empress. But Lady Liu is of lowly birth and possesses a coarse, vulgar nature—she is utterly unfit to be a wife. I absolutely cannot posthumously honor her as Empress."

Before he finished speaking, even Gu Xi's expression changed subtly. He hadn't expected the Emperor to speak so bluntly and inflexibly, leaving absolutely no room for negotiation—he feared this would ruin everything. Sure enough, a loud crash resounded as the kneeling King of Qin kowtowed heavily, then shouted, "Your Majesty, parents represent the fundamental principle of human relationships, and a child should not speak ill of his parents. Since my mother is of lowly birth and coarse nature, displeasing to Your Majesty, then I am also unfit to serve in this capacity. I request to be stripped of my royal title and demoted to guard the border at Laolan Pass."

Having said this, he disregarded the Emperor's livid countenance, threw his official tablet to the ground with force, turned, and stormed from the hall.

This sudden turn of events left the court officials utterly bewildered. Only after Li Yi had already departed the palace did they snap from their daze. Some attempted to stop him, but the Emperor sternly prevented them. Li Yi was so enraged he became incoherent, his voice trembling, managing only to shout repeatedly, "Disrespectful to the Emperor and father! Disrespectful to the Emperor and father!"

While the Emperor had indeed misspoken, the King of Qin's actions were certainly excessive. Witnessing the Emperor's fury, the court officials found themselves helpless. They could only attempt to appease him while dispatching eunuchs to persuade Prince Qin to return and apologize to His Majesty.

But which of the eunuchs sent could possibly stop Prince Qin? Even those who dared attempt to grasp his robes were easily swept aside by his powerful arm. Upon hearing this report, Li Fu fainted from rage, alarming the officials who immediately summoned the imperial physician.

When Li Fu slowly regained consciousness, his first decree was to relieve Li Yi of all military duties, ordering him to remain confined within Prince Qin's residence for reflection, forbidden to step even one foot outside. Then Prince Xin, Li Jun, was temporarily appointed as commander-in-chief of the Zhenxi Army.

Gu Xi was also deeply troubled by this situation. Therefore, after returning home from court, he summoned Gu Wan Niang and recounted the day's events in detail.

After listening intently, Gu Wanniang pondered for a long moment before saying, "Father, I believe this matter is manageable for now."

"Oh?" Gu Xi asked with interest. "Tell me your thoughts."

Gu Wanniang said, "Prince Qin is a man of deep emotion, and this action aligns perfectly with his character. Though I have only encountered him a few times, I recognize he is an intensely sentimental person, profoundly devoted to his birth mother. Now that he wishes to honor her but she is no longer present, he will certainly fight for Consort Liu's proper recognition. Not for his own sake, but for the deceased Consort Liu herself."

Gu Xi nodded slowly. "I share your assessment." He paused, then continued, "Prince Xin is His Majesty's eldest son, and his birth mother, Lady Dong, is His Majesty's first wife—the eldest legitimate son already embodies these two virtues. While Prince Qi is His Majesty's second son, his mother, Lady Pan, was once greatly favored by His Majesty. If Lady Pan receives posthumous honor as Empress, then Prince Qi can also be considered His Majesty's legitimate son. Only Prince Qin..." He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Prince Qin has repeatedly achieved extraordinary feats, yet His Majesty harbors great antipathy toward him."

Gu Wan Niang served Gu Xi a cup of fragrant tea and said softly, "I have not had the honor of observing His Majesty's countenance personally, but I understand that the relationship between parents and children is also governed by fate. Perhaps Prince Qin has never received His Majesty's favor since childhood."

"Prince Qin's mother, Lady Liu, is of humble origin," Gu Xi explained. "Prince Qin's birthday falls upon the Dragon Boat Festival, which is the source of His Majesty's wariness."

"I believe that beyond the parental bond, His Majesty harbors another concern," Gu Wan Niang observed thoughtfully. "I once had a wet nurse who was muddle-headed and cruel-spirited. Though she had two sons, she favored only the younger, constantly beating and scolding her elder son. Once, her elder son journeyed to the Western Regions to trade. After a long and arduous journey, he finally returned with considerable wealth. He specially purchased fine clothes and gold jewelry for his wet nurse, expecting her to be pleased. However, she scolded him viciously and beat him with a stick, forcing him to surrender all his money." She continued, "I was young then and couldn't comprehend her actions. After considerable time passed, understanding suddenly came to me. Because my wet nurse favored her younger son and treated her elder son cruelly, when her elder son unexpectedly returned with substantial wealth, she feared he would remember past grievances and, relying on his newfound prosperity, become hostile toward her. Therefore, she preemptively forced him to surrender his money, thereby maintaining her position of control and continuing her bullying behavior."

Gu Xi was momentarily stunned, then managed a weak, knowing laugh. "The parallel seems... somewhat apt."

Gu Wan Niang nodded with graceful composure. "Father, true filial devotion is rare—not everyone is as fortunate as I am, to have a father who treats his daughter with such kindness."

Gu Xi paused, inwardly marveling at his daughter's perceptiveness. She had told him such a revealing story without fear of causing resentment, speaking with remarkable candor. He hadn't misjudged her—among his children, only this daughter seemed likely to inherit his political acumen. It was regrettable she was a daughter, yet also... fortunate.

There exist proper methods for raising daughters. He contemplated for a moment, then asked, "Wan Niang, do you believe the Prince of Qin will obey this imperial decree, or will he not?"

Gu Wan Niang replied with certainty, "The Prince of Qin will definitely obey the decree. His dramatic exit from the court meeting already constituted a violation of established protocol. Now that the realm has only just been pacified, he will surely consider the broader situation and obey the decree to remain in his residence." She paused, then added, "Moreover, the Prince of Qin's achievements are truly unprecedented and unparalleled. There exists no adequate reward remaining to bestow. Not only does the Emperor fear this reality—I suspect quite a few people within the court secretly harbor selfish concerns. It would serve him better to seize this opportunity to step back temporarily and conceal his brilliance. Perhaps that would demonstrate greater composure and prudence."

Gu Xi said approvingly, "Indeed, overwhelming kindness can resemble great enmity. To receive such extraordinary favor from the nation yet have no reward left to bestow creates profound unease. His willful and reckless behavior, though it offends the Emperor, stems from a son's genuine love for his mother. Privately, it is beyond reproach; publicly, it may not prove disadvantageous for the Prince of Qin in the long term."

Gu Wan Niang said carefully, "However, the Prince of Qin did indeed offend the Emperor before the assembled court. His Majesty holds the dual position of sovereign and father. After some time passes, when both parties have calmed their emotions, the Prince of Qin should visit the palace to apologize and restore the father-son relationship. Otherwise, I fear that with time, petty individuals will sow discord and create an irreparable rift."

Gu Xi nodded in agreement. "After allowing more time to pass, I will attempt to counsel the Prince of Qin."

Gu Wan Niang suddenly said, "Father, I wonder if it would be appropriate for me to visit His Highness Prince Qin."

Gu Xi, as if struck by sudden realization, looked Gu Wan Niang up and down with new appreciation, then smiled warmly. "That was my oversight, Wan'er. You have considered this matter very carefully indeed. Yes, you should go and visit His Highness Prince Qin."

Gu Wan Niang said, "However, I have formed a plan. It wouldn't be appropriate to simply visit His Highness Prince Qin empty-handed. I should also present him with a meaningful gift."

Gu Xi made a sound of interest, knowing his youngest daughter possessed exceptional cleverness. He asked, "What manner of gift do you intend to give His Highness Prince Qin?"

Gu Wan Niang smiled subtly. "If it were an ordinary gift, it would naturally fail to move His Highness Prince Qin. Since I'm presenting a gift, it must be something that His Highness Prince Qin will remember forever."

Part Two

Because of the light snowfall and the arrival of the Longest Day—the winter solstice—they kindled a fire in the courtyard with dry firewood, slaughtered a sheep, and began roasting it over the flames. Old Bao was overjoyed, personally bringing out a salt mortar and grinding coarse salt particles while squatting near the fire, watching the sheep roast. His hair had grown back, though only a few inches long, impossible to tie up properly, so it lay in disheveled disorder. Because he had been constantly near the fire, ash particles floated about, covering his beard and hair with a messy, grayish-white layer that resembled snow at first glance.

The snow had actually ceased long ago. The thin layer that had accumulated on the steps had melted into streaks of moisture. Li Yi sat in the courtyard, observing Old Bao tend the roasting lamb, somewhat lost in contemplation. Huang Youyi and the others busily prepared a stove beneath the eaves to warm wine. Wine commanded high prices in the capital, especially given the years of warfare. Though peace had returned, wine from Sichuan cost more than ten times its pre-war price. Therefore, they purchased the cheapest, cloudiest wine available, which Li Yi paid for from his own funds. Although he held the title of King of Qin, entitled to a fief of ten thousand households according to court regulations, the reality proved quite different. After Luoyang's recapture, the newly reorganized Ministry of Revenue and military headquarters were supposed to provide him with a monthly salary of five thousand coins. However, with the country in dire straits and military campaigns consuming resources, Li Yi himself, as Grand Commander of the military headquarters, had directly transferred those five thousand coins from the Ministry of Revenue to the Ministry of War as military expenses. Only after Xichangjing's recapture and the Emperor's return to the capital did taxes and levies from various prefectures and counties finally begin arriving. The Ministry of Revenue sent ten thousand coins—his accumulated salary for two months.

Ten thousand coins sounded substantial, yet expenditures consumed them rapidly. During the fierce siege battle, the Zhenxi Army had suffered casualties, many among veterans who had followed him from Laolan Pass. Though the Ministry of War provided standard compensation for fallen soldiers, he also sent Lao Bao and others to deliver additional money and silk to the bereaved families according to the casualty lists—and that expenditure exhausted the ten thousand coins entirely.

The vast Prince's mansion required money at every turn. After returning to the capital, the Imperial Household Department, following regulations for princes, assigned servants to the Prince of Qin's mansion. Accustomed to military life, he had no need for such attendants, but princely protocol demanded their presence, and any deviation might provoke criticism. However, with so many people now residing in the mansion, daily necessities—firewood, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and tea—became perpetual concerns. This Prince of Qin's mansion had originally been the Prince of Ji's residence. After returning to the capital amidst general chaos, there had been no time to construct a new mansion. Fortunately, all the former princes' mansions now stood vacant. The Ministry of Works submitted a memorial, selecting the former Prince of Ji's mansion for conversion to the Prince of Qin's residence. A new plaque was mounted at the gate, and he simply moved in.

The late Prince of Ji had been the late Emperor's beloved son. His mansion was grand and magnificent, occupying an entire district within the capital. The rear garden alone covered dozens of acres, featuring pavilions, platforms, trees, flowers, and ornamental rocks arranged in winding, secluded configurations. A lake had been excavated and filled with clear water channeled from the canal, with a pavilion called Ziyu Pavilion constructed on its surface. Even the bird-scare bells adorning the hexagonal eaves were crafted from pure gold. If the decision were Li Yi's alone, he would have dismantled those golden bells and exchanged them for rice. Fortunately, Pei Xian learned of his predicament and discreetly sent him money and grain as assistance, preventing the Prince of Qin from resorting to dismantling pavilion components to exchange for rice and solve his immediate crisis.

Therefore, when Lao Bao and the others desired wine, Li Yi faced financial constraints. Ultimately, he was forced to rummage through the storeroom—which had remained locked since they occupied the mansion—to find a piece of fine sandalwood that he could exchange for money, enabling Lao Bao and the others to purchase wine.

The lamb roasting over the fire reached completion, emitting an irresistibly enticing aroma. Old Bao first carved a large piece of mutton and presented it to him. Only then did Li Yi emerge from his reverie, lazily accepting the meat. Old Bao asked, "The Imperial Guards are stationed everywhere outside. Are we truly going to remain here obediently?"

He took a bite of the mutton and replied, "Since the imperial decree ordered me to remain home and reflect on my mistakes, let's comply with appearances. Anyway, the war has concluded, and I'm too weary to attend court and listen to those civil officials arguing about trivial matters."

Old Bao nodded in deep agreement. "It's suffocatingly restrictive in the capital, Seventeenth Prince. If we have the opportunity, let's return to Laolan Pass."

Li Yi couldn't suppress a sigh. How could he not yearn to return to Laolan Pass? Yet looking around at the Prince's mansion with its towering walls and deep courtyards, its layered eaves and roof tiles overlapping like fish scales... He had once thought the Liang Prince's mansion resembled a cage, but now, how was the Qin Prince's mansion in the capital any different? Returning to Laolan Pass would likely require considerable time and effort.

He lifted his wine bowl and drank heartily with Huang Youyi and the others. This cloudy wine, after warming, possessed a strange sour taste that was quite unpleasant, yet everyone drank with genuine enthusiasm. They carved into the roasted mutton with their knives while raising cups to drink deeply. Before they realized it, the entire jar of wine was finished, and the whole roasted sheep consumed.

Old Bao tossed a mutton bone into the fire. The grease from the bone ignited a small flame that quickly died down, leaving only scattered sparks. As dusk approached, snowflakes began falling again.

"The Laolan River has eighteen bends, the first bend is Silver Pine Beach..." Someone began humming this familiar tune, and everyone joined in. Snowflakes danced through the air, falling heavier and denser. Old Bao wrapped his sheepskin coat tighter, shuffled outside, and brought back a bundle of firewood. He lit a brazier beneath the eaves, and everyone gathered around it, humming their tunes and watching the snowflakes descend.

"If we were at Laolan Pass, we'd be hunting gazelles after the snow," Li Yi said with a touch of melancholy threading through his words.

"Yes," Old Bao agreed, roasting taro over the fire. He deftly turned the taro with tongs. "Seventeenth Brother, do you have any tea? Let's brew some to quench our thirst."

Everyone felt parched after drinking so much wine, and they all agreed enthusiastically to the idea of brewing tea. Li Yi lazily warmed himself by the fire and said, "Go look in the storeroom—perhaps you can find some."

Old Bao protested, "I was the one who fetched firewood just now. Why are you asking me to find tea as well?"

Zhang Youren interjected, "That's right!" He turned to Qian Youdao. "Fourth brother, you go search for tea in the storeroom."

Qian Youdao, having also drunk excessively, released a burp and said, "I don't want tea. Why don't you go find it?" The others hesitated, each refusing to rise, but finally Li Yi stood and said, "Alright, everyone's too content to move. I'll go myself."

"Your Highness is leading by example!" Old Bao casually offered this flattery, and everyone praised him with appreciative tongue-clicking. Li Yi was too lazy to acknowledge them and proceeded directly to the storeroom. Snowy days brought early darkness, and being the Longest Day—the shortest day of the year—by the time he reached the storeroom, dusk had fallen completely, plunging everything into darkness. He lit a lamp and began rummaging through the storeroom. This long row of rooms had once served as the private treasury of the former Prince Ji. The entire Prince Ji family had been slaughtered by Sun Jing, and the servants had scattered. This storeroom had remained locked and unattended since he moved into the residence. He hadn't opened it much due to the overwhelming number of chests and boxes. He opened one at random and discovered luxurious brocade. He thought it wasteful to leave such beautiful material lying about to grow moldy. He might as well send it to A Ying. However, he had never seen her wear such gorgeous garments. Back when she resided in Taiqing Palace, her clothes had been tattered and filthy after her injury. He had found some clothes in the palace and sent them to her. Actually, she had looked extraordinarily beautiful dressed as a young lady—as beautiful as a fairy in a painting. It was regrettable that she rarely dressed that way. But if he personally sent her this fabric, he thought she would probably make clothes from it.

Thinking of her filled him with profound joy. He first selected two bolts of silk and set them aside, thinking he would compose a letter later and send it along with the silk. Then he opened additional chests—some contained spices, some porcelain, and some pepper, but he couldn't locate any tea.

Pepper sold for a hundred coins per tael in the market, more valuable than gold itself. He had unintentionally struck it rich. He would have Old Bao take the pepper to the East Market to sell, wondering what sum it would fetch. Just as contentment washed over him, a flash of light appeared outside, followed by approaching footsteps. He assumed someone was approaching with a torch. Sure enough, he soon heard Old Bao's voice calling "Seventeenth Brother" in the courtyard. He pushed open the door and heard Old Bao announce, "The Sixth Lady of the Prime Minister's House has arrived."

The Sixth Lady of the Prime Minister's House—Li Yi pondered momentarily before realizing her identity. He had always deeply respected Gu Xi and felt grateful for his strategic cooperation with the army outside the city during Xichangjing's recapture, which had forced Sun Jing to leave the city for a decisive battle. Upon hearing that Gu Wanniang had arrived, he hurriedly said, "Please invite her in immediately."

Complete darkness had fallen, and snow continued falling heavily. Several braziers burned in the hall, creating warmth against the cold penetrating from outside. Gu Wanniang wore a light blue crane-feather cloak and carried a long scroll in her arms. The scroll was protected by a brocade pouch, giving it the appearance of a painting scroll. Behind her, Qiu Cui held an umbrella to shield her from wind and snow, only lowering it after entering the room.

Gu Wan Niang, not pausing to brush snowflakes from her garments, had already gracefully bowed. "Greetings, Your Highness Prince Qin."

Li Yi refused to accept her formal greeting, stepping half aside and offering a slight gesture of support from a distance. "Miss Gu is too courteous." He added, "I should have personally visited to thank Prime Minister Gu, but I am currently unable to leave this residence. Please convey my respectful regards upon your return to the manor."

Gu Wan Niang smiled faintly. "Your Highness is too kind. Actually, my visit today was not at my father's instruction, but rather my own initiative." She paused meaningfully. "I have something I wish to present to Your Highness."

Upon hearing this, Li Yi immediately declined politely. "Miss Gu is too gracious. The manor lacks nothing, and I should not accept any gift from Miss Gu."

Gu Wan Niang opened the brocade pouch she carried, and Qiu Cui quickly stepped forward. Gu Wan Niang held the top of the scroll while Qiu Cui held the bottom, and together they slowly unfurled it before Li Yi. It revealed itself to be an embroidered portrait.

Gu Wanniang said softly, "I have visited many old acquaintances, and fortunately, a few people in the capital still remember the appearance and voice of His Highness's birth mother, Lady Liu. Based on their descriptions, I embroidered this portrait of Lady Liu. After completing it, I showed it to people who had known Lady Liu, and they all affirmed it bore remarkable resemblance to her."

By the dim lamplight, Li Yi stared transfixed at the embroidered portrait on the scroll. The portrait depicted a woman of eighteen or nineteen years, with an oval face, exquisite features, and a slender figure—truly beautiful. He had never resembled his father, Li Fu, nor particularly his two elder brothers, Li Jun and Li Lai. Seeing the woman in the portrait, he nearly burst into tears. So this was what his mother had looked like! Especially her nose and lips—they were almost identical to his own.

His mother, whom he had never seen, had looked like this.

Qiu Cui said respectfully, "Your Highness, our young lady searched extensively and finally located a few people who had seen Consort Liu. She questioned them at length, asking extremely careful questions, then drafted a portrait. She worked day and night, embroidering until her eyes were red and strained, and finally completed this portrait."

The candlelight in the room flickered slightly, and wind and snow rustled against the window. The dim candlelight illuminated the gentle smile of the woman in the portrait, rendering it remarkably lifelike. He stared at the portrait in a daze, unable to resist reaching out to gently stroke his mother's face in the embroidered image. In that instant, he suddenly felt that everything—all of it—was worth it. Perhaps in others' eyes, whether or not she received posthumous elevation to Empress was merely an empty title, not worth defying the Emperor and his father before all the assembled officials for such nominal recognition.

But she was his mother. How could he not fight for her, even if only for an empty title? He was her own flesh and blood. She had died in childbirth before she could even glimpse him. In all the long years that followed, he had never experienced her love and companionship. But she was his mother—she had given her all to bring him into this world.

If she were still alive, if she could have seen him grow to manhood, how happy she would have been.

As if perceiving his thoughts, Gu Wanniang said gently, "Your Highness, as a son, it is naturally painful to be unable to accompany your birth mother. But if Lady Liu is watching from heaven, she would surely be profoundly pleased to know that Your Highness is so talented and outstanding."

He composed himself with effort. "Thank you. I will accept this embroidered portrait with deep gratitude."

Gu Wanniang smiled subtly. "Your Highness is a wise and understanding person. You naturally comprehend that Lady Liu would not wish Your Highness to become estranged from His Majesty for the sake of her title."

She had come brimming with confidence, believing that a prolonged stalemate with the Emperor would prove detrimental to Li Yi. Therefore, she had hurriedly embroidered this portrait, hoping to persuade Li Yi to enter the palace after the festival to apologize, giving the Emperor a graceful resolution while also lifting his confinement, allowing him to regain his military authority. Unexpectedly, upon hearing this suggestion, Li Yi's expression froze slightly, as if he was suppressing something deeply.

She was exceptionally skilled at reading subtle expressions. Observing his displeasure, she immediately altered her approach, saying only, "Your Highness, I used gold and silver thread for this embroidered portrait because I thought that if Your Highness displayed Lady Liu's portrait for worship, it wouldn't fade from incense smoke."

He then said with genuine warmth, "Miss Gu is remarkably thoughtful. I am deeply grateful."

Gu Wan Niang responded, "Your Highness is too kind," and added, "I understand that Your Highness is not in a position to entertain guests extensively at present, so I will take my leave."

She recognized she could say nothing further today. Since she had successfully delivered the embroidered portrait, and Li Yi had accepted it, he would remember her kindness whenever he viewed it in the future. Therefore, departing early would prevent him from suspecting ulterior motives.

After returning to the Gu residence, though it was already past the hour of the night watch, she still proceeded to the study to meet Gu Xi and carefully recounted everything she had said and done in the Qin Prince's residence. Upon hearing this account, Gu Xi shook his head and sighed deeply. "The Prince of Qin is too sentimental, to the point of excessive emotional entanglement. He will surely be burdened by such feelings in the future."

Gu Wan Niang asked, "Then Father, how do you believe this stalemate can be resolved?"

Gu Xi replied with seeming unconcern, "This stalemate will resolve itself when the proper opportunity arises. The Prince of Qin is the pillar of the nation. The Emperor must rely upon him, and he remains essential for important military matters. Don't underestimate this current impasse—when the right opportunity presents itself, it will surely be broken."

Not long after, that opportunity indeed materialized. Sun Jing had already sent his wife and children to Nan Yue, and Wang Xiao, with his last remaining troops, had also fled to Nan Yue. The court had been dispatching troops to pursue and intercept Wang Xiao, but unexpectedly, Wang Xiao led his remaining forces to unite with the Nan Yue army at Puyue Mountain. They turned and caught the pursuing forces completely off guard, raising their banners in renewed defiance. It emerged that Sun Jing was not dead after all. He had personally secured a large army from Nan Yue and marched north, actually capturing Changzhou.

Urgent reports from the border reached the capital in rapid succession. After a brief moment of shock and panic, the officials, including the Emperor himself, quickly regained their composure. Even if Sun Jing lived and had borrowed troops, what of it? The southern Yue region was remote and primitive—the so-called large army Sun Jing could borrow likely numbered little more than ten thousand. Meanwhile, the dynasty, having recovered all prefectures and counties, commanded over a hundred thousand troops in the Zhenxi Army alone, in addition to troops from various prefectures and counties. Moreover, Sun Jing had been defeated by the Zhenxi Army in Luoyang and then utterly routed in Xichangjing. Though he had returned with renewed ambition, there existed no genuine cause for concern—the court felt certain of victory.

Thus, the Emperor quickly reached a decision: Pei Yuan would lead twenty thousand troops as the vanguard, and Prince Xin, Li Jun, would serve as Grand Commander. They would march from the capital to suppress Sun Jing's rebellion.

Pei Xian had repeatedly petitioned to be appointed commander-in-chief to annihilate the rebel Sun Jing, but the Emperor firmly refused. There existed a reason for this stubborn decision. Although Prince Xin, Li Jun, felt confident as the eldest son and presumed heir to the crown prince position, he harbored some anxiety about Li Yi's outstanding military achievements, which had earned him the title of Prince of Qin, placing him above all other princes in precedence. Therefore, Li Jun had insisted before the Emperor that he be appointed Grand Commander. The Emperor, considering that Sun Jing had already been soundly defeated and was now merely making a desperate final effort, saw this as an ideal opportunity for Li Jun to distinguish himself and gain military recognition.

This decision caused severe headaches for everyone in the Ministry of War, especially Pei Zhan, the current Assistant Director of the Treasury. Pei Zhan, who had previously served the Emperor and his sons as governor of Caizhou, knew Prince Xin intimately—ambitious yet incompetent, petty, suspicious, and extremely willful. The imperial court was dispatching troops to quell rebellion, a matter of utmost military importance, yet this Prince Xin was appointed Grand Commander. He refused to remain in the capital to command from safety, insisting on personally proceeding to the front lines, claiming he would share life and death with his soldiers. If this Prince Xin issued reckless commands resulting in defeat or even his own death, wouldn't the entire Zhenxi Army face catastrophe?

Not to mention that Pei Yuan, serving as vanguard general, would likely be the first to forfeit his head.

Contemplating his younger brother's life hanging in the balance, Pei Zhan was consumed with worry. Yet recognizing that as a subject he could not disobey imperial decrees, he instructed Pei Yuan to find a way to see the Prince of Qin after the court session concluded. Since the Emperor issued the decree reprimanding Li Yi and ordering him to reflect on his mistakes within his residence, he had mobilized the Imperial Guards to completely surround the Prince of Qin's mansion. This posed no real obstacle for Pei Yuan, as the current Imperial Guards were mainly composed of guards Li Yi had transferred from the Zhenxi Army to serve the Prince of Liang. Though the Imperial Guards were currently commanded by Prince Qi, Li Lai, who also held the position of Grand General of the Longwu Guard, since they all originated from the Zhenxi Army, who would be so foolish as to attempt stopping General Pei? Consequently, Pei Yuan entered the Prince of Qin's residence without difficulty. Li Yi, feeling quite irritated, had been lying in bed reading. Upon hearing Pei Yuan had arrived, he immediately slipped on his shoes and came out to greet him. Observing Pei Yuan's expression, he immediately recognized something was wrong. When he learned the Emperor had actually ordered Li Jun to lead troops into battle, Li Yi's expression changed dramatically.

"Seventeenth Prince, this matter is of paramount importance," Pei Yuan said with grave concern. "The lives of countless soldiers, the fate of the nation's military campaign—I fear a slight misstep could cost us everything."

Li Yi remained silent, his face grim as stone. Though Pei Yuan had entered the residence without incident, he couldn't linger long. After exchanging a few crucial words with Li Yi, he took his leave.

Li Yi stood beneath the eaves, contemplating deeply for a long moment. Instead of returning to his room, he crossed the courtyard and entered a secluded inner courtyard. Here, the buildings were quiet and isolated. He maintained a quiet room there, and on the wall hung the embroidered portrait of his birth mother—Gu Wan Niang's gift.

Before the portrait stood an altar adorned with fruits and offerings. He lit incense and respectfully paid homage to his birth mother before returning to his study, grinding ink, and beginning to compose a memorial.

When this memorial was presented, the Emperor initially refused to read it. His anger hadn't subsided—Li Yi was incredibly stubborn. He felt Li Yi's defiance before all officials, his throwing down of his official tablet, and his repeated threats to return to Laolan Pass, were clearly calculated attempts to embarrass him deliberately.

This son, relying on his martial ability and a handful of military merits, had become so brazen that he scarcely even placed his own father in his eyes. In truth, if Li Ni had taken the initiative to enter the palace, bow his head, and plead guilty, Li Rao would have merely waited a few days to cool his temper before deciding what to do next. But he never expected that once Li Ni received the imperial order to reflect behind closed doors, he actually obeyed—truly staying shut away as instructed.

Li Rao secretly had the Forbidden Army keep an eye on him, yet their reports said that the King of Qin was drinking wine and roasting sheep in his mansion, utterly carefree, without the slightest hint of remorse.

It was infuriating.

In short, the Son of Heaven felt that this son relied too heavily on his achievements and had grown wild—so wild that he seemed to consider having a father optional.

Why did he have to give birth to such a rebellious son!

The Son of Heaven nursed a belly full of grievances.

For a long while, the memorial lay untouched on the table. Only after repeated reminders from his close attendants did Li Rao reluctantly open it—only to find a surprisingly humble confession. It was from the King of Qin, filled with sincere, apologetic words. He honestly admitted his fault in the court, said he should not have been rude, and requested guidance on how to posthumously honor his birth mother, Lady Liu. Everything, he wrote, should be decided by his father.

This attitude was acceptable. At last, Li Rao felt somewhat appeased. Li Ni, it seemed, finally understood rules, hierarchy, and respect. The confinement had not been useless after all. Just as he was about to order an eunuch to deliver the decree lifting the punishment, a little yellow-gate rushed in to report that the King of Qi, Li Lai, had entered the palace to request an audience.

Li Rao loved this son dearly, so he quickly summoned him in. Li Lai did not come empty-handed—he brought a cricket. Li Rao had always loved playing with such creatures, though now that he was emperor, he could not indulge openly; if word spread, people throughout the land might scramble to capture crickets to curry favor, burdening the common folk and giving his advisors grounds to accuse him of frivolity and misrule.

But this was different. This cricket had been caught personally by Li Lai in the garden of the Qi Wangfu and raised for months before being brought into the palace. Sons presenting a simple cricket for their father to enjoy—what harm was there in that? Li Rao examined it: the insect’s head was round and shiny, its body dark and lustrous, its chirping loud and spirited—a fine specimen indeed.

Father and son crouched around the little jar teasing the cricket while casually exchanging gossip.

Li Rao mentioned Li Ni’s letter and said, “Since he knows he’s wrong, let the matter pass. His mother, Liu, was also a pitiful woman—posthumously naming her a Virtuous Concubine will at least preserve his face.”

Li Lai immediately offered flattery—praising his father’s magnanimity and broad-mindedness. Li Rao, pleased, kept him for lunch. After the meal, as he prepared for an afternoon nap, Li Lai excused himself and left the palace.

Because of the deep winter cold, Li Lai had arrived in a carriage, and when he departed the palace gate, he boarded again, attendants escorting him front and back. They had reached a corner of the street when he suddenly changed his mind—he wanted to visit his eldest brother, the Prince of Xin.

The Xinwang Mansion in Xingningfang was not far from the palace, so the carriage soon arrived. Although the brothers were not born of the same mother, they had suffered together during Sun Jing’s rebellion in Xingyang. Had Li Ni not rescued them, both would have been captured. Shared hardship forged brotherhood; Li Lai, sweet-tempered since childhood, had always been good at coaxing Li Jun into laughter, so Li Jun treated him very warmly.

Soon the two brothers were sitting together. Mei Ji prepared tea, and upon hearing that King Qi had arrived, Princess Xin personally ordered snacks to be sent. Then Li Jun dismissed the servants, leaving the two alone to speak privately.

Li Lai narrated Li Ni’s confession in detail and said, “Eldest brother, I think Father is softening. You and I know that the third brother doesn’t submit so easily. He must have heard that you’re leading the army on campaign, so he panicked and hurriedly wrote to Father, hoping to be forgiven and regain military power.”

Li Jun instantly grew irritated. “He’s just afraid I will win victories and steal his glory.”

Li Lai added, “In my view, the third brother really goes too far. He’s already been ennobled as King of Qin, yet he remains so narrow-minded. He’s afraid that you, elder brother, will earn military merit. You are Father’s eldest son—the future crown prince. Military success will only be icing on the cake for you. But for him? Military merit is his foundation. If you gain it and hold command from now on, it will shake everything he relies on.”

Li Jun nodded—deeply convinced. He immediately resolved that no matter what, Li Ni must not regain military authority.

Li Lai continued to advise him, explaining his ideas in detail. Li Jun, touched that his brother was planning for him so earnestly, grew increasingly pleased. Winter nights were short, and snow began to fall. Li Jun ordered a warm banquet, summoned dancers, and the two drank wine while enjoying music and dance through the evening.

Meanwhile, Li Ni’s memorial seemed to sink without a trace. Only when Zhongshu Ling Gu Yi directly questioned the emperor at court—asking whether, since the King of Qin had admitted fault, his confinement should now be lifted to reflect imperial benevolence—did the matter reemerge.

Li Rao hesitated. He truly felt that since Li Ni had humbled himself, the issue should be resolved; otherwise, the ministers might say he was too petty as a father. But the eldest son, Li Jun, had come into the palace and spoken at length, insisting Li Ni must not be released. His arguments seemed reasonable, and Li Rao had always relied on this eldest son. Troubled, he postponed the decision again and again—until Gu Yi asked publicly.

Taking a breath, Li Rao said, “Since he knows his mistake, let him out. But one thing: he is fined half a year’s salary and forbidden from leading troops again.”

Gu Yi accepted the fine—it was fair. After all, the King of Qin had indeed been wrong to fall in the court hall and speak such reckless words. But when the emperor forbade him from holding military command again, Pei Xian’s brows furrowed.

Li Rao must have anticipated opposition. He steeled himself, summoned imperial authority, and said sternly, “If he is not punished this way, he will never know his fault.” Then, with an uncompromising tone, he declared, “My will is final.”

No one could say more. Pei Xian, caught in an impossible position, swallowed his objections. If he defended the King of Qin too openly, people would suspect collusion between Li Ni and the Zhenxi Army. Rumors had already spread claiming the Zhenxi Army belonged not to the state, but to the King of Qin.

Such slander deserved punishment—but he could not even defend himself, let alone anyone else. Thus Pei Xian grew increasingly cautious.

After court, he instructed his youngest son Pei Yuan: “Go quietly to visit the King of Qin. If His Highness has anything to say, report it to me.”

But Li Ni had little to say. Hearing the emperor’s decision, he only sighed and told Pei Yuan, “It’s all right. I expected this long ago.”

After giving some instructions, he added, “Though I am no longer confined, His Majesty has clearly been swayed by petty men and now deeply suspects my ties with the Zhenxi Army.”

Pei Yuan nodded and slipped away as discreetly as he had come.

The next day was another court session. Li Ni attended as usual, returned home afterward, and continued not to go out. The emperor was pleased, thinking Li Ni truly appeared respectful and repentant.

Two or three days later, one night as Li Ni was studying military routes by lamplight, he heard a faint sound at the window—like a soft tap—followed by a slight creak, as though someone had pushed it open.

He turned and saw A Ying. She was covered in dust, her face numbed by frost, but the moment she saw him, she smiled.

Surprised and delighted, he asked, “Why are you here?”

Still outside the window, she smiled and said, “Why shouldn’t I come?”

He didn’t waste another word. He reached out, pulled her inside, and when she stood before him, he felt as if he were dreaming. He couldn’t help asking again, “Why are you here?”

“I missed you.” She answered openly, her gaze steady and warm. In the candlelight, she studied him carefully. She must have ridden hard—her hands were ice-cold. He held them, warming them with his palms, and scolded gently, “It’s freezing—why didn’t you bring a hand warmer?”

She laughed. “I did, but it was too troublesome, so I took it off.”

He sat her by the brazier and hurried to prepare food for her, but she suddenly reached out, wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, and whispered, “Seventeen Lang.”

“Hm.” He lowered his head, rubbing her chilled fingertips. She held him so tightly that her knuckles turned pale. She must have left Luoyang the instant she learned of the memorial. In this bitter cold, a fast horse would still take two days and two nights—racing through wind and frost, changing mounts along the way. She must have pushed herself to the limit to stand before him now, looking so calm.

He turned and gathered her into his arms. “A Ying…” he murmured, but the words that followed caught in his throat. Only two syllables escaped—everything else dissolved into silence. He understood why she had come, why she had rushed here.

All his buried grievances surged up at once.

Yes—grievance.

He was already in his twenties, had long undergone the crown ceremony, carried the title of King of Qin. Everyone knew he had recovered the lost lands, revitalized the dynasty, quelled the rebellion, executed traitors, and driven Sun Jing out of Xichangjing.

How could someone like him feel wronged? He shouldn’t—and yet…

He did.

He had learned long ago not to expect anything from that father. He had no illusions left. One cannot choose one’s parents; having such a father meant there was no point complaining.

But the moment he saw her—he felt it. A sharp, bitter ache. A grievance so deep it burned.

Why—why did his father dislike him so deeply? No matter what he did, he was wrong. Why—why could he disregard his mother so callously? Was it all because of him? Because he was born on an inauspicious day, even his mother was deemed unworthy of recognition? Before the full court, his father openly called Liu low-born, his contempt clear. Every word had been a blade driven into his heart.

He thought the wounds were numb—that disappointment couldn’t hurt anymore. But it still hurt.

And he felt so aggrieved.

Only in front of her could he show it. Only before her could he set aside the mantle of the invincible King of Qin and be simply himself.

She held him tightly, her cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

The Dingsheng Army had spies scattered throughout Xichangjing. News from the capital was sent to Luoyang by every possible means. The moment she read the copy of his memorial, she set out. Taozi thought she was overreacting—after all, the King of Qin was unharmed.

But she knew she had to come—had to hold him like this. And truly, he held her as if everything in the world could vanish, as if she might disappear at any moment.

After a long while, he whispered, “A Ying… why are you so good to me?”

“Stupid question.” She touched his cheek gently. “I like you. If I’m not good to you, who else would I be good to?”

He buried his face in her neck. After some time, he muttered, “Still… you shouldn’t rush here like that. What if you caught a chill? Or fell?”

She teased, “Is His Highness doubting my riding skills? You think I’ll fall off a horse? Xiaobai would be furious.”

“You rode Xiaobai?” He sighed. “You’ll wear him out.”

Xiaobai was worn out. Though they changed mounts along the way, Xiaobai had run nearly two hundred miles in one stretch. Now it stood in front of the manger, eating the finest beans, while Xiao Hei hovered beside it, snorting excitedly as if both surprised and delighted at its arrival.

Taozi was exhausted as well. Xie Chang’er cooked her a large bowl of wontons, steaming hot with plenty of pepper. She ate while blowing on them, chatting with him.

“As soon as our captain heard, he said we had to leave immediately. Two days and one night on horseback—my bones feel like they’re falling apart. It hurts just to move.”

Xie Chang’er said, “Should I find you some medicinal oil?”

“Idiot!” Taozi glared at him. His medical kit contained everything—but medicinal oil? What for? Was he planning to rub it on her himself? She muttered, “Hopeless fool.”

Her scolding made his heart pound for some inexplicable reason. His ears reddened and he turned away shyly. But she complained again, “Why did you put so much pepper? It’s too spicy!”

He mumbled, “The weather’s cold… people say eating pepper wards off chills…”

He meant Lao Bao and the others. She sighed internally. Then he said, “I heard pepper is valuable. Since it’s precious, it must be good… so I added more…”

She nearly looked to the heavens—wondering how she ended up with such a dense goose.

In the deep of night, the moon rose—a thin frost-colored light spread across the sky, blue like a frozen pool. But the cold was not unbearable. Leyou Plain stood high and vast, quiet under winter night. Sparse forests and distant ridges were washed with silver moonlight, as if lightly dusted with snow. The moon hung high and small in the vast sky.

From Leyouyuan, Xichangjing sprawled below in neat symmetry—“a thousand households like a Go board, twelve streets like patterned fields.” Thousands of lights glimmered like chess pieces scattered across the city. To the north, one could faintly see the palace pavilions, their lanterns swaying like stars spilled upon the earth.

A Ying sighed softly. “It’s beautiful.”

This was the first time they had traveled together to roam the open plains. Since their last meeting outside Luoyang City—barely more than a year ago, though it felt like an eternity—they had finally fulfilled a long-held wish.

They slipped out of the Qin Wangfu without alarming anyone, leaving the city beneath a star-strewn sky. Riding side by side, they headed straight for Leyouyuan. When they arrived at the Leyou Plain, they drew their horses to a stop. Looking back, and then looking up, the vast world stretched endlessly before them—quiet, boundless, and so beautiful it felt like a dream.

Yet it was not a dream. She laughed softly to herself. He was right beside her; their horses pressed close, and he gently adjusted the cloak draped over her shoulders. The cloak had originally been stored in the treasury of the Ji Wangfu—snow-white fox fur lining the inside, and a bright red brocade satin outside. Though the gold threads were woven into it, the patterns were subtle, only visible under lamplight. Now, beneath the moon, it shimmered faintly like flowing light. When he first saw the garment, he thought she would look beautiful in it. And today, seeing her wrapped in it, he felt wholly satisfied—it suited her perfectly. His firefly—unique beneath heaven and earth.

They stood together on the Leyou Plain beneath the deep winter sky, gazing toward Xichangjing. After a while, they galloped through the woods. Moonlight draped itself across the land; a thin white mist hovered above the lake, and although the cold cut sharply, the water remained unfrozen. Soon the trees gave way, revealing an open stretch of fields. They gathered firewood and lit a fire.

In the wilderness, far from anyone and with no wind, the flames crackled softly. The night was silent. It felt as though only the two of them existed in the vast world—tiny as mustard seeds, but warmed by the fire. Sitting before it, she leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm around her. They stayed like that for a long time, comfortable and unwilling to speak.

Eventually, he said quietly, “In spring, this whole place fills with wildflowers. It’s beautiful.”

She answered, “Then when spring comes, let’s return.”

He hesitated, then said, “Now that the world is at peace and the war has ended… I want to try to bring back the crown prince. I want to persuade my father to reestablish him as heir.”

She almost spoke, but in the end she swallowed her thoughts and simply smiled. “When you return to Laolan Pass, I’ll go visit you too. I want to see the desert and wastelands you always talk about… and the snow leopard.”

He suddenly smiled—truly smiled. When he was happiest, a faint dimple would appear at the corner of his lips. But he laughed so rarely. In recent years, she had almost forgotten what this smile looked like.

“I knew you would understand me,” he said.

She replied lightly, “Naturally. Know yourself and know your enemy, and you never lose.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Never lose? Are you planning to go to war with me?”

She glanced sideways at him. “And what if I am? Are you afraid of losing?”

“It might be embarrassing to lose to others,” he said frankly, “but from now on… even losing to you is nothing.”

It was too earnest. She couldn’t help but smile. The moonlight was exquisite; Leyouyuan beneath the moon was exquisite… and the person she loved was beside her.

He murmured suddenly, “Ah Ying…”

Before he could say more, she leaned forward and kissed him. She already knew what he wished to say. But tonight, words were unnecessary. Let everything simply be.

Moonlight flowed like mercury, like thin snow, like veils of gauze draping heaven and earth. Everything felt dreamlike. The moon sank beneath the treetops, the world slept, the winter night lay silent—and spring no longer felt far away.

When she awoke, morning light filled the room. A thick quilt covered her; a brazier warmed the space. Stretching lazily, she pushed open the window—and there he was, Xie Chang’er, whittling under the eaves with complete seriousness.

Last night he had given her his bed and spent the night at Lao Bao’s. And early this morning, he was already carving the whistle she mentioned. He had asked her what she wanted yesterday. Without thinking, she said she wanted a whistle—something only he could hear when she blew it.

He had looked embarrassed then, and she assumed he couldn’t make one. But now he was in the yard with wood shavings at his feet, apparently having figured something out.

When she finished washing and combing her hair, he entered with breakfast—and in his hand was the whistle. It looked rough and clumsy. She lifted it curiously and blew. No sound came out. But his expression shifted immediately, and he pressed a hand to his ear.

“You can hear it?” she asked.

He nodded solemnly. “It’s… very sharp.” Then quickly added, “But that’s good. Even if you’re far away, I’ll hear it if you blow it.”

She tucked the whistle away, satisfied. Seeing the warm bowl of soup cakes, she asked, “Have you eaten?”

He looked embarrassed. “Not yet.”

“Then get me an empty bowl. I’ll give you half.”

He froze. “But what if you’re not full?”

She nearly groaned aloud. Why was Li Ni so clever, while this Xie Chang’er… this goose… was like this? He wasn’t as bright as Colonel He, but surely not so far behind him and her?

After breakfast, she asked, “Where’s the captain?”

Xie Chang’er had eaten the half bowl she forced on him, and his ears were bright red. Hearing her question, he answered honestly, “I don’t know. She and Seventeen Lang aren’t in the house.”

She was slightly surprised, then realized it was perfectly reasonable—they must have gone out quietly. The captain rarely came to the capital. If she hadn’t met this stupid goose, she herself would want to go out and walk around.

But the goose suddenly asked, “There’s taro in the kitchen. Can I roast some for you?”

She had just finished eating. Annoyed, she replied, “I don’t want taro. I want pig’s head.”

To her shock, he didn’t show embarrassment. Instead, he said seriously, “You want pig’s head? Then I’ll go buy one from West Market. Lao Bao knows how to cook it.” He stood up immediately and headed toward the door. He nearly stepped out before he paused, turned around, and asked earnestly, “Do you… want to go to West Market? They sell everything there, not just pig’s head.”

Well, that settled it. She said happily, “Let’s go!” Then paused. “But what if the captain returns?”

Xie Chang’er suddenly displayed surprising cleverness. “I already told the servants—if His Highness and the captain return, someone will go straight to West Market to find us.”

Only then did Taozi follow him out.

Since the King of Qin recaptured Xichangjing and destroyed the Sun rebels, the world had settled. Even Hu merchants had returned, and West Market was livelier than during the late emperor’s peaceful years. They bought a pig’s head first, then wandered among the stalls selling foreign trinkets.

Inside a Hu shop, Taozi found an exquisite glass flower ornament. She held it against her hair, admiring the reflection in a bronze mirror—only to catch Xie Chang’er staring at her in dazed wonder. She turned, startled. “What is it?”

His face flushed, and after a long moment, he whispered, “It’s… beautiful.”

She glared at him, though sweetness rose in her chest. Stupid as he often was, his sincerity was always unmistakable.

The Hu merchant, speaking fluent capital dialect, said, “Little lady, this glass comes from the Western Regions. It is not easy to bring here. Only ten gold.”

Ten gold. Taozi nearly dropped it. She put it down immediately. “Too expensive!” Dragging Xie Chang’er away, she left the shop like a gust of wind.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked, bewildered. “Why not buy it?”

“It’s too expensive. Ten gold for a hairpin.”

Xie Chang’er thought she lacked money. “I have money. When we returned to Beijing, I got my salary. I saved thirty gold.” As he spoke, he reached for the purse at his waist, but she hurriedly grabbed his hand. “This is a busy market—don’t flaunt your wealth!”

She dragged him to another shop and picked out a few Chunshengchun hair ribbons. They cost only a few dozen coins altogether, and she said cheerfully, “Look, these are all pretty too. And New Year is coming—we can wear them then.” Suddenly she sighed. “When the captain returns, I’ll go back to Luoyang with her. After that… you won’t get to see me wearing these Chun banners.”

Xie Chang’er felt a dull ache in his heart. After a long struggle, he suddenly untied his purse and thrust it into her hands.

“Taozi… all this money is for you.”

She blinked, startled.

“If you miss me,” he said earnestly, “use this money to buy something tasty. Then you won’t feel sad.”

She stared. “No, absolutely not. You saved this money through hard work. You should keep it.”

He always listened to her, but this time he shook his head stubbornly. “I have food and lodging in the Qin Wangfu. I don’t need to spend money.”

She hesitated, then finally said, “Fine… I’ll keep it for you first.”

They strolled a little longer before returning home. After lunch, Li Ni and Ah Ying slipped quietly back.

Because Ah Ying’s status was special and her arrival in the capital had been rushed, she could not stay long. After the meal, she and Taozi departed quietly.

When they came, they rushed day and night. But on the return journey, they were calmer. Though they still changed horses frequently, they no longer raced. The sky was hazy; snow seemed close; the winds were biting. They did not travel at night, preferring to rest properly—riding by day, sleeping by night.

After four or five days, they arrived back in Luoyang. Just as they entered the house, before even removing the dust of travel, Song Shu arrived asking to see her. She immediately had him brought in.

“Young master has returned,” Song Shu said, cupping his hands.

Ah Ying froze—then joy surged through her. “Where is he? Take me to him!”

Liu Chengfeng was in the flower hall with Cui Yi. Years of battle had left Cui Yi with many old injuries; every winter was difficult to endure. The flower hall had a fire kang, so after the defeat at Xichangjing and their return to Luoyang, he lived there daily. Liu Chengfeng’s survival was nothing short of a miracle. Naturally, Cui Yi was overwhelmed. At that moment, he sat close, holding his son’s wrist, asking about how he survived falling into the river.

When Ah Ying entered, she saw father and son deep in conversation, both sighing at the memories.

Liu Chengfeng had already bathed and changed clothing. He wore one of Cui Yi’s fur coats, oversized and ill-fitting, making him look thinner and more fragile.

She felt her heart burst with relief. Stepping forward, she called, “Young master.”

Liu Chengfeng turned—and was visibly stunned.

He had once said that if he survived, he would consider it rebirth.

After he fell into the river, the current swept him far downstream. He lost too much blood and fainted. Ah Shu, though injured, managed to pull him ashore once the water shallowed. She tore branches to make a makeshift stretcher—but after only a few steps, she stumbled, and the two rolled off a cliff into a valley.

He didn’t know how long he remained unconscious. A woodcutter found them by chance. The valley was secluded; the woodcutter lived alone and collected herbs, even having ancestral healing medicines. Seeing Liu Chengfeng gravely injured, he boiled herbs with bear bile and fed him. Miraculously, after more than half a month, his condition improved. Ah Shu’s leg was broken, but slowly healed. They remained in the valley for over two months until both could walk.

Then, penniless, starving, and ragged, they left the mountains and searched for the victorious army. After months of hardship, they reached the Dingsheng camp and were finally sent back to Luoyang.

As he finished recounting what had happened, he looked distant, as though it were all a dream. Ah Ying comforted gently, “It’s enough that you returned safely.”

“If one survives calamity, blessings follow,” Cui Yi said warmly. He cherished this son deeply. “The world is peaceful again. Stay home and rest.”

Liu Chengfeng murmured assent.

He returned to the same courtyard he had lived in before. After his disappearance, Cui Yi—heartbroken but unwilling to discard anything—had stored away all his belongings, sealing them carefully. He had planned to take them back to Fanyang for remembrance. He never expected his son to return alive.

Entering his room, Liu Chengfeng saw everything exactly as before—cleaned, neat, preserved. Even his favorite books remained untouched. Emotion welled up as he reached out and touched a small celadon water bowl on the desk. Cui Yi had bought it for him when he first learned to write. When Ah Ying was young, she had once knocked it over with a bamboo sword during play, chipping the rim. Master had slapped both of them three times as punishment. Cui Yi wanted to replace it with a copper bowl, but the strict master refused.

Their master had been demanding—believing that even the son of a general needed discipline. He hired a renowned teacher, and both children practiced tirelessly. Ah Ying learned clerical script; he mastered flying-white brushwork. Their childhoods were carved into those days.

He slowly traced the small notch along the rim of the celadon water bowl. Because so many years had passed, the chip had long lost its sharp edges; it had become smooth and rounded, blending into the curve of the porcelain as if it had always been a part of it, not something broken later.

His fingertips lingered there.
Every time he recalled those days with Ah Ying, a quiet warmth always rose in his chest. This time was no different—at first, he even felt himself smiling. But not long after, a faint ache unfurled beneath his ribs, swelling like a tide, spreading until it filled him.

He lifted the bowl carefully, studying the familiar gap.
That was when he noticed it—just beside the chip, an almost invisible hairline crack. It wasn’t new. He had simply never examined it this closely. Thin as a strand of silk, it stretched across most of the bowl.
So the day he had knocked it over, it hadn’t just chipped—this fine line had formed too. It had simply been too small to leak.

He let out a silent, breathless laugh.

Sometime during his thoughts, Ah Shu had stepped quietly into the room. Seeing the young master standing by the desk, lost in silence, he didn’t dare interrupt. Only when Liu Chengfeng spoke did he straighten in surprise.

“…Ah Shu.”

Ah Shu immediately approached, answering softly, “Young Master,” and waited for further instructions.

Liu Chengfeng’s voice was calm—so calm it felt like he was speaking of something entirely ordinary. And perhaps, in his eyes at that moment, it was.

“This water bowl is cracked,” he said. “Replace it with a new one.”

Ah Shu froze.
This bowl… it was the one his young master used every day. The one he never let anyone else touch. For years, it had been treated like a quiet treasure.

Still stunned, he asked hesitantly, “Then… what about the old one?”

Liu Chengfeng did not waver. His tone stayed light, steady—almost detached.

“Throw it away.”