On the night of the first day of the seventh month, Duo Han attempted to assassinate Emperor Di Xu but failed. Dozens of palace attendants and imperial guards were injured, and he fled northward under the cover of darkness. Deputy General Fu Yi of the Near-Capital Garrison and Adjutant Fang Haishi of the Huangquan Garrison led five hundred soldiers, opened the Yongzuo Gate of the imperial capital at night, and lit torches to pursue the fugitive. They traversed the three prefectures of Zhonglu, Chishan, and He’an, covering a thousand li and exhausting countless horses. Duo Han was cunning, repeatedly escaping capture attempts, and the imperial forces suffered nearly a hundred casualties. By the middle of the eighth month, he was finally killed beyond the Mohe Pass, and his body was seized by the Jiaman army.
—"Cabinet Archives: Memorials and Documents, Tianxiang Volume, Fourteenth Year, Eighth Month"
When they reached the Mohe Pass, it was the afternoon of the fifteenth day of the eighth month. Beyond the pass lay the territory of Jiaman. Since the remaining four hundred cavalrymen were neither envoys nor merchants, they could not openly enter another country in arms. Thus, they dispatched plainclothes scouts to cross the pass and gather intelligence. As the appointed time passed and dusk approached, none of the ten scouts returned. Two warning whistles had sounded in the grasslands earlier, but after that, there was no further news. It was likely that all ten had met their demise.
To prevent favoritism from old acquaintances, the five hundred soldiers dispatched from the capital were not drawn from the Imperial Guard but were selected from the Near-Capital Garrison, most of whom were Fu Yi’s former subordinates from the Huangquan Pass. According to palace rumors, Fang Zhu, the Chief Steward of the Phoenix Court, had intended to personally capture Fang Zhuoying but was unable to do so due to severe injuries. Instead, another adopted son, Fang Haishi, took his place. After half a month of pursuit, with multiple traps, ambushes, and encirclements, Fang Zhuoying, traveling alone, moved like a ghost, evading capture across thousands of li from Zhongzhou to Hanzhou. Instead, dozens of robust men were lost. Now, with ten more lives gone, a silent unrest stirred among the remaining four hundred cavalrymen.
Fu Yi reined in his horse and closed his eyes in thought. Haishi watched his dark, indistinct face from the side. After a moment, Fu Yi raised his right hand high, pointed decisively forward, and said calmly, "Cross the pass."
The twilight in the grasslands was exceptionally intense and vibrant. The sky was piled with clouds resembling countless castles. The golden sun had not yet set, while the icy moon had already risen in the east. The sun, moon, and stars were all radiant and immense, making the sky appear entirely different from what was seen within the pass. The summer grass grew lush and tall, reaching the height of the horses' backs. Under the setting sun, the sprawling grass resembled waves of crimson gold, surging from the vast distance in rolling swells.
Zhuoying narrowed his eyes, the evening glow painting his handsome face in shades of gold and red. He let his horse amble at its own pace, stopping and starting as it pleased. The northern climate was slow to change. Within the Mohe Pass, a city of pomegranate trees bloomed fiercely, their vibrant red visible even from seven or eight li away. A trail of dust rose in the distance under the blue sky, galloping from the southeast toward the northwest.
They were here.
Zhuoying tightened his legs slightly, and the nine-flowered steed beneath him broke into a brisk run.
Shouts gradually spread out, encircling him. He turned to look back. Across the vast green wilderness, a semicircle of yellow dust closed in from behind, now only about two li away. The figures of riders leaped in and out of view amid the waves of grass.
An indescribable exhilaration surged through Zhuoying’s veins. Indeed, he was still a Huku man, a descendant of Sijiu. He let out a long laugh, cracked his whip, and leaned close to his horse’s ear, whispering in the Huku language, "Feiguang, let me see if you are truly a fine horse." As if understanding human speech, Feiguang let out a fierce whinny, reared, and leaped forward, galloping so swiftly its hooves seemed not to touch the dust.
Zhuoying felt his body coming back to life, inch by inch.With heart and eyes unclouded, her body light as a swallow, her sleeves fluttered in the wind as she rode. Across the vast green plains that flourished in summer and withered in winter, generations of people lived and died like mayflies, busy galloping on horseback and singing loudly. Born in the wilderness, vanishing in the wilderness, insignificant as blades of grass, yet content and joyful.
I’m back. Truly back.
“Is that him?” Fu Yi asked.
Hai Shi replied expressionlessly, “The voice sounds like it.” Fu Yi sneered, “Living carefree, even singing now. Flank them.” “Sir!” someone suddenly exclaimed. A cloud of yellow dust billowed from the northwest as well, and the sharp sound of someone blowing on a blade of grass floated through the golden-red twilight. The hoofbeats were uniform, the formation disciplined—clearly a well-trained force.
“Is it the Jiaman army?” “No, they’re in civilian clothes!” “No mistake, those horses are all Jiaman warhorses!” Murmurs instantly spread among the four hundred riders.
“Jiaman people…” Fu Yi frowned. “So that’s it…” The eastern part of Huku bordered Jiaman, with the Left Pudu tribe to the south and the Right Pudu tribe to the north. The two kings had long been at odds. Recently, the Left Pudu King, Duoluo, seemed to have designs on Jiaman, so Jiaman naturally sought to win over the Right Pudu King, Erji. Fang Zhuoying was Duoluo’s younger brother. For Erji to oppose Duoluo, the most legitimate method would be to support Fang Zhuoying in contending for the Left Pudu throne. To overthrow Duoluo, Jiaman had even dispatched troops to contend with the Zhen dynasty for Fang Zhuoying. What was infuriating was that the Jiaman people concealed their identities, disguising their soldiers as herdsmen. In future negotiations, they could easily deny involvement, claiming it was the work of bandits. Jiaman had always feared and submitted to the Zhen dynasty. When the Left Pudu tribe first began causing trouble, Jiaman had even sought aid from Tianqi, but Emperor Xi dismissed the envoy without a second thought. Now it seemed Jiaman had completely lost hope in the Zhen dynasty.
“Even so,” Fu Yi thought bitterly, “if the Jiaman people are pushed to the brink and retaliate with their full force, it would be a fearsome prospect.” As a deputy general of the imperial garrison, he had no reason to rashly start a conflict on Jiaman soil.
“General Fu, allow me to try,” a young officer beside him urged his horse forward. Fu Yi turned and saw Fang Haishi’s delicate, almost feminine profile.
Fang Zhuoying galloped toward the Huku army, now barely a li away from merging into the thousand-strong formation, beyond pursuit.
Fu Yi nodded. “Go.” Hai Shi flicked the reins, struck twice with her whip, and swiftly gave chase. Her slender, youthful figure seemed to dissolve into the setting sun.
The wind roared in her ears. Hai Shi released the reins, took the six-stone strong bow from her back with one hand, and with the other drew a white falcon-feathered arrow from her quiver, nocking it. Holding the bow with her left hand and drawing with her right, she leveled the arrow with her eye. Even a strong man might struggle to draw this six-stone bow to its full draw, yet this youth did so effortlessly. On the thumb of her drawing hand, the usual thumb ring was absent, replaced by several layers of hastily wrapped leather.
Mind settled, spirit clear, no delusions, no hesitation. All thoughts extinguished, all hearts silenced.
When she first began learning archery at six, Fang Zhu had spoken these words, standing behind her, guiding her hands as she drew the bow to its fullest.
Only then could the released shot fly true, striking the target without deviation. This shot could not afford the slightest error—it had to hit. The tension in her right hand suddenly released. The moment the arrow left the string, cheers erupted behind her. The arrow was on course to strike Zhuoying directly in the heart, unerring.
Hai Shi, it really is you.Zhuoying spurred his horse due west, charging straight toward the colossal half-submerged sun as if another half-hour’s gallop would carry him right into it. The sagebrush rustled and flattened on either side, like waves parting before the wind. He could not dodge—this arrow from Haishi had to strike true. That child had always been prodigiously gifted in riding and archery; he trusted she would not miss.
A sharp whistle tore through the air.
The brutal force slammed into his back. Zhuoying’s body arched violently forward before he tumbled from his saddle. Warm liquid trickled down his spine, soaking his entire back.
"Zhuoying, this is the last wager I make with you. If you believe in the bond Haishi has always shared with you, if you trust she would defy orders rather than kill you—then we shall stake everything on this gamble. If we win, you gain your freedom, and... these seven thousand li of Hanzhou." Even as he was hurled through the air, the man’s voice and countenance remained vividly clear.
He lay prone on the damp earth, listening as the Jiaman riders encircled him while the Zhen army galloped away. Struggling, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, the arrow still buried deep in his back. Zhuoying drew his sword, severed the shaft, then reached under his left arm to unfasten the silver flask hidden against his skin. A bitter smile touched his sharply defined lips.
Foster Father... you’ve never miscalculated in your life, have you?
The arrowhead had pierced the flask, draining most of the wine, while his wound was barely half an inch deep.
He laughed soundlessly, tears streaming down his face.
Haishi and I, each stubbornly following our own paths, only to discover every twist and turn had been orchestrated by you. Our desperate struggles against fate were merely the flailings of puppets, dancing on strings you pulled, performing the drama you directed.
The head of the Weaving Bureau, Shi Lin, stood trembling as he watched those slender, almost feminine fingers casually tap a rhythm on the aloeswood table before him.
"To think... that old fox." The young man shed his usual playful demeanor. "The two prime falcons we painstakingly selected ended up becoming stepping stones in his scheme. Now, with Fang Zhuoying exiled beyond the Pass, branded with the capital crime of attempting to assassinate the Zhen emperor, the commoners of Huku not only suspect nothing but hail him as a young hero who endured humiliation for fifteen years. Fang Zhu’s calculations... ah, they are exquisitely precise." Shi Lin’s plump face flushed crimson. "This... this lowly one was too dull-witted... I never imagined Fang Zhu would even kill Zheliu to divert the disaster onto Your Highness... I should have anticipated..." Prince Chang raised a hand to silence him. "This isn’t your fault. Had that blind girl lived, Fang Zhuoying would still oppose us upon returning to Hanzhou. Her death only hardens his resolve. It’s like—had Sister Mudan not died, I still couldn’t have allowed Brother Xu to continue down that path." Having said this, Prince Chang lifted his elegant brows and smiled faintly. "Ah, I shouldn’t have spoken of such matters with you." A chill seeped into Shi Lin’s very bones.Back in the day, Princess Yanling, witnessing the heavy burden of corvée labor and taxes on the common people, grew to despise Emperor Xu for his tyranny and cruelty. She urged Prince Chang to assassinate the emperor and seize the throne. But Prince Chang, feeling his power was not yet sufficient and the timing not yet ripe, deliberately presented a frivolous and carefree facade both in public and in private—so convincingly that even Princess Yanling was deceived. Furious, the princess departed. A few days later, she brought poisoned wine to share with Emperor Xu, only to be thwarted by the Black-Clad Imperial Guard. Princess Yanling fled, pursued by the imperial forces to the corner tower of the outer city. Struck by two arrows, she pulled out the one that had pierced her chest and leaped from the five-zhang-high tower, falling to her death on Yongle Avenue. To protect Prince Chang, she was falsely identified as the illegitimate daughter of the Prince of Fenyang, her eyes left wide open in eternal grievance.
"Now we can only wait until next spring, when the Left Pudu King feigns an attack on Huangquan Pass as agreed, taking advantage of the capital's weakened defenses..." The young man's fingers still tapped lightly on the table, his smile cold and shadowy in the lamplight. "But before that, we must cut off every last one of Fang Zhu's claws. Sister Mudan was too foolish—all courage and no strategy. Still, I will make sure her death was not in vain." After the false princess died, the music and revelry in the mansion continued unabated, with guests indulging in drunken merriment. The prince summoned a beauty to his chamber.
At dawn, he asked, "Did I speak drunken words last night? Or murmur in my dreams?" The beauty replied, "No." The prince said, "Clever girl, but your cleverness ends today." He drew his sword and killed her.
—"Records of the Emperors: Chapter 131, Prince Chang," from The Book of Conquests
While pursuing the barbarian Duo Han, Haishi missed her scheduled return to Huangquan Pass. Heavy snow in the northern deserts blocked her path, forcing her to cross south and remain in the eastern lands until the following spring.
On her way back to Tianqi, she fell ill outside Chishan City. By the time she reached the courier station, she was slumped over her horse's back, unconscious in a deep slumber. A physician was summoned to examine her and was led to a separate room for tea and to write a prescription. He diagnosed her with internal invasion of wind-cold and noted that as a young woman, she suffered from dual deficiency of qi and blood, so he added a tonic formula. Fu Yi listened without a word and rewarded the physician handsomely. That very night, the physician died suddenly, and the silver he had received just covered his funeral expenses.
The prescription was indeed appropriate, though not particularly remarkable. Haishi's fever gradually subsided but stubbornly refused to break completely. Fu Yi left a few men at the courier station to care for her, intending for them to catch up with the main group once she recovered. Haishi, however, paid little heed to her own condition. Even as the weather turned cool in the ninth month, she still wandered about in thin clothing, heedless of the wind, and her fever persisted. Thus, her return to Tianqi was delayed day by day.
By the tenth month, she had developed a cough, and her fever waxed and waned. She showed no urgency, as if a later return to the capital suited her just fine, and she dismissed the soldiers assigned to care for her one by one.
In the eleventh month, goose-feather snow blanketed the sky and earth. Yet Haishi continued her archery practice daily in the courier station's rear courtyard.
Her eyes seemed to see no arrow, her hands to hold no bow—her heart was as calm as still water. Each new arrow would split the previous one from fletching to tip, cleaving it in two. Over and over, she aimed at the same bullseye until the shattered arrows accumulated into a bundle. At first glance, it appeared miraculous, but over time, it grew monotonous.
A fifteen-year-old girl named Xiao Liu, who worked at the courier station, would sometimes pause while carrying a basin along the corridor to watch Haishi draw her bow and shoot. Her plump cheeks flushed red from the cold, her eyes holding a glimmer of something crystalline. Haishi could only offer a bitter smile to herself.One day, for some unknown reason, Xiao Liu mustered her courage and timidly asked Haishi for her birth date. Haishi casually told her, but the girl grew visibly uneasy. After hesitating for a moment, she awkwardly fished out a "cypress scapegoat" from her bosom. Haishi knew that a "cypress scapegoat" was a three-inch figurine carved from cypress wood. Whenever a child fell ill with smallpox or a family member suffered from a prolonged illness, common households would often fashion such a figurine, inscribe the patient's name and birth date on its chest, and then split it in two—a symbolic act to transfer the misfortune onto the cypress scapegoat. Xiao Liu, being illiterate, had to ask Haishi to write the characters herself. Haishi didn't put much stock in such superstitious practices, but seeing Xiao Liu's eager enthusiasm, she didn't want to dampen her spirits. Once the writing was done, Xiao Liu placed the figurine on a chopping block, split it in two with an axe, then solemnly burned it in the stove. Beaming with joy, she brought the resulting ashes to show Haishi. Strangely enough, after that, Haishi's illness did indeed take a turn for the better, and her feverish episodes gradually diminished.
By the time Xiao Liu was born, the Prince of Yi's rebellion had already been quelled. Chishan County had been reclaimed early on and, blessed with natural abundance and plentiful resources, its people no longer faced the hardships Haishi's parents had endured—barren, saline land yielding no crops, forcing them to become pearl divers, eking out a living amidst treacherous winds and whales. Though this girl came from humble origins and survived by working as a servant, she had enjoyed over a decade of peace, allowing her to grow up with an innocent simplicity. She likely had no idea that her youthful vibrancy and that very innocence could, in times of turmoil, become her downfall.
Perhaps it would be better to rely on martial prowess and live out this life as a man. Another twenty years, and once her looks had faded, even the nuisance of attracting a young girl's attention would vanish. At this thought, Haishi herself felt disheartened, shaking her head faintly with a wry smile.
Ahead on the post road, voices and the sounds of horses mingled as the old sergeant, his voice hoarse like a cracked gong, called out for the servant girl, "Xiao Liu! Xiao Liu!" Xiao Liu hastily replied, her shoes slapping noisily against the ground as she rushed toward the commotion. In such heavy snow, there were no other guests—only military couriers delivering urgent documents. They were always particularly demanding, shouting as soon as they entered for warmed wine, horse feed, their cloaks dried, and meals served so they could eat and hurry on their way. It always kept Xiao Liu busy for at least half an hour.
Haishi tilted her head to gaze at the sky. Snowflakes drifted down endlessly, settling on her lips and melting into a piercing chill. The chaotic sky, however, remained utterly indistinct.
Another series of slapping footsteps echoed from the worn floorboards under the eaves. Haishi glanced sideways and saw Xiao Liu hurrying back, waving a letter in her hand. From afar, she called out, "Lord Fang, a letter for you." When she handed it over, their fingers brushed, flushing the girl's face crimson.
Embarrassed, Haishi took the letter and began opening it as she walked. The letter was exceptionally thin, with only a single character, "Fang," inscribed as the sender's name on the envelope. It had been three months since they last corresponded—a rare occurrence for Haishi. She bit her lower lip slightly, revealing a boyish, resentful expression, and slipped two fingers inside to pull out the paper within.Xiao Liu followed behind her with great enthusiasm, then suddenly halted in surprise. The young general before her abruptly stiffened his back, as if pricked by something, and abruptly released his fingers. From the plain white envelope fluttered a strikingly vibrant red card, glowing so fiercely in the snow it seemed almost scorching. Quick-witted, she darted forward and crouched down, intending to pick it up for him, but suddenly a hand pressed down on hers. The hand was slender and firm, its palm carrying a faint warmth, with the feel of many thin calluses. Xiao Liu felt a sudden roar in her head, her ears burning a translucent crimson.
"Don't touch it," Haishi frowned, her elegant brows tightening, her expression cold and imposing, almost murderous.
Xiao Liu instantly paled, the flush draining from her face, tears welling in her eyes but not daring to fall. How could this handsome and cheerful young general suddenly become so terrifying? Haishi picked up the red card, hesitated for a moment, then unfolded it. At a glance, her long, expressive eyebrows showed a look of astonishment, and she turned to question Xiao Liu, "Where is the messenger?" "In... in the front hall... waiting," Xiao Liu replied, her voice trembling uncontrollably. A sudden clattering sound made her shoulders jolt violently. She stole a glance and saw the snowy courtyard scattered with arrows, but Haishi had already vanished.
Haishi rushed to the front hall of the courier station, where an ordinary middle-aged soldier was waiting. His appearance was so plain it was almost forgettable, yet he seemed vaguely familiar. Upon seeing Haishi, the soldier stood and saluted, his demeanor steady and dignified, making it hard to treat him lightly. Indeed, she had seen this man several times at Jifeng Hall, likely a figure of some importance among the Black-Clad Imperial Guards, which showed how seriously Fang Zhu regarded this letter.
"Did you bring enough silver?" Haishi asked.
"Yes, young master, I brought enough." "Then, buy yourself a horse for the return journey. I'm taking your horse," Haishi said as she headed out toward the stables.
The horse the man had ridden was the fastest steed in the hall, originally Zhuo Ying's, with its saddle still on. Haishi led it out, and it still recognized her, blinking its moist, dark eyes, very docile. She patted its back sorrowfully, mounted, and with a crack of the whip, the horse bolted forward like lightning.
The six-hundred-li journey from Chishan City to Tianqi would take even the fastest courier with the Flying Phoenix gold plaque a day and a night on horseback, while an ordinary journey would require five or six days. The road ahead was shrouded in heavy snow, but the horse charged through the snow mist, heading straight south.
The howling wind and flying snow beat against the windows with a sound.
Fang Zhu suddenly opened his eyes. Amid the sound of the wind and snow, the distant rhythm of hoofbeats approached. The marks left by years of military life on him had faded—the calluses from drawing bows, the scars from swords—all smoothed over with time. Only his alertness in the night and sharp hearing remained unchanged. The hoofbeats paused about two or three li away, likely to rouse the on-duty Imperial Guards and open the Chuihua Gate, then continued straight toward Jifeng Hall, clear and resonant in the quiet night.
Who else could it be but Haishi? Frost Ping Lake had long since frozen over. Recalling that day, summer lotuses stood gracefully outside the window, and duckweed filled the pond. Another half a year had passed just like that.Outside the door came the sound of light, running footsteps, followed by the hushed, dissuasive whispers of the guards. One of them let out a low, pained cry—likely having been struck. He couldn't help but smile bitterly to himself. Who could possibly stop her? Haishi strode directly into his bedchamber and closed the door behind her. She had rushed over like the wind, not a single snowflake clinging to her shoulders, yet the collar of her garment, facing the wind, had gathered a fine dusting of snow. Watching her approach swiftly, he showed no surprise, merely sitting up slightly as he waited for her to speak. His pupils were deep and inscrutable, making it impossible to discern where his gaze rested—like a bottomless, opaque gray.
The warmth of the charcoal fire in the room was stifling, and only then did Haishi realize that her hands, feet, and cheeks had grown so stiff and cold they'd lost all sensation. Gradually, she became aware of her own scorching, feverish breath. The charcoal fire couldn't warm her; what warmed her was the illness burning within her body. With great effort, she reached into her bosom, retrieved a red card, and slowly extended her arm, holding it out before Fang Zhu.
"What is the meaning of this?" Anger surged uncontrollably across her delicate, beautiful face. "A reward? Because I personally killed Zhuoying for you, is this your way of rewarding my unwavering loyalty?" The man gazed at her from across the red card but did not answer.
The red card, adorned with gilded twin mandarin ducks, was folded in a continuous, linked accordion style, symbolizing reunion and togetherness.
A marriage certificate.
On the half-opened page of the red card, only two names were visible—one on the left, one on the right.
Fang Jianming.
Ye Haishi.
The ink brushstrokes were upright, clear, and rounded, unmistakably the refined style of a well-bred scion raised in an aristocratic household. He had used his original name and still remembered her original surname, Ye. He knew how deeply she cared for Zhuoying, knew how excruciating it had been for her to deliver the fatal blow to him herself—so, was he finally offering her some form of compensation? The candle flame suddenly flared up, crackling with a popping sound. Haishi's heart felt as if it were boiling, her innards searing with anguish. A bitter taste choked her throat, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. Clenching her fists and closing her eyes, she summoned all her strength to forcibly swallow back the surge of grief and fury.
When her eyes opened again, she was astonished at how calmly and coldly she could speak, word by word: "I didn't kill him. I know he always keeps a wine flask hidden under his left arm. I only shot that flask. I defied you—for the first time in my life." Her voice suddenly rose slightly. "But it felt indescribably satisfying." "I know." The gentle, refined voice carried a hint of laughter.
"You don’t know!" A surge of bitterness forced open her tightly clenched teeth. Haishi thought she would scream, but what came out was only a suppressed, hoarse whisper. "You asked me to kill, and I never questioned why. But if Haoying and I were destined to turn against each other one day, why did you let us call each other brothers? Why let us sleep and eat together since childhood, train together, study together? I’ve always held feelings for you, but I never dared to expect anything in return. As long as it didn’t cause you trouble, I was willing to endure silently, without a single complaint." Tears shimmered hotly in her eyes. "But if I’m just a weapon for killing, a loyal hound, why dangle an empty marriage before me like bait or a treat? You’ve—utterly belittled me!"
The man before her didn’t avoid her sharp gaze; instead, a faint smile touched his lips. "I know, and Haoying knows too. You’re an exceptionally perceptive child. Even without me saying a word, you knew what to do. Now, Haoying is officially dead in the Dazheng registry, but among the Huku people, he’s the fugitive Duohan Ersa who has returned against all odds. Without that arrow, Prince Chang’s faction would never have let it go, and Haoying wouldn’t have been able to establish himself among the Huku. Your arrow was perfectly placed—exactly where Haoying and I hoped it would be."
Haishi’s expression gradually shifted, her face clouded with confusion.
Fangzhu continued with a light smile, "You’re too willful. What you want, I cannot give. But I know how much you’ve suffered this time." On his composed and gentle face, a half-inch scar curved upward faintly, as if holding a vague smile. In his slender, phoenix-like eyes, a youthful brightness flickered briefly. "Besides, it’s been many years since I last acted willfully."
Haishi blinked her bright eyes in bewilderment, her thoughts racing. Before she could fully grasp his words, her hands and shoulders trembled uncontrollably, her blood surging with a bittersweet rush of happiness. A moment later, she lifted her face, two blushes blooming on her cheeks.
He rose from the bed, draped in his robe, and gently enclosed her clenched fists with his hands, slowly prying them open. He retrieved the crumpled marriage certificate and chuckled softly, "Don’t crush it—it still has its uses. Even if it’s just you and me, we shouldn’t be careless about this. I’ve instructed the kitchen to prepare auspicious dishes for tomorrow evening."
In this dynasty, eunuchs were permitted to marry palace maids, a practice known as "paired dining." Some even maintained separate residences outside the palace or took concubines, not hiding it but rather flaunting it as a point of pride. Everyone knew the reality of such marriages, yet, as if to prove a point, these ceremonies often adhered strictly to tradition—complete with the six rites: proposal, name inquiry, auspicious betrothal, betrothal gifts, date selection, and the wedding procession. If the marriage took place outside the palace, the celebrations were even more extravagant. To ensure care in old age, it was also common for eunuchs to adopt children from poor families.Yet, for him and her, it was impossible. In public, they were the Chief Palace Eunuch and the frontier general, adoptive father and adopted son, a eunuch and a young man—each layer of their relationship was shocking and defied all norms. If her identity as a woman were exposed now, her past act of participating in the imperial martial examinations as a man and being named the third-ranked scholar would become an undeniable crime of deceiving the emperor. This marriage certificate was destined never to be publicly presented before heaven, earth, and their ancestors.
Her knees grew weak, and a roaring filled her ears. The exhaustion of traveling six hundred li without food or rest while ill had drained her completely. Overwhelming joy and sorrow surged within her, crashing like violent waves that swallowed Haishi’s consciousness. Her mind went blank, and she collapsed sideways, only to be caught around the waist by Fang Zhu. Faintly, she heard someone knocking at the door. Struggling to push him away and stand upright, she felt the arm around her waist tighten, refusing to let her go. A warm, steady voice said, “Xiao Zi? Come in.” The next moment, Haishi felt a numbness behind her ear and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The one who entered was the middle-aged soldier who had delivered the message to Chishan City. He must have rushed back at full speed, arriving just an hour or so after Haishi. Seeing Fang Zhu holding the slender youth by the shoulders and waist, the soldier named Xiao Zi showed no surprise. He cupped his hands slightly in salute and, without using any formal address, said, “The informant sent word. Prince Chang has finalized his plan. Using his birthday celebration the day after tomorrow as a pretext, he will request the emperor’s permission to transfer the young master to his residence as captain of the guards until the roads to Huangquan Pass clear up early next summer, when the young master can return to his post. Additionally, while eavesdropping, the informant overheard Prince Chang refer to the young master as ‘that Fang family girl.’” By then, Fang Zhu had already settled Haishi on the bed, checking her smooth forehead—the fever had subsided slightly. With her bright, lucid eyes closed, her sleeping face unexpectedly revealed a delicate vulnerability.
“What an impatient young prince,” Fang Zhu remarked without turning around, studying her face as he gently wiped the thin sweat from her brow. “Does he intend to wipe out everyone under my command before spring arrives?”
“Chief Eunuch…” Xiao Zi, who usually spoke slowly and deliberately, couldn’t help raising his voice slightly.
Fang Zhu turned around calmly. “It was my mistake—I should not have clung to hope. Return now. Tomorrow, during the Qiyue hunting expedition, keep a close watch on Prince Chang and his men. Do not let them act prematurely. Once Haishi enters Prince Chang’s residence, it will be nearly impossible for her to leave.”
“But with such a heavy snowstorm, will the emperor even go hunting tomorrow?” Xiao Zi asked.
In the candlelight, Fang Zhu’s face appeared somewhat pale. “If the emperor does not go to the hunting grounds tomorrow, this child’s life will likely be ruined.” That night, Xiao Zi left the city and did not return until just before dawn. Clutching a newly acquired young eaglet, he sat atop the hip-and-gable roof of Chongren Gate. Amid the swirling snow, he could see the faint, bean-sized lamp light in the side courtyard of Jifeng Hall, burning until daybreak. By then, the lanterns in the brightly lit Jincheng Palace had been lit all night, and palace attendants had begun to stir.
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