The Golden Hairpin

The sky was already bright when they finished the breakfast prepared by the post station and made brief preparations before setting off.

Huang Zixiang mounted her horse, Nafusha, and followed behind Li Shubai. Di’e approached Nafusha, rubbing its neck briefly. On horseback, she and Li Shubai inadvertently brushed shoulders.

Noticing the faint shadows under her eyes, Li Shubai frowned slightly and reined in Di’e, asking, “Did you sleep poorly?”

“Mm.” She nodded silently.

He said, “If we ride swiftly today, we should reach Chengdu Prefecture. Don’t dwell on things too much. Once we arrive, we can assess the situation before making plans.”

She looked up at Li Shubai, finding him so close that he was practically gazing down at her. The distance between them was so narrow she could almost feel his breath. Unable to meet his clear, penetrating eyes, she lowered her head. “Understood.”

Without another glance at her, he urged his horse forward.

Huang Zixiang quickly spurred Nafusha to catch up, and the two rode one after the other onto the smooth official road.

From Hanzhou to Chengdu, merchants and travelers bustled along the road without end. Huang Zixiang was riding with her head lowered when, as the crowd thinned, Li Shubai suddenly spoke. “Truthfully, I’ve also felt unsettled these past few days.”

She raised her head to look at him. “Your Highness, is it because of that talisman?”

“Mm.” He rode ahead, lost in thought. “That talisman bears six words: widower, crippled, orphaned, solitary, ruined, and ill. On the day my mother passed, the word ‘orphaned’ was circled. Three years ago, when I was nearly assassinated in Xuzhou, my arm was almost crippled—yet the word ‘crippled’ faded once I recovered. But this time…”

Before their departure, fresh blood had appeared on the talisman, circling the word “ruined.”

To decline, decay, and be cast aside—that was ruin.

Li Shubai, Prince Kui of the Great Tang, was enfeoffed at six, left the palace at thirteen, and after seven years of seclusion, crushed Pang Xun—the greatest threat to the court—in a single stroke, simultaneously restraining the powerful military governors. His authority overshadowed the realm, his might unparalleled.

Yet how long could such a meteoric rise last?

At twenty-three, his fate was in turmoil. On the divination talisman, ominous words were being circled one after another.

Huang Zixiang found the matter utterly bizarre but had no leads. She could only console him, “Everything in this world has a cause. I don’t know how that talisman can foretell events concerning Your Highness, but ultimately, I don’t believe in supernatural claims. I imagine… neither do you.”

Li Shubai turned to look at her, his eyes sharp and discerning. “Don’t play the fool, Huang Zixiang. The truth—deep down, both of us already have an idea, don’t we?”

She lowered her head in silence, avoiding his gaze. “I dare not speculate recklessly.”

“Regardless, what comes will come. I’ll wait and see.” The corner of his lips lifted in a faint, mocking smile before he turned his horse and rode ahead.

Though the roads of Shu were treacherous, this was a vital thoroughfare. After years of Tang governance, it had long been paved into a broad highway. Di’e and Nafusha were rare, exceptional steeds—even Jing Yu and the others couldn’t keep up and had fallen behind. Only the two of them galloped forward, one after the other.On one side of the road stretched endless green mountains, while on the other meandered an unbroken river. Scattered along the path were homes nestled between the hills and waters. It was late summer now, and countless hollyhocks bloomed vividly in red, white, yellow, and purple, clustered in thickets that blurred into streaks of bright brocade draped over every household’s garden as they galloped past.

In each small courtyard, branches heavy with fruit drooped low—plums, pears, pomelos, some ripe, some not. Yet all along the way, the peppercorns in the mountain gardens had long ripened, dotting the green foliage like countless clusters of crimson coral beads. The breeze carried a faint, spicy fragrance.

Dì È and Nà Fú Shā slowed their pace. On this road of vibrant colors and warm, fragrant air, the two horses walked side by side, occasionally nuzzling each other’s necks, causing Li Shubai and Huang Zitao to draw near and part again and again.

Worried that Jing Yu and the others might fall too far behind, Li Shubai reined in his horse and halted by the cliff’s edge. In the distance, the long wind swept across the land, and waves of white clouds rolled over the vast rivers and mountains. The sunlight at the horizon shifted unpredictably, casting alternating shadows and light upon the earth ahead.

Gazing at the distant sky, he exhaled deeply after a long moment, then turned to look at Huang Zitao.

Her face was slightly pale, her breath somewhat hurried. Keeping up with him on this long, hard ride would have exhausted even Jing Yu and the others, yet she had endured it all. Across these thousand miles of rivers and ten thousand layers of mountains, she was the first who had stayed by his side without faltering.

For an instant, he looked back at her, and suddenly, a smile appeared. The curve of his lips was like a breeze rippling over water—subtle, rising and fading swiftly.

Huang Zitao blinked in surprise. Meeting his smiling gaze, she saw in his eyes, just for that fleeting moment, a brilliance of countless hues. Whether from the wild gallop or something else, her cheeks burned faintly without her realizing it.

But he averted his gaze, casually opening the saddlebag on Dì È and retrieving a small pouch, which he tossed to her.

Holding the reins with one hand, she caught it with the other and found it to be a packet of snowflake sugar wrapped in white cotton paper.

Unable to guess his intention, she could only look up at him in bewilderment.

Yet he merely sat astride his horse, letting the wind buffet him. His voice, like his robes and hair, drifted unsteadily in the rustling breeze: “After you fainted last time, I consulted a physician. He said women often suffer from blood and qi deficiencies. Eating sweets when exhausted can offer some relief.”

She did feel somewhat weary, afraid that continuing the ride might lead to another collapse like before. So she silently took a piece of the pale yellow sugar and ate it, then handed the packet back to him.

Though he disliked sweets, he took a small piece and let it dissolve on his tongue.

The endless green mountains and blue rivers stretched beyond the reach of sight. The wildflowers of late summer flourished in vivid hues, blooming all around them, near and far.

Their eyes fixed on the same scenery, their tongues tasting the same sweetness, they stood wordless in the same whispering wind.

Huang Zitao lowered her head, clutching the packet of sugar in hesitation for a long while before finally tucking it into her lapel. Then, remembering the summer heat might melt it, she retrieved it and placed it inside the small saddlebag on Nà Fú Shā.At the end of summer, the thin sugar wafer had indeed begun to melt slightly, dampening a small patch of the white cotton paper with a faint yellow stain—just like the sweet yet bewildering traces melting in her heart.

Dí È and Nà Fúshā trod lightly over wildflowers as they slowly approached each other.

The murmuring river flowed ceaselessly, its rapids rushing past treacherous shoals, ultimately surging eastward to the sea.

Yet Dí È and Nà Fúshā merely brushed past one another, their riders also passing by with only the slightest touch of their sleeves and strands of hair.

They slowed their horses, proceeding leisurely along the mountain path.

By noon, Jǐng Yù and the others finally caught up. They had already traveled over sixty li , and since the Tang dynasty established relay stations every thirty li , it was the perfect distance for horses to rest and switch. They had bypassed one station, and while Dí È and Nà Fúshā were still fine, the other horses were breathing heavily, their coats drenched in sweat—they needed a break.

The stationmaster welcomed them with deference, serving tea and pastries. After Li Shubai and Huáng Zǐxiāng had sat in the hall and sipped their tea, the clear, melodious sound of bells suddenly rang outside, followed by the figure of a woman walking past the latticed windows.

At the sight of her, Huáng Zǐxiāng immediately stood, no longer daring to remain seated beside Li Shubai.

The woman, dressed in a soft goose-yellow gauze gown, walked gracefully along the corridor to the doorway, smiling as she gazed at Li Shubai.

Amid the dense bamboo shadows in the courtyard, her skirts swayed gently like a blooming daylily, radiant and captivating.

Huáng Zǐxiāng bowed to her. "Greetings, Your Highness."

This woman who had suddenly appeared at the relay station was none other than Princess Qílè.

Li Shubai rose, slightly surprised. "Qílè?"

"I heard Prince Kuí was heading south to Shǔ Commandery, so I came here first to wait for you," she said, stepping inside and curtsying to Li Shubai before lifting her almond-shaped eyes, shimmering with emotion, to meet his. Her expression held a mischievous "Aren’t you surprised?" gleam, though her words were apologetic. "I hope Your Highness won’t mind. It’s just... I’ve been frail since birth and have always longed to see the beauty of this vast land. And among all the people in the capital, you’re the only one I trust... surely you wouldn’t disdain me."

Huáng Zǐxiāng stole a glance at Li Shubai, only to see his expression soften as he gestured for Princess Qílè to sit. She quickly excused herself, but the moment she took a step, Li Shubai’s gaze turned to her, forcing her to kneel back down beside them and pour tea for the princess.

Princess Qílè cradled the teacup, lowering her head to inhale its fragrance before smiling faintly at Li Shubai.

Her infatuation with him was well-known in the capital. As the daughter of a prince—had her father, Prince Yì, ascended the throne, she would now be a princess—her noble status made it all the more striking that she would wait for Li Shubai in such a humble relay station, cheerfully insisting he take her along. Even he found it difficult to refuse outright and could only sigh helplessly. "Your Highness is far too reckless."

"I’ve always been reckless, impulsive, and stubborn—you know that!" She pouted, but hearing the resignation in his voice, she sensed he wouldn’t outright reject her. A smile tugged at her lips, unable to contain her delight. "Besides, I’m all alone in this world now. Who’s to stop me from following you wherever you go?"Huang Zixiao understood her implication—she intended to follow Li Shubai indefinitely. She couldn't help but inwardly sigh with a bitter smile, mixed with a hint of schadenfreude, as she glanced at Li Shubai.

Prince Yi was originally a distant relative who had come to the capital, with only a faint blood connection to the current emperor. After his passing, only Princess Qile remained as the sole descendant of his line. The imperial family had once designated a child to inherit the title and continue the lineage, but that child also passed away a few years later. Everyone said this branch was doomed to decline, beyond saving, so the imperial family deliberately neglected it. Only Princess Qile remained in the prince's residence, and the tutors and officials there could hardly restrain such a willful girl who had grown up spoiled. Naturally, she did as she pleased, coming and going as she wished.

Li Shubai, mindful of her limited time, had always treated her with kindness. Huang Zixiao still remembered him telling her that during his darkest moments, it was Princess Qile who had held his hand.

Watching Li Shubai frown helplessly, Huang Zixiao thought, Now let’s see how you handle Princess Qile.

Li Shubai said to Princess Qile, "Awan, with such refined interests, I should do my best to accommodate you. However, my journey to Shu is for urgent business, and I’m afraid I won’t have time to take you sightseeing."

Princess Qile pouted, her beautiful almond-shaped eyes brimming with grievance. "I know you’re busy, Your Highness, but I’m only asking you to escort me into the city since I’m unfamiliar with Chengdu. Surely that’s not too much to ask?"

Li Shubai frowned. "I’m here on official business and shouldn’t bring others along. Moreover, my surroundings aren’t safe right now. If anything were to happen to you, how could I explain it to your household?"

"I brought dozens of guards with me—I can take care of myself. And who knows? My people might even be able to assist you if needed."

Li Shubai could only say, "I’m not particularly familiar with Shu either, so I truly can’t guide you. How about this: we’ll travel to Chengdu together, and once there, the local officials will surely be happy to arrange your itinerary."

Before Princess Qile could protest further, Li Shubai shot Huang Zixiao a glance. Understanding his cue, Huang Zixiao reluctantly spoke up, "Your Highness, you still have hundreds of accumulated documents awaiting review. Additionally, Prefect Zhou has just arrived in Shu, and it’s unclear whether he’s met with Fan Yingxi, the military governor of Western Shu. With so many pressing matters in the commandery, Your Highness will likely need to oversee them personally..."

Before she could finish, Princess Qile shot her an annoyed glare and snapped, "Since when does a mere eunuch in Prince Kui’s retinue dare interrupt our conversation?"

Huang Zixiao quickly bowed in apology, then looked up at Li Shubai with pitiful eyes, thinking, Playing the villain really isn’t my forte!

Li Shubai gave her a look that said, Just bear with it.