Even jade beauty cannot rival the purity of ice.

The royal family possessed several hunting grounds, and this time they were bound for Jiulong Mountain, renowned for its beautiful scenery. The terrain was gentle and flat, but the area vast.

“Your Highness, I’ve heard that Jiulong Mountain is especially lovely after a snowfall. We should be able to see a few snowfalls this trip. I’ve never seen the heavy snow of the north before, and I can’t help but be curious,” Xiyue said, her eyes alight with anticipation after being cooped up in the Eastern Palace for so long.

Xu Guiyi, however, felt differently. Each time she was given numerous tasks by the Empress, she couldn’t help but wonder why such a grand entourage of nobles and officials had to accompany what was, after all, just a hunting expedition.

No wonder, in earlier years, the common folk had whispered among themselves that the Emperor was fond of ostentation and extravagance.

“Just don’t cling to me and cry about being cold when the time comes,” Xu Guiyi said, picking up a few more thick coats to pack into the trunk. “Remember to bring plenty of warm clothes. If you fall ill, who will look after me?”

Xiyue stuck out her tongue and giggled. “I understand, Your Highness.”

The *Zuo Zhuan* records: “Spring hunting, summer weeding, autumn trapping, winter hunting, all conducted during the slack seasons of farming to discuss affairs of state.”

At the founding of the Great Yi, the High Ancestor decreed that the sons of the Fu family must never neglect the arts of archery and horsemanship.

Thus, every year, the Emperor would hold a hunting expedition, venturing beyond the city in every season to demonstrate the might of the imperial house. Of these, the winter hunt was the grandest.

The day they set out for Jiulong Mountain, Xu Guiyi and her retinue rose at dawn, and it was already late in the morning when they finally passed through Guangling’s city gates—testament enough to the scale of the procession.

By dusk, the Emperor’s carriages arrived at the hunting grounds. The Crown Prince, Fu Lancheng, had been waiting for some time, having set out from the Royal Temple two days earlier and arriving at Jiulong Mountain by midday.

“Your Highness, it’s so cold here!” Xiyue exclaimed as soon as they entered the tent, clutching a hand-warmer tightly.

Seeing her maid’s cheeks flushed crimson from the cold, Xu Guiyi worried she wouldn’t last the first night. She quickly took off her own rabbit-fur cloak and draped it over Xiyue’s shoulders.

“Your Highness, this won’t do, you’re the mistress!” Xiyue protested, about to hand it back, but Qingyu had already fetched another fox-fur cloak and wrapped it around Xu Guiyi.

Now that both were bundled up, there was no need to argue further.

“Aren’t you cold, Sister Qingyu?” Xiyue asked, noticing the thin jacket Qingyu wore, her face filled with astonishment.

Qingyu was a composed and proper young woman, rarely smiling and always speaking with decorum. “I was born in the far north. I can withstand the cold better than most.”

When Xiyue heard “the far north,” her mouth dropped open in surprise. “The far north! The Crown Princess and I grew up in the south, where the climate is mild and never as cold as this.”

Qingyu finally allowed herself a faint smile. “The gentle lands of rivers and lakes—I have always admired them.”

Xiyue, delighted, stepped forward and said intimately, “If you like, Sister Qingyu, we can return to Luan Prefecture together one day.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Qingyu fell silent, Xu Guiyi fell silent, and Xiyue herself fell silent.

A moment later, Xiyue muttered in a low voice, “But... perhaps there won’t be another chance.”

“Enough, tidy up quickly. We must go pay our respects to the Empress,” Xu Guiyi said calmly.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Qingyu and Xiyue answered in unison.

The next morning, Xu Guiyi was awakened by the blaring of horns outside. Half-asleep, she was hastily dressed, washed, and bundled up layer upon layer by Qingyu and Xiyue.

When Xu Guiyi finally stepped out of the tent, Cheng Hewei and Lu Zhirou were already waiting. She noticed that both were exquisitely made up, unaffected by the bitter cold—a detail that stirred a quiet admiration within her.

The three of them went together to pay respects to the Empress. The royal protocols were strict; even on the hunt, morning and evening salutations could not be neglected.

Upon Jiulong Terrace, the Emperor, surrounded by his ministers, loosed the first arrow with heroic vigor. The cheers that followed were thunderous, as if, rather than a mere target, the Emperor had struck down a formidable enemy general.

Xu Guiyi searched the crowd for some time before spotting Fu Lancheng. He sat astride a snow-capped jade dragon steed, upright and motionless, aloof amidst the surrounding commotion. His figure, seen from behind, exuded a solitary, icy clarity.

She couldn’t help but sigh. How had this father and son, despite their closeness by blood, grown so distant over the years?

At the very moment Xu Guiyi lowered her gaze, Fu Lancheng turned to look at his Crown Princess.

The Empress, surrounded by consorts dressed in military garb, sat upon the high platform. All cheered for the Emperor, but she alone, wrapped in a pure white fox-fur cloak, wore an indifferent expression, lost in thought.

At the Emperor’s command, the men readied themselves for the hunt. Noblewomen skilled in riding and archery were also permitted to join. The Empress and the Marchioness of Yongjia, both from military families, naturally took part.

Xu Guiyi straightened the martial attire of Cheng Hewei and Lu Zhirou, watched them set off in high spirits, then stayed behind with a group of noblewomen refined in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, waiting on Jiulong Terrace.

With the Empress absent, Xu Guiyi was the most distinguished lady present. The bolder girls stole glances at her snow-fair beauty and whispered among themselves, but none dared disturb her.

Xu Guiyi paid these little games no heed. She huddled in her cloak, warm hand-warmer in hand, a book of feminine virtues open before her—*The Classic for Women*—though she barely glanced at its pages, holding it more for appearance’s sake.

After half an hour, Qingyu replaced her hand-warmer with a fresh one.

“Your Highness, you’ve been on the same page for half an hour. Shall I turn it for you?” the young maid said primly.

Xu Guiyi realized she had been gently mocked and retorted in mock annoyance, “No need. This page is full of wisdom; I like it best.”

Xiyue stifled a laugh, unable to help herself.

Qingyu pursed her lips, wanting to point out that this page contained barely thirty characters, which she could easily recite from memory—she saw little wisdom in it. Yet, from Xu Guiyi’s expression, it was clear her thoughts were elsewhere.

So passed two or three days. On the fourth day, Xu Guiyi finally changed books.

“Your Highness, which page of today’s *Instructions for Women* are you on?” Xiyue asked, noting that Qingyu had grown more talkative as time went by.

Xu Guiyi’s brows arched delicately. “Any page will do; I’m not particular.” After all, she had been able to recite both *The Classic for Women* and *Instructions for Women* by heart since her days in Luan Prefecture.

Qingyu, ever careful, sought out a page with more words for her mistress, weighing the corner down with a jade inkstone.

Even Xiyue, it seemed, could not stand it any longer and whispered, “Sister Qingyu, you needn’t trouble yourself. Her Highness had these books committed to memory by the age of fourteen. There’s no need to worry about the Empress quizzing her.”

Xu Guiyi covered her mouth and laughed softly. Qingyu, though her face remained impassive, rolled her eyes inwardly at her wasted concern over the past few days.

As Xu Guiyi looked at the *Instructions for Women* before her, she suddenly recalled how, in her private studies in Luan Prefecture, her teacher had praised her for reciting and explaining the texts so well, yet remarked that what shone in her eyes and what she spoke were not entirely the same.

Truly, the eyes are the window to the soul.

By the fourth day of the winter hunt, the competition reached its peak. Fewer and fewer people remained on Jiulong Terrace with Xu Guiyi, while the Dragon Pool below teemed with more and more game.

The discussions grew ever more animated—whose heir had hunted an elk, which lady had outdone the men by slaying a snow leopard.

Xu Guiyi was listening intently when several guards suddenly rushed forward, clearly just returned from the hunt.

“Your Highness, Prince An has fallen from his horse. The Empress requests you send the imperial physicians at once.”

“What?!” Xu Guiyi sprang to her feet. “Summon all the accompanying physicians, quickly!” At that, she forgot all about the cold and hastened down from the terrace at a run.

“Your Highness, please be careful!” Qingyu and Xiyue called after her repeatedly as they followed.

It was only the fourth day, and already Prince An had suffered a serious fall, causing injuries that provoked the Emperor’s wrath. He ordered the Princes Zhao and Qi to investigate the cause together.

The hunt was suspended. As Crown Prince, Fu Lancheng had to reassure and attend to the assembled nobles, scarcely enjoying a moment’s rest.

Xu Guiyi remained by the Empress’s side, listening as the Marchioness of Yongjia spoke: “Princess An is with child and stayed behind at Guangling Palace. Now that Prince An has suffered this mishap, His Majesty has not sent word to the capital to inform her, but instead summoned Princess De to care for him.” Princess De was the foster mother of Prince An, Fu Shen.

The Empress did not know what to say. “Have Princes Zhao and Qi found anything?”

Xu Guiyi quickly replied, “Not yet, Your Majesty. It may take another day.” She wanted to reassure the Empress, but realized it was impossible, so she left it at that.

The Empress sounded utterly weary. “His Majesty has always favored Prince An. He will not let this matter rest easily. There will be trouble again.”

His Majesty had many consorts, but no one understood him better than the Empress.

The next day, the results came in: Prince An had drunk some wine the night before, rested poorly, and was riding an especially spirited snow-hoofed black steed. While pursuing game in the forest, he’d collided with the underbrush and lost his seat.

It all sounded reasonable.

But the Emperor did not believe it. In front of everyone, he declared he would investigate personally, his concern greater than if his own son had fallen.

The Empress was right—His Majesty treated Prince An differently. He was strict, even harsh, with all his sons, but indulged Prince An, his nephew, to the point of excess and debauchery.

The Grand Minister of Censors scolded Fu Lancheng for being rebellious and unconventional; as for Prince An, Fu Jingchu, he was condemned as licentious and wanton.

Inside the Emperor’s tent, first Prince Zhao was berated, then Prince Qi, but Fu Lancheng received the longest scolding of all.

Meanwhile, Xu Guiyi, together with the Princesses Zhao and Qi—the Emperor’s daughters-in-law—stood outside the tent, listening.

In the end, Princesses Zhao and Qi knelt in tears beside their husbands, enduring the Emperor’s tirade. After a nudge from Xiyue and a pointed look from Qingyu, Xu Guiyi reluctantly knelt as well.

So much for the days spent poring over the *Classic for Women* and *Instructions for Women*—they had come to immediate use.

To be honest, Xu Guiyi never quite understood the Emperor: why, when his nephew was injured, did he take it out on his sons?