At the far end of Chang'an, there is no place left to call home.

After returning from the Princess’s residence, Xu Guiyi and Cheng Hewei went to Zhongnan Court to visit Lu Zhirou. As soon as they entered, they heard the sound of her coughing—clearly, she had caught a chill as the seasons changed.

“Still coughing? Did you summon the imperial physician?” Xu Guiyi called out to the maidservant attending Lu Zhirou.

Her close maid Jin Xiu hurriedly replied, “She’s already taken medicine, but we haven’t called for a physician yet.”

Lu Zhirou’s face was drawn and weary, her spirit lacking, but she still forced herself to respond, “This happens every year when the weather turns. It’s an old ailment. I have the prescriptions the physicians gave me; there’s no need to trouble them again.”

Xu Guiyi could indeed smell the strong scent of medicine and refrained from scolding the maids further.

Lu Zhirou, however, smiled and asked, “Did you two encounter anything amusing at today’s poetry gathering?”

Cheng Hewei, quick of tongue, recounted everything that had happened that day in one breath, leaving everyone astonished and delighted.

Lu Zhirou’s laughter was calm and elegant, Cheng Hewei’s was bold and unrestrained, and Xu Guiyi glanced out the window—the sky was so blue today!

Years later, when Xu Guiyi recalled this day, she would realize that the three of them had shared such warm, radiant days together in the Eastern Palace.

But such days did not last. News of the defeat in the Southern Frontier soon reached Guangling.

With that, all preparations for the emperor’s birthday celebration were halted. For half a month, Fu Lanchen left early and returned late. In the Eastern Palace, only Cheng Hewei saw him once; Xu Guiyi and the others didn’t even glimpse his shadow.

After that one meeting, Cheng Hewei never smiled again. The situation in the Southern Frontier must have been dire.

Xu Guiyi decided to seek news on Cheng Hewei’s behalf and went to the Empress in the palace. Just as she reached the gates of Jiuhua Palace, she saw the Loyal and Valiant General leading a troop of soldiers, riding out at full speed.

The Empress’s residence had never been so quiet.

“This morning, His Majesty urgently summoned General Qu Zhe to the Deqing Hall, ordering him to lead thirty thousand Qilin troops to the Southern Frontier. Let us hope it is not too late.”

Two days later, Xu Guiyi received word in the Eastern Palace and finally understood what the Empress had meant by “not too late.”

At the end of the fourteenth year of Emperor Chengxiao’s reign, in late March, the General of Southern Conquest, Cheng Jingyuan, leading fifty thousand troops, attempted to block the southern invaders at Qingping Isle. He was defeated and fell in battle, sacrificing his life for the country.

General Qu, leading the Qilin Army to reinforce him, arrived one step too late.

That night, the lights in Dongbi Hall burned without cease.

“Why were they too late? They didn’t have to be! Five days ago, the court already received the urgent plea for reinforcements from the Southern Frontier. Why did they delay sending troops?” Cheng Hewei’s cries were heart-wrenching, nearly mad with grief.

Fortunately, Xu Guiyi had already dismissed all the idle attendants; now only the two of them remained inside.

Xu Guiyi stepped forward cautiously, not daring to touch her, and spoke gently, “The deployment of troops must go through the Ministry of War, the approval of the Grand Secretariat, and His Majesty’s careful deliberation. Naturally, it takes time.”

Cheng Hewei covered her face with both hands, convulsing with sobs. Her father, the Old Madam’s eldest legitimate son, had died years ago, so she was raised at her grandmother’s knee, cherished by her uncles.

Now that Third Master Cheng had fallen in the Southern Frontier, she, of all people, felt the deepest pain.

Xu Guiyi thought of the Old Madam and felt a small measure of relief—thankfully, she had passed away earlier, sparing her the agony of witnessing yet another loved one buried before her time.

“Ever since my father died in the northern border when I was seven, I understood that, as children of a military family, we are destined never to know the happiness of ordinary folk—parents sitting in the hall, brothers close at hand, a family at peace, occasionally squabbling and making up.” Though Cheng Hewei wept bitterly, recalling these memories brought a twisted smile to her lips, leaving her face almost grotesque.

Yet Xu Guiyi was unafraid. She moved forward and took Cheng Hewei’s hand, trying to lend her warmth.

“Awei, to die on the battlefield is a general’s honor, his fulfillment,” Xu Guiyi said softly.

Cheng Hewei regained her senses and gave a hollow laugh. “Princess Consort, you truly are too naive.” She wiped her tears away with her sleeve, her gaze full of anguish. “They all think I don’t know, but I know everything.”

Xu Guiyi felt a chill as she stared at Cheng Hewei’s increasingly contorted face. “What do you know?”

Cheng Hewei slowly straightened, half-kneeling, half-squatting. “Six years ago at the Battle of Che Lan City, had reinforcements arrived in time, General Feihong wouldn’t have died. Just like now, my uncle could have been saved. His Majesty delayed on purpose…”

She’s lost her mind—Cheng Hewei has completely lost her mind!

Xu Guiyi hurried to cover her mouth. “Are you mad? Do you know what you’re saying?”

But Cheng Hewei forcefully avoided her hand and shouted, “Sister, it’s not me who’s mad—it’s His Majesty! He raises one valiant general after another, then, as their power grows, he kills them, one by one. It happened with General Feihong, and now with my third uncle. Next, it will be my fourth uncle. Who’s left? Marquis Changping? General Qu? Ha, ha, ha! Sister, it’s His Majesty who is mad—he’s been mad for years.”

Her laughter grew louder and louder, and Xu Guiyi felt a cold dread.

Suddenly recalling something, Xu Guiyi’s lips began to tremble. “General Feihong—wasn’t he accused of treason? But then the rumors just vanished.”

Perhaps the word “treason” was too heavy; Cheng Hewei finally calmed, turning to kneel quietly, not rising.

She looked at Xu Guiyi with burning eyes, her voice full of sorrow. “Sister, do you know? Your eyes—they look just like Azhao’s! So much alike…”

Xu Guiyi’s nails dug into her palms, her gaze frosty. “But he’s dead. He’ll never come back. Your childhood companion, your childhood sweetheart, died in Jincheng Palace six years ago. Even his bones have turned to dust.”

Tears streamed down Cheng Hewei’s face again—how could she have so many tears, never to be wiped away?

“Yes, turned to dust. Six years ago, after General Feihong’s defeat at Che Lan City, he was falsely accused of treason. His Majesty was furious and ordered a search for evidence, but the Marquis Wu Jing’s household resisted, refusing to let the security guards enter. At that very moment, a fire broke out in the marquis’s residence, and the evidence was incomplete, so the charge of treason was never established.”

Xu Guiyi ground her teeth and said coldly, “So, His Majesty ordered the extermination of the entire Wu Jing household?”

Cheng Hewei was overwhelmed with grief and lowered her head to the floor. “The wrath of the Son of Heaven brings corpses by the hundreds of thousands. What does a mere noble house matter to His Majesty? It’s nothing to him.”

Xu Guiyi continued, “Besides, His Majesty always feared General Feihong’s military power. Whether there was evidence or not, the Pei family would not be allowed to survive.”

Cheng Hewei looked up with a bitter smile, her eyes filled with desolation. “Yes, Princess Consort, don’t you suddenly feel that this grand, peaceful capital of Guangling, this age of prosperity we tread upon, is actually soaked in blood, piled high with bones?”

By the second half of the night, Cheng Hewei had wept herself to exhaustion and finally fell asleep. Xu Guiyi carried her back to bed, covered her with a brocade quilt, and sat beside her for half the night, until dawn.

Back then, many officials had questioned: with General Feihong’s prowess, undefeated all his life, how could fifty thousand men fall at Che Lan City, not one left alive? Yet His Majesty refused to investigate the northern border, insisting on searching the Marquis Wu Jing’s residence.

And at such a critical moment, the fire at the marquis’s manor—its cause never explained—His Majesty didn’t even bother to investigate, simply accusing the Pei family of destroying evidence and setting fire to their own home.

Every step was fraught with suspicion, every case intertwined, but none could withstand the emperor’s cold-heartedness.

Six years ago it was the Pei family; six years later it is the Cheng family.

Truly, when the cunning hare dies, the hounds are slaughtered!

In March, it was still snowing in Guangling!

Had she been away too long? Looking out at the world of white, she felt the brightness almost hurt her eyes.

“Greetings to the Princess Consort.” Someone outside saw Xu Guiyi, and though chilled to the bone, stepped forward to pay respects.

At that moment, in the courtyard, Fu Lanchen, wrapped in a dark fox-fur coat, entered. Their eyes met.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” Xu Guiyi said, bowing slowly.

Snow and frost clung to Fu Lanchen’s brows and lashes—he must have been standing outside for quite some time.

“I’ve come to visit Lady Cheng. Princess Consort, you should go and rest.”

When Xu Guiyi arrived the night before, it had not yet snowed, and she wore only a thin cotton robe. She bowed and turned to leave Dongbi Hall.

In mid-April, the King of Baiyue and his heir were both killed amid the chaos in the Southern Frontier, and the imperial army returned victorious. His Majesty ordered the Crown Prince to lead the officials through the Nine Flowers Gate to welcome both the triumphant soldiers and the fallen heroes.

General Cheng Jingyuan was posthumously honored as “General Shunwu.” His two sons were rewarded, and his daughter, two months later, was betrothed as a secondary consort to the heir of Prince Huai.

When Xu Guiyi entered the palace to pay her respects, she saw Princess Huai leaving the Changqiu Palace, her face full of sorrow, nearly bumping into someone.

The Empress said, “Both the court and Prince Huai’s household have sent several envoys to Baiyue, but Princess Yongqing simply refuses to return, saying, ‘Alive, I am the Princess Consort of Baiyue; dead, my soul belongs to Baiyue. Even if I die, I’ll die in the Southern Frontier.’”

Xu Guiyi lowered her eyes, unable to utter a word. She could not, like the Empress, stand unwaveringly from the emperor’s perspective.

Who, after losing her husband and son, could happily return to the side of those who killed them and pretend to be family again?

It was these so-called kin who, years ago, had pushed a teenage girl into the marriage-litter bound for a foreign land, regardless of her will.

In the end, it was the emperor who first killed Princess Yongqing’s bond with her natal family, and then destroyed her husband’s kin.

“The tribes of the Southern Frontier have now been subdued, and the princess is safe in Baiyue. In time, when her sorrow eases, His Majesty and the Empress can counsel her well—there’s no need to rush,” Xu Guiyi said quietly.

The Empress sighed. “That is all we can do. I remember, when I first married His Majesty, Yongqing was just a little girl, always clinging to me, calling me ‘sister-in-law’ over and over. Time passed so quickly—she grew up, I watched her marry, heard of her giving birth, saw her happy with her husband. I was glad for her. Who could have foreseen things would turn out like this…”

But when His Majesty resolved to wage war on the Southern Frontier, Empress, did you ever plead a single word for Princess Yongqing and her husband?

Not a single word.