73. When the wind rises, a tall tower stands in the north.

The emperor paced back and forth, a chilling smile spreading across his face. “I once thought my crown prince had no heart for the realm, no desire for the throne—a useless man with no ambition. Now it seems I was mistaken. The crown prince… he has aspirations, strategy, and resolve…”

“But the crown prince’s cunning and resolve are never put to proper use—always reserved for opposing me!” The more the emperor spoke, the more his hatred grew. At last, his rage boiled over, and he shouted so furiously that the domed ceiling of Tai Ning Palace trembled.

“Crown Prince, answer me! Is it so? Speak! Fu Lancheng, I command you to answer at once!” The emperor’s wrathful voice thundered as his palm slammed onto the dragon table, making the gilded, bejewelled inkstand and the blood-jade paperweight jump three times from the force.

The truth lay before their eyes, yet he cared nothing for it, nor did he regret his past misjudgments. Instead, he suspected his own son of conspiring with a prince of the enemy nation—and so he raged violently?

Yan Qiqin had not been wrong: the emperor would never easily admit his mistakes. It was Fu Lancheng who had been naive.

Fu Lancheng slowly gathered up the documents, knelt down with measured grace, his face expressionless. “Your Majesty, please quell your anger. I only seek the truth. Like Zhang Wei, I would never commit treason. I dare not... and I could not.” Fu Lancheng’s hopes had utterly died.

The emperor, still beside himself with fury, jabbed his finger at Fu Lancheng’s forehead, as if wishing he could twist his head off. He cursed, “Unfilial son! All these years, how much effort and devotion have I poured into you? And you—just for the sake of Pei Zhaojin—would conspire with the enemy to betray your own father?”

Fu Lancheng’s face was ashen. “Your Majesty, I have said it. I dare not betray my country.”

The emperor turned away, his sleeves billowing, eyes blazing. He shouted, “Dare not? I see you dare plenty! The Pei family’s sentence was decreed by me, yet you defy my decisions time and again, trying to overturn the case for their sake—doubting both your sovereign and your father. Is this not rebellion? If this is not, what is? Will you wait until your army is at the gates and my head is struck from my shoulders?”

“When Pei Zhaojin died, how many times did I tell you? As crown prince, as heir to the throne, how could you let private feelings disorder the laws of the state and disregard the dignity of your ruler and father? Pei Zhaojin was but one woman. You are the crown prince—destined to be emperor and master of all under heaven. What kind of person could you not have in the future? Yet you are so useless, forever fixated on one. I think you should relinquish your title; the Great Yi will surely fall by your hand…”

It was clearly his own error in judgment and misplaced trust. Yet in the end, he pointed at the son who uncovered the truth, berating him for disrupting state order and disregarding his father’s honor.

The emperor’s dignity outweighed the lives of fifty thousand soldiers in Chedan City!

The emperor’s dignity outweighed the sacrifices and blood of loyal ministers who had served the country for generations!

Fu Lancheng laughed bitterly in his heart. Was this how the emperor had twisted black and white to convict the Pei family back then?

He dared not ponder further, nor did he wish to speak again. No matter how many times the emperor insulted or yelled at him, he did not even furrow his brow.

In the fifteenth year of Chengxiao’s reign, late October, the emperor issued a decree punishing the Eastern Palace: Crown Prince Zhan, unruly in temperament and lacking in virtue, is to be confined within the Eastern Palace to reflect upon his faults, forbidden to leave without imperial summons.

That same month, Marquis of Xincheng, Zhang Wei, was found guilty of embezzlement, dereliction of duty, and disloyalty to the sovereign. According to the laws of Great Yi, Zhang Wei was stripped of his rank and titles. His entire household was exiled to the southern frontier, never to return to the capital.

At the General’s Platform in Wangyunxiao, the sleeves brushed the stars in strategies to bring peace—a subject of stories and laughter through the ages.

Rumors spread through the capital: The crown prince had lost imperial favor, and the crown princess hurried to the Guanyin Temple outside the city to pray for a child, hoping an heir would secure her place as consort.

This day, Xu Guiyi traveled with only Qingyu and nearly a hundred palace guards.

“My lord, this is sacred Buddhist ground; too many armed men are inappropriate. The crown princess wishes to enter and offer incense. Please select a few trusted men to accompany us.” Qingyu addressed Qi Xiao, vice-captain of the Eastern Palace guards.

Qi Xiao, a steady young man, replied at once, “Yes. Please wait a moment, Your Highness.” He then carefully chose a dozen guards, lining them up.

Qingyu folded her hands at her waist, surveyed them sternly, and said to Qi Xiao, “Too many.”

Qi Xiao pursed his lips, his brows twitching, and sifted through them again, selecting eight from the group.

Qingyu smiled faintly, “Still too many.”

Qi Xiao’s mouth worked silently, his words stuck in his throat. He waved his left hand, leaving six guards—no fewer could be permitted.

Qingyu was about to speak again when Xu Guiyi stepped down from her carriage and said, “Qingyu, don’t trouble Lord Qi further.”

“Your servant greets the crown princess.” At Xu Guiyi’s appearance, Qi Xiao and the guards immediately bowed.

“Greetings, Crown Princess.”

Xu Guiyi placed her right hand on Qingyu’s wrist as she alighted gently, her smile soft. “Gentlemen, we agreed today’s outing would be incognito. At this rate, the entire Guanyin Temple knows I am here.”

Her gentle words instantly made the usually composed Qi Xiao lower his head like a chastened child. In a low voice, he confessed, “Your servant has erred.”

Xu Guiyi knew he was simply doing his duty and did not blame him. She said to Qingyu, “It’s getting late; let’s go inside.”

Qingyu nodded, then turned to Qi Xiao with another request. “Lord Qi, may I borrow your sword?”

Qi Xiao was momentarily startled, but quickly handed over his sword, both hands offering it to Qingyu.

“Thank you, my lord. I’ll return it when we leave.” Qingyu accepted it respectfully, right hand on the hilt, left hand fist to chest in thanks.

Qi Xiao immediately understood—he was to remain at the mountain gate, while only six guards would ascend with the crown princess. He wanted to object, but remembering Qingyu’s position as the crown princess’s close attendant, he realized her words represented the princess’s will.

Helpless, he carefully instructed the six guards before watching them ascend the mountain.

The abbot of Guanyin Temple personally greeted Xu Guiyi and led her through the mountain gate into the main hall. The golden statue of Guanyin towered nearly twenty feet, flanked by two plump, adorable child attendants with pleasing faces.

Xu Guiyi knelt on a prayer mat, hands pressed together in sincere worship. The Guanyin’s kindly face emanated compassion, her lips curved in a subtle, knowing smile as she gazed down upon the mortals who came to pay their respects.

On either side of the hall, eighteen arhats sat cross-legged, sandalwood beads in hand, softly chanting the Lotus Sutra as they struck their wooden fish.

After a stick of incense had burned, Xu Guiyi rose with Qingyu’s help and followed the abbot to pay her respects in the east and west side halls.

“Crown Princess, our Guanyin Temple is the largest within a hundred miles. The terrain is unique, the views expansive—westward lies the Wei River, to the east you can see Xinghua Temple, and to the north stands Huangjue Temple.” The abbot, a kindly old monk, spoke with warm familiarity.

Xu Guiyi’s delicate brows lifted in delight. “I’ve long heard of the temple’s peerless scenery. Seeing it today, it truly lives up to its reputation.”

The abbot chuckled. “You flatter us, Your Highness. A meditation room has been prepared for you, open on all four sides with views of the entire temple.”

Xu Guiyi’s pleasure deepened as she thanked him and followed him to the meditation room for a brief rest.

After further polite exchanges, the abbot excused himself to prepare a vegetarian meal for the crown princess. Xu Guiyi expressed her gratitude and sent two guards to assist him, leaving only four, whom Qingyu posted at the four corners of the courtyard, each watching a direction to ensure the princess’s safety.

Qingyu closed the door, fastened the latch, and nodded to Xu Guiyi, indicating all was ready.

The room was truly fine, open to north, south, east, and west. Yet once the door closed, only the view of a sheer cliff remained. Xu Guiyi opened the north window to find a towering precipice. The temple was built halfway up the mountain, its position perilous.

The northern view was singularly beautiful, the heights unreachable by ordinary men—but Wen Zhi was a master of lightness skill. He had once taken an enemy general’s head amid thousands of troops, and had even infiltrated the imperial palace to attempt the emperor’s life, escaping unscathed.

Seven years had passed since Xu Guiyi had last seen him. He still wore his usual deep blue robes, but now a thread of white streaked his temples, lending him a world-weary air.

Xu Guiyi, familiar with court life, sometimes saw Commander Wen Litang of the Dragon Guard—Wen Zhi’s elder brother, himself only a few years older than Wen Zhi. By comparison, Wen Litang was still in his prime, while Wen Zhi’s hair had already turned silver. Xu Guiyi forced back her sorrow and greeted Wen Zhi with a smile.

“Uncle Xianqing, it’s been years. Have you been well?”

Wen Zhi turned, his face alight with joy—until the expression froze and gave way to shock and confusion.

He had been about to salute, the words on his lips, but they stuck in his throat. “Your servant Wen Zhi pays respect to…” the young master…?

But standing before him was a woman of peerless beauty, not a young man at all.

Xu Guiyi was not surprised. Years ago, she had disguised herself as a boy; the world only knew the heir of Marquis Wu Jing as a young master, not realizing she was actually a girl. Even the emperor and Fu Lancheng had not known; Wen Zhi could not possibly have guessed.

“Uncle Xianqing, you did not mistake me. I am A Zhao.” The very heir of Marquis Wu Jing, Pei Zhaojin, who had died at thirteen in Consort Shu’s palace.

Wen Zhi’s face shifted from shock to bewilderment, until he saw Qingyu, which eased him somewhat.

“But you are Fu Lancheng’s crown princess?” Wen Zhi was clearly shaken, but his mind was clear. He remembered that face and needed to be certain.

“Yes, I am the crown princess.” Xu Guiyi’s gaze was resolute. She did not deny it. By now, some things needed to be revealed.

Wen Zhi trembled, turning away to grip the window frame, breathing heavily. No wonder the capital gossiped that the crown princess had eyes just like the late General Feihong.

He had once joked with Zhang Qi that the young master’s features only somewhat resembled General Feihong, but the eyes—they were unmistakably Pei family eyes.

It had been a prophecy. Now everything made sense: after he’d tried to assassinate Fu Lancheng at Jiulong Mountain and was trapped in Guangling for months, it was Qingyu who brought him Pei Zhaojin’s jade token, persuading him to leave and seek refuge with Zhang Qi in Shuozhou.

“No wonder Miss Qingyu told me not to oppose the Eastern Palace or harm the crown prince,” Wen Zhi finally said, turning to look at Xu Guiyi, his expression deeply complicated.