Three thousand jeweled hairpins gleam as they accompany the emperor’s grand procession.

More than three months passed, and the Eastern Palace seemed to have returned to calm. Fu Lancheng resumed his regular attendance at court, discussing state affairs in the morning and reviewing memorials in the afternoon. Yet the once outspoken and audacious Crown Prince, who often challenged the Emperor without restraint, had suddenly become silent and unreadable, his emotions no longer betrayed by his features.

Everyone said that the Crown Prince had finally grown into the very image the Emperor and his ministers had long hoped for.

Due to recent upheavals, the plans for Prince Zhao and Prince Qi to take up their fiefs, originally set for June, were postponed to September. The Emperor declared that, in the wake of a royal bereavement and the pain of family separation, it was proper to delay the princes' departure.

The Empress had suffered a serious illness. The Marchioness of Yongjia was busy nursing her, so the management of the inner palace temporarily fell to Noble Consort Nangong and Virtuous Consort Cao.

The Emperor instructed Shen Yu to frequently escort Prince Chu, Fu Xun, to visit the Eastern Palace. Fu Lancheng remained unmoved by others’ words, but he always treated Fu Xun differently. The Emperor knew the reason, and so did Virtuous Consort Cao, yet no one dared expose the truth.

When Fu Xun heard in the Palace Academy that Xu Guiyi had been murdered, he was so distraught that he wept bitterly. After attending the funeral, he fell ill for a time, leaving Virtuous Consort Cao in constant anxiety. She had to care for the Empress, manage palace affairs, and look after Fu Xun, feeling utterly exhausted and dizzy with care.

Day by day, time passed. Soon it was August. The summer heat faded, and the Empress's health began to improve. The Emperor, casting aside the gloom of the past months, summoned the chief steward of the Imperial Household, declaring that the Mid-Autumn Banquet must be splendid, to dispel the somber mood lingering over the palace.

With the Emperor’s personal command, the Imperial Household dared not be slack. They bustled about for over half a month, preparing the grandest Mid-Autumn Banquet seen in years.

Exquisite wines, delicacies, side dishes—all meticulously prepared; solo dances, group performances, ritual music, and entertainers—all peerless; arrangements, settings, seating, and spectacles—every detail perfect.

On the fifteenth of August, the Emperor arrived first at Azure Luan Hall. All the consorts, princes, royal grandchildren, and the prominent families and ministers of the capital gathered in attendance.

Rosy clouds scattered, the moon hung like a hook. The curtains of Wuyang Tower billowed. The night was cool, the Milky Way slicing across the sky, the palace enshrined in crisp autumn air.

On the luminous jade steps, dew shimmered in golden trays, the fragrance of phoenix marrow mingled with rising mists. Three thousand jewels and feathers adorned the Emperor’s retinue, while the water pavilion echoed with the melodies of Liangzhou.

At the main table, the Emperor and Empress sat together. Though the Empress, newly recovered from illness, was still somewhat frail, she wore full court makeup for this important occasion, maintaining her poise and giving due honor to the Emperor.

At the Empress’s left sat the consorts, led by Noble Consort Nangong, who had managed the harem during the Empress’s illness.

To the Emperor’s right sat Crown Prince Fu Lancheng, followed by the next ranks: Prince Zhao, Prince Qi, Prince De, Prince Huai, and their families.

Fu Lancheng sat with Fu Xun, quietly awaiting the banquet’s opening. Since the late Crown Princess’s death, Fu Xun had become Fu Lancheng’s only solace.

The Emperor placed great importance on this celebration, and the Music Bureau arranged a lavish program—the more magnificent, the more joyful. An entire set of bronze instruments was brought from the imperial treasury just to perform the “Nine Songs.”

Later came a sword dance, said to be adapted from the previous dynasty’s “Ballad of the Long Sigh.” Forty-eight dancers, each bearing a sword and clad in red skirts, brandished their blades with an awe-inspiring presence.

Though the Emperor watched the performances attentively and chatted with his nobles and ministers, appearing to be in high spirits, his eyes frequently drifted toward Fu Lancheng. The Crown Prince seemed calm, quietly drinking and watching the stage, his expression betraying nothing. The Emperor should have felt reassured, yet an inexplicable sense of loss gnawed at his heart.

As Emperor, Fu Zongye had disappointed many. Born an unfavored concubine’s son, he spent years feigning docility and foolishness, giving up his childhood sweetheart Nangong Ning, and marrying General Song’s daughter, Song Meian. After finally becoming Crown Prince, he had scarcely warmed the seat before the late Emperor died without leaving a word.

Because of his birth, the world scorned his legitimacy. For years, his dreams were haunted by rebellious princes and generals hoarding soldiers in secret.

After the Empress and his eldest legitimate son died, he grieved for a long time. When Fu Lancheng was born, his relationship with the Empress was already strained, yet he still declared a general amnesty, expressing his joy to the world.

Having suffered as a concubine’s son, he more than anyone wished his heir would be legitimate, born of the central palace. Then, when his son ascended the throne and wielded imperial power, he would do so with dignity, untainted by the world’s reproach.

Fu Zongye’s eyes were half-closed, his features still sharp, though his temples were now streaked with white. He had killed his own brothers, and generals who had followed him for years. He had failed his childhood beloved and his wife. He favored his concubine-born sons, despised his legitimate sons, doted on his nephew. He played at politics, blinded himself to truth and falsehood alike—all of this, he understood clearly.

But as Emperor, he could not—must not—be wrong.

From a lonely, powerless prince, he had become an ambitious sovereign with the world in his grip, yet he could do nothing with his only legitimate son.

While a nurse fed Wen Luo, Noble Consort Nangong lavished praise on the child, her manner gentle and smiling. The Empress merely smiled faintly, her gaze drifting into the distance, neither at anyone nor at the clouds, searching for something unknown.

Noble Consort Nangong, though her family had lost imperial favor and Duke Ningdu was ill and secluded, was still calculating. With the Crown Princess dead and the Empress and Crown Prince sunk in grief, they had no mind to press Prince Qi’s departure. Now that one of Prince Qi’s consorts was pregnant, she planned to use this to persuade the Emperor to let Prince Qi’s family remain. The thought brought her considerable satisfaction.

The banquet was half-over; the moon had risen above the treetops. Another round of toasts began as a sword dance unfolded onstage. Both the hall and the seats were lively.

The Emperor accepted every toast. Earl of Sincerity had just raised a luminous goblet, pouring half a cup of grape wine, when a commotion erupted below. Someone—whether guard, eunuch, or minister—cried out urgently, “Assassins! Assassins! Guards, come quickly!”

With a crash, the goblet shattered in his hand, spilling half a jug of wine.

Commander Zhao Gao of the Crane Guard reacted first, leading his men to shield the Emperor, shouting, “Protect His Majesty and Her Majesty!”

When Fu Lancheng heard the shout, he set down his cup, sprang to his feet, and rushed forward. Glancing back, he saw the Emperor and Empress surrounded by guards, and breathed a sigh of relief.

But Song Gu and Shen Yu were on the floor below, already caught in the chaos. Fu Lancheng pushed Fu Xun toward the Crane Guard, then dashed to their aid. Fu Xun struggled free, but could not break the soldiers’ grip.

The assassins had hidden among the musicians, numbering fifty or sixty—a plot, clearly long in the making, to infiltrate so many into the imperial feast.

Fu Lancheng saw Song Gu and Shen Yu locked in combat, and moved to help, but as he approached, the assassins fixed their eyes on him—the Crown Prince was their target.

From the dais, the Emperor and Empress watched as Fu Lancheng was surrounded, not a single guard near enough to help. Their anxiety was acute. Shen Yu and Song Gu saw it too, but were too entangled to break free. Shen Yu shouted, “Brother Crown Prince, be careful!”

But no sooner had he spoken than an assassin, sword in hand, lunged straight for Fu Lancheng. While all hoped he would defend himself, Fu Lancheng simply stood there, as if awaiting the blow, making no attempt to dodge. In an instant, before the eyes of all, a sword pierced the left shoulder beneath the Crown Prince’s collarbone. Even the assassin froze in disbelief—never expecting the Crown Prince would let himself be wounded without resistance.

Pandemonium erupted below, while on stage the Emperor and Empress were incoherent with panic. The Emperor shouted, waving his hand for the guards, “All of you, go! Protect the Crown Prince! Quickly, go!”

The Empress was restrained, but cried out hoarsely, “Zhan’er! Zhan’er! My son!”

The world spun wildly—never had there been such chaos. The Crown Prince, heir to the throne, gravely wounded—this was no small matter.

Fu Lancheng heard the sword scrape bone, smelled blood flooding the air. He thought, if someone strikes him again, would he die, and finally be reunited with Azhao?

As he waited for a second blow, he thought he heard voices calling him—Zhan’er, Fifth Brother, Crown Prince, Your Highness...

His mother was calling him, and so was Fu Xun, crying. Fu Xun... the last bond left to him by Pei. If he died, what would become of the Pei family’s injustice? What of young Fu Xun?

No, too much remained undone—he could not die yet.

Amid the shouts, Fu Lancheng’s mind cleared. His right hand seized the sword embedded in his body, snapping it with a single motion, then kicked the assassin to the ground.

In a single exchange, a large contingent of Crane Guards finally surrounded him. Zhao Gao checked the Crown Prince’s wound, his voice trembling, “Send for the imperial physicians! Hurry!” Yet in his heart he relaxed—Fu Lancheng was a trained martial artist; the sword had missed any fatal point, and with a month’s rest, he would recover. The heads of all the Crane Guards present were saved that night.

The assassins were subdued, though the physicians had yet to arrive. Fu Lancheng, without waiting, gripped the broken blade with his right hand and pulled it from his body in one swift motion. Blood spurted forth, staining the ground, drawing cries of alarm from all around.

...No one could fathom why the Crown Prince would so abuse his own body.

Pressing his right hand to the wound, Fu Lancheng walked step by step out of the guards’ protective circle and up onto the viewing platform. The guards dared not touch him, merely followed close behind. Shen Yu, too, was bewildered—why was Fu Lancheng determined to tempt death?