As you wish.

This night’s clandestine venture brought the Emperor of Que not only the imperial jade seal of Shu, but also a map revealing where the King of Shu had hidden his treasures. Upon returning to his lodgings, he handed the map to the secret agent who had accompanied him into the palace, instructing him to summon a team to empty the royal vaults of their jewels and riches before dawn.

With his objectives accomplished, and the war between the two nations raging at its fiercest along the border, the Emperor of Que ought not to have lingered. Yet Chuxue, exhausted from days of travel, had fallen into a deep sleep, and so he delayed their return for her sake. Time, however, was not on their side. After allowing Chuxue a day’s rest, the party of four set out under cover of darkness to make their way back.

By the time they reached the battlefield, the news of the King of Shu’s assassination had already spread. The Shu forces fell into chaos, and the Que army seized the moment, capturing city after city in quick succession, until the royal clan of Shu capitulated and pledged allegiance.

Last time, Mingyue had not witnessed the Emperor of Que accepting the surrender in person; this time, she experienced it herself. The sheer magnitude of the scene was enough to stir even the calmest heart—no wonder powerful monarchs throughout history have been drawn to conquest. The vastness of standing alone between heaven and earth could breed loneliness, but it was also intoxicating, akin to the invincible might of one who rules the world with disdain.

Upon returning to the army’s encampment, Chuxue asked the Emperor of Que, “Will there come a day when you do the same to Qi?”

“Perhaps,” he replied vaguely, but did not hide the truth from her. “If you wish to return, I will ensure you are escorted safely all the way.”

“Will you marry me?” Before he had finished speaking, Chuxue nestled into his arms, her tone tinged with pleading.

A faint smile touched the Emperor’s lips as he raised a hand to caress her hair. “As you wish,” he murmured softly.

“Then I’ll return to Qi and wait for you,” Chuxue said, quickly brushing his lips with hers before fleeing, cheeks aflame. That very night, the Emperor arranged for her to be escorted back to Qi. Meanwhile, after leaving generals and officials behind to govern Shu, he led his army back to the capital. Before entering Yongzhou, he rode ahead alone, deliberately avoiding the crowds that would gather to welcome him the next day.

What became of Chuxue, Mingyue did not know. She only saw that a month after his return, the Emperor began preparations for his wedding.

Three months later, the Prime Minister himself traveled to Qi to escort the new Noble Consort back to Que.

That day, Chuxue’s eyes curved into joyous crescents, filled only with the Emperor. Dressed in a gown of brilliant red, her skin seemed whiter than snow, and happiness made her features shine with dazzling radiance. That day, she told him, “At last, I am yours.” Hand in hand, he led her to receive the congratulations of the entire court, as if she were Empress herself.

Yet watching all this, Mingyue could not help but recall the ending she had once foreseen, and her heart grew heavy.

After Chuxue became Noble Consort of Qi, the Emperor treated her well—within certain bounds. He remained engrossed in affairs of state, and still visited other consorts, but whenever he went to Chuxue, her smile was always the brightest and most innocent.

Mingyue could sense that it was with Chuxue alone that the Emperor relaxed. In this sense, Chuxue was well suited to him.

Half a year later, news reached the Emperor that Chuxue was with child. Mingyue thought he would be pleased, but to her surprise, his first reaction was a frown, as if confronted with a particularly vexing matter of state.

Suddenly, Mingyue recalled what Zihua had once said: His Majesty would never risk tainting the blood of Que with the bloodline of Qi...

Could it be?

As the thought took shape, Mingyue watched as the Emperor summoned his secret agent from the shadows and quietly instructed, “Slip a little abortifacient into Chuxue’s meals, but make sure it does her no harm.”

It was true!

Mingyue bit her lip. Though she knew she could do nothing, the frustration of being unable to change reality weighed heavily upon her. Had she already altered so much, without realizing it?

The Emperor’s wish came to pass. In a few days, news arrived that Chuxue had miscarried and suffered a great loss of blood. At that moment, as he was reading memorials, the Emperor dropped his brush, and when he stood, his steps were unsteady; Mingyue clearly saw fear and regret in his eyes. By the time he reached Luoxue Palace, the imperial physicians had stabilized Chuxue’s condition, but she would never again bear a child.

When Mingyue looked at the Emperor, she saw the worry in his brow ease, replaced by a deeper, more inscrutable shadow.

The first thing Chuxue did upon waking was not ask after the child or her own health, but to request Zihua, the maid who had grown up with her.

Because the illusion of Canglan was now under the Emperor’s control, Mingyue had not seen Chuxue for some time. Now, seeing her so frail, Mingyue’s heart ached for her, and she thought she glimpsed a sorrow in Chuxue’s eyes that did not belong there.

Could there be more to this? The Emperor had expressly ordered that Chuxue not be harmed, and his loyal agent would never have dared defy him. How then had things come to this?

The Emperor immediately dispatched men to Qi to fetch Zihua, so she could personally tend to Chuxue as she recovered in bed. It seemed he, too, shared Mingyue’s suspicions, for he set his own people to investigate the matter thoroughly. The result did not surprise Mingyue.

The Empress.

The Emperor clutched the report from his agent so tightly his knuckles whitened. He had his own considerations, and no matter how he chose to act, Mingyue could not interfere—yet her heart ached for Chuxue. That once beautiful and naïve girl—perhaps a little foolish—had at last come to understand the darkness her father had always wished to shield her from. Protected by her father, her brother, and even Zihua, Chuxue had grown up innocent and willful, believing she could find safety and happiness at the Emperor’s side, just as she had in the palace of Qi. She did not realize she had fallen in love with a man wholly unlike her father or brother—a man whose heart held the world itself, whose footsteps would never pause for any woman. Was she destined always to gaze after his receding figure?

Whose fault was such an ending?

To better care for Chuxue, the Emperor moved his affairs of state to Luoxue Palace. After two months, Chuxue’s color returned, and her smile gradually brightened, as though all was well again. If not for the rare moments when sorrow flickered across her face, Mingyue might have believed the ordeal had left no mark on her.

That radiant smile was so dazzling, it was easy to ignore everything else.

But the Emperor was not an ordinary man; what Mingyue could perceive, he certainly could not miss. Whether from guilt or some other reason, the Emperor spent more and more time at Luoxue Palace. Some courtiers voiced their objections, but each one was summarily silenced. For a time, Chuxue became the most favored consort in the Que palace, so much so that even the Empress could not overshadow her. Perhaps thanks to his constant presence, Chuxue’s sorrow faded, and her old joy gradually returned.

This endured until news arrived from a spy in the palace of Qi.

The King of Qi was secretly training troops, and had dispatched an envoy to Yun to seek aid, offering annual tribute in exchange. The envoy had been intercepted and killed, and the Emperor was asked for instructions.

Upon receiving this news, the Emperor shattered his desk with a single blow. Even Mingyue, an ordinary citizen, understood what this meant—this was nothing less than a tacit surrender. The Emperor had long coveted Qi, and now, just as it was nearly within his grasp, the King of Qi was prepared to hand it over to Yun. How could he not be furious? Yun was as powerful as Que; if this matter became public, even the Emperor of Que would be unable to act rashly. Now was not the time for open war with Yun. Fortunately, Yun had not yet learned of this.

Chuxue, hearing the commotion, approached with a cup of tea, smiling. “What has upset you so? If you wound yourself like this, what then?”

The Emperor gripped the strip of cloth so tightly it crumbled to dust. Chuxue handed the tea to Zihua, then knelt before him, carefully binding his bleeding hand with a handkerchief. “You should call for a physician—”

Before she could finish, the Emperor pulled her tightly into his arms. She laughed, just as she had when he first agreed to let her stay by his side.

But Mingyue felt uneasy. She sensed, with a certainty that chilled her, that the Emperor was about to take action.