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"Miss, jump down—quick!"
Youwei had been dozing in the carriage when her maid Xiaotao's scream jolted her awake. The horse had somehow taken fright and suddenly bolted along the mountain road.
Fog swallowed the mountainside beyond the road, and an abyss waited at the end. They had passed the turn toward Yunju Temple hundreds of meters back. The coachman's hands bled as he fought the reins, but he couldn't stop the horse. After urging the young lady to jump, he leaped off first.
After all, the cliff lay less than a hundred meters ahead.
Xiaotao jumped too. She crashed to the ground and shouted for Youwei to jump. Terrified, Youwei's limbs turned to water. She shut her eyes and braced to leap when a man's voice, wrapped in wind, struck her ear: "Don't be afraid, miss. Give me your hand."
The panicked horse tore forward, yet the man matched the carriage's speed on horseback. Only then did Youwei realize more than one set of hooves thundered beside her.
The rider's sword-brows knit tight; his mouth pressed into a hard line. He wore armor and a blade at his waist; his red cloak snapped behind him. He reached out, and his hand hovered within arm's reach.
She didn't think—she grabbed for him. Before their hands locked, his horse suddenly strained and dropped two steps in speed.
The force yanked her so hard she nearly fell. She yanked her hand back. The cliff loomed ahead, hoofbeats pounded in her ears, and tears brimmed as she clung to the carriage wall, trembling. Was she truly going to die here today?
Despair seized her—then a shadow sprang toward her. Youwei cried out as a broad, unyielding embrace wrapped around her. They hit the ground and rolled over and over before they finally slowed to a stop.
The carriage plunged over the cliff. After a breath, crash.
Youwei flinched again. If not for this man, she would have shattered at the bottom of that ravine.
Pale-faced, she lifted her eyes from his arms and found them in a wild grass heap by the roadside. He shielded her with his cloak, but his face bore four or five cuts from flying gravel—especially the bloody mark at his right brow bone, which lent something wicked to his sharply carved features.
Their gazes met, and Youwei's heart slammed at the contact.
How could she describe those eyes? Amber irises, pale and lucid; when they held you, they felt tender and deep, yet somehow carried a hint of lush, unsettling allure—like a beast disguised too well. But look again, and the feeling vanished, as if it had been your imagination.
He steadied her by the arm and helped her up. Then he stepped back, looked her over, and let out a relieved smile, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Good. You're safe."
He was the one injured.
Youwei's legs stayed weak. She stood on shaky feet. Although he kept a careful distance, she looked up at the tall man before her and, a little uncertain, spoke. "Thank you for saving my life, benefactor… You're in uniform; you must serve in the army. Why are you here?"
He touched the hilt at his waist and answered lightly, "I'm with the Jingbian Army. I had a rare leave today. Before I leave the capital, I wanted to go to Yunju Temple and pray for my brothers who died in battle. I didn't expect to take the wrong road."
The Jingbian Army served the Fourteenth Prince, his personal guard and sharpest blade—soldiers all tempered by war, feared by the border tribes. Her father had said the Jingbian Army garrisoned outside the city; clearly, she had met them.
Hearing he was Jingbian, Youwei finally let go of her fear. She felt warmer toward this army that had won again and again for the realm—and naturally toward the man before her.
Xiaotao ran back then, calling Youwei's name again and again. Youwei heard and looked back at the man, hesitating. "May I ask… your name, benefactor?"
He smiled for some reason. Winter's pale sun fell on his brows and the corners of his eyes. His amber gaze settled on Youwei and seemed to deepen.
"My name is Li Yan." …
Youwei opened her eyes and stared blankly at the sachet hanging from the bed canopy. Xiaotao had already swapped the bed-warmer; Youwei held it to her chest through her inner robe, trying to smooth her pounding heart.
I keep dreaming of him.
Only, in her dreams, he was still the Jingbian soldier Li Yan.
After they grew close, he confessed: he wasn't Li Yan at all but Li Chengjue, the Fourteenth Prince, whom the Emperor did not favor.
Youwei thought that the man she knew, spent time with, and loved had always been the one who saved her at the edge of a cliff. His rank didn't matter.
Besides, that moment hadn't suited revealing his identity. He had reason to hide it.
So Youwei accepted it. Nothing changed between them.
Until five months ago, when the late emperor died and chaos wracked the capital. The palace bristled with guards. Youwei's father, the Commander of the Palace Front, controlled the Imperial Guard's deployment and stayed so busy he didn't come home for more than half a month.
When he finally returned, exhausted, he brought a piece of world-shifting news.
"Mianmian." In the main hall, he sat at the table, his palm pressed to the wood. He lifted his face, heavy with worry. "The Fourteenth Prince has become the heir apparent." …
It was the twenty-seventh day of the twelfth month—three days to the new year. After the bloody upheaval, everyone in the capital pinned hope on the holiday, as if it could ease the weight of life and death. After the new year, the new emperor would hold the enthronement ceremony. Everything would start fresh—new court, new air.
Youwei felt the same hope. Since the day the late emperor died, Li Chengjue had slipped into the city to see her once. She hadn't seen him since. The last news of him came when the palace sent a reward—ten bolts of fragrant cloud brocade.
Officials of seventh rank and above received such gifts. After becoming heir, Li Chengjue purged the court for three straight months. Every day, the capital heard of officials jailed or exiled. Those who survived the palace coup received calming rewards from the future sovereign—it made sense.
On the eve of the new year, they would grant silk, sew new garments, welcome a new court, serve a new lord—omens of prosperity.
He must have been so, so busy these past months.
In the days I couldn't see him, I kept dreaming of him.
What about him? Does he still remember me?
Because they still mourned the late emperor, the holiday stayed subdued—no banquets above, no songs below, no charms or firecrackers. Even so, the festival mood warmed everyone.
The court rested for sixteen days. Officials and commoners alike reunited; smiles spread from house to house.
Youwei smiled too. Father commanded the Imperial Guard and rarely stayed home. After Mother died, Father feared a stepmother would mistreat her. He refused any matchmakers and wouldn't remarry.
So compared to the grand clans with their bright bouquets, this household of a second-rank official was simple. They had a steward, guards, rough maids, an embroiderer, and a handful of close servants and pages—thin as a reed.
All her life, the companion who stayed with Youwei most was a tabby cat.
But even a cat's years end. It died in the winter a year ago.
Because the cat died, Youwei decided to burn incense for it at Yunju Temple, praying for it to be reborn as a human. She hadn't expected that trip to bring Li Chengjue into her life. …
They still ate their New Year's Eve meal with the servants. The rules in Youwei's residence were few, and the household slaves had long felt like family.
They saluted Mr. Yu and the young lady for the new year. Yu Tuohai gave everyone silver. Youwei added more. The servants beamed, spilling auspicious words, and the residence filled with joyous noise.
When the servants withdrew, the cheer went with them. Father and daughter sat alone at the large dining table. The vast hall felt quiet and bare.
Yu Tuohai lifted the wine pot and poured himself more. Youwei quickly rose to press his hand down. "Father, wine harms your health. Please don't drink more."
"Father's fine." Yu Tuohai gently brushed her hand away. The wine sloshed and splashed on Youwei's rabbit-fur sleeve.
He finished the cup, set it down, and covered Youwei's hand. "Mianmian, once this year passes, you'll be seventeen."
Youwei nodded. "Yes, Father."
He looked at his daughter, sorrow clouding his eyes. "When you were little, you weren't even as tall as the table. At every meal, Father had to hold you to feed you. It feels like yesterday—and suddenly you're grown."
Remembering years of Father's indulgence and tenderness, then seeing the slackening lines of his face, the deepening grooves at the corners of his mouth, Youwei felt a surge of ache.
She forced herself to smile. "Father, aren't we happy today? Why say this now?"
Yu Tuohai withdrew his hand and turned his face aside. "After the new year, Father should find some suitable families for you to meet. If you like someone, tell me, and I'll have someone propose."
"…" Youwei blinked. "Father? Why? I… Li Yan, he…"
She wanted to say she loved someone—even if he now stood at an unreachable height. She had told Father about her and Li Chengjue long ago. He had fallen silent then but hadn't forbidden it.
On the day the late emperor passed, Li Chengjue slipped into the city to see Youwei. What he asked involved her father.
That was the last time she saw him.
Li Chengjue's mother had been a princess from a foreign tribe, and he bore mixed blood. The scholar-official clans would never support him. He knew he had no claim to the throne; he only hoped her father could leave him one stick of incense's time during rotation at the gates so he could enter the city and protect the Sixth Prince.
The Sixth Prince was the most likely heir. He said that after the Sixth Prince took the throne, he could use this merit so he wouldn't be exiled or executed.
Dynastic change always drew blood—among ministers and royals alike. Was life in the imperial clan a blessing or a curse?
Youwei didn't want Li Chengjue to die, so she begged her father. He listened in silence and gave no answer.
Later, Youwei heard the news: Li Chengjue had become the heir.
For her. Father had agreed.
No one expected the one to rise wouldn't be the Sixth Prince they all watched, but the Fourteenth Prince, Li Chengjue, whom no one had heeded.
Whatever the final outcome, Youwei believed Father hadn't opposed their bond—even if he never said so outright. Why would he now ask her to meet someone else?
Father turned back and fixed his gaze on her, his expression more severe than ever. "Mianmian, forget what you have with… Li Yan."
Neither of them had adjusted to the new name.
Youwei still couldn't understand. "Father, did something happen?"
Yu Tuohai shook his head. "Father fears… Li Yan isn't a good match."
At that, Youwei's brows eased, and the knot in her chest loosened.
"That's not true, Father. He has always treated me well. Whatever I ask, he holds dear. Whatever I want, he brings to me. In all the time we've known each other, he has never once spoken harshly to me. I thought something serious had happened. If you're only worried about that, you needn't be."
Yu Tuohai's lips moved. He hesitated. Then he suddenly pressed weight into his voice. "Before, he was the Fourteenth Prince, and he could hold only you in his heart. Now he holds the world. Do you mean to enter the deep palace and share scraps of his warmth with women across the realm? I see you as a pearl. How can I watch you trapped in a cage, slighted and scorned?"
Youwei went still. She stared, then stared again. Father's worry and love stung her.
Li Yan was Li Chengjue. She had imagined marrying Li Chengjue, but she had only imagined marrying the man. She hadn't imagined more.
His status and power had shifted so suddenly that she had never traced what they might mean. She had never pictured marrying a sovereign, entering the deep palace and its forbidden courts. Those things belonged to the great clans. Her world held only Father and a cat; she had never even seen household intrigue. Marrying Li Chengjue, the heir about to ascend—then what? Beyond that, her vision went blank.
Father's words summoned a fear she didn't recognize—but memory of him swept in and warmed her. Those recollections were vivid, bright. The way he looked at her was so earnest; there was love in it. She wouldn't mistake it. Father looked at her the same way.
Thinking of him, Youwei's heart thawed. Father loved her and worried—just as she worried for Li Yan when he rode west. It all made sense.
But he had been the heir for so long. Why hadn't he come to see her even once? Is Father right? Now that he sits over the mountains and rivers, does he no longer see only me?
The warmth in her chest tightened. Unease pooled. Father had always been steady. He rarely interfered in her affairs and respected her choices. For him to speak like this today—had he heard or seen something that made him fear?
She couldn't hide things in her heart. She asked what she thought. "Father, do you know something?"
Yu Tuohai's body paused. He turned slightly and kept his eyes from his daughter.
A general's tall frame loomed like a silent mountain. Youwei stepped forward, took his hand, and gently reasoned with him. "I know you're only thinking of me. But if you know something, you should tell me so I can understand. Otherwise, how can your daughter grasp your care?"
Yu Tuohai felt the softness of her hand under his palm. She was his heart's treasure—the only one in this world. He wouldn't let her suffer or be kept in the dark.
So he wrestled with himself and sighed—a long, heavy breath thick with struggle and grief, as if he bore a thousand pounds.
"Father does know something. If it spreads, it's a crime punishable by death."
Seeing the frost on Father's face, Youwei tensed but nodded. "Your daughter will keep silent."
Yu Tuohai glanced outside to make sure only the two of them were in the courtyard. He lowered his voice and, in the midst of this universal celebration, spoke a secret worth a head on the block.
"Before the late emperor's burial… Li Yan ordered someone to open a tomb in the consorts' cemetery. I checked in secret. It was the tomb of his mother, Consort Yan."
Youwei blinked. It felt wrong, but she still couldn't grasp it. She asked softly, "And then? Why open a tomb?"
"On the day of the burial, I attended as a general, closest to the coffin." Yu Tuohai's hoarse voice began to shake. "I saw with my own eyes new sealant patched along the joints of the coffin."
"After the rites, I noticed palace guards had gone to the paupers' grave to dump corpses."
Youwei frowned. The fragments swirled in her mind but refused to link. "Your daughter is slow. Please speak plainly."
Yu Tuohai clenched his fingers and looked straight at her. Tremor colored his tone. "I suspect the one buried in the imperial mausoleum isn't the late emperor—but his mother, Consort Yan."
"The true corpse of the late emperor—he may have thrown it into the paupers' grave to be torn by wild dogs."
"If he can treat his birth father like that—trample ancestral rites—if he's that ruthless, if you marry him and he grows tired of you, what then?"
"Mianmian, listen to your father. Li Yan… is not a good match."