Under the vast night sky, moonlight shone pure and clear.
In the wandering night breeze, Xun Yi sat on the bench in front of the study. A shooting star suddenly streaked across the sky, piercing the congealed moonlight and falling to the horizon. He looked up, drained the wine in his cup, and his eyes suddenly sharpened. He turned to the person approaching.
She wore a long bamboo-green skirt, her steps light as a lotus. Her hair bore no more pearl hairpins. Xun Yi gazed at her. After years apart, this Borderlands Princess dressed even more plainly. She favored red, her heroic figure on horseback had captivated countless valiant warriors of the frontier, yet she had willingly become his secondary wife.
Her smile remained, her gaze especially profound under the moonlight. Xun Yi smiled. “I still prefer you in red, wielding your horsewhip, galloping freely across the grasslands. Every move more lively and spirited than the ladies of Great Qi’s inner chambers.”
Xun Yi rarely spoke this way. The Consort was slightly startled and sat opposite him, gazing at his knife-carved profile. Composing herself, she said warmly, “Changqing is already twelve. If I still race horses and play around, I’m afraid others will laugh.”
Mentioning Xun Changqing, Xun Yi smiled. “These years, you’ve taken good care of Changqing. You’ve done well.”
That one sentence eased the worry between her brows by a third. Recalling Xun Changqing’s tender innocence as a child, long-stagnant hot blood stirred in her veins. She smiled. “When you brought Changqing to me, I already said I would treat her as my own. These years, though she’s not here, she sends family letters every month. That’s enough.”
Xun Yi and Gu Liangyin were childhood sweethearts, deeply in love. He had married the Consort before him out of necessity for diplomacy between nations—there was no talk of affection. He had guarded against her for over a dozen years, but she, knowing full well, had still managed the prince’s mansion impeccably.
He fell silent. There were too many helpless matters in the world; he was too lazy to dwell on them. He raised his eyes to the sky, where night entangled in the firmament, just like the tangled web of power struggles in the Imperial Capital.
The Pingnan Prince’s return to the capital to pay respects was in accordance with the Emperor’s decree, and no one knew. Gu Liang Xin’s tonsure at Capital Mountain Temple had been a secret matter. Now that he had passed, his body was simply to be sent to the imperial mausoleum for burial alongside the Emperor—his wish, and the Previous Emperor’s as well.
On the way to the palace, Xun Yi encountered Yuan Qingming. The two paused briefly, exchanged a smile, and went their separate ways. What did deep brotherly bonds matter? Martial generals and powerful ministers dared not fraternize privately.
Emperor Xun Ziqian stood by the window, hearing the footsteps approaching from behind. He turned to see his heroic and upright imperial younger brother. By blood, they were also cousins, raised together in the palace. Their grandmother had always taught him to protect his younger brother.
But he had never imagined that, grown up, it was this younger brother who had been protecting him.
The Emperor’s deep eyes filled Xun Yi with sudden sorrow. Following the indication, he sat in the chair and looked at the chessboard laid out. Smiling to break the ice, he said, “Brother, should I let you have three pieces’ advantage?”
The Emperor shot him a glare, his tone light and unconcerned by the sarcasm. “You lousy player, hoping to beat me? These years, no general under you dares win, and it’s spoiled you with this bad habit.”
As they bantered, it was as if they were children again. After three games, the Emperor suddenly spoke: “Who do you think I should designate as heir? Father hinted repeatedly before his end that Yiran is unsuitable, but the third is too benevolent and righteous—I’m afraid he can’t rein in the heavy ministers.”
Xun Yi placed his piece. “What does Uncle say? That’s mere mortal opinion. The decision rests with Your Majesty.”
There was another layer of meaning: The Shao Family’s power was growing ever stronger. If Xun Yiran ascended, their influence would spread across Great Qi. Whether the realm would bear the Xun surname or the Shao surname was uncertain.
Usurpation by maternal kin had precedents since ancient times.
The Emperor did not place a piece for a long time. Staring at the unheated chessboard, his eyes grew dazed. He suddenly looked at the stacks of memorials piled mountain-high on the imperial desk, rubbed his temples, and frowned. “Would you be willing to return to the capital and aid me? The Southwest Army can be handed to the Heir Apparent. Changqing can be brought back too.”
The sovereign’s words were utterly sincere, without a trace of pretense, carrying a power that pierced the heart. At this moment, he thought of his own brother again. They shared the Xun surname—there should be no rift between them.
With these words, the heir was effectively decided.
Xun Yi was stunned, his eyes dazed once more. But seeing the Emperor’s serious expression, he rose, straightened his robes, knelt, and said formally, “This minister obeys the decree. However, handing the Southwest Army to the Heir Apparent will take some time. Allow this minister to return and handle matters before coming back to assist you.”
