Sixty: A thousand knots in the heart remain untied.

Fu Lanchen’s journey to Liaodong could yield nothing more than two possible outcomes.

The first: Liaodong falls to defeat, the Crown Prince meets with misfortune—yet within the imperial city, there remains the accomplished and capable Prince Qi, ready to take his place and stabilize the court. Even if the Crown Prince returns alive to Guangling, he would be a man with a ruined reputation; should the Emperor wish to change his heir in the future, the task would be far easier.

The second: A great victory in Liaodong, with the Crown Prince winning military glory and gaining prestige. Perhaps a new path might open before him, and if the heir apparent could restrain the influence of the imperial in-laws, the Emperor would not suffer a loss in the balance.

What the Emperor worried over, day and night, was the dispersal of military power across the realm, fearing that regional princes and military lords would grow estranged from the court. When the Emperor eventually passed, if the new sovereign could not control those old foxes, imperial authority would fall into chaos, and the nation itself would be imperiled.

Though Fu Lanchen despised the Emperor, he understood him all too well.

When he spoke these thoughts aloud, without the least reservation, the Emperor seemed to freeze for a moment, hardly believing that the Crown Prince he had always looked down upon could possess such insight.

The Emperor forced a laugh. “I... can hardly believe it. My Crown Prince has already grown up.”

Did he truly not know? He had always known—he simply pretended otherwise...

For years, he had pondered one question: If he hadn’t arranged for the little heir of Marquis Wu Jing’s household to grow up, study, and play alongside Fu Lanchen from childhood—

Would everything have been different?

Were it not for Pei Zhaojin, not for the Pei family, the Crown Prince would not have grown so bitterly estranged from him. All these years, father and son in name only, their farce a spectacle for all the realm.

The Emperor gazed at Fu Lanchen for a long while before turning once more to the grand map of his empire. “Crown Prince, come and look at this map with me.”

Fu Lanchen stepped forward, facing the vast expanse depicted before him—a land won through decades of bloody battles by Emperor Gaozu, all for the sake of the Fu family’s descendants.

How many generations would it endure? Fu Lanchen wondered with a sigh. From childhood, he had been steeped in the histories of dynastic rise and fall; he could recite the examples by heart. This was why he least wished to be Emperor or heir.

In the map’s upper right corner, a small region was circled in cinnabar ink—the Emperor’s greatest source of anxiety.

“Chen’er, you journey east as Crown Prince, not only to avenge the Liaodong King’s son, but also to reclaim, through perseverance, the three prefectures ceded to Dayue fifty years ago. Attack, pressure, and bide your time—so that the spirits of our ancestors may be comforted.” The Emperor’s tone was light, as if he were merely instructing Fu Lanchen to fetch a piece of milk cake.

Fu Lanchen felt only helplessness, relieved that only the two of them stood alone in Deqing Hall to hear these words; otherwise, he might not have maintained his composure.

Fu Lanchen had always been clear-sighted about his own limitations, but the Emperor was not.

He had been pampered from birth, never showing much interest in military or political affairs. In previous military exercises, both Prince Zhao and Prince Qi had accompanied the Emperor several times—Fu Lanchen, not once.

Apart from his innate cleverness, the Crown Prince was notoriously lazy—this, too, were the Emperor’s own words in years past.

But now, faced with a Crown Prince so weak in both reputation and martial virtue, who gave His Majesty such courage and confidence?

Was it the inherited blood of the Fu clan, who won the realm on horseback? Or was it the tradition of the Empress Song’s family, famed for producing generals?

On the day Fu Lanchen departed the capital, the spring cold was biting, the wind carrying fine strands of rain. Yet none in the Eastern Palace dared let the chill slow their steps; instead, all moved with greater diligence and caution than ever.

Since the news came that Fu Lanchen would personally lead the army to Liaodong, the Crown Princess Xu Guiyi’s face had not shown a trace of joy, and all within the Eastern Palace spoke in hushed tones—never more so than today.

Beyond Yongding Gate, Xu Guiyi stood wrapped in a cloak of snowy white fox fur. She watched as the great procession of soldiers and horses vanished, little by little, into the mist and clouds, her gaze fixed in a daze.

“...Why didn’t His Highness the Crown Prince even glance back?” Xi Yue, standing behind Xu Guiyi, pouted, feeling aggrieved on her mistress’s behalf.

Xu Guiyi managed a faint, bitter smile, remaining silent. She only wondered, if Guangling was already this cold, how bitter must the weather in Liaodong be?

“Xi Yue, let’s go back,” Xu Guiyi said softly after a long pause.

After Fu Lanchen left the capital, Xu Guiyi became even more reclusive, venturing out only for the customary greetings at court, keeping company with the Empress for short conversations.

Two months passed since his departure, with only military dispatches returning—never a single letter home.

In late March, Xu Zhuning was married off to Guangling in a grand affair, and Xu Zhouyan also returned home for a visit with imperial permission.

On the day of Xu Zhuning’s third-day homecoming, she naturally returned to the Duke of Cheng’en’s manor. The three sisters gathered, chatting and laughing over many things, yet not one mentioned Xu Zhuhua.

Xu Zhuning dared not speak of her, fearing Xu Guiyi’s displeasure.

Xu Zhouyan kept silent as well, to avoid awkwardness.

Since neither would bring it up, Xu Guiyi simply let the matter pass. She was not yet magnanimous enough to set aside her grievances and ask after Xu Zhuhua’s well-being at the Ren family, whether her child was clever and obedient.

Seeing her thus, Xu Zhouyan took her aside. “In any case, Zhuning is now married to the Yuan family in the northern part of the city, far from your Eastern Palace. If you’re still upset, just pretend she doesn’t exist.”

Xu Guiyi found this too flippant. “Second Sister, we’ll still meet at the Duke’s manor on festival days.”

Xu Zhouyan tapped her on the forehead. “There are only a few holidays each year. Let her visit in the morning, you go in the afternoon. Even if by chance you cross paths, it’s only half a day—what does it matter?”

Xu Guiyi considered this and found it reasonable, but asked quietly, “Second Sister, do you think I’m being petty about what happened back then?”

In truth, Xu Guiyi had no deep attachment to that engagement with the Ren family. Had any woman other than Xu Zhuhua taken it, she would not have been angry. But it was Xu Zhuhua—her own cousin. How could she not resent it?

As the saying goes, even a rabbit doesn’t eat the grass by its own burrow.

Xu Zhouyan flared up at once. “Do you think your second sister is the forgiving sort? I heard you didn’t make things hard for Zhuhua at the time—that’s already generous. If someone stole my fiancé, especially my own cousin, I’d make sure she suffered lifelong misery, never letting her have the life she wanted. You’re already very kind. When Zhuning married, you gave her a dowry as generous as mine.”

Xu Guiyi was startled, replying softly, “I heard from Xiaoqi’s letter that last autumn, the Ren family’s third son married a merchant’s daughter as his primary wife—a fierce woman by all accounts. I doubt Zhuhua’s days in the Ren household are easy.”

Xu Zhouyan snapped, “Her hardships in the Ren family are her own doing. Is your life in the Eastern Palace any better? Whatever days she lives there, she brought upon herself—standing or kneeling, it’s her business, not yours.”

Xu Guiyi agreed with a sigh, “Second Sister, after all, we’re all Xu’s daughters. I was simply lamenting, not saying I’d help her.”

Her sorrow did not mean forgiveness for Xu Zhuhua.

In early April, a spring snow fell on Guangling—soft and delightful. Xi Yue had gradually grown accustomed to the northern chill.

Xu Guiyi invited Cheng Hewei, Lu Zhirou, and An Ruosu to join her for a gathering. Xi Yue served freshly warmed plum wine, filling each cup.

“This spring in Guangling has been cold, but we’ve only had two snowfalls. This must be the last,” Cheng Hewei said with a smile.

They sat around the brazier, warming themselves. Lu Zhirou’s cheeks were flushed red from the heat; she cupped her face and muttered, “If only our Great Yi had made the southern cities the capital. It would be spring there by now. Why must the capital be here in Guangling?”

Cheng Hewei disagreed, retorting, “I like Guangling—it’s the land where the dragon rises, after all.”

The first time Xu Guiyi heard the name Guangling, she too found it pleasing, and once asked her father about the origin of the capital’s name.

He explained that Guangling was once called Langzhou, but Emperor Gaozu himself issued an edict to change it. The founding ancestor of the Fu clan had a beloved youngest son, first ennobled as Prince of Guangling. When the new dynasty was established, the court debated half a month before choosing Langzhou as the capital. Langzhou was the very city the young Prince of Guangling had conquered. Thus, Emperor Gaozu named the capital Guangling, and no minister objected.

In the annals of the imperial family, though that young prince did not inherit the throne, he was soon granted a princely title and his own fief, becoming Prince Chen of Guangling.

“All right now, matters like the capital’s location aren’t for us to discuss,” Xu Guiyi said, and at once Cheng Hewei and Lu Zhirou fell silent, sipping their plum wine.

Xu Guiyi smiled lightly. “Though the south is warmer, it rarely sees snow, and lacks the towering mountains of the north.”

Lu Zhirou asked in wonder, “Doesn’t it snow in the southern winters, either?”

Xu Guiyi answered gently, “It does, but southern snow is not like northern snow—just a thin layer at most. Here in Guangling, snow falls thick and heavy, swirling and sighing, a sight to behold.”

She recalled a winter when Xu Chengzhen spent a month in Lanzhou and mocked the fine, thin southern snow.

Xu Chengzhen scoffed, saying southern snow was hardly snow at all—only after seeing the northern snow bend green pines to the ground would one understand the meaning of an auspicious snow promising a fruitful year.

At the time, Xu Guiyi bristled in silent protest, finding her elder brother insufferable—sharp-tongued, proud, and distant. Surely such a man would never find a wife.

Yet the very next year, Xu Chengzhen married the gracious Lady Shen—a blessing earned over many lifetimes.

Not far off, Nanny Wu listened to Xu Guiyi’s words, and for some reason was reminded of a spring two years past, around this very season.

That day, she went to Yonghui Pavilion to attend the Crown Prince at dawn, yet found him standing alone in thin garments outside the gallery, gazing at the snow-blanketed world, asking her what spring in the south was like.

At the time, she thought perhaps His Highness merely wished to travel and that spring came earlier in the south.

Now, hearing Xu Guiyi describe the differences between southern and northern snow, Nanny Wu’s heart stirred with a strange sense of fate—as if, in the shadowy workings of destiny, all had long been arranged.