Lu Lingcong only pulled his horse to a stop when he was almost upon Xie Jing; then, bending low from the saddle, he slipped an arm beneath Xie Jing’s ribs, lifted him up in one smooth motion to sit sideways on the horse, and drew him tightly against his chest.
In that instant, he truly thought of wheeling around with Xie Jing and dashing straight into the boundless unknown, heedless of all consequences, disappearing entirely into the raging snowstorm.
Let the capital believe they were dead, their remains unfortunately lost—they could withdraw into some remote forest and live out their days in seclusion, never to be seen again.
But Lu Lingcong knew full well it was nothing more than a fantasy. Setting everything else aside, the mere thought that his children and mother remained in Jinling, trapped in dire circumstances and forever on the brink of danger, meant that neither of them could spend even a single day hiding with an untroubled conscience.
Lu Lingcong reined the horse to a stop before gently brushing the hair at Xie Jing’s temples, and asked, “Why did you chase after me?”
Xie Jing gave no reply; he simply lifted his hand, laced his fingers with Lu Lingcong’s, and drew the back of his hand to his lips, pressing several soft kisses against it.
Lu Lingcong murmured in reassurance by his ear, “I’m not heading to the battlefield, just going to survey the disaster conditions. There’s no danger.”
“I know… I’m just uneasy.”
Since their reunion, this was not the first time Xie Jing had so bluntly displayed his exhaustion, anxiety, and insecurity before Lu Lingcong. Xie Jing was prone to overthinking and had always shared only good news while hiding the bad in the past; however, memories that were too harrowing had taught him to use vulnerability to directly express “I am worried about you.” This, in turn, forced Lu Lingcong to be more cautious and hesitant when facing danger—even if only for his sake and a desire not to let him worry, Lu Lingcong’s actions would be somewhat more prudent.
“It will only be two or three months, maybe not even that long; I’ll be back by the start of spring.”
Xie Jing looked up somewhat blankly, asking in a dull voice, “Did you mean what you said last night? You promised you wouldn’t lead troops across the country anymore? After this is settled, you’ll resign from official duties to His Majesty, keep only the title of an idle prince, and stay with me behind the closed doors of Prince Zhao’s Mansion?”
To every half-question Xie Jing asked, Lu Lingcong answered with an unhesitating, firm “Mm.” Yet Xie Jing still seemed unable to fully believe him, “You said back then that for the rest of our lives, we wouldn’t be separated even for a single day or night again.”
Lu Lingcong met his gaze and, after a long silence, sighed softly, “I cannot take you with me.”
It felt as though they had returned to their early twenties when they were inseparable; during those occasional partings, one could only say to the other with consolation, regret, and tenderness, “I cannot take you with me.”
But they were no longer twenty. Even the thought of “I’ll take you with me” was naive, and to say it aloud so plainly was almost laughable.
Yet Lu Lingcong had still said it instinctively and naturally. It was like suddenly waking from a beautiful dream of misty rain and willow-branch partings at Baling, only to return to a world of bone-chilling white snow. Xie Jing jolted back to his senses, realizing he must have lost his mind to act in such a childish, pointless way. A shiver ran through him as he reached out, trying to put some distance between them.
“You’re right,” he said, lightly patting away the arms Lu Lingcong had wrapped around him. “It’s time to head out.”
Lu Lingcong had also recovered his composure and, without resistance, loosened his hold, allowing Xie Jing to slip down from the horse’s side. Xie Jing then untied his scarlet cloak, smoothed the fur flat, and laid it back over the saddle to cover Lu Lingcong’s thighs and knees.
“What are you doing?” Lu Lingcong asked in shock before reaching out to stop him, but Xie Jing only shook his head and forced a smile.
He only needed to run a few quick steps to return to the inn, but Lu Lingcong had thousands of miles of road ahead of him; he needed this garment far more than he did.
“This journey will be a swift passage through the starry night, with deep snow and bitter cold,” Xie Jing said while wrapping his arms tightly across his chest over his inner garments. He walked backward, leaving a solitary trail of footprints in the pure white world, step by step moving further away from Lu Flying LightLingcong. “Let it accompany you in my stead.”
After all, Jinling lay at the emperor’s doorstep. Though refugees sometimes poured in, the imperial court could still respond. Xiapi Commandery, by contrast, was a transit hub for both river and land routes, where commoners from north and south paused to rest, it was impossible for them to receive the same proper resettlement as those in the capital. It was not the ancestral home of any prominent clan, nor was it supported by powerful families. Since the disaster struck, it had been left to fend for itself for nearly three months before finally hoping for the arrival of a single person: Xie Jing.
It was only now that Xie Jing understood why Lu Lingcong had instructed him to attend to the official tasks assigned by Wang Chu first and only examine the Commandery Governor if he had the energy—those intrigues and plots were truly insignificant compared to the dire situation in Xiapi.
Before Lu Lingcong left the inn that night, he had left several pages of notes on his desk, which included the records of the officials in the commanderies along this route. The governor of Xiapi had risen from humble beginnings and was a practical man who loved the people; he had been personally promoted to this position by Lu Lingcong back when he was suppressing bandits and stationing troops here. Yet even the cleverest housewife cannot cook without rice; the city’s expenses had exceeded its income for an entire winter. Fortunately, due to past diligence, local families were barely scraping by on surplus grain, but they absolutely lacked the capacity to provide relief to others.
People find it far too easy to selectively forget uncomfortable memories. Xie Jing had clearly suffered himself yet after returning to the capital for less than a year and resuming his former life of luxury, he could no longer even remember what it felt like to freeze or starve.
Along the way, he had given away almost all his personal clothing, leaving only enough to keep himself warm. Xu Jia, who had grown up in hardship from the soil, understood the helplessness of the current situation perfectly and advised him, “Princess Consort, please try to look past it. It’s no use. You can help one or two, but you cannot help an entire city. What will we do when we reach Jiyin and Huaiyang in a few days?”
Xie Jing knit his brows and remained silent for a long while. Looking back at the desolate city, he simply said, “Take the soldiers and walk a circuit through the city streets. See which households have houses crushed by the snow and help them with repairs. Then, have the people from the Wang family find time to dismantle the carriages; turn the curtains and hangings into clothes, and chop the frames into firewood. Deliver them to the treasury and see if it can provide some small measure of help.”
Behind him, Xu Yi was stunned upon hearing this and asked, “Then the rest of the journey…”
“We’ll just ride horses. Even your Highness is doing so; there’s no reason for me to make another exception.”
Xie Jing had fought for as much relief funding as possible, but the national treasury held only so much. Shifting resources from one place to another would inevitably arouse Wang Chu’s suspicion once it was over.
His expenses after returning to the capital were supported entirely by his salary. The wages for the servants in the mansion were paid by the Wang family and did not require his disbursement. His former family assets were all registered under Lu Lingcong’s name; even if he intended to pay out of his own pocket, he could not produce the funds at a moment’s notice either. Despite this, the Commandery Governor was still filled with immense gratitude, making him feel ashamed.
Xie Jing dispatched Xu Jia to pose as someone from the Prime Minister’s Mansion to privately seek out the Commandery Governor and indirectly probe for Lu Lingcong’s whereabouts. As expected, the other party remained tight-lipped, insisting only that Prince Zhao had not returned to Xiapi since leaving after suppressing the rebellion three years ago and had no contact with him whatsoever. Not a single detail of Lu Lingcong’s scheme was revealed to the “Prime Minister’s Mansion.”
Afterwards, they made their way south to Jiyin. The disaster there was somewhat less severe, though only marginally, demanding another round of coordination. The Jiyin Commandery Governor’s response was much the same, never once mentioning that Lu Lingcong had ever visited or entrusted him with any task. This was within expectations. He recalled Lu Lingcong’s warning before setting out: Huaiyang, being nearer the capital with a more complicated population and a delicate political climate, was perhaps the place most prone to difficulties.
During the course of his official duties, Xie Jing received a letter from Lu Shuning. She and Lu Shuqing were currently being fostered separately by the Li and Wu families. The Prime Minister’s Mansion also had eyes within the Wu family, so Lu Shuqing did not dare to act recklessly and could only obediently rely on his grand-uncle’s protection to seek safety.
On the other hand, regarding the Li family, the Prime Minister’s manor did not regard a young girl like Lu Shuning as a serious threat, which allowed her the chance to send a letter out through a merchant caravan. In the letter, she mentioned something in passing that caught Xie Jing’s particular attention.
It happened just a few days prior on New Year’s Eve. With Consort Dowager Wu having no children nearby, only the three of them, grandmother and grandchildren; remained as immediate family in the vast city of Jinling. A tinge of melancholy settled over the siblings, yet in the end they were willing to spend the holiday close to their grandmother, and together they entered the palace.
With a major disaster at hand, it was naturally impossible for the emperor to be extravagant. Lu Lingzhang had no consorts or concubines; there were only those few members of the imperial family, including the old and the young, and the palace banquet was concluded hastily.
Unexpectedly, just as the feast ended and before Lu Shuning could leave Shenlong Hall, Lu Lingzhang intercepted her.
Lu Lingzhang and Lu Shuqing were close in age and fairly well-acquainted, and he had never caused him any trouble. But with Lu Shuning, he had scarcely ever seen her, and the unfamiliarity between them was plainly evident in both their eyes.
He had evidently never spent time with a young girl her age. Standing a few steps away, he paused for a long moment before holding out his hand, inviting Lu Shuning to take it. “Uncle will show you a place.”
Lu Shuning instinctively turned back to look for her brother. However, Lu Shuqing was being cornered by several court officials who were using small talk as a pretext to probe for news regarding Prince Zhao’s Mansion. Fearing that a single slip of the tongue would let these old foxes trick him, he could only respond with caution and was unable to get away at that moment.
“It won’t take long.” Lu Lingzhang naturally understood her wariness. “Just one look, and then Zhen will see you to the palace gates. Empress Mother will not detain you again.”
Lu Shuning had no choice but to grit her teeth and follow him. They didn’t take a sedan chair, instead strolling slowly toward the northeastern corner of the palace grounds. Lu Lingzhang guided her into a quiet, secluded hall and instructed the eunuchs to light the lamps. Upon closer inspection, Lu Shuning realized that the place was actually the Inner Court Painting Academy, long abandoned and empty, having gone many years without recruiting any Hanlin painters.
The copy that Lu Shuqing had previously brought her was kept here; back then, the siblings had lamented that the Painting Academy remained locked year-round, leaving many unique and rare treasures unseen by anyone.
“Zhen heard Imperial Brother mention a while ago that you like this place, so Zhen ordered people to carry out some minor renovations. It will be at your disposal from now on; if you want to look for any archived scripts, just come into the palace.”
Lu Shuning said hesitantly, “…Thank you, Uncle.”
“No need,” Lu Lingzhang said, his back turned as he surveyed the quiet inner hall. “If the natural disasters subside next year, perhaps the painting curriculum can reopen, and a few masters could be chosen to serve as your teachers.”
At this moment, Lu Shuning kept firmly in mind the essentials of inner court etiquette her father had taught her. She merely gave a slight curtsy, “Uncle is kind, but I belong to Prince Zhao’s Mansion and am merely an outsider; I dare not enter the palace freely, much less step into the Painting Academy without permission.”
Lu Lingzhang turned around, lowered his eyes, and quietly observed her for a moment. In that intelligent and beautiful face, he could see the shadows of several relatives; she bore a remarkable resemblance to his sister, who was away on a distant expedition to the northern frontiers, yet she lacked Lu Lingzhen’s bold, almost unconventional spirit—likely softened by her birth mother’s refined elegance.
Regardless, this girl should not be a mere guest of this palace.
In the end, Lu Lingzhang simply shook his head and said calmly, “You will not be an outsider here.”
In her letter, it was naturally impossible for Lu Shuning to record Lu Lingzhang’s expression in such detail; all she could manage was to relay that final sentence to her mother.
Although renovating the Painting Academy was not a massive undertaking, for Lu Lingzhang to accomplish it, he would have had to bypass the Wang clan and give the orders in private.
Across the pages of the letter, Xie Jing could not discern exactly what Lu Lingzhang intended to express through those words. Lu Lingzhang had never truly opened up to them from beginning to end; the only connection between them had been mediated through Cui Shushi. His attitude—especially toward the throne, had become increasingly blurred and ambiguous. In seeking to break free from the constraints of his maternal clan, was he yearning for the freedom to wield imperial power, or was he striving for true, unbounded control over his own destiny?
Showing kindness to Lu Shuning might have been a form of soft pressure, creating a way out for himself in the face of his brother and sister-in-law’s schemes; yet, perhaps Lu Lingzhang had simply thought of his only niece and acted on a passing whim.
Lu Shuning wrote that after leaving the palace that night, she recounted the matter in its entirety to her elder brother. After careful consideration, Lu Shuqing ultimately advised her not to go, “It’s not that I doubt our uncle’s kindness, but these are troubled times. Everyone keeps an eye on Prince Zhao’s Mansion, and visiting the inner court could give others a pretext to act against our family.”
These words were phrased very tactfully, but Xie Jing could read his son’s concerns at a glance: first, he indeed found Lu Lingzhang’s intentions suspicious, yet directly questioning the emperor and his uncle would be disloyal and disrespectful; second, Lu Shuning’s “hobby” was, after all, not a path recognized by conventional society. In a period when the dynasty was beset by national disasters, any additional attention could be twisted into accusations of indifference to the people’s suffering.
Xie Jing let out a sigh. Although he was loath to see his children entangled in the conflicts of the older generation, he still had to write back, telling Lu Shuning to follow her brother’s advice: “Unless you are visiting your grandmother at Mingluan Hall, try not to approach the palace grounds again.”
Before crossing into the boundaries of Huaiyang City, Xie Jing used the pretext that the capital was urgently short of manpower. In front of the many servants of the Wang clan, he openly sent the remaining members of the Tiger Division accompanying him back to Jinling, while secretly ordering them to disguise themselves as refugees from the north and blend in among the local people of Huaiyang.
He gave Xu Jia a single instruction: to have everyone spread a specific message throughout the city’s streets and alleys, proclaiming that word had already reached all of Jiangbei that anyone who went to Jinling seeking aid from Prince Zhao’s Mansion would surely find relief through the generosity of His Highness and His Highness. Regardless of status, no one would be turned away; they were merely resting in Huaiyang for now before heading to the capital to beg for the Prince’s Mansion’s mercy.
The background of Huaiyang Commandery Governor Cheng Wen was more intricate than that of the previous two. By coincidence, he had also once served as a subordinate in the late emperor’s Eastern Palace. After the old cases of the late Jianning era, he was one of the few who chose to resign and hang up his official seal, only to be reinstated years later as the Governor of Huaiyang—a much lighter and better posting compared to those like He Gao and Xu Yi, who had been marginalized and pushed out to Yongzhou and Liangzhou.
For five full days after entering the city, the gates of the Governor’s Mansion remained tightly shut. Cheng Wen used various excuses to claim it was inconvenient to see Xie Jing.
Xie Jing remained completely unruffled and waited quietly until the rumors within Huaiyang regarding Prince Zhao’s Mansion and its associates, the Wu and Li families, grew as turbulent as boiling water. It reached a point where the city gates could hardly contain the news, risking the rumors slipping all the way down the Huai River to Jinling.
Cheng Wen finally proposed a meeting at his private residence, though he hurriedly sent someone to knock on Xie Jing’s door in the middle of the night.
Xie Jing didn’t request the Wang family servants to accompany him into the Governor’s Mansion, merely commenting casually, “Whether you wait for news at the gate is your choice. But should I die from a moment’s carelessness and delay Prime Minister Wang’s crucial affairs, reporting back won’t be so simple for you.”
Ultimately, intimidated by their true master and convinced by the logic of his words, the men kept their distance from the mansion gates. Xie Jing entered alone, discovering the place heavily guarded. There were no errand boys or maidservants passing by, only personal guards clad in sturdy armor and holding sharp weapons; it looked less like a private residence and more like a government office.
Upon entering the main hall, Xie Jing saw soldiers posted on all four sides. Cheng Wen wasted no formalities and got straight to the point:
“Did Lord Xie happen to bring in the rumors that have recently stirred support for His Highness Prince Zhao in the city? If so, this humble one must trouble you to address them personally. If not, this humble one ask that you inform Prime Minister Wang that any such indiscreet talk was never instigated by me.”
Xie Jing did not beat around the bush either before countering, “Lord Cheng, do not be in such a hurry. I heard that His Highness Prince Zhao recently passed through Huaiyang and stayed here for several days. I only wish to ask one thing, what exactly did Prince Zhao do?”
Cheng Wen was taken aback. “Lord Xie’s perception is indeed keen. Yet I wonder, does this question come from Lord Xie yourself, or is it the Prime Minister who seeks an answer?”
Xie Jing smiled. “You are mistaken. Under the heavens, everything belongs to the emperor. How could there be a question I wish to ask, or one the Prime Minister wishes to ask? I have acted solely on behalf of the Prime Minister’s Mansion, and this journey is an inspection for His Majesty. Lord Prime Minister and the current Majesty are of one heart and mind; everything said and done originates solely from Shenlong Hall.”
Cheng Wen had not expected Lu Lingzhang to be involved in this. After a moment of contemplation, he said, “So it turns out His Majesty worries about brotherly discord. Unfortunately, His Highness Prince Zhao’s heart is not in the same place as His Majesty’s.”
Xie Jing turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “So, His Highness really has been here?”
“This humble one dare not hide it,” Cheng Wen stared at him intently. “His Highness Prince Zhao came here to entrust me with a certain task.”
Xie Jing kept the conversation tightly tied to Lu Lingzhang, “Is it something that endangers His Majesty or shakes the foundations of the state?”
He knew that asking directly would yield no answers, so he changed his approach. By framing everything under the banner of the emperor, any request Lu Lingcong might have made for Cheng Wen to stand idle or refuse to send troops for the dmperor’s protection in the future could be interpreted as having ulterior motives toward Lu Lingzhang, rather than pointing the finger at the Prime Minister’s Mansion.
Xie Jing anticipated that Cheng Wen would likely agree, but to his surprise, the man shook his head and said, “Lord Xie, you are brilliantly clever, but this time you have miscalculated your old master’s intentions.”
By referring to Lu Lingcong as Xie Jing’s “old master” and omitting their marital relationship, Cheng Wen was clearly giving him a hint: Lu Lingcong had no leisure for personal grudges against Xie Jing; all his current entanglements with Xie Jing were born of the struggle for power and the contest of interests.
Sure enough, Cheng Wen followed up immediately: “His Highness Prince Zhao’s purpose for coming has absolutely nothing to do with His Majesty.”
Xie Jing instantly sensed something was wrong and whipped his head around to stare intently at Cheng Wen only to see the other party give a sudden, grim smile. With a wave of his hand, the sound of clashing armor erupted. In an instant, the personal guards in the hall drew their swords in unison, the white blades gleaming as they closed in to surround Xie Jing.
“His Highness Prince Zhao entrusted me,” Cheng Wen took half a step forward and whispered, “to eliminate this great scourge, Lord Xie, on his behalf.”
“That makes things difficult.” Xie Jing retreated half a step without showing a trace of panic at all. “It is true that I am a scourge to His Highness Prince Zhao, but it is also true that I am Prime Minister Wang’s confidant. If you kill me, there will be no one to stop these rumors from reaching the capital and the Prime Minister’s Mansion. By then, the Prime Minister’s Mansion will have no choice but to believe that Your Lordship pledged your loyalty to His Highness Prince Zhao long ago and killed his confidant to remove a great threat for Prince Zhao.”
Cheng Wen paused briefly, then denied it in a grave tone, adding, “Wang Chu would never regard a member of the Xie family as a trusted confidant. You are merely borrowing the tiger’s authority to bluf. What exactly are you trying to extract from me?”
Xie Jing narrowed his eyes, and just as he was about to speak again, a voice suddenly drifted from the hall’s entrance behind him: “Even if Lord Xie is not the Prime Minister’s confidant, he is His Majesty’s confidant.”
Hearing this, Cheng Wen instinctively turned toward the main entrance. At a single glance, he froze in place, a look of utter shock spreading across his face. It wasn’t merely the sight of an uninvited intruder in his heavily guarded mansion; it was as though he had glimpsed a ghost in broad daylight. For a long moment, he could only stammer in disbelief, “…You… You?”
The newcomer spoke with a hint of a smile, “Me?”
Cheng Wen stood frozen on the spot, muttering incoherently, “This is a capital offense of deceiving the emperor…”
“It is true that the Xuanshi has been out of sight for many years, yet the emperor has never issued an edict to abolish it. I am acting under orders to safeguard the Emperor’s Imperial Envoy. What crime have I committed?”
The moment he heard that voice, Xie Jing’s entire body went rigid. His brain completely lost the ability to function; all his preconceived escape plans and the rehearsed rhetoric in his mind were shattered into chaos.
Mechanically, still in a daze, he turned around. The newcomer advanced toward the circle of guards step by step, his expression calm as if he were strolling leisurely across a courtyard rather than approaching armed men. In his hand was the very dagger Xie Jing had left behind when he departed the capital four years ago, its whereabouts a mystery ever since—Flying Light.
Xie Jing had envisioned this scene countless times in his dreams, but he had never been foolish enough to harbor the delusional hope that it would come true. He firmly believed that he would never again see the person standing before him—
A living, twenty-year-old Xie Jun, with a face full of color that bore a striking resemblance to their late parents.
