◎Ambush◎

Qu You had initially thought that, with the journey being long and no rush to arrive, they might take the opportunity to explore along the way. However, while she had once found riding in a carriage comfortable, after a month of travel, she was thoroughly worn out, feeling nauseous every time the carriage jolted.

Zhou Tan, seeing her discomfort, decided to avoid traveling during the hottest hours of noon and instead took her on leisurely horseback rides.

Fortunately, they were now close to Ruo Prefecture.

As they neared the western frontier, the days grew longer. At times, Qu You could even see the breathtaking sight of the sun setting over the endless river while seated in front of Zhou Tan on horseback. He held her securely, guiding the reins as the golden sunlight bathed their eyes.

The stunning scenery helped alleviate much of her discomfort.

Excitedly, she began planning to exercise more once they entered the city. During her years of writing papers, she had often stayed up late, and her time in Bianjing had been fraught with tension and unease. Now, finally, she had the chance to focus on herself.

“Who knows when we’ll be able to visit Lin’an together?” she mused aloud, seated in front of Zhou Tan. “Lin’an is my hometown—and yours too… Well, not exactly. You merely grew up there. If we’re being precise, this western region is your true homeland. So let’s start here and then go to my hometown…”

Zhou Tan hummed softly in acknowledgment. A gust of wind whipped up sand, and he instinctively raised his hand to shield her face.

Qu You continued: “Will we pass by Ming Sha Bay and Crescent Moon Spring? I’ve always wanted to see them…”

Zhou Tan responded with a faint smile, encouraging her to keep talking. As she spoke, she felt an inexplicable sense of emptiness creeping in.

In Bianjing, one crisis after another had left her no time to reflect. But now, riding through this desolate desert path, Qu You suddenly remembered something.

After Zhou Tan returned to court and became Chancellor, he rarely wrote poetry. The third-to-last poem in Spring Sandalwood Collection , a cryptic elegy, seemed to have been composed in the second year after his return from Ruo Prefecture.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t a scholar specializing in Zhou Tan’s life, so she couldn’t recall every significant event in his timeline. She could only make rough estimates based on major historical events, his poems, and changes in others’ lives.

According to historical records, shortly after the issuance of the Flower-Cutting Decree in the second year of the reforms, Zhou Tan’s wife was already gone.

So… would she die?

When she had first agreed to marry him, she had briefly considered this question. But back then, it had felt distant, as if referring to someone else’s life.

Now, she knew—it was her future.

Even knowing the outcome, the future remained unclear.

Since that day on Fan Tower, she had increasingly dwelled on these questions she had once deliberately avoided.

Though many things had changed since her arrival, after a month of travel, she realized that perhaps nothing had truly shifted.

History was vast, its gaps immense. Major events were often glossed over in official records: the construction of the Candlelit Pavilion, Fu Qingnian and the ninth prince’s fall from power, Zhou Tan’s demotion to the western frontier—all these monumental events remained unchanged. Even the lesser-known case of Gu Shi’s daughter falling from a tower—a tragic tale of oppression and forced prostitution—was historically accurate.

Qu You let out a bitter laugh. It seemed that even historians who traveled through time weren’t granted any “cheat codes.” She couldn’t possibly discern the causes and effects of every event. In her efforts to piece together history, she worried that her actions might disrupt its course, triggering a butterfly effect that would turn known outcomes into chaotic unknowns.

Thus, despite knowing Zhou Tan wouldn’t die according to history, she still worried when he entered the Golden Hairpin Prison or confronted Emperor Song Chang with his truths.

Now, she no longer saw herself as an outsider to history. But if she existed here, did that mean someone like her had also existed a thousand years ago?

What a Schrödinger-like question.

Would everything unfold exactly as recorded?

Would she die sometime after Zhou Tan returned to court, leaving him to struggle in vain to maintain the hard-won peace after installing the enlightened emperor? Would he inevitably become Su Chaochi’s mortal political enemy, ending up abandoned by loved ones, despised by the people, distrusted by the emperor, and ultimately defeated and alone, dying in illness?

How could such things happen? Why would they happen?

To this day, she still couldn’t understand.

She knew Zhou Tan had grown up under the teachings of sages, later mentored by Gu Zhiyan, with ideals of serving the nation and achieving universal peace. She respected his aspirations and couldn’t simply urge him to abandon everything for a secluded life in the west.

But the laws of nature were immutable. Could she defy history and fate?

Zhou Tan suddenly asked: “Why have you stopped talking? What are you thinking about?”

Qu You snapped out of her thoughts, turning to him with a bright smile: “I’m thinking… I want to live to be a hundred, and so should you.”

Zhou Tan chuckled: “Alright, we’ll both live to be a hundred.”

Despite all he had endured, his eyes remained clear and free of the self-loathing she had once seen. In this moment, as he spoke of living a hundred years, he was filled with hope for the future.

She dared not dwell on it—if her presence had transformed Zhou Tan from the hollow shell he’d been after the Candlelit Pavilion incident into the man he was now, reigniting his will to resist and fight, what would happen to him if something were to happen to her one day? Would anyone light a lamp for him in the cold rain?

Shaking off the thought, Qu You turned her face away, gazing at the distant sunset without speaking further.

As twilight fell, she began to feel drowsy. Zhou Tan dismounted, helping her back into the carriage. He instructed the group to quicken their pace slightly, aiming to reach the next post station.

At their current speed, they would likely arrive at the gates of Ruo Prefecture by tomorrow.

Back in the carriage, Qu You tried to distract herself by playing the “flying flower” word game with Zhou Tan. Casually picking the character “行” (journey), they exchanged lines until the ninety-eighth verse.

Qu You closed her eyes, reciting: “From the army’s march, ten thousand miles from the dragon court. The chieftain has bowed at Wei Bridge; where shall the general seek fame?”

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside the carriage. The driver yanked the reins, causing the carriage to lurch violently and nearly throwing her off balance. Zhou Tan steadied her with one hand while lifting the curtain with the other: “What’s happening?”

The black-clad escort, seated near the carriage, rasped: “Master, we’re being ambushed.”

Peering through the gap, Qu You saw a group of masked bandits on horseback.

The western frontier was far from peaceful. Bandits often ambushed travelers in the sandy wastelands. In the years following the peace treaty between Xi Shao and Da Yin, caravans transporting silk and tea were frequently targeted by these horse bandits.

However, over the past two years, trade had dwindled due to stringent border taxes, and Qu You had assumed the authorities had eradicated most of these bandits. To encounter them now seemed an unlucky coincidence.

The black-clad escort assessed the group ahead and whispered: “Including their leader, there are seven of them. Among our guards are skilled fighters, and with me included, there’s no real danger. Shall we act now?”

“Wait,” Zhou Tan said, pressing a hand on his shoulder as he stepped down from the carriage. Turning back to Qu You, he added: “Stay inside. Don’t come out.”

He walked forward alone, examining the apparent leader of the bandits.

From his silhouette, the leader appeared to be a young man clad in a hood and face scarf, revealing only his eyes while covering the rest of his body tightly. His followers dressed similarly, some even sporting long curly hair, clearly not ethnic Hu people.

Seeing Zhou Tan—slender and seemingly fragile—approach alone, the leader cracked his whip, muttering something unintelligible to his companions, presumably mocking him. He then provocatively lashed out with his whip, stopping it just short of Zhou Tan’s feet.

The whip missed him by a palm’s breadth, its whistling wind causing his hair to flutter slightly.

Peering through the curtains, Qu You scrutinized the group but couldn’t discern much at first glance. Frowning, her gaze dropped lower until she noticed saddles and bridles on their horses.

Bandits from the western borderlands, whether Xi Shao or occasionally Da Yin, rarely used such equipment. Along their journey, Qu You and Zhou Tan had observed locals whose horses roamed freely without bridles. Skilled trainers didn’t even need stables; a whistle would summon their steeds from afar.

So why did this group have such gear?

One of the men flanking the leader circled Zhou Tan on horseback. Unfazed, Zhou Tan stood calmly and asked: “What brings you to block our path?”

The circling bandit immediately laughed: “What else? We’re a bit short on funds and thought to ask for some silver.”

Zhou Tan questioned: “Do you know who I am?”

The man whistled dismissively: “Who cares who you are? If you want to pass, leave your toll money!”

Qu You couldn’t help herself and chuckled softly inside the carriage.

Zhou Tan’s lips twitched faintly as he called back without turning: “What is my lady laughing about?”

A clear, gem-like voice emerged from the carriage: “I’m laughing because this group’s disguise is rather clumsy. Their arrogant bandit banter sounds utterly out of place. I couldn’t help it, my lord—please forgive me.”

The masked rider circling Zhou Tan seemed startled, reined in his horse, and quickly retreated. Zhou Tan, hands clasped behind his back, earnestly inquired: “How did you see through them, my lady?”

“People here rarely use bridles. Pretending to be bandits is one thing, but they should’ve at least disguised their accents better. That heavy Henan dialect ruins the intimidation factor. And those marks on their saddles—they bear the insignia of military horses, don’t they? My lord must’ve noticed that too, which is why he dared step out alone.”

Zhou Tan remarked: “My lady is astute.”

Finally unable to contain himself, the young leader dismounted, pulling off his elaborate headscarf to reveal a hairstyle common among soldiers. As he landed, his followers also dismounted, discarding their masks and wigs haphazardly.

“Greetings, Lord Zhou,” the youth bowed deeply, saluting militarily. “Governor Zhi sent us to give you a ‘welcome.’ Upon hearing your name, I volunteered eagerly. Please forgive any offense.”

Zhou Tan sighed, extending a hand to help him up: “No need for formalities.”

Qu You wondered how Zhou Tan knew these soldiers stationed so far west when the man asked: “Lord Zhou, was that the lady speaking earlier?”

“It was indeed,” Zhou Tan replied.

At this, Qu You heard hurried footsteps approach her carriage. A loud thud followed as someone knelt, trembling as he kowtowed: “Greetings, Lady. I offer my deepest thanks. Words cannot express my gratitude—allow me to bow.”

Startled, Qu You watched as Zhou Tan lifted the curtain and helped her down, briefly explaining: “This is Yan Fu, the younger brother of Wu Ping, styled Zhuozhou.”

Qu You exclaimed softly: “Young Master Yan, please rise. No need for such formality.”

Yan Fu scrambled to his feet and continued: “Lord Zhou, there’s a post station nearby. Let’s rest there first, and I’ll explain the situation in Ruo Prefecture. When I received your letter, I prepared everything, though I didn’t expect you to arrive so soon.”

Zhou Tan nodded, then turned to look at Qu You. She sighed, brushing his stray strands of hair behind his ear.

“It seems the situation in Ruo Prefecture is more complicated than I imagined.”