Extra 2: The Protagonist’s Past Life · Part 2

After that torrential downpour, the delegation set up camp nearby.

Though the princess hadn’t been drenched by the rain, she had still caught a chill from the wind and fell ill with a cold that same day. When Dr. Li came to examine her pulse, he remarked that the princess had been overly burdened by worries lately, which had weakened her constitution, making her unable to withstand even the slightest exposure to the elements.

The princess asked Dr. Li about General Shen—whether he had drunk ginger soup to ward off the cold and if he had caught a chill as well.

Dr. Li seemed momentarily taken aback. As he lifted the tent flap to leave, he gestured outside.

Following his gesture, the princess saw General Shen standing calmly in the camp, hands clasped behind his back, giving instructions to the soldiers. He was still clad in his thin black robe, seemingly oblivious to the cold.

After Dr. Li left, the princess, wrapped in her quilt, glanced at the black cloak hanging nearby. “He gave me his cloak,” she murmured, “and didn’t even wear a straw raincoat like everyone else. How can he act as though nothing happened after being soaked in such a heavy rain?”

As she helped the princess drink her herbal medicine, she explained, “Those who practice martial arts naturally have stronger constitutions than ordinary people. During battles, they fight under both scorching sun and pouring rain—it’s just something they’re used to.”

“He used to be someone precious too…” The princess’s expression grew distant as she reminisced aloud, sharing her reflections on how much Shen Yuance had changed over this journey. Losing a father, enduring war—these were cruel experiences. A person who had gone through all of that and returned from the brink of death multiple times couldn’t possibly remain the same as before. If he had, wouldn’t that make him a monster? Growing more mature was only natural—or so they had thought, just like everyone else in Chang’an.

Though the princess spoke these words, it was still difficult for her to reconcile the current Shen Yuance with the idle, grinning young man he once was. Occasionally, when he displayed mannerisms reminiscent of his past self or when memories of his previous misdeeds resurfaced, she felt little fondness for him. Yet at times, looking at the person before her now, she felt as though he had split into two entirely different individuals.

For a long time, the princess’s feelings toward General Shen seemed complicated—so tangled that perhaps even she couldn’t discern which emotion held sway among the countless ones swirling within her. And what emotions were at play during those moments of dissonance?

Because of the princess’s illness, the delegation remained in place for several days.

During that period, General Shen did not step foot inside the princess’s tent even once.

When she returned the washed cloak on behalf of the princess, he responded indifferently, offering no words of concern for the princess—not even a casual inquiry.

She thought that perhaps General Shen was avoiding any appearance of impropriety. During the storm and landslide, urgency had justified his actions, and everyone understood that. But a general escorting a marriage alliance princess shouldn’t grow too close—it simply wasn’t appropriate.

Before, their games of chance or chess matches had always taken place outdoors, openly visible to others. However, as the weather turned colder and the princess was still recovering from her illness, staying outside for extended periods became unsuitable.

Sure enough, after they resumed their journey, the princess twice invited General Shen to join her for games of chance, but each time he claimed to be busy.

The princess then put away all those toys.

The journey grew much duller. Whether sitting idly in the carriage during the day or in the tent at night, the princess often sat quietly, lost in thought. Her lingering cold also refused to fully subside, causing her to cough intermittently. Dr. Li became a frequent visitor, checking her pulse morning and evening.

Worried, she asked Dr. Li why the herbal remedies didn’t seem to be working.

Dr. Li replied that deeply rooted ailments were hard to cure, especially when their root cause lay in the mind. The princess was still weighed down by excessive worries.

The princess hadn’t complained or grown resentful due to the lack of entertainment. Even her quiet moments of staring into space were peaceful. But upon hearing Dr. Li’s words, she suddenly looked as though she’d been dealt a great injustice. With reddened eyes, she said, “I’ve been trying so hard to be happy… I’ve really tried my best…”

She and Dr. Li exchanged glances, neither able to offer words of comfort.

That night, after the camp had settled, General Shen entered the princess’s tent. Without a word, he gestured for her to retrieve something.

The princess, startled, asked, “Retrieve what?”

General Shen sighed. “Your toys.”

From that day onward, the entrance to the princess’s tent was often left half-open, with General Shen seated near the entrance where he could be seen from outside, continuing to accompany the princess in those childish games of chance.

Strangely enough, these games seemed to work like a miraculous remedy. After a few days, the princess stopped coughing, and her cold completely healed.

With renewed vigor, the lively princess found new ways to entertain herself. One snowy winter day, after the first snowfall, she told Zhou Siqing that she wanted to host a Snow Celebration Feast.

It was common for nobles in Chang’an to hold such feasts during the winter, usually attended by scholars and poets who would compose verses and enjoy themselves. Zhou Siqing asked the princess how she intended to organize hers.

“Forget poetry,” the princess replied. “No one here but me knows how to compose verses anyway. Let’s hold an archery competition instead. I’ll provide prizes for all participants, with generous rewards for the top three.”

Zhou Siqing made the arrangements. The following evening, beneath the clear skies after the snow, the camp was brightly lit. Everyone gathered around warm pots of hotpot while a group of Xuan Ce Army soldiers eagerly clustered around the archery targets, excited about the prospect of winning prizes.

As the princess ate her hotpot and watched the competition, she noticed General Shen sitting motionless beside her. She asked him why he wasn’t participating.

General Shen raised an eyebrow. “If I joined, what would be left for them?”

She, helping the princess cook meat slices, chimed in to General Shen, “Don’t worry, General Shen. The princess has prepared two first-place prizes.”

The princess discreetly nudged her, clearly annoyed at her unnecessary comment.

Only then did she realize: yesterday, when the princess told Zhou Siqing to prepare two first-place prizes, ostensibly to avoid General Shen taking everyone else’s share, it wasn’t because she feared he’d compete with the soldiers. Rather, she had anticipated that he wouldn’t take the prize meant for his men—and thus prepared two.

This first-place prize was originally intended as a gift for General Shen.

“Thanks to Zhou Siqing’s thoughtfulness in reminding the princess,” she quickly amended her earlier slip-up.

General Shen paused briefly, then rose to his feet, picking up a longbow and heading over.

True to form, the soldiers began grumbling complaints, accusing General Shen of stealing their chance at the prize.

“I’ll share the winnings with you,” General Shen assured them, drawing his bowstring taut. With a flick of his fingers, the arrow flew straight into the bullseye. Moving methodically across ten targets, he shot ten arrows—all hitting their marks perfectly.

The princess leaned her chin on her hand, smiling softly as she watched him.

When General Shen unsurprisingly claimed first place, he set the bow aside and started walking back. The princess lifted a bowl of steaming broth. “The first-place prize is meat personally cooked by this princess.”

Standing at the edge of the seating area, General Shen lowered his eyelashes, seemingly at a loss for words. Taking the bowl, he immediately moved to distribute it among the soldiers.

“Hey!” the princess called out, stopping him. “Such a great honor, and you’re just going to give it away already?”

General Shen halted, smirking faintly. “How could I alone bear such an immense honor bestowed by Your Highness?”

“You dare divide the reward I’ve given you with others, knowing I’m the princess and you’re my subject?” The princess frowned, clearly displeased.

Narrowing his eyes, General Shen stared down at the beef in his bowl for a moment before tipping the entire contents—broth and all—into his mouth without so much as chewing. His lack of savoring the dish made it clear that he regarded this “honor” with disdain.

Watching him closely, the princess produced the real prize—a wooden box—and handed it to General Shen. “Here, this is the actual prize.”

Opening the box revealed a dark jade thumb ring.

For a fleeting moment, General Shen’s gaze flickered. He stared silently at the thumb ring, lost in thought, and remained silent for a long while.

Finally, the princess broke the silence, speaking lightly. “I heard from them while hunting that shooting arrows strains the fingers, and wearing a thumb ring prevents pain. Though military archers likely have specialized rings, since you already have functional ones, I picked out two nice-looking ones. The other one will go to the runner-up, to ensure fairness.”

After a long while, General Shen finally shifted his gaze away from the thumb ring and looked at the princess.

It was a very complicated expression. Even now, when recalling it, she still couldn’t decipher what story lay hidden within that look.

Soon after, several soldiers gathered around, asking General Shen for the prize he had promised to share with them.

General Shen snapped out of his thoughts and showed them the thumb ring. “How am I supposed to divide this? Should I smash it into pieces for you?”

The soldiers, seeing the fine quality of the jade, quickly backed down, saying they wouldn’t dare waste such a treasure. They tactfully retreated.

General Shen closed the box, glanced at the princess, and then turned to return to his tent.

After he left, she softly asked the princess, “Does this thumb ring have any special meaning?”

The princess shrugged. “What meaning could it have? He’s been my ‘companion’ for so many days—I’m just giving him some compensation.”

That night, the princess stayed outside, wrapped in her cloak and cradling a hand warmer, lingering until late into the night. Even after everyone else had dispersed, she refused to go to bed.

In the past, the princess hadn’t liked snow. On snowy days, the cold made her lazy, and she would often curl up in her warm room, either flipping through books idly or playing with her cats.

She also hadn’t enjoyed banquets, whether hosting or attending them. Aside from Princess Baojia, she didn’t have many friends worth socializing with in Chang’an. She disliked the pretense and always claimed to prefer solitude.

But that night, the princess seemed to cherish the opportunity the snow had given her to host a banquet. The snow, the feast—perhaps both were just excuses for the princess to create some excitement.

As long as she didn’t go to bed, the festivities wouldn’t end. The princess dragged out the time, saying she wanted to build a snow lion.

So she accompanied the princess in building one. Perhaps they dawdled for too long, because General Shen, who had already returned to his tent, came back out, unable to bear watching their slow progress.

With General Shen helping to build the snow lion, she focused on taking care of the princess, occasionally warming her hands.

Soon, a lifelike snow lion, nearly half the height of a person, stood guard in front of the princess’s tent like a fierce door god.

General Shen asked the princess, “Can you go to sleep now?”

The princess, her hands red from the cold, returned to her tent with satisfaction.

Early the next morning, Zhou Siqing instructed her, saying that since the princess had gone to bed late last night, they could delay their departure and let the princess sleep in.

By the time the princess naturally woke up, washed, dressed, and stepped outside, the sun was already high. The snow lion they had built the night before at the entrance of her tent had long melted into an unrecognizable mess.

Standing by the entrance of her tent, the princess stared fixedly at the puddle of melted snow and suddenly asked her, “Jingzhe, do you think this is like drinking poison to quench thirst?”

The snow would always melt, and the excitement would always fade.

No matter how much joy they filled the journey with, it was all just an illusion—like flowers reflected in a mirror or a dream of golden millet.

Like drinking poison to quench thirst.

Winter had arrived, and the weather grew colder. The delegation was drawing closer to the border, nearing its final destination.

Whether the journey had been too long, long enough for people to accept the appearance of the endpoint, or too short, so short that no one could fully process it, the night before crossing the border, the princess was unusually calm.

Calmly bathing, calmly sleeping, and early the next morning, calmly putting on her wedding attire—so calm that it almost felt numb, like a marionette pulled by strings.

Until that morning, just as they were about to board the carriage, they realized that a familiar figure was missing from the delegation. Only then did the princess’s otherwise lifeless face show a flicker of emotion. “Where is General Shen?”

Zhou Siqing explained that General Shen’s old injury had flared up, so he wouldn’t personally escort the princess for the final leg of the journey.

The princess’s eyes widened in shock. “He was fine all along the way—how did his old injury flare up? How serious is it?”

Zhou Siqing said he didn’t know the specifics, only that Dr. Li had determined it wasn’t suitable for General Shen to engage in activities that strained his muscles and bones. Furthermore, they had just received word that the war-loving second prince of Xi Luo, who wasn’t originally part of the welcoming delegation, had later heard that General Shen was escorting the princess and found an excuse to come to the border. It was possible he wanted to confront General Shen. Even if General Shen were healthy, it would be best for him to stop here. If he appeared injured before the Xi Luo people, it might give them an opening to exploit.

Listening to Zhou Siqing’s explanation, the princess gazed at the fully prepared delegation, her mind visibly unsettled as she climbed into the carriage.

She felt similarly adrift, as if something crucial had been lost, leaving her with an inexplicable unease.

She recalled that after dinner the previous evening, General Shen had told the princess to go to bed early since they would be crossing the border the next day. At the time, everything had seemed normal.

The princess had initially wanted to play another round of cards to settle their score, but General Shen had dampened her spirits, so she returned to her tent early without exchanging a single word of farewell with him.

After all, words of parting were always meant to be spoken last.

But not every “last” moment comes as promised. Only after missing it do you realize that some unnoticed moment, some careless glance, was already the final goodbye.

Though the princess physically boarded the carriage, her soul seemed to linger behind. As the carriage began to roll forward, she belatedly realized that this departure marked the end of her return. Suddenly, she leaned out the window and called, “Zhou Siqing, let me say a few words of farewell to General Shen. After all, he escorted me for three months…”

“Your Highness, General Shen left early this morning,” Zhou Siqing replied, his expression tinged with regret.

“Why didn’t he even say goodbye to me? Is his injury that severe…?” the princess murmured, her voice trembling.

Zhou Siqing hesitated, seemingly reluctant, but ultimately told the truth: “Not really. He just couldn’t ride a horse, but he was still able to get into a carriage on his own.”

The long procession moved steadily along its predetermined path. The princess, clad in her elaborate wedding gown, sat motionless in the carriage. After traveling a considerable distance, she blinked suddenly—and tears fell.

At that moment, they all believed it was truly the end.

Later, she often thought: if that really had been the final chapter between the princess and General Shen, perhaps it wasn’t the worst possible outcome.

If everything had ended there, it might have simply been the story of a beleaguered escort general finally completing his imperial mission, freeing himself from the capricious, troublemaking princess who cried at the drop of a hat. Not even bothering to bid her farewell—it would make sense.

Years later, when the princess remembered General Shen, she might tell others: “This man treated me terribly when we were young, making me hate him to the bone. But later, he saved my life, suffered injuries for me, and helped me endure an incredibly difficult period. I should thank him.”

If someone asked, “Just thank him?”

The princess might reply, “Yes. He saved me for the sake of duty, accompanied me because it was his imperial mandate, and in the end, he grew so weary of me that he left without saying goodbye. What more can I do for him?”

But it didn’t end there.

That day, something unexpected happened.

They met with the Xi Luo delegation sent to welcome them, and that night, they camped on the Xi Luo border. In the middle of the night, as they slept in their tents, they suddenly heard arguing voices outside.

The princess was terrified. She hurriedly asked what was happening.

From outside came the reply: a drunken Xi Luo man had attempted to barge into the princess’s tent at night.

Amidst the chaos, the sound of weapons clashing erupted, and both sides engaged in combat.

She stayed by the princess’s side, not daring to step out of the tent, hurriedly helping her dress while listening to the heart-stopping sounds of combat outside. At that moment, she didn’t even think about what it all meant—her only thought was to ensure the princess wouldn’t come to harm.

At some point, a blood-soaked soldier from the Xuan Ce Army entered the tent and urged the princess to retreat with them.

They fled in confusion, crossing through a sea of corpses and blood, only to learn halfway that the news of General Shen’s recurring injury might have leaked, prompting the second prince of Xi Luo to act on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He had arranged for someone to create a drunken disturbance, forcing Daye to make the first move. The next step would likely be to pursue the marriage alliance delegation under the guise of retaliation, using the chance to invade Hexi.

Eliminating General Shen would secure enough merit for the prince to ascend the throne in the future—even if the Xi Luo royal court objected, history was always written by the victors.

But the second prince had brought what he believed to be sufficient forces—or at least enough to overwhelm the opposition—only to be decisively defeated by the Xuan Ce Army escorting the princess.

At the time, they simply assumed the Xuan Ce Army’s superior strength was the reason for their victory. No one stopped to consider—if the second prince had come prepared, who could possibly turn the tide against overwhelming odds within enemy territory and kill a prince?

The person behind it all had concealed themselves so well that they deceived everyone.

In the darkest hour before dawn, they fled like fugitives to the border checkpoint. Ahead, the gates were tightly shut; behind, the pursuing army bore down on them with overwhelming force. They seemed to have reached a dead end.

Just as despair set in, the thunderous sound of galloping hooves approached, shaking the earth like an avalanche. The Xuan Ce Army arrived in full force, their presence like a tidal wave pressing down on the enemy.

With their leader incapacitated, the Xi Luo forces hesitated to engage in battle.

Slowly, the heavy gates creaked open. Beyond the gates, rows of armored cavalry stood in formation, their torches blazing like wildfire, illuminating the princess’s path home.

Zhou Siqing immediately set off for Chang’an in the dead of night. The entire court was shaken, and ministers petitioned the emperor to terminate the marriage alliance.

With no other choice, the emperor issued an edict officially ending the marriage alliance.

After months of preparation, just as the princess had resigned herself to her fate, destiny made a sudden, dramatic turn—like a meteor streaking across the heavens, leaving behind a vivid trail of white fire.

During the days they waited at the border for news, the princess still couldn’t believe it was real, as if caught in a dream.

When everything finally settled, the princess murmured恍惚地说, “It seems we owe this to Shen Yuance again.”

She sighed, adding, “If General Shen hadn’t suffered a relapse of his old injury, the second prince of Xi Luo might not have been so tempted to launch an attack. Perhaps, unknowingly, General Shen was truly making amends for his past wrongs toward you.”

“But I wonder how his injury is healing,” the princess said, still worried. Though every time she asked, the soldiers of the Xuan Ce Army seemed unconcerned about their young general’s condition, acting as if it were nothing serious.

With the marriage alliance terminated and the Lunar New Year approaching, they prepared to return to the capital.

During those two days, as she packed their belongings, the princess often sat at the desk in the tent, picking up her brush several times to write a letter, only to crumple it after writing a few words.

At first, she thought the princess was writing a letter to the marquis, but upon asking, she learned that the letter to the marquis reporting her safety had already been written. The one she hesitated over was whether to write to General Shen.

During their stay at the border, General Shen had never reappeared. It was said that he had already returned to Guzang. The princess wanted to ask him how his recovery was going, when he planned to visit the capital, and whether he intended to travel with the delegation.

But after much deliberation, considering how abruptly he had left, he probably wished for her absence entirely. The princess sighed, saying, “Forget it. I’d just be asking out of politeness. If I do, I’ll only hear something like, ‘The princess has grown quite adept at being self-indulgent.’ Why bother seeking rejection?”

After all, they would meet again soon in Chang’an. With the belief that fate would bring them together again, the princess no longer regretted his unannounced departure.

In the end, she didn’t write the letter. The princess happily set off on the journey back to the capital, eager to reunite with the marquis after their long separation.

The road was long, and the princess couldn’t return to Chang’an before the Lunar New Year, so they celebrated the holiday along the way.

Though far from home, reflecting on the fact that she should have been in a foreign land at this time, the princess felt deeply content.

On New Year’s Eve, she accompanied the princess in releasing lanterns. The princess wrote three Kongming lanterns: one for the marquis, wishing him good health; one for Princess Baojia, hoping she would find a good match; and one for General Shen—

“Shen Yuance will win every battle without a scratch, but lose every gamble, willingly becoming my subject.”

Little did the princess know, as she joyfully released the three lanterns into the sky, that none of these wishes would come true.

They arrived in Chang’an in the first lunar month, only to learn that since the princess had left the capital, the marquis had been consumed by worry day and night. His cough had worsened, and Dr. Li’s prescriptions were no longer effective.

Not wanting the princess to know about his illness, the marquis had hoped she could face her challenges with peace of mind. Even if the marriage alliance couldn’t be changed, he wanted her to believe her uncle was fine in Chang’an.

Thus, he had written many letters in advance, instructing Lady Xu to send them out periodically if his condition worsened to the point of being bedridden.

The princess finally reunited with her uncle, only to watch helplessly as his illness progressed to the point where he no longer recognized her. She could only read and reread the letters he had written in advance.

That same month, they heard that General Shen had petitioned the emperor for leave, citing a recurrence of his old injury, preventing him from attending the New Year’s court in the capital.

Looking back, this news carried ominous signs, but by then, the princess had no energy left to care about the outside world.

Though the marriage alliance was terminated, its bitter consequences lingered.

In the following months, the princess devoted herself daily to caring for the marquis, trying every possible method to cure him, desperate to hold on to the last close family member in her life. But by summer, the marquis passed away.

In his final moments, there was a brief period of clarity—a phenomenon often referred to as “the light before the end.”

During this fleeting clarity, the marquis finally recognized the princess. Listening to her recount the events of the past year, learning that she no longer had to go through with the marriage alliance, the marquis gently patted her hand and said, “That’s wonderful. I can rest easy now. The only regret is that I couldn’t find a good match for you, to entrust you to a worthy partner.”

“That young man from the Shen family has been your lucky star. Unfortunately, your uncle won’t live to see him come to the capital. From now on, you must decide your own future.”

Tears streaming down her face, the princess replied, “I don’t even like him—he annoyed me so much. Uncle, don’t entrust me to anyone else.”

Perhaps because the dying see things more clearly, the marquis said, “Silly child, don’t let past grievances hold you back. Your uncle can see that when you speak of him, there’s joy in your heart.”

These were the marquis’s final words to the princess.

The first lantern the princess had released on New Year’s Eve went dark. After the funeral, the princess fell into a daze, as if returning to the year she lost her mother as a child.

Princess Baojia took the princess to her own residence, telling her to stay there. “Leave it to time,” she said. “There’s a long road ahead, and things will get better slowly.”

She thought, yes, there’s a long road ahead. The princess was only eighteen, hadn’t yet found her ideal match, and would surely have new family in the future. If the princess truly liked General Shen, even if he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, they could always force him to become her husband.

After hearing the marquis’s last words, she often reflected on the journey of the marriage alliance, realizing more and more that perhaps the marquis had been right.

She thought the princess might indeed have been held back by past grievances. That journey had been so desperate, like drinking poison to quench thirst. Even the joy of catching prey during those times clouded her judgment. Naturally, she couldn’t distinguish between the joy of catching prey and the joy of interacting with General Shen. She couldn’t tell whether she liked playing games of chance or simply liked playing them with General Shen. She couldn’t discern whether the jade thumb ring was compensation, gratitude, or something deeper—a genuine expression of feeling.

Perhaps by the time the princess had sorted through her feelings, her next encounter with General Shen would be free of constraints and distractions.

But fate has a way of playing tricks on people, and this “next time” caught the princess completely off guard.

Three months later, someone in the imperial court “discovered” discrepancies in last year’s tribute payments from Hexi. They accused General Shen and the deputy military governor of Hexi of colluding to embezzle funds. The emperor demanded an explanation from Hexi, but General Shen refused to respond.

Later, they learned that after the successive removal of threats from the Northern Qie and Hedong, the emperor had already planned to weaken Hexi—potentially the next Hedong—once peace was established in the west.

The termination of the marriage alliance further fueled the emperor’s suspicions about General Shen. How could it be such a coincidence that a border general’s old injury flared up just in time for the news to leak and provoke the Xi Luo prince?

If the other side had succeeded, it might have been called a coincidence. But the fact that the Xi Luo prince was effortlessly killed by the Xuan Ce Army only added another notch to their list of military achievements.

The emperor suspected that General Shen had deliberately sabotaged the marriage alliance to earn military merit. However, lacking concrete evidence, he had summoned General Shen to the capital at the end of the year under the pretext of discussing strategies against Xi Luo.

General Shen’s refusal to comply was seen as a direct challenge to the emperor’s authority, solidifying the emperor’s resolve to eliminate him.

Over the past six months, while implementing trade initiatives proposed by the fourth prince to establish peace with Xi Luo, the emperor had also drawn a line of defense between Chang’an and Hexi, fortifying positions along the way.

Once everything was in place, the emperor fabricated a charge and demanded an explanation from Hexi. Ostensibly, this was an opportunity for Shen to defend himself, but regardless of his response, the accusation would eventually stick.

When General Shen refused to respond, the emperor stopped beating around the bush and summoned him to the capital on charges of treason.

But they only learned about these convoluted schemes later.

At the time of the incident, all they knew was that the imperial edict had been issued—and the response from the Xuan Ce Army came in the form of an eastern campaign led by General Shen.

Ignoring the fact that his mother was being held hostage in the capital, General Shen brazenly rebelled, defying both the emperor and public opinion.

It seemed Lady Shen had long prepared for this day, as she hanged herself in the family estate in Chang’an.

The emperor, who had spent half a year preparing for the Xuan Ce Army’s advance, confidently summoned General Shen to the capital, expecting to fight a battle on his own terms. However, the strength of Hexi’s forces far exceeded his expectations.

After three years of warfare against the north and suppressing rebellions in Hedong, the Xuan Ce Army remained as formidable as ever.

The troops advancing eastward were almost all warriors willing to die for their cause, unstoppable in their march.

Perhaps the emperor had assumed that General Shen, burdened by accusations and with his mother held hostage, lacked support in the court or among the populace. Without allies like the princes in Hedong, his rebellion would fail to alter the dynasty’s fate.

But General Shen didn’t seem intent on changing the dynasty’s name or seizing the throne. This wasn’t a calculated coup—it felt more like a reckless, fearless confrontation with the emperor, willing to burn everything to ashes.

In the sweltering summer heat, news spread like snowflakes into the Princess’s residence. The princess trembled with shock and unease. Princess Baojia was equally disoriented.

She didn’t dare ask what the princess was thinking—perhaps even the princess herself didn’t know.

While they waited anxiously for updates, an imperial eunuch arrived at the Princess’s residence, smiling and announcing that the emperor had summoned the princess to the palace.

Fate had been building up to this moment for so long—it seemed destined to arrive.

They immediately sensed something was amiss. But with only a few hundred guards stationed at the Princess’s residence, all loyal to the royal family, how could they possibly stand against the emperor or the entire imperial army guarding the capital?

Princess Baojia greeted the eunuch warmly, explaining that the princess had recently lost a close relative and was physically and emotionally unwell. Could they request a postponement?

The eunuch’s insistence confirmed that there was no room for negotiation.

Princess Baojia then offered to accompany the princess to the palace, but she was stopped by the imperial guards accompanying the eunuch.

“The emperor requests the presence of the princess alone,” the eunuch said firmly. “Not even a maid may accompany her.”

That day, the princess did not return. Princess Baojia rushed to the fourth prince’s residence in a panic, desperate to uncover the reason behind the summons.

By then, the fourth prince controlled half the political landscape, yet even he was unaware of why the emperor had summoned the princess. It was a deeply guarded secret of great significance.

Everyone was baffled until the day the Xuan Ce Army stormed Chang’an, arriving at the city gates. The emperor personally escorted the princess to the top of the city walls…

A pained murmur interrupted Jingzhe’s reminiscence.

Jingzhe hastily wiped away her tear-blurred vision and turned to look at the princess lying on the bed.

The charcoal fire had burned out, leaving the ruined palace as cold as an ice cellar. Jiang Zhiyi was curled up tightly, her forehead drenched in cold sweat, muttering pleading words in her sleep: “No, no…”

Jingzhe gently patted Jiang Zhiyi’s back, calling out urgently: “Your Highness, Your Highness—”

Jiang Zhiyi suddenly jolted awake, her eyes snapping open. Her hair, soaked with sweat, clung to her face, and she stared at Jingzhe in terror.

“Your Highness, it’s alright, it’s alright…” Jingzhe wiped away her sweat while repeating soothing words over and over.

After an initial flash of fear, Jiang Zhiyi’s pupils slowly dimmed. As if remembering where she was, she clutched her chest tightly, gasping for air.

“Jingzhe, I don’t know… Why didn’t I know…”

Indeed, no one had known at the time. When the emperor had sent men to search the Shen family estate, they discovered a jade pendant engraved with the character “Yi” hidden inside a porcelain vase on a bookshelf in the study of the eastern courtyard.

The emperor had never believed that a powerful general with ambitions would stage a rebellion for the sake of a woman—a trope fit for tales, but unworthy of a ruler’s consideration.

Even when the emperor suspected General Shen of sabotaging the marriage alliance, he attributed it to his love for war and glory, never imagining the princess had any significant influence over the political situation.

But the discovery of the pendant, hidden in such a discreet location, made the emperor connect it to the princess’s name.

Already enraged by the Xuan Ce Army and having lost Lady Shen as leverage, the emperor immediately began investigating the owner of the pendant.

No one in the Shen household could explain its origins, but with suspicion directed toward the princess, verifying the answer wasn’t difficult.

The emperor questioned Zhou Siqing, who had accompanied the princess and General Shen for over three months during the marriage alliance journey, asking about the nature of their relationship.

Zhou Siqing understood the emperor’s intentions and refrained from voicing his suspicions about the princess and General Shen, knowing that doing so would cost the princess her life.

But the emperor’s interrogation left him no choice but to disclose certain undeniable facts. If he stayed silent, the emperor would simply interrogate someone else, and Zhou Siqing would be charged with deceiving the throne.

The emperor grilled Zhou Siqing about the details of the marriage alliance journey, seemingly satisfied with the answers, and summoned the princess to the palace.

Amidst ragged breaths, Jiang Zhiyi felt her insides twisting in agony, as though she were dying. Yet the cold, metallic taste of air filling her throat reminded her that she was still alive.

Summoned to the palace and shown the jade pendant, she couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the emperor’s mistake.

So Shen Yuance already had someone he cherished deeply, someone important enough to hide such a precious keepsake.

All those moments during the marriage alliance journey that had felt strange—she now realized they were nothing but self-delusions.

She didn’t know whose pendant this was, but it certainly wasn’t hers.

After her uncle’s passing, if there was any part of her numb heart that still felt alive, it was the corner harboring her hatred for the emperor.

Now that she had fallen into the emperor’s hands and knew that he had arrested the wrong person, she actually considered letting the mistake stand.

If she were to demand justice, wouldn’t they eventually uncover the true owner of the jade pendant?

Shen Yuance had already rebelled, showing no regard even for Lady Shen, whom he had once treated as a mother. Perhaps no one could become a hostage to restrain him. But surely he cared more about the owner of the pendant than he did about her. She could take the fall as a “scapegoat,” repaying him for saving her life in the past.

There was nothing left in this world that she cherished. From being wronged by the Zhong family, to being sent off for the marriage alliance, to her uncle’s death, to her capture—she was utterly exhausted.

She didn’t want to care about anything anymore. If the last thing she saw in her lifetime was Shen Yuance storming the city walls and killing the emperor, that would be a fitting end.

At least, she thought it would be.

But when she ascended the city tower with a resolve to die, what she saw instead was Shen Yuance disarming himself and abandoning his horse, pierced through by countless arrows.

Or rather, she shouldn’t call him Shen Yuance anymore—but—

Yuance.

The emperor negotiated with the Xuan Ce Army atop the city walls, promising that those who surrendered would not be killed. Except for Yuance, whose fate was sealed, the rest of the Xuan Ce Army survived.

Li Dafeng also survived, delivering the truth into her hands.

Twenty-one years ago, Grandmaster Jianwei observed the stars at night and prophesied that twin stars of calamity would descend upon the world that year, destined to shake the foundations of the empire and endanger imperial authority. That year, all twins born—from the capital to the borderlands—were secretly executed by order of the late emperor.

Lady Shen of the Shen family had not given birth to a single son but to a pair of identical twins.

To escape disaster, the younger twin was secretly sent to the frontier and raised in Hexi, enduring brutal training in the shadows, living as nothing more than a reflection of his older brother.

The real Shen Yuance had died in the sweltering summer of the eleventh year of Xingwu. The person who returned victorious from Hexi that winter was not Shen Yuance—it was Yuance.

The person who had accompanied her day and night during the marriage alliance journey, spending three months by her side, was Yuance.

All those moments that made her feel as though she were seeing two different people weren’t because Shen Yuance had changed—it was because they were never the same person to begin with.

To play the role of his elder brother, the young man had reopened every old scar on his body, removing birthmarks to erase any trace of difference.

He remained unscathed after being drenched in a torrential downpour because he had joined the Xuan Ce Army at the age of ten, becoming one of its most elite scouts. To him, braving thorns, scorching sun, biting winds, and pouring rain were all commonplace.

When he ate beef in front of her as if enduring punishment, it wasn’t because he scorned the honor she offered—it was because the army had a special method of treating soldiers on the brink of death. They would cut open a live cow’s abdomen and place the dying soldier inside, letting them soak in the warm blood to revive them. He had once been placed inside a cow’s belly after a severe injury, which left him with a deep aversion to the taste of beef.

The reason he stared at the thumb ring she had casually given him for so long was that, as a child, his father had forbidden him from wearing one, saying that fearing pain would prevent him from shooting arrows well. One day, while walking through the market wearing a mask, he stopped in front of a jade stall, captivated by the glittering rings. He promised his father he wouldn’t wear it while practicing archery, finally earning the gift after much pleading.

Those moments that gave her the illusion of connection—perhaps they weren’t illusions after all.

Shen Yuance might not have cared about her, but Yuance did.

The jade pendant belonged to Shen Yuance. Yuance had no idea it even existed and never imagined that his rebellion would implicate her.

She asked Li Dafeng, “When you learned about the pendant, did you mistakenly think I had secretly pledged my life to his brother?”

Li Dafeng replied, “I don’t know the answer to that.”

“In fact, during the marriage alliance journey, Zhou Siqing often looked at him strangely. He grew curious and asked around, eventually extracting some information from Zhou Siqing. He learned that you supposedly had someone you’d secretly pledged your life to, and Zhou Siqing suspected it was him. When he asked where this suspicion came from, Zhou Siqing recounted what he had heard from Jingzhe, matching him point by point.”

“But at the time, he thought Zhou Siqing’s guess was absurd. Even if he didn’t know the full extent of his brother’s relationship with you, he didn’t believe you had any history together. He figured either you truly had someone else you’d pledged your life to, or you were simply trying to gain Zhou Siqing’s sympathy by lying.”

“So at least, when he sabotaged the marriage alliance, he didn’t misunderstand that you and his brother had a past.”

He hadn’t misunderstood, yet he still destroyed the marriage alliance for her sake.

As for later, when he learned about the pendant and chose to sacrifice himself at the city walls—did he misunderstand that she and Shen Yuance had a past, or was it simply because of who she was that he exchanged his life for hers?

That answer, Jiang Zhiyi would never know again.

There would never again be anyone in this world to tell her.