Chen Danyan had not expected Chen Danzhu to speak so bluntly. Her younger sister sometimes disliked her nagging, but at most, she would run off. Never before had she retorted so directly. She looked at Chen Danzhu. Perhaps because she was lying down, she realized the little girl had nearly grown as tall as herself.
The little girl had grown up—she now had her own ideas, her own judgment, her own resolve.
Chen Danyan sank back onto the bed. “It was my fault first.” She no longer mentioned Li Liang, closing her eyes as silent tears fell.
Xiao‑Die knelt at the bedside, clutching Chen Danyan’s hand and sobbing.
Chen Liehu looked from his elder daughter to his younger, unable to blame either, and sighed heavily. “It is your father’s poor judgment of men that has brought you harm.”
Chen Danzhu said: “We can know a man’s face but not his heart. Father, do not speak so.”
Her younger daughter’s sharp words against Li Liang seemed to spill over onto her sister. Chen Liehu thought it best to separate them, let each calm down. He instructed the physicians to care for Chen Danyan, then took Chen Danzhu away.
“Ah‑Zhu, your sister is in deep grief,” he counseled. “Do not be angry with her. Give her time.”
Chen Danzhu could understand her sister’s reproach. To Chen Danyan, Li Liang was more precious than life itself.
Though Chen Liehu had proven Li Liang’s betrayal, though Chen Danyan had declared she would have killed him herself, it was not her hand that struck him. Everything had happened too suddenly. Her heart could not yet accept it.
But Chen Danzhu would not bear this grievance. In matters of Li Liang, she would suffer no injustice. Even if she had told Chen Danyan, her sister would never have been as resolute as she. Because they had all died too quickly. None had endured ten years of torment as she had.
“Father,” she sighed. “In such perilous times, there is no leisure for grieving. Pain must be faced. Sister must come to terms quickly.”
Moreover, there was another way to ease her sister’s sorrow over Li Liang’s death. If she could find that woman and child, her sister would understand at once.
Between her and her sister, there would be no lasting rift because of Li Liang.
Ah—compared to the shock of Li Liang, soon she would have to face her own. Chen Danzhu gave a bitter smile in her heart, hoping her father and sister could endure.
“Master, Master!” The steward came rushing. “Urgent military report from the front!”
Chen Liehu stiffened, all unease and sorrow swept away. He asked solemnly: “What is it?”
The steward led him to the messenger. “The imperial troops have suddenly massed on the northern bank.”
Chen Danzhu asked: “After gathering, have they moved? Are they crossing the river?”
Chen Liehu now noticed she had followed. He thought to reassure her, but decided not to hide the truth. He let her come along to hear the messenger.
“They are preparing to cross,” the messenger explained, pointing to the map. “Not only the northern bank—the imperial forces along the Yangtze have all begun to move. Warships have already entered the river.”
At last, battle was coming. Chen Liehu’s face lit with fierce joy. He ordered the steward: “Bring my great blade and armor. I must go to the camp and prepare.”
Once the imperial army crossed the river, the hundred thousand troops stationed at the capital would no longer merely defend—they would march to the front.
Chen Liehu armed himself, then forbade Chen Danzhu from following. “Your sister is unwell. The household cannot be left unattended.”
Chen Danzhu did not insist. She stood at the doorway, watching her father depart, unmoving for a long time.
Seeing her anxious face, the steward tried to comfort her. “Second Miss, do not worry. Our forces are equal to the court’s, and we have natural defenses. The Master will be safe.”
But she was not afraid that the imperial army would harm her father. She feared her father would die because of her. If the court attacked, it meant the Emperor had rejected Prince Wu’s offer to yield.
She had deceived Prince Wu. If he grew angry, he could at once bind their family and behead them.
In her past life, it was Li Liang who caused her father and sister’s deaths. In this life, she had killed Li Liang—yet now it might be she who doomed them.
“Eh?” the steward suddenly exclaimed. “That is the royal carriage.”
Chen Danzhu looked. A carriage surrounded by guards sped toward them. Before it stopped, a eunuch leaped down. “Second Miss, the Prince summons you.”
From the eunuch’s expression, the Prince did not seem angry. Could it be he did not yet know the imperial army had massed? Chen Danzhu’s heart wavered.
The steward was startled. “The Master is not at home—Second Miss should not go out.”
The eunuch shrilled: “Do you mean to defy the Prince’s command?”
If the Grand Tutor defied him, they could do nothing. But a mere steward—he could be killed on the spot.
Chen Danzhu pressed the steward’s hand and answered firmly: “I will enter the palace to see the Prince.”
The steward turned pale. “No, no, I must fetch the Grand Tutor—”
“Now the military situation is urgent. Do not distract Father.” Chen Danzhu cut him off, reassuring him. “The Prince must be asking about Li Liang’s accomplices. Do not worry.”
Without further delay, she called Ah‑Tian and followed the eunuch into the carriage.
The steward could only watch anxiously as Second Miss was taken away, stamping his foot in frustration. She was still young, she did not understand—the Prince was not a man to be trifled with. He looked ahead: the Master was busy with urgent war matters and must not be disturbed. He looked back: the Eldest Miss was bedridden from sudden grief. What was to be done?
On the way to the palace, Chen Danzhu no longer felt fear. If Prince Wu sought to punish her father, then she would kill him first. She had endured a wretched life once already. This time, she would die boldly. Whoever tried to kill her, she would kill in return.
In the great hall of the palace, Prince Wu paced back and forth. When he saw Chen Danzhu enter, he hurried to ask: “Do you know?”
Chen Danzhu’s heart sank. She lowered her head. “I just heard—the court—”
Before she could finish, the Prince clapped his hands and sighed: “Who would have thought? His Majesty himself wishes to see me.”
The Emperor? Chen Danzhu started, raising her eyes to the Prince.
“The messenger brought word,” the Prince said. “He said that when His Majesty heard I was willing to let imperial officials investigate the assassin affair to prove my innocence, he was so moved he wept. He said I was his good brother, and that he would come himself to discuss it.”
That messenger—was it Doctor Wang? Wasn’t he subordinate to the Iron‑faced General? Had he truly become the Emperor’s envoy? Was the Emperor persuaded, or was this a false decree meant to deceive? Chen Danzhu’s thoughts whirled. The Emperor coming to Wu was not strange. In her past life, the Emperor had indeed left the capital, personally leading the campaign, and had come to Wu—but only after Prince Wu was dead. This time, she had changed that.
Prince Wu said: “Second Miss Chen, you shall go to welcome the Emperor.”
She? Her father was preparing to fight the Emperor’s unrighteous army, while she was to welcome the Emperor into Wu. Ah—this contradiction between father and daughter could no longer be avoided. The day had come. Chen Danzhu did not hesitate. She lifted her head and answered yes, then thought to speak once more for her father’s sake. She stepped forward. “My lord—”
The Prince saw her approach and immediately stepped back, wary. “What do you intend?”
Chen Danzhu called out: “My lord, I wish to say—”
This young girl was beautiful, with a delicate voice. In the past, Prince Wu might have entertained thoughts. But now—this was the girl who had killed her own brother‑in‑law, who had held a hairpin to his throat. No matter how lovely, even like a celestial maiden, she could never be taken!
The Prince cut her off: “Whatever you wish to say, say it from there.”
Chen Danzhu remained where she was, lowering her voice. “My lord, if the Emperor comes—should he be killed?”
The Prince was startled. “Kill him? For what?”
What was this woman plotting now?
Chen Danzhu said: “If the Emperor refuses to rescind the grace‑sharing edict, then kill him. My lord could become Emperor.”
To be Son of Heaven was, of course, desirable. But to kill the Emperor—Prince Wu’s heart raced. How could it be so easy? This woman spoke madness.
“This is Wu,” Chen Danzhu pressed. “Compared to the Emperor, my lord holds the advantage. Risk everything in one battle, and never again fear the weakening of the lords—”
Then he would be the one to weaken others. First Zhou, then Qi… Heaven! Too dangerous. He would become the enemy of all under heaven. Endless war—too exhausting. Better to leave it. He had never wanted to fight. If the Emperor came to negotiate, then they could talk.
“We have not yet spoken—how do you know he will not rescind it?” The Prince waved his hand. “When he arrives, I will speak with him. The Emperor may be unjust, but I cannot be unrighteous. Do not utter such treasonous words again.”
The Emperor had already gone to war over the edict. How could he truly negotiate? “Cannot be unrighteous”—it was only fear. Since that was so, she would follow his will. Chen Danzhu looked at the Prince and bowed gracefully. “Your servant obeys.”