Chen Liehu sat atop the war chariot. For some reason, his nose tickled—he sneezed.
“Master,” his deputy asked with concern, “the wind is strong here. Perhaps return to camp?”
Chen Liehu scolded him impatiently. “What wind? I am no pampered lady.” He looked around. This was the capital’s first line of defense—one man could hold it against ten thousand. “Guard it well. From this moment, strict vigilance inside and out. Not even a fly—”
“Grand Tutor!”
He was interrupted. A soldier hurried forward, presenting a sheet of paper.
“Scouts found these scattered along roads, fields, and villages. They say the King has already requested peace talks with the Emperor, and that the Emperor will soon come to meet him.”
In truth, they had already heard such rumors while relaying reports from the front, but had dismissed them. Now the capital itself had them, written in black and white. A rumor repeated thrice becomes fact. The soldiers grew uneasy.
“Is it true?”
“Has the Prince agreed to negotiate with the Emperor?”
“If we fight the imperial army now, would that not be rebellion?”
They had dared to resist the court’s troops because the Emperor first sought to seize Wu’s lands, then falsely accused the King of treason, ordering his execution. Prince Wu was enfeoffed by the ancestor himself. The Emperor could not dispose of him at will. That was unjust, unrighteous, and immoral. Thus, the feudal lords could rally their armies to resist.
But if the Prince himself invited the Emperor into Wu, then striking the court’s troops would indeed be rebellion.
Voices of doubt and debate rose.
Chen Liehu snatched the paper, tore it to shreds without even reading. “Lies! Meant to confuse our soldiers and people!” He stood, long blade pointing forward. “The court has a thousand tricks. But if their troops set foot in Wu, it is treachery. With me, Chen Liehu, here, they shall never succeed! Generals—will you fight with me?”
With the Grand Tutor before them, fear vanished. The soldiers raised their blades and shouted in unison: “Kill the enemy!”
“Grand Tutor! Grand Tutor!” Amid the fervor, a messenger galloped in, crying: “The Prince has issued a decree—send envoys to welcome the Emperor into our lands.”
The uproar fell silent. Faces turned stunned.
Chen Liehu rose from the chariot, sneering coldly. “Who has bewitched the Prince? I will go see him—”
He broke off suddenly. Ahead came a troop of palace guards escorting a eunuch. Strange—why was there a woman beside him? And that woman looked familiar.
“Ah‑Zhu!” he called loudly. “Have you come for me?”
Chen Danzhu, cloaked in a mantle, rode forward. Though her heart ached, she forced herself step by step to her father’s side, bowed her head, and answered: “Yes.”
Chen Liehu sighed helplessly. “I told you to stay home. Well, if you wish to come to camp, then come.” He smiled at the soldiers around him. “You recognize her, don’t you? This is my younger daughter—the one who slew Li Liang.”
The soldiers were not unfamiliar with Chen Danzhu. As a child, she often followed Chen Danyang to the camp, riding horses and shooting arrows. At the time, no one paid much attention—she was only a girl, and riding and archery were mere play. The Chen family had its eldest son, Chen Danyang. But when Chen Danyang suddenly died, this little girl had all but gone alone to the front lines and slain Li Liang.
A tiger father breeds no weak cubs! The men greeted her warmly, calling out “Second Miss.” Chen Li‑hu, standing nearby, allowed himself a rare smile. Since Chen Danyang’s death, though he had not shown grief before others, he had scarcely smiled at all.
Chen Danzhu could hardly bear to look at her father’s face. The words she was about to speak would pierce his chest like a blade.
“Father,” she said, head bowed, voice strained. “I bear the Prince’s decree—to go and receive His Majesty.”
Silence fell. The soldiers’ faces froze in disbelief.
Chen Liehu felt his ears buzzing, a confused roar drowning all else. What strange words had he just heard? “What are you saying?” he frowned. “If you are worried, unwilling to stay at home, then come with me. Quickly, come here.”
Chen Danzhu shook her head. “Father, the details I will explain later. Time is urgent now. Your daughter must set out at once—”
Chen Liehu suddenly raised his voice: “Chen Danzhu, get over here!” He held his blade across his chest. “Will you defy your father’s command?”
She understood her father’s feelings now, but she truly could not go to him. In his fury, even if he did not strike her down, he would surely seize her. Once before, her elder sister had been bound by her father and thrown into prison, then cast before the city gates to die at the Prince’s order. Their old comrades had no chance to save her. She had never feared death. Only now—she could not die yet.
Chen Danzhu drew a deep breath, lifted her head, and raised the royal decree high. “Father, will you defy the Prince’s command?”
Her father was willing to die for Prince Wu, even if wronged or humiliated. If the Prince ordered him to die, he would die without regret. But if the Prince did not order his death—would he still defy the decree to seek it?
Clutching the decree, Chen Danzhu looked at her father’s face—shocked, anguished, disappointed. Her heart shrank into a knot. Father, it is not your daughter who blocks your loyalty to the King. It is simply that the Prince does not need your loyalty.
“The Prince commands us to go forth and welcome the Son of Heaven,” Chen Danzhu cried, turning to the soldiers guarding the line. “Do you dare defy his decree?” She spurred her horse. “Forward!”
The soldiers dared not stop her—or were still too stunned. They could only watch as Chen Danzhu, with the palace guards and eunuchs, galloped past.
Chen Liehu stood on the chariot, clutching his blade, his body trembling violently. He could not comprehend. What was happening? What had gone wrong? His daughter—how could she— Impossible. He must find out. He stepped forward suddenly, his lame leg slipping. His body crashed down like a mountain.
“Grand Tutor!” The soldiers crowded around in alarm. The steward, rushing up, cried out with red eyes, throwing himself down to support Chen Liehu. Then he looked toward the distance, where Chen Danzhu vanished in a cloud of dust.
At last, he understood why Second Miss had urgently summoned him, insisting he bring physicians. Heaven help them—the Master’s grief would be unbearable.
Behind them, dust rolled, voices shouted. Chen Danzhu’s face was white as paper, drained of blood. She did not look back.
“Miss,” Ah‑Tian rode close, her voice trembling. “The Master—he… he will be all right, won’t he?”
Chen Danzhu said: “The steward will take good care of him.”
Her father’s body was not harmed—only his heart. Last time, when his heart died, his body soon followed. This time, his heart had died first, though his body still lived. Whether it would die too depended on whether her next actions succeeded.
Ahead lay another obstacle: she must make the Emperor enter Wu without bringing troops.
Riding hard for days and nights, Chen Danzhu once again reached Tangyi. There was no Li Liang to greet her at the camp now, but still familiar faces.
Master Wang, dressed in an envoy’s robes, laughed and bowed. “Miss Danzhu, how glad I am to see you again.”
Chen Danzhu returned the bow. “Prince Wu, by imperial edict, invites His Majesty into Wu to personally investigate the assassin affair.”
Master Wang smiled. “His Majesty is already preparing to cross the river. Miss Danzhu, please accompany His Majesty.”
Chen Danzhu said quickly: “Wait. For His Majesty to enter Wu, he must not bring troops. That is the way of meeting a brother king.”
Master Wang’s smile vanished.
“Miss Danzhu! Do you know what you are saying?” His face showed shock, then he laughed bitterly, leaning close to her, lowering his voice. “You should know best—at this moment the court’s armies ought to be galloping through Wu, proving the bond of ruler and subject with sword and steel.” His gaze grew cold. “Is it you who are mad—or is it Prince Wu who no longer wishes to live?”