“Your Highness, a letter just arrived from Dunhuang. Ever since they gave that fellow a severe beating, it’s been three or four months, and he’s still bedridden, no sign of recovery,” Gao Cheng reported quietly. “Miss Sui seems to be keeping a low profile; she hasn’t opened her shop yet. She dresses in men’s clothes each day, goes out to sell wine, and delivers it directly to buyers’ homes.”
“There are actually people fooled by her,” Li Chongjun sneered, then asked, “What kind of people?”
Gao Cheng replied: “Mostly restaurants and taverns… oh, and one southern inn.”
Li Chongjun paused, raised his brows at Gao Cheng, but said nothing, continuing to adjust the bandage on his wrist.
A eunuch led his horse to the Chengguang Gate of Shanglin Park, handing him a bow, a crossbow, and a quiver. Li Chongjun weighed them in his hand, slung them over his shoulder, and mounted.
It was May 23rd, an auspicious day for hunting.
The emperor opened Shanglin Park to review his sons’ riding and archery.
The emperor had fourteen sons; eight were in Chang’an. The third prince’s mother, Consort Wang, was of the Taiyuan Wang clan; the sixth prince’s mother, Consort Xiao, came from the Lanling Xiao clan. Though not as powerful as the Cui or Lu families, both were strong contenders for the heir apparent. Their backgrounds were equal, neither yielding to the other. Each spurred their iron-grey steeds, galloping like the wind, returning triumphant with their kills.
Prince Wei, returning to Chang’an after five years, and in such turbulent times, naturally drew much attention. Yet his performance was disappointing. He failed to take down a single beast. When he returned, behind his horse were only two wild hares and a porcupine carcass. He was even outdone by the fifteen-year-old Prince Rui.
The emperor still gave rewards to each son. After lunch at Jianzhang Palace, he dismissed the others but kept Li Chongjun behind.
“Ninth son,” the emperor asked casually, “are you unwell today?”
“Thank you for Father’s concern. I am well.”
“That’s strange. I recall you were sharper than your brothers since childhood. At thirteen, you could kill tigers and leopards alone. How is it, after years in the northwest, you’ve not advanced but declined?”
Li Chongjun paused, then said evenly: “Your son does not deserve such praise. Skill comes from diligence; it is lost in idleness. I have long neglected bow and horse, unworthy of Father’s compliment.”
“I’ve heard rumors in Chang’an. They say in Liangzhou, you lived quite freely.”
Li Chongjun knelt beneath the throne: “Your son is incompetent.”
The emperor laughed, then ordered attendants to prepare horses and bows, leading them to the courtyard so Li Chongjun could ride again.
From the distant woods, a eunuch led out a sika deer. Another eunuch conveyed the emperor’s command: “His Majesty wishes to see Prince Wei shoot another arrow.”
Li Chongjun did not understand the intent. Hesitant, he nonetheless raised his bow and aimed. But when the eunuch released the deer and it ran closer, he realized—it was the emperor’s own pet deer, kept in his private quarters. He faltered for an instant.
In that brief moment, a whistle sounded—an arrow struck the deer’s neck, blood spraying, the animal collapsing in spasms.
Startled, Li Chongjun looked toward the source. Another arrow flew at him. He instinctively shifted aside; though he dodged the tip, the hard fletching scraped his cheek. He had no time to wipe the blood.
The single arrow was followed by many—shafts whistling from the woods, shadows darting.
Li Chongjun spurred his horse, drew and loosed in return, iron arrows flashing like silver meteors. Each shot struck true, cries and crashes echoing, until his quiver was empty.
Then two arrows flew at once from left and right. With no choice, he threw aside his bow, leapt from his horse, and drew his sword with a clang. Spinning, he slashed both arrows apart, cold steel flashing in his sharp eyes. Landing firmly, he looked toward the throne. The emperor sat smiling, meaning heavy in his gaze.
It was a test.
Li Chongjun’s heart sank. He quickly sheathed his sword, suppressed his fierce aura, and knelt before the court: “Your son deserves death.”
The emperor smiled faintly: “The imperial deer did not die by your hand. Why do you beg forgiveness?”
Li Chongjun repeated: “Your son deserves death.”
The emperor sipped tea, silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. The attendants had withdrawn; the vast hall was empty, cold as an ice cave.
“In this palace, if you are not the hunter, you are the prey.”
Summer sunlight shifted beyond the pearl curtains. Li Chongjun sat in shadow, head bowed, expression unreadable.
“Your son does not understand—”
“Just like today’s deer hunt—if you don’t kill it, someone else will. And once it’s killed, the next target will be you. Born with the Li family name, no one can remain untouched. To feign ignorance and hide your talents will only turn cleverness into folly and, in the end, destroy yourself. Ninth son, take care.”
That day in Liangzhou, the staged assassination he had orchestrated—the emperor knew.
Li Chongjun was startled. The emperor spoke faintly, then ignored him, ordering attendants to prepare the carriage. Supported by eunuchs, he rose and departed.
Li Chongjun remained prostrate on the floor, long after the emperor had gone. When he finally stood, his robe was damp with sweat, cold against his skin, and his eyes glinted with a chilling frost.
That evening, palace eunuchs quietly delivered a box of case files—concerning a major incident in Longxi five years earlier. The Pagoda Temple there had tricked illiterate peasants into signing contracts under the guise of loans, pawning their land for a few strings of cash. The temple expanded its estates and built lavish halls. Eventually, the people rebelled, but were crushed and imprisoned by local officials.
Though suppressed, rumors reached Chang’an. Everyone knew the temple was merely a front—the true power behind it was the Taiyuan Wang clan, dominant in Longxi. At the time, the emperor had supported Consort Wang against Empress Lu. After Crown Prince Zhenxian’s suicide, the Wang clan realized they could not compete and defected to the Cui-Lu alliance.
Allies turned enemies. Now the emperor had dredged up this old case and handed it to Li Chongjun. The meaning was clear—
“The emperor is determined to strike at the Cui-Lu faction, using Your Highness as the scapegoat. If you investigate thoroughly, you’ll offend Cui-Lu. If you fail, His Majesty’s words today… they were not idle. If you go, you’ll face tigers ahead and wolves behind, trapped in the fire. How will you escape?”
Even cautious Gao Lang sighed in despair upon receiving the case files.
Li Chongjun said nothing, brooding in silence. Then, at his lips, a cold smile appeared.
Three days later, in court, the emperor casually announced the reopening of the old case, asking which prince would take charge. Li Chongjun stepped forward, volunteering himself, calm and untroubled, as if unaware of the danger. He ignored the Third Prince’s murderous glare.
The emperor nodded, smiling, and appointed him to investigate in Longxi.
Thus, four months after returning to Chang’an, Li Chongjun once again boarded a carriage heading north.
On the day of departure, all faces were grim. Yet attendants from Dunhuang arrived, reporting: “Your Highness! Miss Sui…”
Gao Lang frowned, snapping: “Do you not see what time this is? Leave!”
But Li Chongjun glanced at them coolly. Though he said nothing, Gao Lang fell silent.
“Miss Sui—” The guard, cowed by Gao Lang’s glare, quickly changed his words: “She’s busy every day delivering wine, running about nonstop. Nothing serious.”
Meanwhile, at the southern inn, several handsome youths in embroidered robes, red lips and white teeth, thick brows and bright eyes, surrounded Sui Sui.
Sui Sui had grown up in the theater troupe, used to seeing beautiful women, but she had never been flattered by so many handsome youths at once. Though a little dizzy from it all, she clutched her money pouch tightly, unwilling to spend a single extra coin.
Two days earlier, when she came to the southern inn to deliver wine, she had seen a servant boy who looked like Cui Qiao’s younger brother, A Wu. Cui Qiao had been sold as a child; five years ago, A Wu had come from their hometown to Liangzhou, saying he would earn money to redeem them. But he never returned, his fate unknown.
Cui Qiao’s illness was not only from her frail constitution and the troupe master’s beatings, but also from constant worry over A Wu.
Later, Sui Sui and Cui Qiao deliberately avoided mentioning him, though in their hearts they had long accepted he was dead. Never had they imagined that five years later, they would encounter him in Dunhuang’s southern inn.
That day, Sui Sui had rushed to chase after him, but he vanished into the crowd. Since then, she came every day, sitting in the hall with a pot of tea, eyes fixed on the rough laborers passing by.
Of course, the courtesan boys were more attractive—some even as handsome as Li Chongjun. But Sui Sui would not fall for that trick. A few glances for amusement were enough.