Li Chongjun was to return to Chang’an. In the household, some rejoiced, others worried.
Those who had sold their daughters into the prince’s residence fretted—whether they stayed or left depended entirely on his word. It meant either exile from home or loss of livelihood. But the servants who had come from Chang’an were delighted. After years of choking on desert dust, they could finally return to the land of wealth and comfort.
That very night, the head chef, a native of Chang’an, prepared a special dish: milk‑broth hotpot fish, said to be unique to the capital, even served by the emperor to his ministers. It symbolized “fish leaping over the dragon gate.” Perhaps he was too happy—his hand slipped, and he added far too much salt.
Sui Sui drank a large bowl of soup, then had to chase it with a large bowl of tea, before going to find Li Chongjun. She meant to discuss when she herself should leave.
The play was finally ending. He would soon have a proper wife, no longer needing a counterfeit concubine. Surely he was eager to dismiss her.
As for Sui Sui… through tricks and trade she had already saved a tidy sum. By evening, she counted her private stash: enough not only for Cui Qiao’s medicine, but to open a small tavern. Liangzhou was near Dunhuang, famous for grape wine. Selling wine for profit, though hard work, was a lasting livelihood—far better than acting alongside that moody man.
The thought cheered her. She hurried to the main quarters, but the boy on duty said Li Chongjun was in his study all evening. So she leaned on the corridor railing to wait.
That night brought the first autumn rain. In the northwest, autumn rain was damp but not nourishing, only wetting the green tiles. Sui Sui gazed at the winding corridor under moonlight, silver mist drifting like breath in the cold. She had lived here two years, yet it always felt foreign.
She and Li Chongjun were the same—two years together, yet more distant than strangers.
Near midnight, he finally returned, faintly drunk. From afar, she heard attendants: “Careful, Your Highness!” Lanterns flickered behind the osmanthus trees.
She hurried to kneel before him: “Congratulations, Your Highness—”
He brushed past without a glance, only the hem of his brocade robe grazing her cheek. Many eyes watched. Just as she choked back her breath, he stopped, narrowed his eyes, and looked at her.
She blinked. “Your Highness…”
Suddenly, he strode back, seized her, and dragged her toward the gate.
“Ah—what are you doing—” Her arm ached, and she nearly stumbled until he simply hoisted her onto his shoulder. Upside down, the world spun. She was terrified, but the servants assumed it was drunken whimsy, lowering their heads in silence.
Inside the main hall, they closed the door discreetly, leaving him alone with her.
The fire was lit, incense curtains lowered, the room warm and fragrant. But Sui Sui felt sick, her stomach churning.
“Your Highness! I’m going to be sick!” she whispered.
“Shut up!” he snapped.
With a thud, he dropped her onto the couch. She clutched her chest, gasping, while he sat at the foot of his bed. His bed was raised, with steps and green carpets. He leaned against the platform, pulling out a roll of letters.
Sui Sui understood. The servants who followed him west were both attendants and spies. If he wanted privacy, he needed an excuse to dismiss them—she was that excuse. She didn’t know who wrote the letters, but his face was always grave when reading them. Tonight was no different. He finished, then burned the paper by the lamp.
Flames devoured the scraps, and shadows flickered. His eyes closed briefly, then opened, cold as ice.
Wasn’t this supposed to be his day of double joy? Returning home, marrying a bride—two of life’s greatest blessings. Why did he look so bitter?
But then, she had rarely seen him truly smile.
Better not to linger near danger, she thought, and prepared to slip away.
Unexpectedly, he looked at her.
Sitting casually on the floor, he stared, then gave a faint laugh.
“Come here,” he said lazily.
Confused, she obeyed.
“Late at night—what do you want?”
She hadn’t expected him to ask. Thinking quickly, she decided to flatter him before raising her request to leave. Smiling, she said: “I heard of Your Highness’s new joy. I came to offer congratulations…”
He glanced at her coolly. She faltered, then rolled up her sleeves, placed her fist on his leg, and began to massage. “And… since Your Highness is now betrothed, soon the princess consort will arrive—the Yang lady of Hongnong, surely virtuous and noble. You and she will be a perfect match, heaven‑made…”
His brows rose, anger stirring. “What are you really trying to say?”
Of course, she wanted money. When concubines were dismissed, whether they kept their jewelry depended entirely on the master. With his temper, she had to coax him first.
Since praising the future consort failed, she quickly changed tack: “Your Highness is the Son of Heaven’s son. Returning to Chang’an means reunion with family, endless wealth and honor. Truly double joy, suffering ended, fortune begun!”
She stole a glance at him, then pressed on: “I know Your Highness is kind. You took me in, and I am forever grateful. I am a lowly girl, ignorant, and if I ever offended, I beg forgiveness. Times are hard—last year, the north suffered snow disasters. My future depends on Your Highness’s mercy…”
“Oh?” He seemed amused now, resting his cheek on his hand. “So you’re begging me?”
Her eyes lit up. “I…”
He rose, leaned against the couch, and said lazily: “Speak.”
She was thrilled, scrambling up—only for her stomach to lurch. Ah! Why had she drunk so much soup?
She clenched her teeth, trying to step closer. “I wish…”
But human needs cannot be denied. Sitting had been fine, but now each step made her squirm.
“I wish…”
“I wish…”
Finally, near tears, she blurted: “I wish to relieve myself…”
Li Chongjun froze, face darkening.
She remembered—he was a clean freak. And so she was thrown out of the hall. She knew she had angered him again. That night, she dared not return. Worse, from then on, seeing him at all became nearly impossible.
He was simply too busy.