Riding swiftly to the palace gates, the soldiers dismounted, laid down their weapons, and entered to pay their respects to the Emperor. The common people who had followed them along the way were stopped outside and gradually dispersed.
Xia Xiuyan passed through layer after layer of palace gates, crossed the Golden Water Bridge, and gazed at the towering halls in the distance. Green tiles and vermilion walls shimmered under the sunlight. The first time he entered the palace as a child, he had stood before Yong’an Hall, looking up at the white marble steps, feeling the great hall beyond was impossibly high and the surrounding walls impossibly distant. From the moment one stepped inside, it felt as though one was trapped within these four walls, with nowhere else to go.
Now that he had returned, the halls and walls remained unchanged, yet the suffocating pressure he once felt had vanished completely. Following the palace attendants up the steps, he idly counted them—thirty-nine in total. A faint sense of absurdity rose within him. Only thirty-nine steps, yet in his youth they had seemed like a stairway to the heavens.
“Do you think anyone has ever rolled down from here?” In his memory, a young Taoist acolyte in a blue robe whispered this while bowing among the officials. Without waiting for a reply, she added with certainty, “Someone definitely has.”
The young noble in embroidered robes glanced at her and said lazily, “If not, you can be the first today.”
…
The imperial summons for the Marquis of Dingbei was passed layer by layer from within the hall to the outside. Beside him, Gao Yang glanced at the general, who seemed distracted, and quietly reminded him, “My lord, His Majesty summons you.”
Xia Xiuyan suddenly came back to himself. Tugging at the corner of his lips, he murmured softly, “Do you think anyone has ever rolled down from here?”
Gao Yang froze, wondering if he had misheard. Before he could ask, Xia Xiuyan had already flicked his sleeve and stepped into the hall.
…
Ever since the Marquis of Dingbei returned to the capital, Qiu Xinran’s eyelid had been twitching for three days straight. She cast a quick divination for herself—there would be a calamity. Strangely, after arriving at that conclusion, she became calm. After all, fortune cannot be forced, and misfortune cannot be avoided.
A few days later, a message arrived from the palace.
When Qiu Xinran was thirteen, she had lived in the capital. Her master, Daoist Baoyu, had entrusted her to his junior disciple Bai Jingming, who at the time served as Director of the Bureau of Astronomy. Thus, she had spent three years there. Now, upon hearing she had come down from the mountains, Bai Jingming invited her to attend the palace banquet celebrating the Empress Dowager’s birthday.
That morning, Qiu Xinran changed clothes, hired a carriage, and stopped at an inn for a meal. By the time she came downstairs, it was already late. Guests who had finished eating gathered in the hall, chatting animatedly.
He Baojin brought her a bowl of noodles. She casually asked, “What are they talking about?”
“What else? Since the Marquis of Dingbei returned, the capital has been lively again,” he said, sitting across from her. “Have you heard about his campaign seven years ago?”
Qiu Xinran paused slightly but said nothing, so he assumed she didn’t know and began explaining in detail:
Seven years ago, the northwestern frontier was in crisis. The defending general, Xia Hongying, was on the verge of defeat. The court argued endlessly over who to send. General Zheng Lü was far away suppressing a rebellion in the southwest and couldn’t help in time. The court planned to send a smaller force to hold the line until reinforcements arrived—but everyone knew that mission was practically a death sentence, so no one volunteered.
At that moment, the Emperor—fond of divination—summoned a favored Daoist priest to cast a fortune in front of the court. The result shocked everyone: the most suitable person was the young heir of the Xia family—now the Marquis of Dingbei.
“He had been sickly since childhood and was only brought back to the palace for that reason. And then they told him to lead troops into battle—wasn’t that pushing him into a pit of fire?”
Qiu Xinran said softly, “In times of national crisis…”
He Baojin slammed the table. “He was the only son of General Xia and Princess Mingyang! That would have ended the Xia family line!”
She fell silent, and he continued:
The court argued fiercely, but when summoned, the young heir willingly accepted the mission, bowing deeply. The ministers were moved, and even the Emperor was touched, allowing him to go.
“Everyone thought he would never return—but guess what?”
“Of course he defeated the enemy and became the Marquis of Dingbei,” Qiu Xinran said dryly.
He Baojin scratched his head sheepishly. “Anyway, the peace at the borders these past years is all thanks to him. Now that he’s back, the people welcome him enthusiastically. I even heard there are betting houses in the south of the city wagering whether he’ll settle scores with that Daoist.”
“…”
Qiu Xinran suddenly lost her appetite.
She said carefully, “If he saved the city, that Daoist’s divination could be considered accurate.”
He Baojin snorted. “Nonsense! That was just his good fortune. Anyone can see that divination was suspicious—someone must have put the Daoist up to it!”
…
Thankfully, her carriage arrived and spared her from the topic.
When she reached the palace gates, she saw extra guards stationed there. Presenting her silver fish token, she was questioned, but before things escalated, a passing carriage stopped. The person inside recognized her.
“Qiu Xinran?”
She smiled and saluted. “Greetings, Second Prince.”
He waved her into the carriage.
Inside, he eagerly asked, “Do you know Xia Xiuyan has returned?”
How could she not? She had likely seen him earlier than he had.
Suppressing a sigh, she replied calmly, “I’ve heard. It’s been years—I wonder how he is now.”
“He’s doing very well. He was already made Marquis of Dingbei and has received great favor from His Majesty. Who would’ve thought that sickly boy would become this?”
She nodded. “Life is unpredictable indeed.”
The prince sighed. “If I were you, I’d leave the capital for now. This isn’t a good time for you to be here.”
She only smiled and thanked him.
…
At the imperial garden, the banquet for the Empress Dowager’s sixtieth birthday was in full splendor—music, dancing, and dazzling decorations.
Qiu Xinran arrived late but before the banquet began. From afar, she saw the Emperor and Empress Dowager seated at the head, with nobles and princes beside them. Closest to the Empress Dowager sat the recently returned Marquis of Dingbei—clearly enjoying unmatched favor.
Unlike the armored general she had seen before, today he wore elegant robes, jade crown, and ornaments, appearing relaxed and refined. Only his sharp phoenix eyes remained unchanged, though softened slightly by drink.
His gaze swept across the crowd—and briefly toward her.
Her heart tightened. She stepped back quickly. When she looked again, he had already turned away.
…
Soon after, she found an old acquaintance, Zhou Xianyi, who excitedly asked:
“Did you see Xia Shizi?”
Her expression stiffened slightly. “You’re still the same.”
They chatted quietly as the banquet was about to begin. Just then, an attendant stepped forward, and the crowd fell silent, awaiting the Emperor’s signal to start the feast.