Chapter 2

Then I faltered, as though the wine had caught up with me, and began to fall.

Before his accession, Pei Chengxing had been the best rider and archer among the princes. He moved swiftly and caught me without a stumble.

Untroubled, I closed my eyes in his arms and seemed to fall asleep.

He was still lost in the beauty of that dance. It took him a while to recover.

Half exasperated, half amused, he drew me up.

Eunuch Li hurried forward. “Your Majesty, don’t tire yourself. Allow your servant—”

Pei Chengxing ignored him. He lifted me effortlessly and carried me inside.

In his arms, I seemed to weigh no more than a paper cutout.

My hair ribbon loosened, and my hair fell free. Once he had settled me, he began teasing me about my inability to hold my wine, then stopped halfway through a sentence.

I looked so unlike my usual self. Without my customary severity, I had left him momentarily unsure whether the person before him was a boy or a girl.

Silence settled over the room. He stood still for a moment, then drew the quilt over me.

As though startled awake, I murmured, “Your Majesty.” He looked away, his voice a little strained.

“Bai Jianqing, rest. And when you’ve sobered up, no more nonsense.”

I nodded obediently. “As you command.”

He seemed about to say something else. Instead he turned and hurried out, a trace of discomposure in his footsteps.

After he left, I opened my eyes.

They were perfectly clear. I was not drunk at all.

Even as a prince, Pei Chengxing had been the most renowned of his brothers.

He had been named crown prince at birth. His mother, the empress, was more beautiful than any other woman in the imperial household, and he had inherited her looks.

He had a sharply defined face, a straight nose, keen eyes beneath strong brows, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. The smallest gesture could set a young woman’s heart fluttering.

As crown prince, he would ride through Chang’an in the purple robes of the Eastern Palace, his guards behind him. His robes streaming, his eyes lowered as he guided his horse, he seemed so favored by heaven that even the city’s glittering lights became mere scenery.

His mother had been the most exalted woman in the realm; he, his father’s most beloved son and heir.

Beauty, rank, and favor: Pei Chengxing had possessed everything from the moment of his birth.

He had always been proud, unrestrained, and certain that the world lay beneath him. Rare indeed was a lapse of composure like tonight’s.

I knew that my first move had succeeded.

Mother. Brother. Can you see me?

Mother was not my birth mother, and my brother was not related to me by blood.

I was an orphan. I had begged for a living since I was five.

When I was ten, the owner of a roadside Go stall drew me into a wager.

He thought a child could never beat his players. He wanted my money.

But I won seventeen games in a row that day, enough for a whole bag of silver. One opponent even lost his trousers to me.

The spectators were so astonished that some dropped their teacups.

The stall owner’s face turned green.

Instead of paying, he gathered his men around me and began shoving me about.

Seeing a young girl alone, they hurled abuse at me. One blocked my way and threatened to assault me.

I stepped back, clenched my fists, and forced myself to sound calm.

“Keep the money I won. Excuse me. I’ll be going.”

I turned to leave, but someone shoved me back and pinned me to the ground.

The burly man advanced with a vicious grin. I had nowhere to run. Then silver flashed before my eyes.

A sheathed sword lay between us.

I would remember that sight for the rest of my life.

A stern-faced young man in gleaming armor sat astride a tall horse.

Reins in one hand and sword in the other, he held himself straight, his expression cool, unmistakably a soldier.

A disciplined troop waited behind him for his command.

He spoke without emotion.

“Making trouble in the street and assaulting a girl. Take them to the magistrate for trial.”

Several soldiers obeyed at once. Ignoring the stall owner and the burly man’s frantic pleas, they dragged them all away.

With that settled, the young general looked down and saw me: covered in bruises, dressed in a beggar’s rags.

Compassion flickered in his eyes.

He held out his hand.

“Would you like to come to Chang’an with me?”

I stared.

Something seemed unbearably bright, bright enough to burn my eyes.

Only years later would I understand. His sword had still been sheathed. What shone was not its blade, but his face.

That light cut like a dagger into the numb confusion of my life.

I took his hand.

It was steady and strong. With barely any effort, I found myself on his horse.

He was a quiet person. During the journey he spoke only once, his words drifting away on the wind with the clean scent of soapberry behind his ear.

“My name is Shen Yunliang. I am the junior general. You may call me Brother.”