Volume One, Chapter 42: The Fickleness of the World and the Warmth and Chill of Human Hearts

Year thirteen of Tianyou in the Great Xia dynasty, the fifth day of the ninth month.

The exact hour of Mao.

Before dawn, a hazy layer of white light hung across the dim firmament as the moonlight washed over the earth.

Forty miles outside the imperial capital, the frosty moonlight gleamed on a sea of iron armor. A torrent of armored troops surged toward the capital.

The leader was exceptionally burly and fierce, exuding a chilling aura of absolute subjugation. He possessed the heroic spirit to conquer the world in blood and battle, yet his expression at the moment was not ferocious, but filled with smiles and anticipation. "Son, your father is coming home!"

...

Meanwhile.

The Prince of Zhenbei's Estate was already adorned with lanterns and festive streamers. Old Steward Zhao Manfu climbed up and down a ladder, adding the final celebratory touches to the mansion.

It was not until the hour of Chen, with the daylight fully breaking, that the old steward finally hung the last large red lantern and backed down the ladder.

"Lord Steward, take a break. Let us handle the rest."

A servant of the estate steadied the ladder, looking at the old steward's sweat-streaked face. "There's no need for you to trouble yourself with such minor chores."

The old steward wiped away his sweat, his deeply furrowed face beaming with smiles. He caught his breath and waved a hand dismissively.

"That won't do. The Heir Apparent's wedding cannot have a single flaw. It must be conducted with absolute dignity and splendor."

If his old master's spirit in heaven were watching, he would surely want to see everything go smoothly...

The old steward's eyes crinkled with smiles, the deep crow's feet at the corners of his eyes resembling the clusters of arrow rain he had once dodged through the baptism of war. The wrinkles on his forehead looked like the three steel sabers that had once pierced his body.

The flames of war had not killed him, but the passage of time was slowly claiming him. He had watched the Heir Apparent grow up inch by inch, and now he would watch him marry the reigning emperor's most beloved princess, stepping into the grand hall of matrimony.

To fulfill his old master's ultimate wish...

The Prince of Zhenbei's Estate did not need to marry a princess to bring honor to its lineage, but the current Heir Apparent needed this marriage to better navigate the second half of his life.

He went to check on His Highness the Heir Apparent, ensuring the newly tailored groom's attire, already verified as flawless, was neatly folded and placed in the room.

He walked through the courtyards and chambers, his back slightly hunched, inspecting every corner of the estate.

He reminded the garrison guards to maintain strict defense today for any unforeseen circumstances, ensuring peace within the mansion's walls.

He went to the kitchens, repeatedly instructing the head chefs regarding the dietary restrictions for today's banquet.

He knew the Heir Apparent's dietary taboos by heart, and he had long memorized the intelligence concerning the taboos of the other officials.

After walking through every large and small area and verifying everything, exhaustion filled his eyes, yet he could not conceal the joy in his heart.

"A man has many opportunities to grow up, and marriage is one of them. After today, the Heir Apparent will grow up once more!"

He was truly happy for the Heir Apparent.

Finally, he glanced at the sky. Daylight was brilliant, the azure horizon completely cloudless—today was a fine day.

He walked to the entrance of the estate and bowed to the master of ceremonies.

"I must thank you for your hard work today, Elder Brother."

The master of ceremonies was an official dispatched by the Ministry of Rites, well-versed in imperial etiquette. Facing the old steward's bow, he merely nodded and returned a faint smile, his expression far from cheerful.

Over the past two days preparing the wedding rites for the estate, he and the old steward had grown quite familiar.

He had witnessed all the meticulous toil of this old steward, who devotedly managed the household and cared for Zhao Wujiang. How could he fail to notice the old steward's anticipation and joy regarding the wedding? Yet, he still offered a gentle reminder:

"Brother Manfu, it is already the hour of Chen. Not a single gift has been recorded in the estate's registry yet."

The old steward froze. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly, but he forced a smile and said, "Year thirteen of Tianyou happens to coincide with the Jia-Chen Year of the Dragon. Today's wedding must involve a grand state sacrifice in the imperial palace. All court officials are required to attend the heaven-worship ceremony. It is quite normal for them to be absent at the hour of Chen; as long as they arrive by the hour of You, it will be fine."

The master of ceremonies looked deeply at the weather-beaten old steward, stopping himself before speaking further, ultimately sparing him any further disappointment.

He wanted to say that under normal circumstances, gifts from various high officials would have long been delivered to the estate, and the gift registry should be overflowing. What of a state sacrifice?

Even if people could not attend in person, the gifts were supposed to arrive in advance!

That was basic etiquette!

When had a royal wedding in the past ever seen gifts arrive late?

This was not a matter of gifts being delayed—it was that those officials had no intention of coming at all!

"They will definitely come."

A voice drifted from the inner estate to the front gates, followed by Zhao Wujiang, clad in a blazing red bridegroom's robe.

Dressed in his wedding attire, Zhao Wujiang looked festive and noble, yet retained an unmistakable scholarly grace.

In the old steward's eyes, there was also an added sense of composure and high-spirited vigor.

"Your Highness..."

The old steward started to bow, but Zhao Wujiang caught his hand, his voice low and gentle.

"You've worked hard."

"Not at all, not at all..." The old steward waved his hands repeatedly, his eyes moistening. "It is I who failed to notify everyone properly..."

"It's just that they have no shame and refuse to accept grace!" Zhao Wujiang pulled the old steward into a one-armed embrace, patting his back. His voice was hoarse and deep, carrying a chill like frost cutting down grass, wrapped in a lingering wave of killing intent.

He knew very well that the old steward had long yearned for this day to be magnificent and grand.

Yet early this morning, while the estate was adorned with festive lanterns, the interior remained desolate and cold.

The officials could use the state sacrifice as an excuse, but what about their family members? Had even a single person come?

He had known long ago that today would not be easy, but he had not expected the biting taste of being ostracized and ignored to sweep over him so early in the morning.

"I am going to fetch the bride."

Zhao Wujiang spoke decisively, placing the wrapped Tyrant Sword across his horse's back, then effortlessly mounting the steed.

"Prepare the wine and food."

"Yes." The old steward cupped his fists and bowed, his previously bent back suddenly straightening. At this moment, though the Heir Apparent atop the horse possessed a slender frame, he looked remarkably like the Prince of years past, both equally charging toward the battlefield.

Zhao Wujiang spurred his horse forward, a large red flower pinned to his chest. The ceremonial procession marched to the deafening sound of gongs, drums, and firecrackers. Amidst the swirling smoke, he tightened his grip on the hilt of the Tyrant Sword, uttering not a single word.

Meanwhile, amidst the billowing smoke of the imperial ancestral temple, Li Zaiyuan gripped three incense sticks, pressing them firmly into the three-legged bronze tripod within the ancestral shrine, praying for the flourishing fortunes of the Great Xia dynasty.

The Imperial Astrologer had long foreseen that this wedding, coinciding with the Year of the Dragon in the thirteenth year of Tianyou, was tied to the destiny of Great Xia, and nothing could be allowed to fail.

Li Yunrui, dressed in a blazing red bridal gown that radiated peerless brilliance, knelt upon a prayer mat. Every whispered prayer of her imperial father heightened her anticipation of Zhao Wujiang's arrival.

Within the ancestral shrine, the bashfulness of a young maiden had long since faded from her. To her, this marriage represented a union of mutual affection with Zhao Wujiang; to the imperial clan of Li, it signified a flourishing national destiny. She was no longer a green, naive girl; she understood everything.

Li Yunyi, along with several imperial brothers and sisters, knelt side by side, weeping uncontrollably.

His cherished younger sister was about to be married off—married to that bastard Zhao Wujiang. Ten thousand relents pulled at his heart, and he wished nothing more than to rain heavy blows upon Zhao Wujiang the moment he arrived, and then snatch away Zhao Wujiang's collection of scandalous books.

The other brothers and sisters looked at him in utter bewilderment.

He wiped his nose fiercely, offering a bitter, strained explanation:

"The ancestral lineage of our Li imperial family burns with such prosperous incense, it's just a bit suffocating and choking... Look at how it's made my eyes water..."

His siblings could not bring themselves to expose him. Was he really choking on incense smoke? Who didn't know how much he had doted on this younger sister since childhood?

He simply couldn't bear to let her go.

Outside the ancestral shrine, the court ministers also knelt upon the ground. They had long since reached a consensus. During the morning court session yesterday, veteran officials had tentatively sought to petition for further merits on behalf of Zhao Wujiang, but the emperor had brushed it aside with vague perfunctoriness.

This was not the first time. The emperor's displeasure toward Zhao Wujiang was exceptionally clear; he was deliberately giving him the cold shoulder.

Since the emperor was freezing out Zhao Wujiang, who would dare try to curry favor with him?

Therefore, the gifts they had meticulously prepared beforehand were all put on hold, and they had not allowed their servants to deliver them to the estate immediately.

For those who served in officialdom, reading the situation and trimming their sails to the wind were fundamental skills.

"Lord Chen, what are your arrangements for tonight?"

"The pleasure quarters, or perhaps visiting my concubine."

"Oh? Then what about the Prince of Zhenbei's Estate?"

"Heh, I wouldn't dare join in the lively festivities of the Prince of Zhenbei's Estate."

"If Lord Chen isn't going, then I won't go either."

"Since both lords are skipping it, I suppose it wouldn't do for me to go. It's just a pity—today, Zhao Wujiang, that Heir Apparent, is destined to lose all his dignity."

"Sigh, when the history books record how deserted the gates of the Prince of Zhenbei's Estate were today, it will become a lifelong laughingstock for the lineage."

"If anyone is to be blamed, blame Zhao Wujiang for losing his backing. If Prince Zhao of Zhenbei were still around, which of us would dare not send gifts..."