Chapter 4: You'll Pay for the Button

The next morning, Shen Heng went to check on A Gu. The boy was already largely out of danger.

Imperial Physician Ji lifted the gauze from his shoulder, took a look, then felt his pulse, clicking his tongue in wonder.

"This child's constitution is truly remarkable. A wound that deep yesterday, and today it's already begun to close. In my sixty-odd years, I've never seen anyone recover this fast."

Shen Heng leaned against the doorframe, envy twisting in her gut.

Not only was A Gu's wound healing at an absurd speed, but his color had come back too. Those reddish-brown eyes of his were bright as if someone had oiled them.

Chun Yuan set a bowl of medicine in front of him.

A Gu, who'd been glowing with energy a moment ago, took one look at that bowl and his whole face fell. Pure resistance.

"Enough."

Shen Heng walked over and set the medicine Imperial Physician Ji had prescribed in front of him.

"Drink it. Don't think you can dodge it just because you've got a strong body."

A Gu stared at the pitch-black brew, his entire face scrunching up.

But he picked it up anyway, held his breath, and downed it in one go.

The bowl had barely touched the table when footsteps sounded outside.

A palace eunuch, delivering the invitation for tonight's banquet.

Shen Heng took it and flipped it open.

Large gold-stamped characters announced a banquet at Yonghe Hall tonight to welcome the Northern Frontier delegation.

Signed by the Ministry of Rites.

Chun Yuan leaned in, lowering her voice with a conspiratorial air.

"Your Highness, I heard the Northern Frontier's Imperial Preceptor is coming in person this time."

Shen Heng raised an eyebrow, then arranged her face into just the right amount of surprise.

"Oh my, really?"

She sighed inwardly.

Every day, another performance.

She knew better than anyone what would happen tonight.

The Northern Frontier delegation had come to negotiate trade with Great Zhao, yes—but also to seek a marriage alliance with a princess. And Xun Zhuo would be there in person.

The original novel had milked that scene for all it was worth, building Xun Zhuo's entrance up like a god descending to the mortal realm.

And she had to act like she knew nothing.

Seeing her interest, Chun Yuan perked up, her little mouth running at full speed.

"Your Highness has no idea—this Imperial Preceptor is a legend in the Northern Frontier! The seventeen tribes fought for over a hundred years, and he pacified every last one of them in under three years."

Shen Heng: *I already knew that.*

"I also heard it from merchants out of Liangzhou—they say this Imperial Preceptor is unbelievably handsome. They say... even the snow lotuses on Snow God Mountain don't hold a candle to a fraction of his looks."

"That said,"

Chun Yuan dropped her voice even lower.

"They say he's utterly cold-blooded. Doesn't blink when he kills. Apparently, when he executed the rebel leader, the blood soaked his robes red and he didn't even furrow his brow."

Shen Heng nodded, silently filling in the blanks.

Those rebel leaders had sold out their own country, opened the city gates to enemy troops, and slaughtered three thousand Northern Frontier civilians.

But Chun Yuan wouldn't know that part.

To outsiders, he was a ruthless, iron-fisted minister who killed without hesitation. But every person he'd killed had deserved it—no other choice existed.

The Northern Frontier people believed in him with blind faith. Whatever he did was right.

The Great Khan followed his every word. One sentence from him in court outweighed ten from the Khan himself.

Shen Heng set down her teacup, catching A Gu's expression from the corner of her eye.

The moment the boy heard the name "Xun Zhuo," his chin lifted slightly, and the corner of his mouth curved into the smallest arc.

Pride.

Pride that came from somewhere deep in his bones.

The original novel had mentioned that A Gu had recognized Xun Zhuo as his sworn brother since childhood.

In A Gu's heart, Xun Zhuo wasn't just the Imperial Preceptor—he was the elder brother he worshipped most.

All those compliments from Chun Yuan probably pleased A Gu more than if they'd been aimed at himself.

"All right, all right."

Shen Heng cut off Chun Yuan's endless stream of praise.

"Keep going and you'll blow the roof off this place. Go help me figure out what to wear tonight."

Back in her chambers, Shen Heng sat down at the dressing table.

Since transmigrating, she'd been running nonstop—either coughing her lungs out in bed or shooting arrows in the beast arena. She hadn't once properly looked at her own face.

Now, sitting before the bronze mirror, she saw herself clearly for the first time.

The face in the mirror was a small oval, chin delicately pointed, features fine and graceful.

Her eyes were classic peach blossoms, outer corners tilting up just slightly, pupils like black gems soaked in spring water. Her nose was straight and elegant, her lips red without any rouge.

Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Years of illness had left her with a certain fragile, sickly beauty.

Today her complexion was better than yesterday—no longer looking like she might keel over at any moment. The pathological white had faded a little, replaced by the faintest flush of color, like peach blossoms just about to open in early spring.

Shen Heng stared at the mirror for a long while, then said with utter sincerity,

"This is a celestial maiden descended to earth."

Chun Yuan, doing her hair behind her, burst out laughing, then puffed out her chest with pride.

"But of course. It's not me bragging—look across all of Great Zhao, and you could count on one hand the people who could match Your Highness in looks."

The original novel hadn't spent much time on Princess Anyang, but it had mentioned her once.

*A daughter of the Shen family, beauty beyond compare—but chronically ill, rarely seen in public. Few in the capital had actually laid eyes on her.*

Later, after her death, people in the capital still sighed over it, saying that if Princess Anyang had been in better health, she would have been the most stunning pearl in all of Great Zhao.

"What a waste."

Shen Heng murmured at her reflection.

"What's a waste?"

Chun Yuan asked.

"Nothing."

Shen Heng looked away.

"What does Your Highness want to wear to tonight's banquet?"

Chun Yuan walked to the wardrobe and pulled open the rosewood doors carved with intertwining lotus vines.

Then Shen Heng froze.

The clothes inside were folded in neat stacks, layer after layer, filling the entire wardrobe to bursting.

Chun Yuan pulled out a moon-white cloud brocade ruqun at random. The fabric was thin as cicada wings, shimmering with a pearly luster in the light.

Then another—a bright red palace gown in gold-woven Shu brocade, its collar lined with a row of fine Eastern pearls, each one round and full.

Deeper in: lake blue, goose yellow, smoky purple, pale green...

Garments of every description crowded together on their hangers, like a small garden folded up and tucked away.

"Why are there so many?"

Shen Heng muttered, turning to open the trunk beside it.

She lifted the lid and lost the ability to speak entirely.

An entire trunk of jewelry.

White jade, jadeite, coral, kingfisher-feather enamel, red gold set with precious stones—all laid out in neat rows on satin cushions.

The gold tassels on the buyao hairpins were fine as threads, swaying gently in the light and scattering flecks of gold.

Earrings came in pairs and singles alike, no fewer than twenty or thirty sets in every design imaginable.

Bracelets hardly needed mentioning—mutton-fat white jade, tourmaline, twisted red gold, ruby and sapphire inlay. In this one trunk alone there were at least a dozen.

She opened another vanity case. Hairpins.

Long and short, thick and thin, gold and silver and jade, packed densely into the velvet lining.

There was a mutton-fat jade magnolia pin, pure white through and through, carved with such precision that the veins on each petal were clearly visible. There was even a red gold filigree phoenix hairpin, its tail set with rice-grain rubies, so lifelike it might take flight.

She looked up, scanning the trunks and boxes scattered around the room, and suddenly realized—this probably wasn't even all of it.

"Chun Yuan."

She pointed at the trunks of jewelry.

"All of this is mine?"

Chun Yuan blinked, her expression plainly saying *obviously*.

"Has Your Highness forgotten? Every autumn, the Grand General sends a shipment from Liangzhou—clothes, jewelry, medicinal herbs, sometimes rare things you can only get in the Northern Frontier. Most of what you wear and use, the Grand General arranged for."

"Every year?"

Shen Heng looked down at the mutton-fat jade magnolia pin.

"Every year."

Chun Yuan nodded, ticking them off on her fingers.

"One delivery in spring, so Your Highness has new clothes for summer. One in autumn, so your winter clothes are thick enough. Another at New Year—that's the annual gift. And if the Grand General wins a battle and gets rewarded, he sends an extra shipment on top. After all these years, the storehouses are practically overflowing."

Shen Heng's fingertip brushed gently over the magnolia petals on the pin.

Shen Lin had been fourteen when he single-handedly shouldered the entire Shen family.

A fourteen-year-old boy, still half a child himself—and already Shen Heng's only support.

He went to war. Killed enemies. Earned military merit. Step by step, he became the Grand General of the Northern Garrison.

He saved every coin of his salary and every reward, and spent it on the prettiest clothes and the finest jewelry for his sister.

Stationed year-round in Liangzhou, he could count on one hand the times he made it back to the capital each year. So he sent people home, trip after trip, terrified his sister might be missing something, going without, suffering in silence.

Truly, an elder brother was as good as a father.

Shen Heng's nose prickled.

In her original world, she'd had no siblings. After her parents divorced, they'd each started new families.

She'd become the extra one. A lone boat, drifting.

She hadn't minded much before—had even enjoyed the freedom.

But now, looking at this room full of clothes and jewelry, at those trunks hauled all the way from Liangzhou across a thousand miles, she suddenly understood what it felt like to have someone worry about her.

He probably had no idea which fabrics were fashionable or which colors were in vogue. But he must have asked around—what do the noble ladies of the capital wear?—and bought his sister the same.

He probably couldn't tell mutton-fat jade from jadeite. But he must have told someone: get my sister the best.

"The Grand General treats Your Highness exceptionally well."

Chun Yuan said quietly from beside her.

"Last winter, didn't the Grand General get injured? The wound went to the bone—the physicians said he needed proper rest. But he still didn't forget Your Highness's New Year gift. That white fox fur coat was sent then. He said it was from snow foxes hunted at the border, with fur better than anything you could buy in the capital."

Shen Heng's finger paused.

The original novel had mentioned it—last winter, the Di Rong tribes raided the border. Shen Lin led his troops to meet them, took a stray arrow through the left shoulder, nearly lost the arm.

That battle had been brutal. Shen Lin's deputy general had died in combat.

But all she'd seen in the original text was a single line.

*Grand General of the Northern Garrison Shen Lin fought on despite his wounds, battling bloody for three days, finally driving the enemy back beyond Liangzhou's walls.*

For Shen Lin, though, after that injury, he'd probably just bandaged himself up, then gone to pick out a white fox fur coat, sent it back to the capital with a letter attached.

The letter said: *It's getting cold. Remember to dress warm, little sister.*

He never told Princess Anyang how badly he'd been hurt.

He only asked if she was warm enough, if it looked nice, if she liked it.

Shen Heng slid the magnolia pin gently into her hair.

The bronze mirror reflected her face—white jade petals against her pale skin, giving her a cool, ethereal air.

"How does it look?"

She turned to ask Chun Yuan.

"Beautiful!"

Chun Yuan nodded vigorously.

"When the Grand General sent this pin last year, the letter said it was made by the finest jade carver in Liangzhou."

Shen Heng reached up, her fingertip brushing the magnolia flower by her temple.

She thought of the ending in the original novel.

Shen Lin, framed, defeated in battle, dead under a cloud of false accusations.

But a man like that shouldn't die in someone else's scheme.