Thirty-Three. The Princess's Choice

September 27th, just past the onset of winter.

Heavy snow blanketed Mount Tu, the white flakes cascading like rain. Once winter descended, Mount Tu became a realm of biting cold and unyielding austerity.

Su Zhiqiu stepped out of the grand hall, her brows lifting ever so slightly. Beneath the dense, brooding clouds, not a hint of sunlight could be seen; the wind howled, and Her Highness the Princess drew her fur cloak more tightly around her shoulders.

It was said that even in the depths of winter, the snows in Great Zhou remained gentle and mild. She couldn’t help but envy them.

Su Zhiqiu exhaled a misty breath and rubbed her hands together. In truth, if she were to channel her inner energy for protection, her cultivation was such that the chill of the world could never touch her. Yet she had deliberately suppressed that power, and now her feet, bare beneath the snow, were tinged red with cold.

It wasn’t that this Princess of Qingqiu harbored any peculiar inclinations; rather, the sting of the cold kept her thoughts sharply awake.

Court had just been dismissed in Tu Mountain. The officials of Qingqiu withdrew in waves, and as they passed Su Zhiqiu, each paused to bow respectfully to her.

Since the night the Celestial Master awakened, Su Zhiqiu had been reinstated to her post. Today was her first day attending court since her return, and the officials were noticeably subdued, especially the Crown Prince and the Fourth Princess, who had previously conspired to impeach her; they now seemed terrified and silent.

But Su Zhiqiu’s behavior today was uncharacteristically restrained. Contrary to expectations, she did not take advantage of her regained authority to unleash a storm of political retribution in the court of Tu Mountain. In fact, she offered no advice or remonstrance throughout the morning session, and the faction she led remained conspicuously quiet.

Among the officials, speculation abounded that the Princess of Qingqiu was plotting some grand event that could shake the entire nation.

The true reason, however, was simply that her thoughts were too entangled and chaotic to focus on state affairs.

Here in Qingqiu, her power base hardly required her direct intervention. Ever since the true identity of the Third Prince of Great Zhou had been confirmed by the Celestial Master with the discovery of the ice coffin, her supporters had become unwaveringly loyal. If she wished, they would no doubt leap forth to indict the Crown Prince and Princess for colluding with the enemy.

With her position secure, Su Zhiqiu’s thoughts had shifted away from matters of Qingqiu and political struggles, focusing instead on Great Zhou.

More precisely, they centered on Pei Xiunian alone.

She had once gritted her teeth and warned herself never to think of him again. It wasn’t as if Her Highness hadn’t considered that, since Pei Xiunian was a stand-in, the Mind-Binding Pill he gave her might not be genuine. But then, if he was bold enough to kill a prince and assume his identity, would he really need to trick her with a fake pill?

Her Highness had resigned herself: since she could not resist the effects of the Mind-Binding Pill, she might as well allow herself to think of him.

After all, it wasn’t as if she harbored any sentiment for him. She could treat it as nothing more than an analysis of this so-called “Third Prince” of Great Zhou.

Yet the more she analyzed Pei Xiunian, the deeper the unease that gripped the proud and unyielding Princess of Qingqiu. Any faint traces of resentment she still felt she forced down into the depths of her heart.

A man so cunning, so daring in his machinations—if an ally, he would be invaluable; if an enemy, he must be eliminated without hesitation. He was the sort of person one could not afford to leave alive.

Yet she had no inkling of Pei Xiunian’s true intentions. As the saying goes, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” If possible, Su Zhiqiu would have preferred an alliance.

But at present, she alone was aware of the situation. If the matter dragged on, it would soon be beyond her control; by the time she met with the undercover agent next year, news of the survival of Great Zhou’s Third Prince would have spread throughout Tu Mountain.

The true Third Prince of Great Zhou had clearly died in Qingqiu, so how could there still be another identical prince in the imperial capital?

No one could predict what storms that revelation would unleash. Meanwhile, another matter—a traitor among them, as Pei Xiunian himself had revealed—gnawed relentlessly at her mind.

There could be no doubt; how else could he have learned of the disrupted supply lines? It was impossible unless there really was a spy. Could someone with blocked meridians have opened his celestial eye to see such things?

At least Pei Xiunian’s blocked meridians provided some comfort—if he possessed extraordinary talent on top of everything else, she would truly be doomed.

Her thoughts strayed. She shook her head. So, was the traitor a man of Great Zhou, or Pei Xiunian’s own agent?

If the spy was his, did he already know that the secret was out?

And if he knew, what would his next move be?

In a flash, Su Zhiqiu considered countless possibilities. A man like Pei Xiunian, always thinking ten steps ahead, would surely have prepared for any exposure. He would certainly have foreseen the consequences if she made his identity public.

With that realization, everything became clear.

She must do exactly the opposite of what he expected—not only keep silent, but even help him preserve the secret, lest she fall into his trap.

For revealing this secret would benefit Qingqiu little. Leaving aside the time required for investigation, if the traitor was not of the royal clan, he would be alerted immediately by any inquiry.

Besides, the ice coffin had been devoured by the Celestial Master—Qingqiu had no evidence left.

Without proof, no one in Great Zhou would believe them. In the imperial court, such accusations would only become the butt of ridicule, seen as a clumsy political ploy.

Even if someone tried to impeach him, the chance that Emperor Zhaoning would use the unique blood-testing methods of the imperial line was vanishingly small. But Pei Xiunian would have accounted for that, too.

Placing herself in Pei Xiunian’s shoes, Su Zhiqiu saw that preventing the meeting in Qingqiu and keeping the truth from spreading would not be difficult.

With Qingqiu’s treasury depleted and vast stores of military supplies destroyed, what if, at this moment, Jin Xia and Great Zhou joined forces to strike at Qingqiu?

The consequences would be unimaginable.

At that point, who would have the leisure to worry about whether the Third Prince was an imposter?

Whether from the chill wind or something else, Su Zhiqiu’s delicate form trembled slightly in the snow. No matter what, she had to act before Pei Xiunian could manipulate her further.

Her brows gradually relaxed. With a sweep of her sleeves, she turned and strode into the great hall, announcing in a clear, unwavering voice,

“Mother, your daughter requests a military command!”

Her deliberations had not taken long; she had not lingered outside. The officials and courtiers had yet to disperse, the Demon Empress of Qingqiu still occupied her throne, not yet begun to review memorials.

Within and without the deep palace of Tu Mountain, her words stunned all present. For a moment, the hall was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

After a long, tense pause, the Demon Empress spoke coolly:

“Zhiqiu… I know you are eager to render service, but the long winter is upon us. The difficulties of a military campaign are many. Any move to dispatch troops must be carefully considered.”

The officials, princes, and princesses, having recovered from their shock, now stared at Su Zhiqiu as if she had lost her mind.

Her Highness the Princess remained kneeling, head bowed, and continued,

“Mother, the command I seek is not to lead an army north, but to enter Great Zhou alone. I promise that, should I succeed, I will bring back gains beyond your wildest expectations. I beg you to grant your approval!”

Snow whirled into the hall, and apart from the rustling wind, not a sound could be heard in the deep palace of Tu Mountain.

The courtiers of Qingqiu were not mere idle functionaries, nor was it likely that Su Zhiqiu, a commander who had suffered no true defeat but only a blow to the treasury, would be so undone by adversity.

But if she truly had a plan, whence came her confidence?

She had just spilled the blood of the imperial line of Great Zhou—how could she now enter the Central Plains with such composure?

Yet it was precisely because she held the life of the Third Prince of Great Zhou in her hands that none dared accuse her of treason.

After a long silence, the Demon Empress finally spoke, her voice slow and measured:

“This matter…I will consult with the Celestial Master personally.”