Lu Hongxi had spent most of his life on campaign. He was close to his two sons—boys raised at his side on the marches—but his daughter, who had been reared within the palace walls, had never known him as anything but a distant figure. As a child she had found him coarse; as she grew, she became proper and reserved, and the distance between them only grew.
So when she now slipped into a petulant, coaxing mood, his heart melted as if smeared with honey. How could he refuse? He only gave a quick word to the deputy general—his eldest son—standing behind the carriage: take the men back, tend to those who need to return home, and see the others to the relay stations. He himself would first enter the palace to pay his respects and only then return to the mansion. But that did not mean he could not walk with his daughter a little farther.
Once they were seated, Lu Wan'ning chattered away, complaining about her mother’s strictness one moment and confessing how she had missed the Empress Dowager the next. Lu Hongxi laughed and pinched her nose. “You pampered thing,” he teased. “You used to say palace life was stifling and scorned any summons. Now what made you grow a conscience?”
Wan'ning pouted but snuggled closer, her face bright with pleasure. Inside the carriage the two of them were in high spirits. Outside, the Zhennan Prince’s heir and his younger brother exchanged a look and smiled. This sister, who had once been vexed and remote, had somehow reverted to the quick, clever child they remembered—especially now that she followed after that Fu Rongxuan like a lovesick moth. Their father had scolded her twice for it; she had taken offense and stayed away for two years without so much as a letter. Seeing her lively now was a small consolation.
After a moment’s show of filial play, Wan'ning grew curious. “Father,” she asked, “you’re a wang—why do people call you ‘General’ instead?”
Lu Hongxi explained matter-of-factly. “On the battlefield, titles don’t matter. Skill does. I command men in war, so on the field I’m a general. As for ‘wang’, that was a reward the late emperor granted your grandfather. It’s honorific—it doesn’t make one any braver.”
Wan'ning clapped her hands delightedly. “I knew it—my father is the bravest man of all. But just now on the road I heard people saying you mustn’t be called ‘General’, only ‘Prince’. Why would that be?”
On hearing that, Lu Hongxi’s expression cooled slightly. Seeing his daughter’s innocent face, he made a show of nonchalance. “‘Prince’ is a noble title—they say it out of respect. A name is only a name. Whether they call me Prince or General, it changes nothing.”
She leaned against his knee with a bored sigh and begged him to tell battlefield stories. He obliged with two modest anecdotes. As the capital drew near, he prepared to disembark and ride to the city gate.
“Father,” Wan'ning stopped him. “I asked someone to tell the Empress Dowager we would be coming together today.”
He praised her thoughtfulness, and only when they reached the palace gates did he stand to step down.
Wan'ning had always been indulged. The Empress Dowager was the sister of the late Zhennan Prince; the Empress had been an aunt; the girl had more courtly privilege than many princesses raised behind the Twilight Hall. Whenever she entered the palace, an imperial litter from the Guanju Palace usually came to carry her in.
Today, though, she did not wait for a sedan. She followed her maids on foot through the inner courts toward Shoukang Palace.
The palace grounds were vast. They walked for nearly half an hour before the stone lions of Shoukang appeared ahead. Someone had already notified the Empress Dowager. Aunt Gui—an elderly attendant—stood at the palace door and hurried forward when she saw Wan'ning.
“Why didn’t Your Highness send word earlier? I could have arranged carriages to meet you,” Aunt Gui scolded gently.
Wan'ning, cheeks flushed from the walk, blinked her large eyes and laughed. “Nonsense, Grandma Gui. Your handmaiden wanted to come herself to pay respects. How is the Dowager? Is she well?”
Aunt Gui’s smile grew warm. “She’s been looking forward to Your Highness’s visit.”
The Empress Dowager had once been the younger sister of the old Zhennan Prince. In the chaotic years when the late emperor fought to secure his throne, it was that prince—Wan'ning’s grandfather—who had twice risked everything to save the emperor’s life. The prince’s son, Lu Hongxi, had grown up with blade and blood on his tongue. For decades the Empress Dowager had worried and fretted over that one fragile thread of the Lu family that remained. Now, finally, her nephew had come back. How could she not be moved?
When the Dowager saw Wan'ning enter, she called out, beckoning the girl close. “Ning’er, come here to me. The last time I saw you was at the Mid‑Autumn banquet—how quickly you’ve grown. You’re taller, but thinner—have you not been eating enough at home?”
Wan'ning knew why people had begun to value thinness in the capital and, foolishly, had once tried to shape herself into that fragile ideal. She had learned the hard way that fashion could demand absurd extremes. She fluttered and bantered with practiced ease, coaxing laughter from everyone in the chamber—maids and the Dowager alike.
By the time Lu Hongxi arrived—summoned by an imperial edict to pay his respects—the palace buzzed with quiet joy. A maid came in to say the Zhennan Prince had returned. The Dowager’s eyes filled.
She rose with surprising speed, leaning on a maid as she hurried to the doorway and then stopped short, tears welling when she saw Lu Hongxi. “You’re back, Xi’er. Let me look at you,” she cried.
Lu Hongxi observed proper form and knelt. “Your servant Lu Hongxi pays respect to the Empress Dowager. May Your Majesty enjoy long life and golden peace.”
She lifted him to his feet and ran her hands over his face, feeling the weathered lines. “You’ve gotten older. You’re not many years younger than the emperor, yet your face has darkened and wrinkled.”
He smiled wryly. “You flatter me, Dowager. I’m six years senior to the Throne. How could I compare to His Majesty? He is the Son of Heaven—his years are different from ours.”
The Dowager’s expression softened, then she glanced about and asked, “Where are your boys? Why didn’t Chi’er and Nian’er come in?”
Lu Hongxi answered quickly, formal respect in his tone. “Dowager, as General I must present myself before the emperor upon my return. Chi and Nian have no leave to enter the palace today, so they remained at the manor.”
The Dowager’s displeasure was immediate. “You’ve always been like this. I am your aunt—do I not have the right to see my nephews without so much ceremony?”
He tried to smooth it over with a smile. “Dowager, there will be a palace banquet soon. They will have the chance to meet Your Majesty then.”
But the little smile didn’t reach the Dowager’s eyes. Palace banquets offered only brief encounters. Women of the princely households might be permitted into the inner chambers for a few polite words, but what the Dowager truly longed to see were the boys—the living heirs of the Lu line—not merely the assembled ladies of a prince’s household. The gap between what custom allowed and what she wanted to do was a small thing on paper and a yawning distance in her heart.