After seeing their friends off and watching the carriages disappear down the street, Tang Mo finally helped Xin An back into their own carriage. On the way home, he couldn’t resist a bit of self-congratulation.
“So,” he said, grinning, “how did I do? Not bad, right? With these introductions, you won’t feel out of place at the Water and Blossoms Banquet.”
Leaning closer, he lowered his voice to a murmur meant for her ears alone. “You must’ve known them in your previous life. If you know what they’ll face, and you lend a hand now… that’s how you build a bond, isn’t it?”
Xin An glanced sideways at him. “Those are your brothers. Is it really right to scheme like this?”
Tang Mo chuckled. “What’s so wrong about that? We’re not children. Maintaining relationships is all about give and take—there’s no need for twisting it into something complicated. If you can help them, the connection only grows stronger.”
Xin An thought for a moment. “That woman from the Xie family… she didn’t live long. I think it was illness, but I don’t remember the details. I didn’t know them well back then.”
“In fact, they all disliked me—mostly because of you.”
“I noticed her complexion tonight… not good.”
Tang Mo paused, surprised. “I’ve heard she’s always been in poor health. If her illness really is incurable, that would be a shame.”
The Xie family certainly had the means to summon imperial physicians, and they weren’t short on money. If even renowned doctors had failed, then it was beyond what they could do—some things were simply not within human control.
The carriage jolted suddenly, lurching over a rut. Tang Mo quickly reached out to steady Xin An, only to knock his own shoulder against the frame. From outside, Lailai called out that there’d been a hole in the road—hard to see in the dark. Tang Mo didn’t scold him and simply told him to keep driving.
But somehow, that jolt had jarred something loose in his mind.
Like a spark igniting a trail of powder, a single thought blazed to life.
He blinked, dazed, then looked around as if someone might overhear. Leaning close to Xin An’s ear, he whispered like a thief:
“You lived longer than me—was the next Emperor the Crown Prince?”
Regret. Pure, piercing regret. He had been back for so long, and yet somehow hadn’t thought to ask such a vital question. All this time, he’d been watching Tang Rong, worrying about gaining a foothold in the Northern Garrison—he had completely overlooked the shortcut.
Xin An understood immediately. It wasn’t just Tang Mo—even she had never thought to ask that. Her vision had been too narrow, her perspective still fixed in the courtyard. Her heart began to race.
“You…”
She pressed a hand to her chest and let out a long breath, trying to calm herself. In her past life, she’d been nothing more than a nobleman’s wife confined to the rear residence, consumed by household matters and petty rivalries between women. She had known little of court politics—especially after Tang Mo died, and Tang Rong’s affections shifted wholly to Tao Yiran. He had shared almost nothing with her about affairs of state.
Even what gossip she had heard from other households had long since faded with time. She might recognize a person by face, and only then recall a vague fragment of information.
Still, one thing she remembered clearly—who became Emperor.
But…
“I’m timid. Don’t frighten me,” she whispered.
Tang Mo was both nervous and thrilled. He leaned in again, so close they were practically touching. “I’m just saying—without you helping him in this life, Tang Rong’s path won’t be smooth. If we apply just a bit of pressure, he’ll be flustered and scrambling. He’s nothing to fear.”
“We should be looking elsewhere.”
“We ought to aim higher. Didn’t we agree before that we would look forward?”
Xin An said nothing. Tang Mo’s palms were damp with sweat. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might leap from his chest. He could already see it: the glory of backing the dragon—of helping the next Emperor ascend.
He imagined the future—Tang Rong speaking to him with forced respect, their father putting on a fawning smile before uttering a word, his tone careful and eager to please. Just picturing it made him feel drunk with satisfaction.
When they finally arrived and disembarked, Xin An’s legs gave way beneath her. If not for Tang Mo’s quick reflexes catching her, she would have collapsed in front of the entire estate.
The two said nothing more and headed straight for Autumn Harvest Courtyard. The cool night breeze helped settle their nerves. After washing up, they sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. Only after a long silence did Xin An finally speak:
“I’m really… afraid.”
Tang Mo steadied her shoulders. “You’ve already lived through a family purge. What could possibly be worse than that? What’s left to fear?”
Silence followed once more. A storm raged within Xin An. Instinct told her to avoid anything unfamiliar. But another part of her whispered that she couldn’t waste this second life just watching the couple next door fall apart in chaos.
Tang Mo lowered his voice. “Listen to me. There’s no need to panic. You know the outcome. All we need to do is approach quietly, like it’s normal social interaction. When the time comes, give a little push. It won’t be dangerous.”
“I think if my father-in-law were here, he would agree. If we play this well, the Xin family could change its standing. That’s better than always needing someone else to lean on.”
He knew exactly how to persuade her. Of course Xin An wished for her family to rise. The world was harsh; even with mountains of silver, merchants were treated like children holding golden bowls—no real power, no right to resist. If not for that, she wouldn’t have married into the Marquis’s household. Her father, despite his wealth, still had to bow and scrape at every turn.
She processed it all in just a few breaths. After all, she wasn’t alone anymore.
Leaning forward, she whispered so only the two of them could hear: “It was the Second Prince. I remember—on the second day after the Emperor’s death, he led troops in a coup and defeated the Crown Prince. The capital was under martial law for a whole month.”
“I don’t know all the details. But the Empress—she used to be the Second Prince’s consort. He only won with help from her father.”
“If I approached her, I’m confident I could get close. After all, my father has money, and the Second Prince won’t get far without silver. But if we act rashly and lose control, we’ll be playing with fire. That kind of alliance is like bargaining with a tiger—great if it works, but we might get chewed up and tossed aside.”
That was the cold truth: neither of them had brilliant minds for political maneuvering. Their only advantage was foresight. They knew the result—but the path required careful strategy.
“You tell me—who’s better suited for this? I could take out the couple next door, no question. But this… this is more than I’m used to.”
Tang Mo thought for a moment, then finally settled on a course: don’t act first, don’t draw attention. Approach purposefully, but naturally. Don’t aim for glory—just enough merit to leave a favorable impression, nothing too showy.
Xin An rolled her eyes. “You could’ve just said ‘let’s keep a low profile.’ In that case, I can do it. We’ve got seven or eight years until anything happens—we can take our time.”
Calming down, she gave a quiet laugh. “Back in the carriage, I thought you were about to hand me a sword and march me off to war. I was so panicked, I nearly turned into a puddle.”
Then, in the softest whisper: “For a moment, I thought you were dragging me into treason.”
Tang Mo stared at her, stunned—then burst into laughter. “Sure, I’ve had a bit of wine. But I haven’t gone mad.”
Treason?
She really has an imagination.