The air fell quiet for a long while.
Liu Di seemed to have something on his mind and suddenly fell silent.
As for Zhaojun, she was immersed in the poem, utterly unaware that it was a future masterpiece written in praise of herself.
Suddenly.
Zhaojun's eyes flickered as she looked up and asked, "Forgive my rudeness, but since we met, I still haven't asked your name."
Liu Di hesitated slightly.
When a woman showed concern for him, it generally meant nothing else.
After thinking for a moment.
Liu Di decided not to leave behind his real name, lest it create needless sorrow.
He smiled. "My name is Liu Xiu. Xiu, as in correction."
Whether it was the evening breeze stirring or the cicadas interfering, no one knew.
But Zhaojun misheard him.
She savored the name for quite a while, then nodded. "Liu Xiu? A fine name."
Liu Di froze slightly.
Liu Xiu?
The rumored Son of the Plane, the one who ended Wang Mang's Xin dynasty?
Then again, the Xin dynasty that followed the Western Han was about to arrive as well.
And Wang Mang was from the same era as Zhaojun, only nine years younger than her.
So be it. So be it.
Whether he was Liu Xiu or Liu Xiu, there was no difference.
That night.
Liu Di never came down from the roof again. He lay flat on the ridge, faced the sky full of stars, and fell into a deep sleep.
At first light.
Liu Di was jolted awake by the sounds of soldiers and horses in turmoil.
Looking down, he saw three mounted armored soldiers standing in the middle of the small courtyard, while more than a dozen foot soldiers surrounded it tightly.
A short, fat middle-aged man slowly stepped forward and shouted, "Commoner woman