There was no need to tell Father about tonight's events.
A token effort was enough—Tang Jiayu naturally couldn't truly fast.
Tang Jiayu hid under the blanket, with Zhenchun, Zhexia, Zhanqiu, and Zhandong gathered around the bed, coaxing her like a child: "My lady, please eat something. You haven't had a drop of water or a grain of rice for three days. You'll ruin your health from hunger."
Tang Jiayu buried her face in the pillow, seemingly crying, but in truth using the motion as cover to secretly feel for pastries under the blanket.
Oh no, her stash of pastries was gone. Tang Jiayu had never intended to actually starve herself—the fasting drama was about ready to wrap up. She struggled to sit up, then suddenly swayed. The maids rushed forward to steady her: "My lady!"
Tang Jiayu asked in a breathless, feeble voice: "Has Father agreed?"
Zhanqiu saw Tang Jiayu's pale face, looking as though she might faint at any moment, and sighed: "My lady, please eat something first. The master was terribly worried when he learned you refused to eat. No matter how great the matter, it can wait until you've eaten your fill."
Zhenchun also said mournfully: "That's right. If anything happens to you from hunger, we're the ones who'll be punished in the end."
Tang Jiayu blinked, and two clear tears slid from the corners of her eyes: "It's all my fault, dragging you all into this."
She was already this weak, yet still worried about them being punished—who with a heart of stone could remain unmoved? Tang Jiayu leaned limply against the maid's arm, and amid their earnest persuasion, half-reluctantly drank a bowl of soup. Truth be told, Tang Jiayu wanted more, but for the sake of the performance to come, she could only endure the pain and say: "I truly have no appetite. Take it all away. You go out too—I want to be alone."
The maids exchanged glances. Zhandong said nervously: "My lady, you're not thinking of doing something drastic, are you?"
"I won't."
The more Tang Jiayu said this, the less Zhenchun, Zhexia, Zhanqiu, and Zhandong dared leave her alone. This suited Tang Jiayu perfectly—if they left, who would she perform for? After a while, Tang Jiayu draped a cloak over her shoulders and leaned listlessly by the window, while the maids stood in the corner, watching her from afar.
Tang Jiayu flipped half-heartedly through the book before her, her whole demeanor spelling melancholy and world-weariness. Looking at the storybook in front of her, she thought that at this rate, soon she could naturally pick up an illustrated album, and by evening she'd probably be able to start painting.
The Tang residence was full of Li Jichen's people—she couldn't escape even if she had wings. To break the deadlock, she had to muddy the waters. Li Jichen would die of illness in two years. Wei Chengjun intended to rebel, but as Tang Jiayu had predicted, he failed, and the final Military Governor of Hedong was Li Zhaoji. If she wanted to leave the Tang residence, currying favor with Pang Cheng, Jiang Chan, or Chun Xia Qiu Dong was useless. She had to win over the one who ultimately held the power—the future Lord of Hedong, Li Zhaoji.
But Li Zhaoji was the Young Lord, and getting close to him was no easy feat. To force Li Zhaoji onto the stage, she needed to put on a grand performance.
The first phase: fasting. The core was coercion. But threats easily backfired. She needed both the carrot and the stick—a blow followed by a sweet date—to crack open Li Zhaoji's defenses.
So Tang Jiayu planned to begin the second phase: painting. In other words, enticement. The reason she'd had Chun Xia Qiu Dong tidy the room earlier was precisely for this step. For a good-for-nothing wastrel like her to suddenly pick up a brush and paint would be far too obviously calculated. She needed to create the right environment, so that everyone would see it as her seeking relief from boredom and melancholy, only picking up the brush again out of sheer listlessness.
To maintain her persona of being lovestruck, Tang Jiayu only took a small bite of each dish her maid brought, no matter how much she craved it, before claiming she had no appetite. Both Pang Cheng and Jiang Chan came to check on her, but Tang Jiayu remained unmoved. By nightfall, she was indeed starving and unable to sleep.
Chun Xia Qiu Dong tirelessly brought her favorite pastries, urging her to eat a little, but Tang Jiayu simply shooed them all out, thinking that what she couldn't see wouldn't trouble her heart. Leaning by the window, playing the lovestruck fool, she inwardly cursed, vowing that once she reached Chang'an and regained her status as princess, she would have these traitors torn to pieces to avenge the hunger she suffered today!
Holding a paintbrush, Tang Jiayu carefully sketched Li Zhaoji's brows and eyes on paper, silently plotting how she would torment him later. Perhaps it was the intensity of her hatred that fueled her, for though her painting skills were mediocre from practicing only in fits and starts, the young man she depicted had a face like the bright moon and eyes like cold stars—exquisitely handsome with an ethereal charm.
Tang Jiayu gazed at the portrait, lost in admiration, thinking to herself how amazing she was. Even after years without picking up a brush, her strokes flowed as if guided by divine inspiration.
She was a genius!
Yet to others, she appeared to look at the paper with melancholy and reproach, silent and still, as if deeply and hopelessly in love with the person in the painting.
The autumn wind blew through, rustling through the trees of the entire city like a tide, the sound unceasing. Falling leaves, carried by the night breeze, drifted down like a belated rain of petals. A red leaf landed on the scroll, and Tang Jiayu gently brushed it away. As she looked up to close the window, she froze.
A young man sat perched on the branch across from her, watching her—who knew for how long.
Tang Jiayu paused, then asked, "Are you here to see me?"
She had been hungry for too long, and without any need to feign it, she naturally carried an air of ghostly sorrow. Li Zhaoji saw that she barely had the strength to speak, let out a sigh, and jumped down from the tree.
He was utterly perplexed. He had spent the entire day pondering this question, unable to find an answer, so he had come to confront the source of his confusion. Li Zhaoji propped his hands on the windowsill, looking down at Tang Jiayu from above, and asked, "You like me?"
Tang Jiayu tilted her head up to look at him and gave a gentle nod.
She was strikingly beautiful, but now with her pale, bloodless lips, she looked like a night-blooming cereus slowly unfurling, destined to wither. A strange emotion welled up in Li Zhaoji's chest. He tilted his head, surprised, and asked, "Why do you like me?"
Instead of answering, Tang Jiayu asked in turn, "What do you like?"
"Me?" Li Zhaoji was displeased that she had turned the tables, but he still replied, "Horses, the Hengdao, the long saber, the spear, and archery."
So many things he liked—why not just exhaust yourself to death? Tang Jiayu was somewhat annoyed, and she let it show. She leaned closer to the windowsill, staring intently into Li Zhaoji's eyes, and asked, "What if you could only choose one?"
Li Zhaoji thought for a moment, then said firmly, "Horses."
Tang Jiayu asked, "Why do you like horses?"
"It's your turn to answer my question," Li Zhaoji protested. Tang Jiayu raised her eyes and cast him a lazy glance. "So wordy."
That glance held no force at all—soft and warm, shimmering with a watery light. Li Zhaoji ought to have been angry, but he found it hard to flare up at such a look, so he could only answer, "Because horses are loyal and spirited. On the battlefield, they can travel a thousand li a day and charge into battle—they are the key to a cavalry's fighting strength."
"Then let me say this: horses are costly to upkeep, difficult to raise, prone to injury, prone to madness, prone to illness—they have a whole list of flaws."
Li Zhaoji nodded honestly. "Those flaws do exist, but…"
"But you still like it." Tang Jiayu propped her chin on her hand, gazing at Li Zhaoji with bright eyes, and said, "See, liking something doesn't need a reason. Liking is just liking."
Li Zhaoji was stunned for a moment, suddenly forgetting what he was about to say. Tang Jiayu took the initiative to ask, "When did you arrive?"
Li Zhaoji glanced at the painting scroll beneath her sleeve and said, "When you first started painting."
This time it was Tang Jiayu's turn to be stunned. She hurriedly and awkwardly rolled up the painting. Li Zhaoji saw her flustered, with the tips of her ears bright red, and felt he had regained the upper hand, his mood strangely improving. He crossed his arms on the windowsill and asked, "Hey, are you really on a hunger strike?"
"Who are you calling?" Tang Jiayu finished rolling up the paper and refused to turn around. "My name is Tang Jiayu."
Li Zhaoji looked at her speechlessly. Considering she had probably starved her brain silly, he magnanimously let it slide. "Tang Jiayu, are you really going on a hunger strike?"
"How could I?" Tang Jiayu, who had been cold as ice just moments ago, suddenly laughed, turning her head to give him a sly wink. "I hid food a long time ago. I'm not stupid—I just want to force my father to compromise. Why would I actually starve myself?"
Li Zhaoji was stunned for a moment. This was an answer he had completely not anticipated, yet it was unexpectedly reasonable. He looked at the smug Tang Jiayu and smiled too.
She wasn't as foolish as he had imagined—but only slightly better. She could actually come up with such a stupid idea to threaten Pang Cheng.
Unfortunately, she herself didn't realize this, and even asked smugly, "Did you hear about my hunger strike, worry about me, and come to find me to elope?"
Li Zhaoji was silent for a moment. "Probably not."
"Even if you did, I wouldn't go with you." Tang Jiayu looked at him seriously and said, "If I eloped with you, Father would surely be furious. If he reported it to the authorities, you'd be doomed. You clearly did nothing wrong—it's just that your family is a bit poor, and Father refuses to agree to our marriage no matter what. He's obviously just snobbish, favoring the rich and despising the poor! Don't worry, I'll find a way to make him agree. I'm his only daughter. If I threaten to die, he'll eventually soften."
Li Zhaoji gazed into her eyes and thought he had probably misjudged her after all—she was clearly even more foolish.
She was actually afraid that reporting to the authorities would implicate him. How ridiculous. She had no idea who he was, yet to keep her father from taking his anger out on him, she starved herself.
Were all the princesses of the Li family like this? No wonder Great Qi was declining day by day, its days numbered.
Zhanqiu, guarding outside the room, heard noises from within Tang Jiayu's room and rose to ask, "My lady, who are you talking to?"
Tang Jiayu was startled and hurriedly pushed his arm. "Go quickly, don't let them find you."
Her hand was fair and soft, pressing against him like a cloud, fleeting. Li Zhaoji was dazed by that unfamiliar touch and, instead of breaking her hand, allowed her to push him away.
Tang Jiayu called out to the doorway, trying to cover up: "It's nothing, I was just talking to myself."
Turning back, she saw Li Zhaoji still standing there and said anxiously, "Go quickly!"
Li Zhaoji really did lift his foot to leave, but then she couldn't bear to let him go. After much hesitation, she finally mustered her courage and called him back: "Wait… what's your name?"
Her eyes sparkled like a sky full of stars. The Milky Way Li Zhaoji had seen on the grasslands was not as beautiful as her eyes at this moment. As if possessed, Li Zhaoji said, "Bingwen."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he shouldn't have said them. That was his courtesy name—though only those close to him knew it, there was still risk. Tang Jiayu silently mouthed the two characters between her lips and teeth: "Bingwen."
Unexpectedly gentle and refined. Tang Jiayu looked up and said to him with a smile, "I've remembered it. Hurry and go—I'll cover for you."
Even after the window closed, Li Zhaoji's hand seemed to still retain that smooth, silky sensation. Li Zhaoji steadied himself, stepped over the flurry of fallen red leaves, and—unlike what Tang Jiayu had expected—did not sneak or hide, but walked directly onto the main road.
Behind the wall, Zhanqiu bowed respectfully: "Young Lord."
Li Zhaoji's tone had returned to its usual coldness: "What happened tonight—there's no need to tell my father."
Zhanqiu lowered his head: "Yes."
Li Zhaoji left the Tang residence, swung himself onto his horse, and galloped as he always did. Bingzhou had a curfew; the streets were empty and silent. Wuwei Street, wide enough for eight horses abreast, was perfect for riding. When the patrol soldiers saw it was the Young Lord, they all stepped aside.
But tonight, no matter how fast Zhaoye ran, Li Zhaoji could not ignore the stifling feeling in his chest.
When Li Zhaoji had come, he had been puzzled—how could someone be willing to die for a person they'd met only once? Now the puzzle was unsolved, and guilt had been added on top.
She didn't know his identity. She didn't know that her father and her maid were actually his people. Pang Cheng disagreed simply because he disagreed. She knew nothing, yet she had still tried to protect him in her own way.
Truly foolish. Affected. Troublesome.