The heavy wooden cangue weighed dozens of jin, pressing down so hard that the pampered Wang Yong could barely stand upright.
The other adult men were also pale, their bodies swaying as if they might collapse at any moment.
“Yong’er!”
Seeing this, the Old Madam wiped her tears in distress.
The other women, watching their husbands and sons suffer, couldn’t help but sob quietly.
Only Wang Jiao remained indifferent.
What’s there to cry about? It’s not like they’ll wear it forever.
Once they reached the city gate, Zhao Shi and the others would have the guards remove them.
That was how it happened in her previous life. Since Wang Jiao had never personally experienced the terror of the cangue and chains, she didn’t think it was worth crying over.
Until—
“What are you doing? Why are you tying me up?”
When she saw the jailers bring out a long, thick rope and begin binding the women together by the arms in a line like livestock, Wang Jiao panicked.
She was a person, not an animal—how could they—
“Shh! Keep your voice down!”
The Old Madam also felt humiliated, but she understood the rules better.
If they behaved, they might avoid some beatings.
Otherwise, the jailers’ whips and sticks would show no mercy.
Worried for Wang Jiao, the Old Madam quickly whispered, “Sixth girl, be good. Don’t make a fuss! Stay with Grandmother. We… we won’t argue with these coarse men.”
Wang Jiao’s eyes widened.
She had never imagined that she, a legitimate daughter of a marquis household and the young mistress of a princess’s residence, would be subjected to such humiliation.
“Tch!”
From the surrounding crowd came a sneer.
Wang Jiao’s face flushed red—with anger.
Being trampled by outsiders was one thing, but even her own family dared—
“Who? Who laughed at me?”
Who was Wang Jiao?
She was a noble young lady of the marquis household, granddaughter of a duke’s family, the treasured darling of the Old Madam.
In the marquis household, even the aunts and sisters-in-law from the second and fourth branches treated her with respect.
To be mocked openly like this was a first.
How could she not be furious?
“What’s all the noise? Still think you’re a noble lady? You—and all of you—behave yourselves! Don’t cause trouble for me!”
A jailer holding a rope happened to reach Wang Jiao.
He didn’t hit her, but when he tied her arms, he deliberately used excessive force.
“Ah!”
Caught off guard and unaccustomed to pain, Wang Jiao cried out.
The coarse hemp rope, as thick as a thumb, dug tightly into her upper arm. Her entire arm throbbed and went numb, as if it might break.
“It hurts!”
Tears streamed down her face.
The pain in her arm reminded her—
Exile was not as easy as she had imagined.
It wasn’t something one could simply endure.
It truly hurt.
“Hm?”
The jailer stopped, turned around, his gaunt, dark face filled with menace.
His fierce gaze seemed to say: Make another sound, and I’ll whip you!
Terrified, Wang Jiao immediately shut her mouth, though tears kept flowing.
Seeing her behave, the jailer continued down the line, binding the rest of the women together.
“All right, move!”
After fitting the Wang family with restraints, the prison officer and the lead guard counted the prisoners and completed the handover.
Once finished, the guards barked orders for them to set off.
There were fifty to sixty members of the Wang family being exiled—heads of branches, along with maids and concubines.
They were arranged in two lines.
The men, shackled and chained, walked in front, while the women and children were tied together behind.
The escort consisted of ten guards.
Two led the way, two brought up the rear, and six walked alongside the group.
The procession left the prison and headed toward the northern city gate.
From the imperial prison to the gate was not far—just five or six li.
But the Wang family had lived pampered lives. When had they ever walked such a distance?
Not to mention, they were burdened with restraints.
Wang Yong and the other adult men felt as though they were about to die.
The Old Madam and the women’s feet ached, their legs weak.
Wang Jiao: …Waaah, Mother, I regret it! I don’t want to go into exile anymore!
At this point, the noblewomen no longer cared about their disheveled appearances or being watched.
Dignity and grace meant nothing compared to the exhaustion and pain.
Having lived two lifetimes without such hardship, Wang Jiao suffered the most—
After all, this suffering was something she had chosen for herself.
“Make way! Move aside!”
The road was filled with pedestrians, mounted nobles, and luxurious carriages. Even commoners had to yield—let alone prisoners like the Wang family.
“That looks like Wang Yong of the Marquis of Wuchang!”
Inside a carriage, a young man of fifteen or sixteen lifted the curtain to look outside.
He wore a moon-white robe, with a jade pendant and sachet hanging from his belt.
Among the prisoners, he spotted a familiar face.
“It really is him. Has the case of the Marquis of Wuchang been concluded?”
The young man had fair skin and delicate features.
His sharp brows and bright phoenix eyes stood out, but most striking was the innate nobility he exuded.
Despite his youth, he carried a calm and composed demeanor, like a refined gentleman brought to life.
As he looked at the prisoners, a flicker of darkness passed through his eyes.
The Marquis of Wuchang… Jiangnan salt merchants… corruption cases… and a certain Grand Secretary from a prominent Jiangnan family…
Though his expression remained calm, his mind was already connecting the threads.
The luxurious carriage moved steadily forward.
The scene outside shifted from the exiled prisoners to the bustling streets.
As he observed the lively surroundings, he did not realize that he himself had become part of the scenery.
“Isn’t that the carriage of Prince An?”
“Tch! What prince? Just a pitiful child abandoned by his own father!”
“Lower your voice! Even if his father doesn’t favor him, the Emperor values him greatly—he was even brought back to the palace and granted the title Prince An!”
“Ha! You’re behind on news. My brother works in the palace—he said one of the consorts is pregnant!”
“Really? Then won’t Prince An be kicked out again?”
That word—again—made even idle onlookers feel a trace of pity.
Prince An—the young man in the robe—seemed not to hear any of it. He sat quietly in his carriage, heading toward Huixian Tower.
As his carriage passed East Street, it brushed past another carriage bearing the emblem of the Duke of Wei’s residence.
“Hmm? That carriage—”
Inside, Wang Si sat by the window, lifting the curtain slightly, just in time to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure.