Yun Jiuqing let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Well, the Prince certainly knows how to keep up appearances. Why don’t you come up with a better idea?”
If a method works, just use it. Why be so picky?
Spoiled habits!
Xie Ciyuan tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Enough. Let’s just go with what she said.”
It might be a bit underhanded, but at least it was effective.
She was right—when you’ve already sunk to the level of exile, there’s no point being too particular about the finer details.
Xuan Lie, on the other hand, took it in stride. “Then I’ll head out now?”
He looked at the door, practically itching to move.
Yun Jiuqing sneered from the side. “Sure, go ahead. You can save everyone a meal while you’re at it. No need to sleep either—leave tonight, and you’ll be in Bei Huang by tomorrow.”
Xuan Lie felt a pang of frustration at her sarcastic jab. “Come on, can’t you just talk normally?
Why do you have to be so sharp-tongued? What, you think since we’re exiled and unarmed, you can pass yourself off as Lanqi and cut through everyone in all directions?”
Throughout the day, Xuan Lie had actually come to admire their young princess consort—she wasn’t delicate or fussy, and she had a sharp mind.
The idea she’d just come up with was pretty good too. It was just that her tongue was a little too quick, and her comebacks never repeated themselves. It was a headache to deal with.
He’d acted on impulse and snapped back without thinking, secretly hoping he’d finally gotten the upper hand this time.
But then Yun Jiuqing blinked with a pair of eyes full of curiosity and asked in the most innocent tone, “What’s Lanqi?”
If she’d so much as flashed that sly, sneaky look she’d had earlier, Xuan Lie could’ve called her out on it and fired back another retort.
But Yun Jiuqing’s bewildered, sincere gaze told him she genuinely had no idea what Lanqi was.
Xuan Lie felt a mouthful of old blood stuck in his chest—couldn’t spit it out, couldn’t swallow it. He nearly passed out on the spot.
Xie Ciyuan, however, let out a low, muffled laugh. “Go discuss it with the others first. Once everyone’s eaten and rested enough, then we move.
Tell the lookouts to keep their eyes sharp and not give the Nangu Ying brothers any excuse to be provoked.
If someone deliberately stirs up trouble, act on the situation as it unfolds—do whatever benefits us most. No need to wait for my orders on everything.”
Xuan Lie’s face flushed with embarrassment at his master’s laughter, and he felt a bit wronged.
But once he heard the rest of the instructions, he cast all those emotions aside and answered seriously, “This subordinate obeys.”
Then he quietly slipped out of the room to discuss the night’s plan with his comrades.
Yun Jiuqing had also finished her first practice test. “A hundred points. What should I exchange for it?
We just got here, and it feels like we’re missing everything.”
Before she’d earned the right to exchange, she’d wanted everything. Now that she could actually do it, she was torn.
“Ugh, I’m getting choice paralysis. What should I pick?”
She kept agonizing over it, while the boss leisurely licked his paws, elegant and content. “Friendly reminder—so-called choice paralysis just means you’re too poor.”
“Ouch, boss! That hurts!”
Yun Jiuqing clutched her chest like a dramatic opera performer. “Keep this up and I’m throwing a fit!”
The boss’s little whiskers twitched, and he buried his face in his fluffy tail in exasperation, refusing to look at her. “Take the chance to grind through more practice questions. Max out your three class hours, pass Subject One, and you won’t have to make choices anymore—you’ll have whatever you want.”
“Really?”
Yun Jiuqing’s heart soared with joy, and in that instant, a flood of things she wanted flashed through her mind.
Everything from daily necessities to business resources, transportation, weapons, and equipment—all of it.
The boss caught the overly excited look on her face and decisively swatted a paw across it. “Wake up. I’m talking about what you urgently need right now.
It’s just Subject One. What are you dreaming about?”
His milky, babyish voice was like a bucket of cold water dousing Yun Jiuqing from head to toe.
“Give me some common medicines, then.”
She deflated like a punctured balloon, slumping listlessly into her seat.
“Colds, fevers, stomach issues, adjusting to a new place—who knows what else might happen on this road?
If there’s anything left, exchange me some compressed biscuits and stuff like that, plus a weapon for self-defense.”
For every item she named, the boss hauled it out. The assortment was scattered and trivial, but laid out before her, it was enough to give Yun Jiuqing a glimmer of hope for now.
The last thing he produced was a medicine bottle. “This one costs thirty points. You sure you want it?”
The daily necessities bought with seventy points were spread all over the floor, yet what thirty points bought could fit in one hand.
Its featherlight weight told Yun Jiuqing just how precious it was.
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll take it.” With that, she withdrew from the Space, bottle in hand.
Her exchanges with the boss inside the Space seemed to take no time at all—when she stepped back out with her items, Xie Ciyuan and the old steward were still in the exact same positions, unaware that Yun Jiuqing’s consciousness had ever drifted away.
She could even still hear the fading sound of Xuan Lie’s footsteps. Realizing the time difference between inside and outside the Space, Yun Jiuqing felt the heavy stone in her heart finally settle.
Taking out the medicine the shopkeeper had given her, Yun Jiuqing watched as the boxed capsules from just moments ago transformed into an antique-looking medicine bottle, and she couldn’t help but question, “Shopkeeper, did you secretly swap my medicine?”
“Don’t make a fuss over nothing!”
The shopkeeper rolled his eyes in disdain. “This is the self-defense function of the command system.
Think about it—if you walked around ancient times carrying a bunch of modern-looking items, wouldn’t that draw attention?
You’ll need plenty more things later on. Without this function, aren’t you afraid your old ancestor will burn you as a demon?”
The shopkeeper made a fair point, so Yun Jiuqing could only hold back her frustration.
She fished out the medicine bottle, opened it, and checked to confirm that only the form had changed while the efficacy remained the same. Only then did she stand up and hand it to Xie Ciyuan.
The latter raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “What is this?”
“I keep my word.”
Yun Jiuqing pressed the bottle into Xie Ciyuan’s palm. “The medicine inside has the function of regulating one’s bowel movements.
Taking the red pill will temporarily halt excretion, while the green pill will help you have a scheduled bowel movement a quarter of an hour after taking it.
Combined, they can spare the Prince from the distress of nature’s call without harming his body. Please take them at your own discretion.”
Xie Ciyuan’s face flushed crimson with embarrassment, while the old steward looked deeply gratified. “Does such a miraculous medicine truly exist in this world?”
“At its core, it’s just a medicine for regulating the stomach and intestines—nothing to make a fuss over.”
Yun Jiuqing remained perfectly calm. Indeed, to her, this kind of digestive-regulating medicine was no different from the common cold and fever remedies she was used to.
The old steward, however, was moved to tears. “No, no—if this medicine truly works, this old servant would stake his very life to ensure the Princess Consort arrives safely at Bei Huang. I will not go back on my word.”
A hero falling in battle and a beauty growing old are always things to lament.
Xie Ciyuan’s defeat in battle and subsequent exile, while indeed pitiable, was hardly a major matter to the old steward, who had weathered half a lifetime of hardships.
Even Xie Ciyuan himself didn’t take the exile to heart.
But it was this broken body that often left Xie Ciyuan feeling dejected and pained those around him.
Especially when the once-dashing young war god, who had ridden in splendor and glory, could no longer manage basic self-care—soiled by his own bodily functions and needing others to clean him—it wasn’t just Xie Ciyuan who felt the deep humiliation; those who attended to him also ached with sorrow.
What Yun Jiuqing provided wasn’t merely medicine to regulate his digestion and ease Xie Ciyuan’s burden—it was his dignity and his spirit.