Qiao Bing, filled with doubts, carefully stored the letter away and went out again to purchase items needed for the funeral.
Soon after, the maidservant who had previously attended to Consort Mei came to prepare her body.
Lu Zhao stepped out of the room and stood under the corridor.
People moved in and out of the courtyard, their peripheral glances unintentionally drifting toward her.
An hour later, Qiao Bing returned with his men, bringing not only funeral supplies but also a coffin.
The coffin was simple and worn, far from being of good quality.
Consort Mei was laid inside and carried to the main hall. Lu Zhao, dressed in mourning attire, knelt before the coffin burning paper offerings.
Qiao Bing knelt beside her and whispered, “Seventh Highness, we couldn’t find a suitable coffin on short notice. I’m afraid Consort Mei has been slighted. The city gates are already closed, but we’ll depart first thing tomorrow morning when they open.”
Lu Zhao tossed the last stack of paper into the brazier, her voice hoarse. “You’ve all worked hard protecting me on this journey. Go rest tonight so we can travel tomorrow.”
Her frail body, red and swollen eyes, showed her poor condition.
The autumn night grew colder with heavy dew, and Qiao Bing grew genuinely concerned for her health. He urged, “We’re fine, Seventh Highness. You should rest. We can assign two people to take turns watching over Consort Mei.”
Lu Zhao shook her head. “As her child, it is my duty to keep vigil. Besides, tomorrow I’ll be able to rest in the carriage once we leave the city, while you’ll be exposed to the elements. Please go, no more persuasions.”
Even though Consort Mei had left such a letter, since Lu Zhao had assumed Shen Qi’s identity, she would see Consort Mei on her final journey.
Seeing that his persuasion was ineffective, Qiao Bing had no choice but to leave Qiao Chi to accompany her while he took most of the guards to rest.
Lu Zhao continued burning paper offerings. Qiao Chi directed the remaining guards to sort through two chests and asked, “Seventh Highness, these are all Consort Mei’s belongings. How would you like them handled?”
The journey back to Zhongdu was long and perilous—they certainly couldn’t take everything.
Lu Zhao asked, “What’s in them?”
A guard beside Qiao Chi replied, “Some clothing and calligraphy copies written by Consort Mei.”
Lu Zhao said, “Keep the calligraphy copies. Bring me writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone.”
Qiao Chi complied and soon fetched the items.
Lu Zhao set up a small table before the coffin, ground the ink, spread out the paper, dipped the brush, and began copying Consort Mei’s calligraphy.
The live stream audience hadn’t expected her to fulfill her promise so quickly and immediately watched her every stroke with heightened attention.
Lu Zhao’s brush-holding posture was full of grandeur, but with the first stroke, her hand trembled, causing a horizontal line to split apart. The resulting character lay scattered on the bamboo paper like reeds broken by autumn frost or a drunkard leaning against a wall.
The live stream audience instantly erupted in laughter.
[Bajiaolian: Hahahaha, I can’t! Host, you should just go back to killing people. These hands really aren’t made for holding brushes.]
[IQ Offline: Just as I guessed! That earlier modesty about writing prescriptions with Qiao Xiaogege was because your handwriting’s terrible.]
[National Sweetheart: Hahaha, nobody’s perfect. Finally feel like the host is human. Even uglier than my brush calligraphy.]
[Weilai Shouxi Zhudao: Hahahaha, confirmed! Host must be a modern youth who transmigrated.]
[No Thunder on Rainy Days: Host is truly brave—writing as promised. Look at Qiao Xiaogege’s expression! My stomach hurts from laughing.]
[Base Upon Base: Hahaha, he finally realized the host’s handwriting is worse than his, right?]
All eyes fell upon Qiao Chi’s face.
Standing behind Lu Zhao, Qiao Chi stared at her trembling hand with a constipated expression. When Lu Zhao reached the third character, he couldn’t hold back any longer and hesitantly asked, “Um, Your Highness the Seventh Prince, your handwriting…”
Before he could finish, Lu Zhao murmured, “When I was young, Mother Consort used to hold my hand like this, teaching me calligraphy stroke by stroke. Back then, my handwriting was even uglier than this…”
Her voice choked with emotion, each word making her hand tremble more violently, as if channeling all her sorrow through the brush tip.
Qiao Chi fell silent, inwardly cursing himself for being unreasonable: How could he think that way about the Seventh Prince? She must be grieving to the extreme, using this method to honor the memory of Consort Mei.
That she could even hold a brush steady now was nothing short of a miracle.
Filled with remorse, Qiao Chi wordlessly knelt down to grind ink for Lu Zhao.
The live stream audience: …
[Holy crap, the streamer’s amazing—she actually managed to salvage that!]
Qiao Xiaogege is just too adorable.
Lu Zhao continued without pause, copying character after character.
The oil lamp flickered in the deep, cold night.
Her thin shoulders cast a long shadow in the lamplight.
By dawn, the characters on the bamboo paper had taken on a respectable form.
The live stream grew quiet, with only a few viewers occasionally popping in.
Lu Zhao yawned and glanced back to see Qiao Chi and two guards dozing against the wall, exhausted.
Remembering they had to continue their journey tomorrow, she simply lay down on the small table for a brief nap.
A cold wind swept through the hall, rustling the bamboo papers beside her.
Lu Zhao drifted into sleep unknowingly. In her hazy dream, someone kept urging, “Hurry up and climb, faster!”
Her limbs moved uncontrollably upward, her small body trembling incessantly.
Wait, why had she become so small?
Had she transmigrated again?
But this body was actually afraid—how could she feel such an emotion?
Realizing this, she released her grip to investigate.
Thud.
She fell straight from the tree. The group of half-grown children below scattered in panic, staring at her with frightened eyes.
She began crying uncontrollably. Someone heard the commotion and rushed over, scooping her up while shouting anxiously, “Summon the Imperial Physician! Quickly!”
The person holding her wore a crown and bright yellow dragon robes, his face full of tender concern as he comforted her. He then glared at the other children and scolded, “As older brothers, how could you let this happen to your younger sibling?”
The children trembled like quails, not daring to even breathe loudly.
The holder continued, “All of you kneel here. None of you may rise before nightfall.”
“Zhen” (the royal “We”)?
Not only had she transmigrated again, but she’d also become a younger brother—even her gender had changed?
The children knelt in unison as the emperor carried her swiftly to the Dragon Carriage. They soon arrived at a palace adorned with carved dragons and painted beams, incredibly majestic.
Palace attendants immediately approached, reaching to take her from the emperor’s arms.
The emperor shifted away and carried her directly into the inner chamber, placing her on a bright yellow cushioned couch.
Soon, the Imperial Physician arrived and began examining her injuries. Tears streamed down her face again as she cried, “Father Emperor, will I die?”
The emperor patiently soothed her, “No, at most there might be a scar.”
She continued, “Will the scar be very ugly?”
Lu Zhao was horrified: She hadn’t intended to cry or act spoiled—it was this body’s autonomous consciousness.
The emperor shook his head: “It’s not unsightly. Your father has seen it—it’s shaped like a moon. Even if it leaves a scar, it will be a beautiful one.”
Lu Zhao finally stopped crying, clinging to the emperor’s arm with soft whimpers.
Urgent footsteps echoed outside the door, followed immediately by a woman’s delicate, worried voice: “Little Seven! What’s happened to Little Seven? Your Majesty, where is Little Seven?”
Lu Zhao thought to herself: In this transmigration, not only am I a prince, but I also have both parents alive?
Is this woman my mother?
The little one craned her neck to look toward the screen, where a graceful silhouette was cast. The figure hurried closer, passing the screen in the blink of an eye and approaching the imperial bed.
A face as pure and proud as frost and snow suddenly appeared in her sight.
Lu Zhao’s eyes widened instantly, her childish voice trembling: “Con-Consort Mei…”
Wasn’t Consort Mei dead?
Wait, if Consort Mei is her mother, then who is she?
Is she Shen Qi?
How could she be Shen Qi?
Lu Zhao’s brows furrowed tightly, and just before Consort Mei rushed over to embrace her, she jolted awake in fright.
Lifting her gaze, her eyes met wildly fluttering white funeral banners and a heavy coffin in the main hall. Looking down, she saw the calligraphy copybook she had been practicing on the small table, alongside Qiao Chi’s peacefully sleeping face.
She was still herself, and the Live Stream System remained active in her mind.
A dream from earlier?
Lu Zhao narrowed her eyes: That wasn’t her dream—it was Shen Qi’s dream.
“System, come out! Why did I dream of Shen Qi’s past?”
System: [Host, what are you talking about? This system doesn’t understand.]
Lu Zhao’s voice turned cold and stern: “Don’t play dumb with me! Why did I dream of Shen Qi’s past?”
The system sounded confused: [Perhaps… maybe Consort Mei sent you the dream?]
“Consort Mei sent me a dream?” Lu Zhao had never believed in such things. Her own parents had never sent her dreams—why would Consort Mei, a near-stranger, send her one?
Just as Lu Zhao was about to press further, Qiao Chi woke up. Rubbing his temples, he looked over drowsily and asked, “Seventh Highness, what’s wrong?”
Lu Zhao shook her head, picked up the calligraphy copybooks from the small table, and tossed them all into the brazier.
Flames leaped up, their warmth instantly dispelling the gloomy chill of dawn.
Qiao Chi was speechless: “Seventh Highness, why did you burn the copybooks?”
Lu Zhao replied gently, “After finishing them, I must let my mother see. I’ll write new ones after burning these.”
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Qiao Chi stood up and saw Qiao Bing enter, followed by over a dozen guards.
He quickly asked, “Father, is it time to depart?”
Qiao Bing nodded, striding quickly toward Lu Zhao and saying, “Seventh Highness, the city gates are open, but the city’s defenses have suddenly tightened. We must leave immediately. To avoid suspicion, we must make the act convincing—I’ve hired Taoist priests to perform rites and mourning women to wail.”
The dead were held in high regard; generally, as long as it was a coffin procession leaving the city, the gate guards wouldn’t inspect too closely.
Lu Zhao nodded and stood up, but having sat cross-legged for so long, she felt dizzy and swayed unsteadily.
Qiao Chi swiftly reached out to support her, thinking to himself: The Seventh Highness is benevolent and filial.
Unfortunately, her health isn’t very good.
Lu Zhao thanked him, steadied herself, and then took the memorial tablet handed to her by a guard. Holding it, she walked toward the door.
As she walked, she silently reflected: It seems physical strength alone isn’t enough for this body. The long, arduous journey and constant evasion of pursuers require nourishing with precious herbs to replenish the depletion. Only by addressing both aspects can I restore it to an ideal state.
Given the current situation, visiting an herbal shop is out of the question. I’ll have to find a way after Consort Mei’s affairs are settled.
The coffin was carried out, and pedestrians made way.
The east wind rose, soul banners fluttered, and weeping sounds traveled from the west of the city all the way to the eastern gate. Guards at the city gate were inspecting the commoners coming and going. Qiao Bing stepped forward to negotiate with them. After just a couple of glances and a few questions, the guards waved them through.
The funeral procession safely exited the city and proceeded along the main road.
After traveling another li, they reached a fork in the road. It was only then that Qiao Bing dismissed the Taoist priests performing the rites and the mourning women.
A light drizzle began to fall. Qiao Bing brought out straw raincoats and distributed them.
Qiao Chi asked quietly, “Will this rain affect the cremation?”
Qiao Bing replied, “I’ve already had someone prepare fire oil. The rain won’t get heavy—it won’t be a problem.” He then personally brought a raincoat and draped it over Lu Zhao, pointing toward the small path. “Your Highness, about two li ahead is the lower reaches of the Huai River. The scenery there is pleasant—Consort Mei would have liked it.”
Lu Zhao nodded, put on the raincoat, and holding the memorial tablet, headed toward the small path.
Qiao Bing signaled for the others to follow.
But just as the coffin began to move, the dismissed priests and mourning women suddenly returned in a panic, their footsteps hurried and voices trembling with fear.
After running a short distance, they collapsed in front of the procession.
Everyone was startled. Qiao Bing stepped forward to inquire. One of the mourning women struggled to her feet, pointing fearfully behind her. “They… they…”
Following her finger, everyone looked back. Through the misty winter rain, the thunderous sound of hooves grew louder. At the bend of the official road, a large contingent of cavalry appeared.
Banners and iron armor—they approached with menacing force.
It was unmistakably the Black Flag Army of the Jingzhou Governor.
Everyone’s faces instantly turned grim. They knew it was already too late to flee.
The army closed in swiftly, surrounding them completely. The Black Flag Army riders reined in their horses, sabers at the ready, glaring fiercely but neither attacking nor speaking.
Qiao Chi quickly moved forward, shielding Lu Zhao.
Soon, a black carriage adorned with golden patterns emerged from the Black Flag Army formation. Drawn by four horses, it had bronze bells hanging from each corner, each engraved with a swooping swift—the emblem of the Xie family of Liangzhou.
The carriage halted before Qiao Bing and the others. The curtain was drawn aside, revealing black deerskin boots, followed by a rugged, wild face. Dressed in wide-sleeved robes, the man stood with hands on hips, looking down arrogantly at Qiao Bing. “Commandant Qiao, it’s been years. We haven’t even had a chance to catch up—why the hurry to leave?”
Qiao Bing composed himself, cupping his hands in salute. “Governor Xie, I have urgent matters to attend to. I hope you’ll be accommodating.”
Xie Xian’s fierce eyes shifted to the coffin behind him, and he sneered. “I don’t recall the Qiao family having relatives in Liangzhou. What, did someone from your family have to take a detour through my territory before returning to Zhongdu? Or are you up to some mischief, using Liangzhou for your ghostly charades?”
“Governor Xie!” Qiao Bing flared up. “When you were in trouble in Zhongdu years ago, I helped you! Now you block my way, insult me, and repay kindness with enmity?”
“Repay kindness with enmity?” Xie Xian snorted coldly. “Does a trivial favor give you the right to kill my Liangzhou soldiers and endanger my son’s life?”
The live stream viewers had been guessing the newcomer’s identity. Hearing this, they collectively gasped in excitement.
[Jianmengtianxia: So this is the legendary Liangzhou Governor!]
[King of Banter: Beat the young one, and the old one shows up! Streamer, your journey is full of twists and turns!]
[Driver No Brakes: Streamer, go for it! Beat the old one into a crippled turtle too!]
[AC No Power: Streamer, give the old guy the same treatment as the young one—cripple him and get a rocket!]
【…】
The crowd had grown addicted to watching the fight and were all urging Lu Zhao to step up.
Lu Zhao scanned her surroundings, her lips twitching: Step up how? The opponents outnumbered them, and in broad daylight, there was no opportunity for underhanded tactics.
She was ruthless in killing, but not indiscriminate.
Moreover, Consort Mei’s coffin was still behind her.
Some respect must be paid to the departed.
A bold, verified Scrolling Subtitle drifted slowly across the live stream: 【No killing today—use wit instead.】
Author’s Note: