Prince Chu Huai burned with the Emperor.”
Prince Chu seemed not to have heard her at all. Irritated at being disturbed, he cracked his eyes open slightly and waved a hand lazily in the air.
“Where did this child come from? Don’t disturb my rest,” he muttered, before closing his eyes again.
Jiang Congyan paid no mind to his feigned madness. She stepped closer, her gaze settling on his face.
Prince Chu had fair skin and handsome features. Jiang Congyan resembled him by six or seven parts—both of them refined and elegant in appearance. Clad in loose robes, his thin frame gave him the air of a disheveled yet free-spirited scholar.
Though he drank himself into a stupor every day, there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and a faint vertical crease between his brows. It was so subtle one would hardly notice it without looking carefully.
Since she had already begun, Jiang Congyan had no intention of leaving empty-handed.
“Father,” she continued, “when you sent me to Liangzhou back then, it was because it was the only way to keep me alive, wasn’t it?”
“You probably hoped I would stay there forever and never return to Chang’an. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as you wished. The emperor is far more suspicious than you thought. Even though I am just a daughter, he still didn’t trust me staying with the Zhang family. That’s why Lady Zhao kept urging me, letter after letter, to return to the capital.”
“And you… could only continue pretending to be dispirited and muddle-headed to lower his guard. Because of that, you didn’t even dare show closeness to me, your own daughter.”
“Since you already know, then why did you come back?!”
Prince Chu suddenly sprang up from the ground, kicking over a wine jug that struck the leg of a sandalwood table with a dull thud—like distant thunder in the silent room.
For the first time in ten years, he fully opened his eyes.
Though the whites were still clouded, his pupils were unfathomably deep—like an abyss, or like the hell described in Buddhist scriptures where evil spirits are imprisoned.
Jiang Congyan froze for a moment when their eyes met—but she did not step back. Instead, she stared straight back at him.
A narrow beam of light slipped through the window, cutting between them and illuminating their eyes.
One standing, one sitting—father and daughter, who had not truly faced each other for ten years—finally met each other’s gaze.
Silence stretched between them.
They should have been the closest of kin in this world. Yet after ten years apart, all that remained now felt like unfamiliarity.
Jiang Congyan had come intending to probe what kind of feelings her father held toward her—and to uncover what had truly happened in the past. But she had been too direct, tearing through all of Jiang Huai’s disguises in one stroke.
For a moment, she was at a loss for words.
After a pause, she pressed her lips together, composed herself, and—ignoring the spilled wine on the floor—lifted her skirt and knelt down, sitting face-to-face with him.
“Because I don’t want the Zhang family to fall into an even more difficult position because of me,” she said slowly.
“My grandparents treated me like a treasure. When I was ill, they stayed by my side day and night. When I couldn’t adapt to Liangzhou’s climate, they rebuilt courtyards for me, searched far and wide for southern delicacies, and sought out skilled physicians… There’s too much to list.”
“On a personal level, they raised me with care for ten years. Even if I can’t repay them, I cannot bring them trouble. And politically, the emperor already fears Liangzhou’s military power. If Grandfather openly defies him for my sake, it would only give the emperor an excuse to act against Liangzhou.”
“I am only a woman. What he fears is that I might marry into the Zhang family. As long as I return to the capital, he won’t target me so easily.”
“In fact, before this, I had already approached Huan Jun, the seventh son of the Huan family, and arranged a fake marriage with him to ease the emperor’s suspicions. I just didn’t expect…”
“…didn’t expect Tuoba Xiao would take a liking to you,” Jiang Huai finished, anger already rising in his voice.
Only after speaking did he realize his tone was harsh—not toward her, but toward Tuoba Xiao. Yet the distance between father and daughter made it hard for him to express himself properly. He quietly glanced at her expression, and when he saw she didn’t seem offended, he let out a silent breath of relief.
Jiang Congyan took a deep breath and nodded helplessly.
“I truly don’t know why he chose me. If I had known, I would have avoided him from the start.”
Jiang Huai recalled the reports: at the banquet two nights ago, Lady Zhao and Consort Zhao had colluded with Zhao Zhen, deliberately arranging for her to appear—so that Tuoba Xiao would see her.
Was it really just that one meeting?
His gaze shifted back to his daughter, and only then did he suddenly realize—she had already grown into a beautiful young woman.
Before, he had only noticed how much she resembled her mother, each glance stirring old grief. He had never thought beyond that. But now, as light fell upon her face, illuminating her delicate features and flawless skin, her soft radiance and quiet charm—paired with a rare resilience and detachment in her eyes—created a striking, almost irresistible contrast.
In that moment, he understood why Tuoba Xiao had chosen her.
But that did not lessen his anger.
He hated Tuoba Xiao—and he hated Lady Zhao and the others. If not for them, his daughter would never have been seen.
Yet beneath his anger, he also felt a growing pride.
Though she was a woman, barred from court affairs, she had seen the situation clearly, understood the emperor’s nature, and even devised a plan to escape it.
Even men could not compare.
But one question remained.
“How did you realize that everything I’ve done these years was an act?”
Jiang Huai had always believed his performance flawless—so much so that at times even he had believed it himself. Aside from a few trusted confidants, no one had seen through him.
Yet his daughter—whom he had barely met—had exposed it instantly.
“This…” Jiang Congyan dragged out the word, tilting her head slightly. “I was bluffing.”
“What?” Jiang Huai’s eyes widened.
She let out a soft laugh. “I was teasing you.”
Her expression grew serious again.
“It’s because I believe that the man my grandfather was willing to protect—even at the cost of sending his ten-year-old daughter to Chang’an—would never be someone weak-willed who gives up easily.”
“If you were truly that fragile, the man on the dragon throne wouldn’t have feared you all these years.”
Jiang Huai felt a deep shock in his heart.
It was as though, after walking alone in darkness for ten years, a hand had suddenly reached out to him—pulling him forward.
There was something Jiang Congyan did not say.
In the historical records of the future, she had once read a brief passage about Jiang Huai.
He neither led armies nor held office, and his presence in that chaotic era was faint. Much of the record had been lost over time, leaving behind only fragments.
But one line had stayed with her—
“Prince Chu Huai burned with the Emperor.”