Miss, shall we escort you back to Liangzhou by force…?”
After leaving the teahouse, Jiang Congyan took the Sixth Princess to the Golden Market.
She would soon be leaving Chang’an—and leaving Liang altogether. There was no telling whether they would ever meet again. Before parting, Jiang Congyan picked out some gifts for her. After a moment’s thought, she brought her into a silversmith’s shop as well.
“See if there’s anything you like. Choose a few—consider them my wedding gifts to you. By then… I probably won’t be in Chang’an anymore.”
Hearing this, the Sixth Princess nearly burst into tears again.
She clutched Jiang Congyan’s sleeve, her voice hoarse. “Elder Sister…”
Jiang Congyan only smiled faintly and gently patted her head, her gaze full of quiet tolerance. “Don’t cry. From now on, you’ll have to learn to wipe your own tears.”
In her previous life, she had also had a younger sister—though they had never truly spent time together.
The Sixth Princess stifled her sobs and forced a smile, nodding repeatedly. “Mm… I’ll listen to you, Elder Sister. I’ll grow up, little by little.”
Once she had composed herself, the two of them eagerly began selecting jewelry.
The Sixth Princess was not favored, and her allowances were meager. Even the palace attendants bullied her, so she owned very few fine things. This silversmith’s shop, however, was the most popular in Chang’an among noble ladies. Princesses and the wives of high officials all came here to choose ornaments—the selection was exquisite and varied.
The Sixth Princess was dazzled, but she restrained herself. After looking for a long time, she carefully picked up a peony hairpin.
The hairpin was about the size of a palm, crafted from red gold. Its petals were as thin as cicada wings, full and lifelike, blooming naturally. Tiny pearls the size of rice grains adorned the center, catching even the faintest light and gleaming brilliantly—perfectly suited to aristocratic taste.
She studied it for a long time, about to place it in her hair to show Jiang Congyan—
When suddenly, a jade-like hand darted in and snatched it away.
“I’ll take this hairpin!”
A pleasant yet arrogant voice rang out. Everyone turned to see—the one who had taken it was the Fifth Princess.
Ever since Tuoba Xiao had chosen his bride for the political marriage, the anxiety that had gripped her heart for so long had finally eased. She had returned to her usual haughty demeanor, and today she had come out to the market to browse for curiosities.
The moment she stepped into the shop she frequented, she spotted the peony hairpin in the Sixth Princess’s hand and took it without hesitation.
Her mother, Consort Zhao, was greatly favored, and the Fifth Princess herself knew how to curry favor with the Emperor. As a result, everyone in the palace indulged her. She always got what she wanted. The Sixth Princess, insignificant and easily bullied even by servants, was someone she never took seriously.
Ordinarily, the Sixth Princess would have swallowed her anger. But today—this was the last gift her elder sister would give her.
She did not want to yield.
Though afraid, she mustered her courage and looked at the Fifth Princess, speaking softly, “Fifth Sister… I saw it first.”
“And so what if you did? Can you afford it?” the Fifth Princess said, lifting her chin and looking down at her with disdain, utterly unashamed.
The Sixth Princess shrank slightly, her shoulders trembling, her gaze still timid—but for the first time, she refused to retreat. “I… Elder Sister is giving it to me…”
Only then did the Fifth Princess notice Jiang Congyan standing beside her, her expression calm.
Wasn’t she already chosen by the King of Mobei? And yet she still had the leisure to go shopping? Shouldn’t she be terrified? Shouldn’t she be hiding away, weeping? Why did she look so composed?
Noticing the strange look in her eyes, Jiang Congyan met her gaze. “What does the Fifth Princess wish to say?”
“You… you know you’re to marry that barbarian—the King of Mobei, right?” she asked tentatively.
Jiang Congyan nodded slightly, her expression tranquil. “I know.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” the Fifth Princess blurted out.
Jiang Congyan blinked slowly, her tone steady. “The decree has already been issued. Even if I were afraid, what could it change? One can only remain where one is, and let the heart move forward.”
Her calm voice seemed tinged with a faint sorrow.
The Fifth Princess suddenly recalled that day—when she had hidden outside Jiuhua Hall and overheard the Princess Consort of Chu and her own mother plotting to send Jiang Congyan in her place.
For no clear reason, discomfort rose in her chest.
She felt as though she had done something shameful.
To escape the fate of a political marriage, she had pushed someone else into the fire. Even if she had not done it directly, her mother had acted for her sake. She had heard everything that day—she had known Jiang Congyan was being schemed against—and yet she had done nothing.
At the time, she had only thought: as long as she did not have to marry that bloodthirsty barbarian, anyone else could take her place.
But now that the imperial decree had truly sent Jiang Congyan away, she felt a trace of guilt.
She had also heard that the King of Mobei had chosen Jiang Congyan because of her dance at the banquet. If she had warned her earlier—told her to hide—might she have escaped this fate?
But she also knew… even if given another chance, she would not have warned her.
Because compared to this unease and guilt, she feared far more the prospect of leaving Liang to marry a foreign warlord.
For the first time, the Fifth Princess realized how dark her own heart was. A storm of conflicting emotions rose within her, and she could no longer meet Jiang Congyan’s gaze. Irritated and restless, even the exquisite peony hairpin in her hand began to feel distasteful.
She tossed it back into the Sixth Princess’s arms. “Forget it. I don’t even like it. If you want it, take it!”
With that, she stamped her foot and left, almost as if fleeing.
Jiang Congyan watched her departure, recalling her expression and demeanor—there had been obvious guilt and avoidance. It seemed she knew something, but did not dare face her.
Jiang Congyan had no intention of pursuing the matter. The Fifth Princess might have known of the scheme, but she was likely not directly involved—otherwise, she would not have reacted this way.
After all, everyone lives for themselves.
Strip away the layers of splendor, and the Fifth Princess was nothing more than a pawn under power. Her fate had never truly been in her own hands.
The Sixth Princess held the peony hairpin and stared after her for a long time.
Fifth Sister… seemed different today.
After a moment of silence, Jiang Congyan placed the hairpin into her hair and said, “It looks beautiful.” Then she picked out several more delicate ornaments for her.
After escorting her back to the palace gates, Jiang Congyan instructed Sizi to turn the carriage toward the western gate.
The decree had been issued. Soon, she would depart north.
She had to arrange everything within the limited time she had left.
The carriage passed a small farmstead about five li outside the city. All around were well-tended fields. It was spring—the sky was clear, willow branches drifted like mist, and pale green grass covered the earth. Farmers worked busily with their tools.
At first glance, it was a tranquil pastoral scene.
But these farmers did not own the land. They were merely servants of the estate, laboring endlessly just to survive.
As the carriage drew closer, Jiang Congyan could see their emaciated frames, their dark, rough skin like cracked bark stretched over bones, their backs bent as though they might snap at any moment.
And yet—for them, this life was considered fortunate.
They merely worked the land. Who in this world did not toil? To have enough to eat and not starve, to avoid conscription and death in war—this was already an ideal life for most common people.
When they saw the carriage, they hurried aside to the ridges, lowering their heads, only daring to steal cautious glances.
In the past, nobles passing by had taken offense at being watched by such “lowly people,” ordering their servants to whip them. Since then, they no longer dared to look openly.
They were like rats in the gutter, unseen in the presence of the great aristocratic families.
Jiang Congyan’s gaze swept over them through the carriage window.
The people were already suffering beyond measure.
But in four years’ time, when the northern tribes broke through the passes and entered this land, true hell would begin.
By then, even being a tenant farmer would be a luxury.
They would either be slaughtered in massacres, forced into battle as expendable fodder, starve to death—or become “two-legged sheep” to be consumed.
People eating people—a phrase lightly written in the histories, yet a crushing reality for those who lived it.
Jiang Congyan withdrew her gaze, lowered the bamboo curtain, and closed her eyes to rest.
About a quarter of an hour later, the carriage stopped before an estate.
It was another farmstead—low, simple buildings of wood and earth, dull and gray, with only a small brick courtyard house at the center.
This estate belonged to the Prince of Chu’s household, granted long ago. Its deed had been entrusted to Aunt Ruolan and later passed to Jiang Congyan, who had managed it for several years.
Along with this estate, there were other properties—not vast, but not insignificant. All had been placed under Ruolan’s care.
Now that she thought about it, it had likely been deliberate.
The Prince of Chu, outwardly broken and withdrawn, could not manage such affairs. Entrusting them to Ruolan—capable and respected—was the safest choice. And with her by Jiang Congyan’s side, managing these assets would be convenient.
Later, when Jiang Congyan regained her health, she took over the management herself. Over the years, she had quietly grown these assets, accumulating considerable wealth.
Even the silversmith’s shop they had visited earlier was one of her businesses. Most of the profits had been converted into grain, secretly sent to Liangzhou. She had also stored supplies in key cities across the land, preparing for the chaos she foresaw—never imagining she herself would one day go to Mobei.
Stepping down from the carriage, Jiang Congyan set foot on the yellow earth.
Zhang Zheng, having received word of her arrival, had already assembled his men at the gate.
She entered the courtyard. The wooden doors shut behind her with a creak, barred from within.
Zhang Zheng and his fifty armored soldiers stood in formation, fully armed, their expressions solemn—like men ready to charge into battle at any moment.
“Miss,” Zhang Zheng said, his tiger-like eyes blazing, “shall we escort you back to Liangzhou by force?”
Jiang Congyan: “…”