Before the thick night swallowed the road entirely, the group made camp in an empty stretch of wild forest.
Though the Swift Feather Camp had slowed its pace somewhat, it clearly had no intention of accommodating the commandery princess’s travel habits. They did not seek out an inn for the night, instead stopping at random in a place convenient for watering the horses and resting.
Everyone in the Swift Feather Camp, including Baili Xunzhou, gnawed directly on their dry rations, orderly and disciplined.
On the carriage, Feng Mian also had dry, hard rations set before her.
The food they had carried with them had been abandoned overnight at Wolf Bone Ridge and had been carried off entirely by wild wolves. The watchtower outpost had no fresh provisions either—only dry rations could be purchased as supplies. Even though several imperial chefs accompanied the dowry procession, they could not cook without ingredients.
Feng Mian tore off a small piece of flatbread and chewed. The coarse texture carried not a trace of grain fragrance, and swallowing it scraped her throat.
Through the gap in the carriage curtain, she watched the Swift Feather Camp members wolf down their rations in a few quick bites, then collapse onto the ground to sleep, seizing every moment to conserve their strength.
The military’s rations were surely even harder to swallow than what they had bought from the watchtower, yet not a single one of them showed any sign of struggling to eat. All wore expressions of accustomed ease, as if this were their daily routine.
This was not the forced march of wartime—they only needed to wait a few days until they returned to Yunzhong Commandery, where they could eat hot meals again. But during actual campaigns, they would likely have to endure such hardship for a long, long time.
Feng Mian watched silently for a long while, wondering: when her father had marched off to war back then, had it been like this too?
She had only spent three short days with her father. Much of what she knew about him came from the mouths of others. And Emperor Jiayu disliked nothing more than her inquiring about her father, so to this day, she could only piece together an extremely vague image of him—a great general whom everyone described as valiant and skilled in battle, yet who had failed his wife and daughter.
Now, watching these soldiers who, like her father, guarded the frontiers and subjugated the barbarians—observing how they sat, moved, and rested—her imagination of her father seemed to grow a little more vivid.
Withdrawing her gaze, Feng Mian forced herself to take another bite. This piece of flatbread was terribly dry and choking; she had to drink half a pot of tea just to wash it down.
“The commandery princess has truly suffered on this journey.” Liu Ying’s voice was full of heartache as she lowered her head. She was holding a large flatbread in both hands, also eating with a pained grimace.
“Aren’t you suffering right along with me? Have some pity for yourselves too.” Feng Mian poured two cups of tea and pushed them toward her maids, finding humor in their misery: “This is far better than talisman-ash water, isn’t it? At least it’s food that can be eaten, no?”
Those days of being tormented by the Empress Dowager were long past, but Feng Mian still remembered the smoky, acrid taste of talisman-ash water, and the burning sensation of a stomach gnawed by hunger. That was why she treasured every portion of rations.
But right now, she had little appetite to begin with. Two bites of flatbread and half a pot of tea filled her stomach completely, leaving her with no desire for food. She could only carefully wrap up her leftover rations and have Wuliu save them for the next meal.
Then she prepared to wash up and rest.
Wuliu was worried. The commandery princess was ill and should be eating something nourishing—how could merely filling her stomach with tea be acceptable? At a loss, she climbed down from the carriage to order hot water prepared, and as she turned around, she ran into Lu Mingzhu.
Lu Mingzhu was far more meticulous than the military men like the commander. He had come specifically to ask about the commandery princess’s meal. Upon hearing that she had only eaten two bites of flatbread, he began to fret alongside Wuliu.
“Shall I ask the commander to have some men hunt wild game to supplement the commandery princess’s meal?” Lu Mingzhu glanced toward where the commander was stationed.
Perhaps because the Swift Feather Camp members were nearby as a point of comparison, the commander did not want the Imperial Guard from the capital to fall short either. He kept his men strictly in line—no complaining about the food, no improper conduct. After all, they had never eaten such dry rations back in the capital.
But they were all soldiers of the Son of Heaven—their Imperial Guard was not made up of men who only feasted on delicacies!
“In this desolate wilderness, where would one even find wild game? The commandery princess would never permit such trouble.” Wuliu shook her head. Their commandery princess was not the type to make a fuss and inconvenience others for her own desires. She understood better than anyone how difficult the journey was for everyone, and she would never want to add to their burdens because of herself.
“No trouble at all.” Lu Mingzhu scratched his head awkwardly. “I’m rather unlucky, you see—if I stand under a tree for too long, birds will come and perch above me, bestowing their… pearls upon me…”
Wuliu: “…Ah?”
For the first time, Wuliu showed such a dumbfounded expression in front of another person. Lu Mingzhu had phrased it elegantly, but translated plainly, it meant birds would defecate on his head—how could that not be shocking!
That was truly… the worst kind of bad luck…
Wuliu’s gaze toward Lu Mingzhu now carried a hint of pity, and she couldn’t bear it: “Lord Lu need not sacrifice yourself so…”
But Lu Mingzhu insisted on doing something for Feng Mian, to repay her for saving his life on multiple occasions. He trotted off to summon the deputy envoy, using himself as bait to lure the birds while the deputy envoy waited for the right moment to shoot them down.
Who had ever seen such a thing—”using oneself as bait to lure birds into defecating on one’s head”? A crowd of idle onlookers gathered around in a flurry to watch the spectacle.
Not far away, Baili Xunzhou saw the commotion and assumed something serious had happened. After learning the reason, his expression turned even colder. Glancing at the princess’s carriage—so ornate it seemed out of place amid its surroundings—he let out a cold scoff. “All for a momentary craving. What a scheme to devise.”
Feng Mian, utterly unaware of everything, was curled up on a cushion dozing off. Through her haze, she wondered why the hot water hadn’t arrived yet, then drifted into a deep sleep.
When she was roused, a bowl of fragrant pigeon soup sat before her.
She blinked, still groggy, before asking in surprise, “Where did this pigeon come from?”
Wuliu then recounted what had happened with Lu Mingzhu. He had indeed been truly unlucky—he’d barely stood under the tree for two breaths when he heard the flapping of wings. A pigeon had flown in from who-knows-where and was just about to squat and relieve itself when the vice envoy shot it down with an arrow.
Seizing the moment, Wuliu yanked Lu Mingzhu aside, preventing the pigeon’s final “parting gift” from landing atop his head.
The onlookers gasped in amazement—no wonder Lu Mingzhu always tried to avoid tree shadows when riding. Some of the spectators tried to egg Lu Mingzhu on for an encore, but Wuliu shooed them away with a few words.
Since Lord Lu had gone to such lengths for their princess, she naturally had to follow the princess’s wishes and not stand by while others mocked and teased Lord Lu.
Feng Mian had initially been annoyed to hear that Lu Mingzhu had volunteered and that Wuliu had actually gone along with his foolishness. But when she heard how Wuliu had done her best to remedy the situation and prevent Lu Mingzhu from being publicly humiliated, her expression softened—though she still scolded Wuliu.
“Don’t you ever pull such a stunt again. If something had gone wrong today and bird droppings had landed on Lord Lu’s head in front of everyone, do you have any idea how long that humiliation would follow him? You’re all officials serving the same court. Once we return to Shengjing, if everyone makes a joke of it, how is Lord Lu supposed to hold his head up among his peers?”
“It was this servant’s mistake. It won’t happen again. But the soup is already made, so please, Your Highness, have a taste. It’s Lord Lu’s sincere gesture.” Wuliu coaxed softly, afraid that Feng Mian might refuse to eat out of anger.
Feng Mian took another bowl, ladled out half the pigeon soup, and handed it to Wuliu.
“Take this to Lord Lu, and thank him on my behalf.”
Wuliu accepted the bowl and went to deliver the soup. Feng Mian then divided the remaining half into three portions, sharing it between Wuliu and Liu Ying.
Liu Ying quickly waved her hands. “We servants won’t eat—please, Your Highness, have it yourself. This bowl isn’t much to begin with…”
“Eating this much is enough for me. You and Wuliu have been worrying over me the whole journey—you’ve worked hard. Have something to nourish yourselves.”
Feng Mian put on a look that said, “If you don’t eat, I won’t either,” and stared at Liu Ying until she drank her portion before finally drinking her own.
If she could, she would have liked to share the soup with every soldier on this journey. They had all been riding or walking the whole way, while she sat in the carriage, sheltered from wind and sun. What right did she have to complain of fatigue?
The steaming pigeon soup settled warmly in her stomach, soothing her insides, yet it felt strangely heavy.
Feng Mian couldn’t help but recall the dream she’d had during her nap—a dream of a kind of flatbread that could be eaten instantly after being steeped in hot water. It smelled wonderfully fragrant, and inside were dehydrated vegetables and dried meat that plumped up beautifully when soaked.
If she ever had the chance, perhaps she could find a way to make such a thing? That way, soldiers at the frontier could enjoy hot food while on the march.
But why had she suddenly dreamed of such a thing? Could it be that while she dozed, her stomach had finished digesting everything, and in her hunger, she’d started dreaming of food?
It seemed going hungry once in a while wasn’t so bad after all.
In the dead of night, when all was quiet and everyone had gone to sleep, Feng Mian still lay on her spread-out cushion, tossing and turning.
Camping out in the wilderness felt utterly foreign. She could hear the rustling of wind through branches outside, along with the soldiers’ snoring rising and falling in waves. Combined with the nap she’d taken earlier, she found herself unable to sleep.
She quietly sat up, wrapped her crane-feather cloak tightly around herself, picked up her hand warmer, and carefully crept past Liu Ying and Wuliu, who were sleeping on night watch.
The two had stayed up the entire night before tending to Feng Mian, and during today’s journey they’d kept constant watch over her condition without daring to so much as doze off. Tonight, they’d finally earned some rest and were sleeping soundly. Neither noticed as Feng Mian quietly pushed open the carriage door and stepped out.
The cold midnight breeze carried fresh, crisp air. Feng Mian let out a slow breath, feeling the stuffiness in her body lighten somewhat.
Truly, a person needed to breathe fresh air.
She strolled a few steps forward and tilted her head back, past the tangled crisscross of branches, to see the pitch-black sky hanging like an inverted bowl, scattered with stars like shards of ice. Starlight drifted and shimmered, distant and mesmerizing.
Feng Mian’s neck grew sore from staring, yet she couldn’t bear to look away—until her vision began to blur slightly. Only then did she reluctantly lower her head, and a glimmering object suddenly caught her eye.
From a tree ahead hung a crystalline point of light. Feng Mian, still dazed from stargazing, wondered in a daze whether a star had fallen to earth. Without thinking, she walked to the tree, leaped up with all her might, and grabbed hold of that shimmering thing.
With a crisp snap, a broken twig fell before Feng Mian’s eyes.
A figure sat up in the tree—a tall youth who blocked out half the starlight in Feng Mian’s view. He frowned and looked down at her, his dark pupils bright as stars.
“Why is the Commandery Princess pulling at my jade pendant in the middle of the night instead of sleeping?”
Feng Mian held the jade pendant she had just yanked off, staring blankly up at Baili Xunzhou, who had suddenly appeared in the tree. He had been lying motionless in the darkness, dressed all in black, and her eyes had been fixed only on that swaying glimmer of light—she hadn’t noticed at all that there was a living person up in the tree.
Startled, she stood frozen for a long moment before stumbling back a few steps in delayed reaction.
Why was the Young Lord lying in a tree in the middle of the night instead of sleeping?!