The entire Prince Dingbei estate was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. In the main hall and across the entire courtyard, only the prince, his consort, and their son stood facing one another in silent confrontation.
The moment Baili Xunzhou’s galloping hoofbeats had reached the gatehouse, the household’s maids and servants had each found excuses to flee toward the rear courtyard like a stampede. A single flowerpot was being carried by four people squeezed shoulder to shoulder, running faster than rabbits.
Shan Yi hadn’t even dared to enter the courtyard. Leading the horse, he cowered in the gatehouse, craning his neck to peek inside. The moment Prince Dingbei drew his sword, he yanked his head back with a whoosh and covered his ears in terror.
What the young crown prince said was utterly treasonous. He might dare to say it, but Shan Yi certainly didn’t dare to listen!
“I said, I will defy the imperial decree and refuse this marriage.” Baili Xunzhou spoke each word deliberately. “If Father insists on this union, you may adopt a new son from the collateral branches to marry her. I am willing to yield my position as heir.”
Prince Dingbei nearly choked on his rage, his face dark as the bottom of a wok. “What nonsense are you spouting! I’ll have to discipline you with the family rod today!”
For ordinary households, family discipline meant bamboo slats or ruler strikes, or copying household rules and docking allowances. But the Prince Dingbei’s family rod was the longsword bestowed by the late emperor, held in the prince’s own hand.
A soft female cough sounded. Prince Dingbei, who had sheathed his sword and was preparing to deliver a vicious blow with the scabbard, slammed to a halt mid-step, nearly wrenching his waist.
Princess Consort Dingbei, seated to the side, cleared her throat to put a stop to the farce. She wore a lotus-pink brocade wide-sleeved robe over an apricot-white undergarment, with thin fur trim along the collar and cuffs. Even just sitting there, she exuded an air of gentle refinement.
“In this household, can no one speak without drawing a blade?”
Her beautiful eyes swept over them coolly, and both father and son stiffened their necks and looked away.
“My lady, you must see reason—this brat doesn’t even acknowledge us as his parents anymore! How can we let this slide!” Prince Dingbei rushed to defend himself.
Baili Xunzhou shot back at his father: “You’re the one spreading lies to my face! If you don’t acknowledge me as your son, then don’t dare touch me with that family rod!”
After snapping at his father, he met his mother’s gaze. His tone softened but remained resolute: “In any case, I won’t go through with this blind marriage.”
Prince Dingbei snorted coldly. “You don’t want to marry her? I doubt the girl wants to marry you either! A perfectly fine commandery princess, traveling thousands of li to marry a good-for-nothing like you—she’d probably be crying her eyes out!”
“She doesn’t want it, and neither do I. Calling off the marriage would be a happy ending for everyone.”
“Do you think the emperor’s betrothal decree is like shopping for vegetables at the market? That you get to pick and choose?”
“Both of you, say no more.” The princess had a headache. One father had a temper that exploded outward, the other brooded stubbornly inward—put them together and it was needle against thread. If she hadn’t been home today, the two of them would already be brawling in the front courtyard by now.
“A Zhuo, you and I both know this marriage is no simple matter. Don’t throw a childish tantrum.” The princess called him by his childhood name in a low, unhurried voice, carrying an elegant, gentle soothing quality—yet brooking no argument. “Military funds are tight right now, and those border towns are restless. If the northern frontier is to remain stable, the most critical thing is that His Majesty harbors no suspicion.”
Baili Xunzhou’s sword-like brows knitted tight, suppressing a flicker of irritation. He understood the reasoning well enough, but: “This is my marriage. Must it be negotiated like a business deal?”
The princess took a sip of tea to steady herself, offered no reply, and simply gave the order: “Have preparations for the wedding begin. This marriage must not be treated lightly under any circumstances. A Zhuo, you especially are not to cause trouble.”
She set the teacup down casually on the table. The cup’s base met the sandalwood surface with a soft click—a sound that struck Baili Xunzhou like a verdict, leaving him dejected, his chest heavy with frustration.
Without a word, he turned and strode off, his robe hem whipping through the air with a sharp rustle.
Shan Yi, waiting at the gatehouse, led the horse and followed.
“Young Crown Prince, where are we going?” Are we still accompanying the young marquis?” Shan Yi quickened his pace to keep up, and at the mention of the young marquis, his face scrunched up like a bitter gourd.
“Rally five hundred men from Swift Feather Camp. They’re coming with me out of the city.”
Out of the city for what? Shan Yi was taken aback. Recalling the argument in the estate just now, his expression shifted through several changes: “This isn’t a good idea, is it? If you’re planning to intercept the commandery princess’s carriage…”
Baili Xunzhou gave him a baffled look. “Intercept what princess?”
“You’re mobilizing troops and leaving the city—aren’t you planning to ambush the princess on the road and sabotage this marriage?”
Baili Xunzhou: “…”
Shan Yi’s head throbbed as Baili Xunzhou smacked him hard across the back of it.
Baili Xunzhou roared: “Do you take me for some deranged bandit? Intercept the princess—I’ll intercept your dog head!”
Shan Yi yelped and ducked behind the horse. “I’m wrong, I’m wrong! So what exactly are you going to do, young Crown Prince?”
“Are you made of fish brains?” Baili Xunzhou gritted his teeth in frustration, reminding him, “Xiaohe Bay!”
Shan Yi’s face lit up with realization, but then he said: “But Qingyi has already received word—she’ll have arranged her people by now. You’re not needed there, young prince. And if you go running off to such a distant place at a time like this, won’t the prince suspect you’ve fled the marriage?”
Baili Xunzhou swung himself onto the horse and cast him a cold sidelong glare. “Your Crown Prince is in a foul mood, and my spear thirsts for blood.” Are you asking to—”
“I’m on my way!” Shan Yi spurred his horse into a gallop, his voice fading into the distance.
In the blink of an eye, a month had passed. As the peonies vied for splendor, the time had come for Feng Mian to leave the palace.
Emperor Jiayu had dismissed court early that morning and personally led Feng Mian to open the doors of the small ancestral shrine within the inner court. The memorial tablet of Feng Mian’s birth mother, Princess Anle, was enshrined there.
Ever-burning lamps flickered in the side chamber, and the air carried the scent of sandalwood mingled with the cool, damp breath of blue bricks.
Feng Mian knelt on a soft cushion before a tablet of dark ebony wood, inscribed with the words: “Memorial Tablet of the Late Princess Anle, Chu Qingli.”
The name in gold lacquer had clearly been retouched regularly by someone, still looking as fresh as if newly made.
As the incense of Aquilaria wood burned, Feng Mian gazed through the straight, thread-like wisps of blue smoke, staring blankly at the portrait hanging above the tablet.
She had never seen her mother.
When she was young, she had quarreled with Zhaoning, and Consort Rou had taken sides. Furious and aggrieved, Feng Mian had found an opportunity to scare Zhaoning into tears. As Consort Rou drew Zhaoning into her arms and soothed her in a soft voice, little Feng Mian watched with envy—longing for a mother’s love. She shuffled over step by step, hoping for a warm, fragrant embrace, only to be shoved away by Zhaoning.
Zhaoning clung warily to Consort Rou’s arm and piped up shrilly, declaring that Feng Mian had killed her own mother with her birth, and forbidding her from coming near her mother!
Only then did little Feng Mian learn that her birth mother had died from complications during childbirth, and that many people whispered in private that she had “killed” Princess Anle. It was said that in the first day or two after her birth, even Emperor Jiayu, in his anger, had never once looked at her.
Upon learning this, the little girl cried herself sick. Emperor Jiayu flew into a tremendous rage and forbade anyone in the palace from ever discussing Princess Anle’s death again. He told Feng Mian that she had been born carrying her mother’s love—a treasure Princess Anle had willingly given her life to protect—and that she should live well in Princess Anle’s stead. Only then was little Feng Mian comforted.
Emperor Jiayu watched Feng Mian offer incense and pay her respects, his expression complex and wistful. “Elder Sister, Xiaoman has grown up safe and sound. I took the liberty of arranging a marriage for her, hoping to continue protecting her health and well-being in the years to come. If you are watching from above, you may rest at ease.”
Feng Mian bowed three times. Too shy to speak to her mother’s tablet in front of Emperor Jiayu, she kept her words silent in her heart.
She calculated quietly to herself: if her mother had been reborn after death, she would now be a young woman of marriageable age. And so she made a wish—that her mother would be blessed with fortune and health in this life, marry an ideal husband who would stay by her side for a long, long time, suffer no illness or misfortune, and live a life free of worry, never again troubled by thoughts of her daughter.
After paying respects to Princess Anle, Emperor Jiayu personally escorted Feng Mian out of the palace gates. He secretly slipped her a brocade pouch, instructing her to open it only when she encountered difficulties.
Feng Mian laughed, teasing him for adopting the strategist’s trick of the “wise counsel in a pouch.”
Emperor Jiayu said nothing more. In truth, he had been deeply worried about Feng Mian marrying far away to the northern frontier. For several nights he had lain awake, nearly resolved to break off the engagement. But mindful of Heir Baili’s precious birth chart and the weight of an emperor’s word, he had held himself back.
Just before she boarded the carriage, Consort Rou, with a complicated expression, gave Feng Mian a gentle embrace. Marriage was never easy for a woman. She had orchestrated a scheme of mistaken identity for the sake of her own daughter’s happiness—now she could only hope that Feng Mian would truly enjoy a few good years.
After a long farewell, the carriage bearing Feng Mian finally rolled slowly out through the towering palace gates.
At that very moment, in the Shuyue Hall, a figure clumsily climbed over the wall and tumbled down.
Chu Jinglian let out a pained cry, helped up by her maid Bi Tao, who had climbed over right behind her.
“Princess, are you all right?”
“I’m fine—but I have a big problem! What kind of shabby wall is this on the Shuyue Hall? Tomorrow I’ll have Father tear it down!” Chu Jinglian kicked the wall in a fury, then turned around—only to freeze. The entire Shuyue Hall stood empty. “Where is everyone?”
A palace attendant who had heard the commotion came running over, bowed respectfully to Chu Jinglian, and replied, “Your Highness, the Commandery Princess should have already left the palace by now.”
A bolt from the blue. Chu Jinglian refused to believe it. “Gone? Then why are you still here? Aren’t you a servant of the Shuyue Hall?”
At this, the attendant looked both grateful and a little embarrassed. “The Commandery Princess was gracious. She asked which of us had ties to our homeland and wished not to leave—those of us who did were excused from accompanying her to the northern frontier. We are to remain here to tend the Shuyue Hall, and when our years of service are complete, we may leave the palace.”
Chu Jinglian’s chest heaved several times—angry, stifled, and disappointed. She was still under punishment, but remembering that Feng Mian was to leave the palace today, she had sneaked out just to see her—to mock her to her face about the fine marriage she’d landed, and to savor the rare sight of her at a loss. And now, she was already gone…
“Good riddance! The sooner she’s gone, the better—no one left to compete with me for Father’s favor!” Chu Jinglian’s emotions were a tangled mess. The person she had always detested was finally gone. She should be setting off firecrackers in celebration—so why did her heart feel so sour and bitter?
But aloud she declared, “She’d better actually change her name for good, and not go dying in the northern frontier. People who freeze to death or die of illness look absolutely hideous—she wouldn’t want to be laughed at as an ugly corpse after she’s gone, would she?”
The carriage wheels rumbled over the blue stone road, and the clamor of the bustling marketplace could be heard faintly on either side.
Feng Mian had just lifted the carriage curtain to catch a glimpse of the streets of Shengjing when she tilted her head back and sneezed, startling Liu Ying into hastily bringing over a porcelain bowl larger than Feng Mian’s face and feeding her the medicine.
“Your Highness, please drink the medicine first before looking at the scenery.”
The large bowl of medicine went down in gulps, and Liu Ying’s face scrunched up even more bitterly than Feng Mian’s. “Illness departs like silk being drawn out—what a pity that Your Highness hasn’t fully recovered yet and already has to leave the palace.”
Feng Mian, wrapped in a rose-red cloak embroidered with butterflies playing among peonies, leaned back against the cushioned carriage seat. Her small face had already regained a healthy rosy glow from proper recuperation—there was truly nothing serious left, but with the long journey ahead, the tonic could not be cut off.
She bit into the candied fruit that Wuliu handed her and eagerly lifted the curtain to peer outside.
Having lived in Shengjing for so many years, she had almost never walked the streets or seen the bustling scenes of the marketplace—she had rarely even visited the imperial summer palace. So everything looked fresh to her, and she couldn’t bear to blink. It was just a pity that this view of Shengjing’s streets would likely be hard to see again in the future.
“Oh, look—that seems to be this year’s top scholar!” Liu Ying also poked her little head out from beside Feng Mian, her eyes sparkling as she fixed her gaze on one spot. “He’s indeed as handsome as in his portrait!”
She had always loved admiring beautiful people. Serving in the palace was like a little mouse falling into a rice jar—one sweep of her eyes and seven or eight out of ten people were quite good-looking. As for talented men she couldn’t see outside the palace, she would hunt down their portraits to admire, which was how she recognized the top scholar.
Hearing this, Feng Mian followed Liu Ying’s gaze and happened to meet the eyes of the one looking at her from the teahouse.
The young man, radiant as rosy clouds, leaned with one hand on the windowsill, bending down to gaze below—who knew how long he had been watching in silence.