The marriage procession traveled for three days through wind and snow.
The road ahead stretched endlessly, with knee-deep snow and desolate scenery all around. Most of the accompanying palace attendants and guards wore expressions of resentment, complaining incessantly. Only one person remained as silent as stone, never straying a step away.
Murong Zhao sat inside the jolting carriage, having silently observed for two full days through a gap in the curtain.
It was a guard of lean and sturdy build, dressed in black martial attire with a sword at his waist, his back ramrod straight. He always stood guard at the most critical position outside the carriage. His face was resolute and stern, with a faint scar running from the corner of his eye to his cheekbone, adding a touch of cold, intimidating fierceness. It was clear at a glance that he was someone who had weathered the storms of battle.
Whether in wind or snow, his gaze remained vigilant, sweeping the surroundings and missing not the slightest movement.
During shift changes, he never strayed far from the carriage. When it was time to eat, he always waited until everyone else had finished before silently picking up the leftover rations and quickly finishing them in a corner. At night, when the camp was set up, he would even lean against the outside of Murong Zhao’s tent to rest, instantly alert at the slightest disturbance.
Like a loyal lone wolf guarding its only prey.
Murong Zhao’s heart stirred slightly.
She lightly tapped the carriage wall, summoning the lead eunuch, her voice calm and measured. “I ask you, what is the name of the guard stationed outside the carriage, and where does he serve?”
The eunuch hurriedly bowed in reply, his tone cautious. “Your Highness, that guard is named Wei Zhao. Originally, he was a guard stationed near the Cold Palace in the palace. This time, he volunteered to escort the marriage procession. When I asked him the reason, he only said… he was the son of an old acquaintance.”
An old acquaintance?
Murong Zhao frowned slightly.
She had spent ten years in the Cold Palace, with no relatives or friends. How could there be a son of an old acquaintance volunteering to protect her?
This matter was suspicious.
She glanced at Su Yue, who was attending to her nearby. “Go, investigate his background and report every detail to me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Su Yue immediately obeyed and left, returning in less than half an hour, lowering her voice as she spoke. “Your Highness, it has been verified. Wei Zhao did indeed volunteer. No one knows his origins, but it is said he has been in the palace for nearly twenty years, always stationed near the Cold Palace, never leaving.”
Murong Zhao’s eyes darkened.
Stationed near the Cold Palace… for ten years…
She immediately ordered, “Summon him here.”
Before long, Wei Zhao was brought before Murong Zhao’s tent.
The man carried a chill about him, kneeling on one knee with his head slightly lowered, silent and unapproachable, yet showing no disrespect.
Inside the tent, charcoal burned warmly, filling the space with a cozy heat. Murong Zhao sat upright on a soft cushion, dressed in plain clothes, her expression serene. Her dark eyes fixed directly on the kneeling man as she got straight to the point. “Did you know my mother, Consort Jing?”
Wei Zhao’s body stiffened abruptly.
After a long moment, he slowly raised his head.
In those eyes, usually cold and sharp, now surged an indescribable reverence and sorrow. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke in a low, hoarse voice, each word carrying immense weight. “Your Highness, this subordinate’s life was given by Consort Jing.”
“Explain clearly,” Murong Zhao’s tone turned slightly cold.
Wei Zhao lowered his gaze, remained silent for a moment, and slowly began to recount a long-buried past.
"Twenty years ago, during the border wars, Beishuo fought against foreign tribes. My parents both died amidst the chaos of battle. I was only a few years old at the time, buried under a pile of corpses, barely clinging to life, waiting only for death."
"It was Consort Jing—she had just entered the palace not long before then and was accompanying the army to pacify the border regions. Passing by the pile of corpses, she discovered me, still breathing. Ignoring the dissuasion of those around her, she personally lifted me out, gave me water and food, and brought me back to the military camp."
Murong Zhao's fingertips trembled slightly.
She had never heard her mother mention this.
"When the consort returned to the palace, she brought me along, arranged for me to stay within the palace, personally taught me martial arts, and gave me a name—Wei Zhao."
He spoke each word deliberately, his gaze burning with intensity.
"‘Wei’ is the character for ‘guard’; ‘Zhao’ is the same character from the princess’s name, the ‘Zhao’ in ‘Zhao’er."
"The consort instructed me personally back then: in this life, I need not seek fame, fortune, or glory—only to protect one person—"
"To guard the Seventh Princess, Murong Zhao, ensuring her safety and well-being for a lifetime."
After hearing Wei Zhao's origins, Murong Zhao suddenly asked, "You said my mother gave you the name ‘Wei Zhao’—this ‘Zhao’ character is the same as in my name. Did you know that?"
Wei Zhao lowered his head. "This subordinate knows."
"Then why didn’t you change it?" Murong Zhao stared at him. "According to protocol, a servant’s name must not conflict with that of their master."
Wei Zhao remained silent for a moment before speaking softly, "When the consort bestowed this name, she said—the character ‘Zhao’ means brightness, radiance. She hoped that this subordinate could live up to this name, to be upright and honorable, and to protect Zhao’er’s safety for a lifetime."
"The consort also said that this name was the first gift she left for Zhao’er. In the future, when Zhao’er learned of it, she would naturally understand her intentions."
Murong Zhao was stunned.
So that was it.
Her mother had used her name to give this shadow guard his identity, binding Wei Zhao to her—sharing life and death, honor and disgrace.
She did not press further, only murmuring softly, "Mother… was thoughtful."
Her mother had never mentioned this person.
Yet everything he said—the border pass, the pile of corpses, the name "Wei Zhao"—was so detailed, it didn’t seem fabricated.
She raised her eyes, her gaze fixed directly on his face. "You said you guarded the Cold Palace for ten years. Then let me ask you—"
"In the winter when I was eight years old, the charcoal supply to the Cold Palace was withheld. I froze and ran a high fever for three days. Who left a basket of charcoal outside the door?"
Wei Zhao was taken aback, then lowered his head. "It was this subordinate."
"When I was ten, a palace servant bullied me for being young and stole my winter clothes. The next day, that servant broke his leg—was that your doing?"
Wei Zhao remained silent for a moment. "Yes."
The sharpness in Murong Zhao’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by a complex emotion.
So all those years, those seemingly coincidental "strokes of luck" were actually him protecting her in secret.
She was silent for a long while before suddenly asking again, "You said earlier that your life was given to you by my mother. Besides this life, what else did my mother leave you?"
Wei Zhao looked up, a flicker of something unusual in his eyes.
After a moment, he spoke slowly, his voice lowered almost to a whisper, "Princess, forgive this offense. Some matters, the consort instructed on her deathbed, cannot be spoken of lightly until the time is right."
"But this subordinate can assure the princess—"
He paused, his gaze steady and profound, enunciating each word clearly:
"This subordinate’s life can mobilize more than just one person."
Murong Zhao’s pupils contracted slightly.
These words were too light, yet too heavy.
Can mobilize more than just one person?
She did not press further.
Ten years in the Cold Palace taught her one crucial lesson—some words need only be hinted at; some people reveal their true nature over time.
She merely gave Wei Zhao a deep look and nodded: "I have noted it."
Ten years after her mother's death, she thought she had lost everything, believing that in this world, only her brother Murong Heng and Su Yue remained as her kin.
She never knew that before her mother passed away, she had already planted a most steadfast chess piece for her, leaving behind someone who would protect her with his life.
Perhaps… even more than one.
Ten years of solitude in the Cold Palace, with silent guardianship—this man named Wei Zhao had never guarded the palace or obeyed orders, but rather the profound love her mother had for her.
Murong Zhao took a deep breath, suppressing the surging bitterness in her eyes. Her voice remained calm, yet carried a trace of warmth barely noticeable: "Rise."
Wei Zhao slowly stood up, still bowing his head and standing respectfully at one side.
"From now on, there is no need to hide." Murong Zhao raised her gaze, her dark eyes firm. "Follow me closely, never leaving my side."
Wei Zhao suddenly knelt on one knee, bowing heavily, his voice resolute and powerful, shaking the tent as if it trembled slightly: "Your subordinate obeys!"
"This life of mine was bestowed by Consort Jing! With her gone, this life belongs to the princess alive, and serves her dead! In this lifetime, I vow to protect my master with my life, unwavering!"
As the oath fell, wind and snow howled outside, but warmth gradually grew within the tent.
Late at night, all was silent.
Those accompanying her had long fallen asleep, only Wei Zhao stood guard outside the tent, like an unmoving stone statue.
Murong Zhao lay on the bed, her fingertips tightly gripping the short dagger gifted by her brother Murong Heng.
The cold blade pressed against her palm, calming her mind.
Her mother's appearance had long blurred in memory, yet what her mother left for her remained vividly clear—
a sword technique practiced deep into the night, a life-protecting dagger, a shadow guard sworn to follow unto death, and… the secret forces Wei Zhao spoke of, "more than one person."
So, she had never been alone.
Murong Zhao gripped the dagger, gazing at the faint candlelight on the tent ceiling, whispering softly, her voice light as a breeze yet carrying a determination forged into her bones:
"Mother, rest assured."
"Your daughter will not disappoint your expectations."
"Your daughter will surely survive."
"Not only survive, but live gloriously, making all who have humiliated us bow in submission!"
As her words ended, Wei Zhao's extremely low warning suddenly came from outside the tent: "Princess, movement detected! Ahead in the dense forest, there seems to be ambush, aiming to take your life!"
Murong Zhao's eyes suddenly turned cold, tightly clutching the short dagger!
In the darkness, her eyes shone startlingly bright, without a trace of fear, only the sharpness honed over ten years—
They come well.
Just right to test how sharp the sword technique her mother taught, practiced diligently for ten years, truly is.
Who exactly seeks to take her life?
Meanwhile, in the inner palace of Beishuo.
A trusted eunuch bowed and reported: "Your Ladyship, the first group has already ambushed at Yanmen Pass.""
The Empress picked up the teacup, a cold smile playing on her lips: "Tell those people, after success, I will have further rewards." That bitch must die on the road; she absolutely cannot be allowed to set foot in Da Yin alive."