After asking the attendant for two more plates of five-spice pastries, Jiang Zhuo placed one plate in her own room. Just as she was about to go to the Bamboo cabin, she suddenly heard the soft chime of bells in the corridor. Gauzy shadows blurred the view as a beautiful woman, humming a little tune, brushed past Jiang Zhuo.
A familiar and distinctive exotic fragrance stirred Jiang Zhuo’s memories.
She stopped and turned around.
It was Shule Guli.
The woman who, in her previous life, had taught Jiang Zhuo the Huxuan dance.
But how was she also on this official ship?
Sensing Jiang Zhuo’s gaze, Shule Guli—her face veiled with a light gauze—also turned back and smiled charmingly.
“Does the young master have some business?”
At this time, Shule Guli should not recognize her. Jiang Zhuo came back to herself and returned a polite smile. “Nothing at all. The lady’s beauty is striking; I merely lost myself for a moment.”
Shule Guli suddenly leaned closer, staring into Jiang Zhuo’s eyes, her smile growing even brighter.
“The young lady is also very beautiful—the most beautiful Han woman Shule Guli has ever seen.”
In a whisper by Jiang Zhuo’s ear, Shule Guli exposed her female identity.
Then she suddenly stepped back, gave Jiang Zhuo a slightly mischievous wink, and turned away, leaving with light, graceful steps.
Holding the pastries, Jiang Zhuo smiled helplessly. She turned and knocked on the door of the Bamboo cabin.
“Is anyone there?” Jiang Zhuo asked tentatively. “Many thanks, sir, for retrieving my veil curtain at the dock the other day. I heard that we are traveling on the same ship today, so I have come to pay a visit.”
She knocked three times, but there was no response.
Just as Jiang Zhuo sighed and prepared to give up and return to her room, the door suddenly opened.
A familiar face appeared before her.
A honey-colored complexion weathered by years of wind and sand on the battlefield; a sharp jawline as angular as a dangerous peak; pitch-black, cold eyes strikingly similar to Jiang Zhuo’s own; and a broken scar in the brow that added a touch of ferocity to his appearance.
It was not the masked man she had imagined. Jiang Zhuo froze slightly.
“Jiang Zhuo? Why are you here as well?”
The man who opened the door frowned tightly and demanded.
Only then did Jiang Zhuo realize that the person standing before her was none other than her paternal cousin, Jiang Lie.
“…My father has passed away. The Empress Dowager granted special permission for me to return home to pay my respects.”
After all her calculations, she had still found the wrong person. Jiang Zhuo could not help but feel embarrassed. She and her cousin had not seen each other for many years, and she had nearly forgotten that he, too, had once fought on the northern front.
“Is that so?” Jiang Lie also scrutinized his long-unseen cousin with suspicion. “Just now, it sounded like you were saying something about leaving… some ship or something?”
Recalling what she had said earlier, Jiang Zhuo hurriedly covered her embarrassment.
“I—I heard that the five-spice pastries in the lower cabin are especially delicious, and once you leave this place you won’t be able to eat them anymore. So I специально brought some for you!”
Jiang Zhuo quickly held up the pastry box in her hands.
“Then how did you know I was staying here?”
With his arms crossed, Jiang Lie did not take the pastry box she offered. Blocking the doorway, he continued to question her, looking thoroughly unappreciative.
“I heard people downstairs say that the newly appointed Inspector heading south returned from the northern battlefield, and might be on the same ship as us. I guessed it might be you, Cousin…”
Jiang Zhuo’s guilty voice grew softer and softer.
“You’re that clever?”
Jiang Lie refused to let it go and continued to provoke her.
“…So are you going to eat them or not?” Jiang Zhuo snapped, half out of embarrassment and half out of irritation.
“Eat! Of course I’ll eat!” Jiang Lie stepped aside from the doorway, signaling for Jiang Zhuo to come in. He smiled with a hint of self-mockery. “My good uncle said I lacked the talent for officialdom and blocked my advancement again and again. I never expected my cousin to be loyal in heart despite appearances. After so many years, you still remember me. Truly my good little sister—seems I didn’t dote on you for nothing.”
When Jiang Lie had come of age, the elders of the family had indeed approached Jiang Dun about entering officialdom, merely hoping Jiang Lie could hold a leisurely post in the capital and live out his life safely and respectably.
Jiang Dun had sternly refused, saying that the capital did not support idle officials, and that if a junior truly possessed real talent, he would not need to rely on connections.
At the time, Jiang Lie had been young and hot-blooded. In a fit of anger, he went to the frontier to enlist, declaring that he would carve out his own future.
Through years of desperate, bloody battles, Jiang Lie had finally made a name for himself. Jiang Zhuo remembered that her cousin had once served as a du qianxia in the army. Now, with her father deceased and no war on the front lines, it was likely that His Majesty had summoned Jiang Lie back and sent him to the prosperous, peaceful Jiangnan region as an Inspector—a form of appeasement toward the Jiang family.
In his youth, Jiang Lie had been particularly fond of Jiang Zhuo, his strikingly beautiful cousin. Every time he visited during festivals, he would bring her popular local snacks and toys—until Jiang Dun, stubborn by nature, resolutely rejected his own brother’s request, and the two branches of the family ceased all contact.
“Father once said that capable people are never afraid of being overlooked. Outstanding talent is like jade—it must be carved to become a fine vessel; like true gold—it must be tempered by raging fire to reveal its sharpness. So Father never regretted being your whetstone, Cousin.”
As she spoke, Jiang Zhuo tried to smooth things over and ease the atmosphere, while also offering an explanation on her father’s behalf.
The dead were gone; the past should not be pursued.
Jiang Lie nodded, lowered his head, and began opening the pastries without saying anything further.
After all, many years had passed since they last met, and their sibling bond had long grown distant. After entering the room, Jiang Zhuo felt somewhat awkward and began to examine the furnishings, trying to divert her attention.
The Bamboo cabin was similar in size and layout to her Orchid cabin, except that some of the wooden carvings of orchids had been replaced with carved bamboo.
Jiang Zhuo noticed that the windows were not open; instead, there were several layers of heavy curtains.
It felt stifling.
“The attendant said you’ve been cooped up in your room these past few days and haven’t gone out at all. Are you ill?” Jiang Zhuo asked, frowning.
“Huh? Ahem—cough, cough, cough!” Jiang Lie, cheeks puffed as he ate the pastries, paused at her question and, like a child, actually choked on the snack, coughing violently.
“Slow down. No one’s trying to steal them from you.”
Jiang Zhuo quickly handed him a cup of tea.
“…I’ve been a bit seasick these past two days.”
“If you’re seasick, you should open the windows to get some air, and walk around on the deck more. What good does it do to stay cooped up in this room all day?”
Hearing this, Jiang Zhuo’s frown deepened. She walked over to the window and, on her own initiative, opened the tightly shut window.
Vast, fresh river wind and the noisy cries of hawkers suddenly poured into the room, lifting the layered curtains and setting them swaying. Jiang Zhuo’s thoughts swayed along with them.
How had Jiang Lie died in her previous life?
The wind left Jiang Zhuo slightly dazed. It seemed that on the very day Prince Jing was named Crown Prince, the Tianzhang Pavilion had caught fire. Jiang Lie, then serving as Commander of the Capital, was accused by court officials of inciting his former subordinates to commit arson in a fit of resentment.
At that time, she herself was already confined to the inner quarters of Xie Guanlan’s residence, having just caught a chill, and her illness only worsened thereafter.
In this life, what could she do for Jiang Lie?
Or rather—could she truly, by her own strength alone, change the fate of so many people?
Gazing at the river stretching level with the horizon, Jiang Zhuo drifted slightly into thought.
Then, from behind the curtains, there came a faint rustling sound. Jiang Zhuo turned her head to look.
A pair of men’s long boots, deep black with cloud-brocade patterns, appeared beneath the hem of the curtains.