If she truly owed anyone an apology, it was to that scholar from the Imperial Academy. In her past life of folly, she had harassed him so relentlessly that he’d lost his composure before the Chief Examiner, forfeiting his spot in the civil service exams.
To a scholar, reputation and rank are everything. After a decade of study by the cold window, failing because of a lack of skill is one thing—but to have one’s future snatched away by a senseless catastrophe is quite another. That young man had come from a humble family with no backing and no coins to spare for another three years of waiting. With no path for redress, he had returned to his hometown in despair to live out his days as a simple village teacher.
Unaware of the weight of her thoughts, Xie Yuechan looked into Gu Jingan’s eyes with a bright, smiling gaze that held not a single trace of her former infatuation.
Gu Jingan felt the shift in her, too. She was different, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.
“We’re here,” he muttered, awkwardly turning his head away. He lifted the window curtain and caught sight of the Gu Manor plaque in the distance, feeling a surge of relief. Even with only two people in the narrow carriage, he felt cramped and stifled.
As the carriage came to a steady halt, a cheerful Xie Yuechan didn’t bother waiting for the mounting stool. Ignoring Jitao’s outstretched hand, she braced her palms against the carriage frame and hopped down, casually dusting off her hands.
Gu Jingan, choosing to ignore her unladylike exit, walked ahead with his hands tucked behind his back.
Jitao hurried to her side, her expression mysterious, as if she had a secret to share. Xie Yuechan slowed her pace and leaned in to listen.
“My Lady, you won’t believe it! While you and the Master were out, Miss Li stopped by. She brought quite a few things with her.”
“Gu Qingli?” Xie Yuechan thought of the girl’s blatant eye-rolls and felt a mix of a headache and amusement. “What did that little girl want?”
“I’m not sure. She looked a bit upset,” Jitao whispered. “When I told her it was the day for your return visit to your parents’ home, she took all the gifts back with her. She didn’t say if she’d be coming back.”
Jitao had never seen such a thing—taking back a gift just because the recipient wasn’t home to receive it.
“Let her be,” Xie Yuechan said with a slight shake of her head, still unaware of the deep-seated history between Gu Qingli and her “former” self.
The Dragon Boat Festival was fast approaching. The festivities at Jinming Lake would last for three days, beginning with the Azure Dragon Race, a royal event hosted by the Emperor himself.
The stakes were high, with three dragon boat teams led by the three adult princes, each recruiting the city’s most talented young men to join their ranks.
The second day featured the White Tiger Race, a display of raw power where the bravest soldiers from the Western Camp competed under the command of young generals.
The third and final day was the Vermillion Bird Race, a spirited competition for the common folk of Bianjing, where the winning team members would each walk away with fifty taels of silver.
During this time, Jinming Lake would be a sea of people—officials and commoners alike sharing in the joy. Vendors lined the banks selling zongzi, fragrant sachets, and mugwort tigers, hoping to make a fortune.
In years past, the Crown Prince was the perennial champion, with Prince Ning and Prince Zheng only managing occasional victories. This year didn’t look to be any different. However, in previous years, Xie Yuechan had always been the loudest voice cheering for Prince Ning. Now that she had suddenly switched camps, Jitao found it hard to get used to.
“My Lady, the steward says we’ve run out of carriages,” Jitao reported. They were running late that day, and the rest of the household had already departed. “Should we take the carriage with County Princess Duanmin, or squeeze in with Miss Li and Miss Ming?”
Xie Yuechan faced a difficult choice. She glanced in the direction of Gu Qingli and Gu Qingming, and at the thought of the trouble that would surely follow if she joined them, she said quickly—
“Second Sister-in-law, wait for me!”
Xie Yuechan climbed into County Princess Duanmin’s carriage. The Princess wasn’t traveling with her husband, Gu Zheng; the three Gu brothers were all part of the Crown Prince’s team and had headed out early for water drills.
As a gift from the imperial family, the carriage was built to royal specifications—far more spacious and grand than the standard Gu manor vehicles.
“Second Sister-in-law, why don’t we sit together once we arrive?” Xie Yuechan suggested, attempting to break the heavy silence that had settled as they began their journey.
With their maids sitting outside, the two women sat opposite each other. Because they were barely acquaintances and the Princess lacked the polished social grace of the eldest sister-in-law, Madam Zhu, the atmosphere was stiflingly awkward.
“Very well,” the Princess replied.
Throughout the ride, Xie Yuechan attempted to initiate conversation three more times. Each time, she was met with a clipped, one-word response before the carriage lapsed back into a dead, heavy silence.
Duanmin was a woman of few words. Uncertain if the coldness was due to a personal prejudice or simply the Princess’s nature, even the thick-skinned Xie Yuechan eventually gave up. She lowered her head, focused on her own breathing, and sat as quiet as a church mouse.
Jinming Lake lay in the southern suburbs, a half-day’s journey from the Gu estate. As the carriage swayed and jolted—especially after they left the city gates for the uneven dirt roads—a familiar wave of nausea hit.
The Princess’s lips turned pale, yet she forced herself to sit upright, refusing to lean against the padded backrest for support. Perhaps it was the lingering dampness from the recent monsoon season that had flared up an old injury, making the motion sickness far worse than usual.
She had eaten a hearty breakfast before leaving: a bowl of pork congee, half a steamer of thin-skinned buns, and a plate of plum-preserved biscuits. Now, her stomach was a churning cauldron of acid. The smell of half-digested food mingled with the humid heat of the cabin.
Suddenly, a wheel struck a jagged stone. The carriage lurched violently. The Princess tumbled forward, her legs giving way. Xie Yuechan reacted instantly, catching her by the arms, but the Princess still sank onto the floor cushions.
The urge to vomit hit like a landslide. She barely managed to choke it back at the throat.
Almost, the Princess thought, her face a ghastly shade of green. She tried to offer a word of thanks, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the dam broke. The morning’s breakfast surged up, splattering across the floor of the carriage. A few drops even landed on Xie Yuechan’s shoes.
“Stop the carriage!” Xie Yuechan shouted.
She helped the Princess back onto the seat and threw open the window curtains and the door flap to let in fresh air. Without hesitation, she rolled up the soiled floor cushion herself, intending to toss it out.
Jitao and Miaozhu rushed inside, gasping at the sight. They scrambled to take over. “Third Madam, please! Let the servants handle the cleaning.”
While the maids worked, the Princess leaned against the carriage wall with her eyes tightly shut. “I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you, Third Sister-in-law,” she murmured weakly. “And I’ve ruined your shoes.”
“It’s just a pair of shoes,” Xie Yuechan said gently. She poured a cup of warm tea and handed it over. “The real concern is your health. Is the dizziness still quite bad? Here, Second Sister-in-law, rinse your mouth. You’ll feel better once the taste is gone.”
“Thank you.”
After rinsing her mouth and resting for a moment, the Princess’s head finally stopped spinning.
“I never used to have this problem,” she said, opening her eyes. Her expression was tinged with a deep, lonely melancholy. “Ever since the injury, I haven’t been able to handle carriages. I could endure it a few years ago, but as the years catch up… perhaps I’m just getting old. I’m a burden to you all.”
Xie Yuechan looked at her. Despite the Princess’s words, she didn’t see an “old” woman; she saw a seasoned, graceful beauty with the lingering strength of a warrior. It was clear that Gu Zheng’s endless parade of concubines and “dear friends” had left scars on this former general’s heart that no medicine could heal.
Xie Yuechan’s gaze turned firm with disagreement.
“Second Sister-in-law, you mustn’t say that,” she said resolutely.