Jing Miaoyi coaxed Zhao Jia until she finally calmed down. “Sister Zhao, this is too messy. Once I tidy this place up, I’ll invite you and Senior Brother to come over.”
Zhao Jia looked at the nearly tidied room and grabbed her hand. “Miaoyi, don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ve brought a few skilled fighters from the residence to guard the place. If the Duke of the Nation dares to trouble you again, I’ll make sure he doesn’t return.”
“Also… Miaoyi, don’t be sad. That Shen Jueming is not a good person. I’m furious—he even dared to divorce you! It should be him who suffers, not you.”
Jing Miaoyi laughed. “Sister Zhao, don’t worry. Even though my father is gone, the Jing family of Qingzhou is still a prestigious household of centuries.”
Zhao Jia kept glancing back, worried. In the capital, gossip spread like wildfire. A delicate girl like Miaoyi could not withstand the rumors alone.
“Miss,” Baozhu hurried down from the carriage, throwing herself into Jing Miaoyi’s arms. “Miss, are you all right?”
The little girl was crying, tears and snot streaming down. Last time it was like this was when her father was sentenced to death. She had wanted to send Miaoyi away, but the girl had refused.
“Don’t cry. I’m fine. The people at the Duke’s residence didn’t make things difficult for you, did they?”
Baozhu sniffled. “No… but… who are those people?” she asked cautiously, glancing back at the ones who had returned her.
They definitely weren’t from the Shen family. Shen Jueming, a heartless man, had used Miss to gain status and then divorced her. It was meant to prevent Miaoyi from standing tall among the high-ranking families in the capital. Too despicable, too malicious.
Jing Miaoyi bowed slightly to the people outside—they were the Northern Garrison, the emperor’s personal troops. A slap followed by a sweet date, as they say. She needed something from which the emperor would remember her.
She removed the Bodhisattva jade pendant from around her neck. “Baozhu, give this to them. Tell them the Jing family of Qingzhou thanks His Majesty and wishes His Majesty good health and that all his wishes come true.”
Baozhu was slightly startled. These people were sent by the emperor. She wondered how the Duke’s residence could willingly let someone leave. Indeed, Miss Miaoyi had made the right choice.
Even a man who cannot protect his wife is no real man.
“Baozhu, also write to my grandfather in Qingzhou. Tell him Miaoyi acknowledges her mistakes.”
Years ago, she had resented her clan elders for easily abandoning her father, and in anger, severed ties with the Jing family. Now she wanted justice for her father and needed the Jing family’s support.
By the time the moon rose over the treetops, she finally set down her brush. “Baozhu, cover it up.”
Baozhu held the teal fabric and looked at the screen: a man in a red robe embroidered with golden threads depicting Qingzhou’s South Mountain and Si River. His hair was braided into a longevity style, with a dark cloak over the crimson robe, adding solemnity.
The man’s features weren’t drawn, but even so, one could sense his extraordinary presence.
“Miss…” Baozhu spoke anxiously. In a woman’s inner quarters, hanging a man’s portrait would be scolded as improper, uncultured, and unchaste.
“Cover it.”
Jing Miaoyi nodded slightly. What the emperor wants, his subordinates go to great lengths to deliver. Things that are too easy to obtain, no matter how precious, are never cherished.
The kite string in her hand would let the emperor fly far but never escape. She eagerly anticipated his reaction to the screen.
The night was cool; she wore only a simple lotus-pink jacket and looked at the slightly desolate courtyard.
Her mother had a difficult childbirth with her, and her father, hearing her mother’s cries, wept despite being a strong man. From then on, he forbade her mother from having more children.
After her mother passed away, her father raised her alone. Every stone in his courtyard was a Si River stone—elegant and unusual. Today, seeing the stones, she froze for a long moment.
The room’s decoration was her father’s wish for her bright future.
Sadly, he had spent a lifetime as a loyal minister, but history recorded him as corrupt. If she didn’t prove his innocence, future generations would remember only that he was a greedy official.
Jing Miaoyi looked at the full moon, eyes slightly moist. “Baozhu, I want cold wine.”
“Miss, cold wine again? It’s so late.”
“I feel like it.”
“Feel like it?” Baozhu didn’t understand.
Jing Miaoyi tapped her ‘rabbit ear’ bun. “Not happy? The house my father prepared for me—I finally live in it today.”
“Yes, you should be happy.”
That night, she indulged in a few more drinks, reclining on a courtyard chair. A teal Ru kiln wine cup slipped from her hand.
Baozhu lay nearby, drunk, mumbling in her sleep about food.
Black boots had fresh blood stains. A man in a black robe, eyes fierce like a predator, drew a blade. Moonlight glinted on the steel.
He locked his gaze on the woman.
The beauty lay drunk, her lotus-pink jacket slipping, revealing a moon-white orchid undergarment. A vermilion mole on her collarbone, pure yet alluring.
The faint scent of orchids mingled with strong alcohol.
She turned in her sleep, exposing her fair, slender waist. The red cord around her waist was seductive.
“Bodhisattva…” the man murmured.
His warm fingers reached for her cheek but found blood from punishing criminals still on his hand. Blood cannot touch a Bodhisattva.
He knelt before her, reverently. “Bodhisattva, why have you never looked at me directly? Am I not devout enough, or are my sins too great?”
The drunk woman turned, almost falling. The man caught her quickly.
Warm, soft, Jing Miaoyi, her cheeks flushed from drink, snuggled into his embrace.
Ruan Xi’s body stiffened as if frozen. Each movement of hers made his heart race.
He felt if he did nothing, he might die.
He carried her, kicked open the door, brushed past the screen, and the blade at his waist tore away the fabric covering it.
The drunken woman murmured, “Shen… Shen Lang…”
Ruan Xi’s expression froze with tenderness.
Jing Miaoyi, thinking of a man like Shen Jueming, still had him in her heart.
Shen Jueming—cowardly, despicable, irresponsible. Not a man in the slightest.
Reason shattered.
His large hand pressed her neck, gripping tightly. He wanted to kill her.
Kill her so the Bodhisattva would belong to him alone.
Ruan Xi’s eyes burned with madness and jealousy.
Bookish men are useless.
Jing Miaoyi, your judgment of men has always been poor.
Most scholars are heartless.
His anger grew; his grip tightened.
“Your Grace,” Changqing suddenly interrupted, “we caught the son of the Grand Minister in Wan Hong Courtyard.”
Ruan Xi released her, standing. “Keep him under watch.”
He turned to the torn screen, his gaze icy.
A trigger for memories?
Jing Miaoyi, I told you—you will never get your wish.
The sharp blade sliced through the screen.
The woman, previously drunk, now opened her eyes, sitting up and looking coldly at the destroyed screen.
She had anticipated the Duke would come. He would never let a caught duck fly.
Now she was weak, facing a powerful princess—like a stone against an egg.
She had to use everything she could, even a high emperor or allies of the princess.
As long as the princess received her due punishment, she would endure, even offering herself.
Morning came. Silence reigned. In the Chángshēng Palace, Li Dequan carefully helped the emperor dress.
Red and gold dragon robe, jade belt, hair bound and crowned, phoenix eyes sharp and dignified.
His slender fingers fiddled with the warm Bodhisattva jade pendant.
“Your Majesty, time for court.” Li Dequan whispered.
The Linhui Emperor released the pendant; it fell before his eyes. He looked at the Bodhisattva, and in his mind appeared the image: the beauty, hands clasped, head lowered, eyes teary, whispering prayers daily for His Majesty.
He smiled faintly. Looking in the mirror, majestic, imposing, none could resist his charm.
He decided to slight her for a few days so she would know the torment of desire.
In the Xuanzheng Hall, rows of civil and military officials stood solemnly.
The emperor leaned lazily, eyes half-lidded, making the officials uncertain.
His silent, commanding presence pressed even the young ministers.
Finally, bored, the emperor waved and dismissed the court.
“Your Majesty, I have a memorial,” a man in purple robes knelt.
“Speak,” the emperor replied calmly.
“The old minister’s son has been rebellious. This is my fault. I, a Jinshi of the 23rd year of Wenxuan, served as a junior scholar, then joined the Grand Minister’s office. In the third year of Zhenhui, I became Grand Minister. I’ve served faithfully, never seeking glory. Now over fifty, please spare my son in view of my lifetime of service.”
“The Grand Minister plans to leverage his merit for mercy?” Deputy Minister Ye said coldly.
“Your Majesty, the old minister dares not.”
“Dares not? Your son openly defied imperial orders. I spared his life out of regard for you, granting only palace punishment.”
“Your Majesty, my son has no heirs yet. I beg your leniency.”
The Grand Minister disregarded decorum, weeping aloud in Xuanzheng Hall.
His son had crippled Deputy Minister Ye’s heir years ago, yet had risen steadily. Now, finally, he had a chance for revenge.
The emperor watched amused as officials quarreled below.
He had noticed the magpies calling this morning and thought the court session would be lively.
“Your Majesty, although the rebellious son is impetuous, he follows your orders. Deputy Minister Ye’s accusations are slanderous; he clearly harbors resentment from past events.”
“Damn, what nonsense.”