“Your Highness, the escort general requests an audience before departure,” Lian’er announced, stepping back from the carriage door.
Rulan paused on the mounting block, her green silk robes rustling softly against the polished wood.
She looked down at the courtyard below, where the silver-armored officer stood at the head of his mount.
He dismounted with practiced efficiency, his boots clicking sharply against the stone pavers.
He bowed, his posture rigid and formal, his right fist pressed firmly into his left palm in a standard military salute.
“General Meng of the Imperial Northern Guard greets the Fourth Imperial Princess,” he said, his voice deep, clear, and perfectly modulated.
“His Majesty has entrusted Your Highness’s safety to my unit. We will proceed directly along the northern high road toward White Cloud Temple without detour. All security checkpoints along the route have been notified, and the mountain path has been cleared for your convoy.”
Rulan looked at the man standing before her.
“General Meng?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
She studied him for another moment.
“Are you related to Grand Scholar Meng?”
General Meng paused, a flicker of brief confusion crossing his face.
“No, Your Highness.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Rulan nodded slowly, keeping her expression perfectly serious.
“That’s surprising.”
“Why?”
“You both have the same surname.”
General Meng stared at her for a moment in complete, deadpan silence.
“There are quite a few people named Meng in Great Liang, Princess.”
“I see.” Rulan glanced toward the palace road stretching past the outer courtyard.
“For a moment, I thought the Meng family was trying to conquer the court through sheer numbers.”
General Meng’s eyelid twitched slightly, but he quickly recovered his formal soldierly composure with a low cough.
“I assure Your Highness, my lineage consists entirely of border officers and foot soldiers. We have no scholars in the bloodline.”
Rulan leaned back slightly, her eye taking in his relaxed shoulders and steady posture.
His manners were impeccably respectful, his speech flawless, and his bearing beyond reproach.
Yet, she noted the subtle absence of genuine deference.
He didn’t hate her, nor did he fear her notorious temper.
To General Meng, the Fourth Princess was simply an assigned piece of cargo that needed to be transported from Point A to Point B without suffering damage.
Rulan felt a quiet wave of genuine relief.
An indifferent professional was infinitely better than a zealous guard who inspected her every breath.
“We shall depart on your word, General,” Rulan replied smoothly.
“Ensure the pace is steady.”
“As Your Highness commands,” General Meng bowed once more, turning on his heel to bark orders at his lieutenants.
Rulan lifted her skirts and stepped into the spacious interior of the main royal carriage.
The carriage was less a vehicle and more a small mobile room, featuring thick velvet cushions, a carved sandalwood tea table, and small brass braziers to ward off the morning chill.
Sitting nervously on the secondary bench opposite Lian’er was a junior palace maid clad in pink silk, holding a small wooden box of cosmetics.
Rulan’s eyes fell upon the extra servant.
She stopped mid-stride.
“Who are you?” Rulan asked flatly.
The maid flinched, dropping her gaze instantly.
“Reporting to Your Highness, I am Xiao Rong from the Household Bureau’s protocol division. I was assigned by the chief supervisor to assist Your Highness with robe changes and makeup during the trip—”
“Out,” Rulan said.
Xiao Rong froze, blinking up in sheer panic.
“Y-Your Highness? But the supervisor explicitly stated—”
“Lian’er will attend to me,” Rulan cut her off, her voice devoid of heat, yet utterly final.
“I do not require three people sitting in a closed box staring at me for two hours. Step down.”
The maid looked frantically toward Lian’er for help, but Lian’er merely stood straight, keeping her face perfectly impassive.
Realizing there was no room for debate, Xiao Rong bowed hurriedly, gathered her cosmetic box, and scrambled out of the carriage door as fast as her slippers allowed. This story is hosted at novelping.com.
Rulan sat down heavily on the soft velvet bench, smoothing her sleeves.
“Close the door, Lian’er.”
Lian’er pulled the carriage door shut, cutting off the noisy courtyard air outside.
She slid onto the bench opposite Rulan, her hands resting neatly in her lap.
Rulan leaned her head against the padded backrest.
In her past life, she had never tolerated unnecessary personnel near her command posts; every extra mouth was a potential security breach, and every extra pair of eyes was an unwanted distraction.
If she was going to navigate this trip, she needed total control over her immediate environment.
The carriage lurched forward with a heavy rumble as the cavalrymen formed up around the wooden chassis, their horses’ hooves rhythmically striking the stone road.
At first, Rulan felt a faint spark of optimism.
The carriage passed through the inner palace gates, crossed the massive central parade grounds, and finally rattled beneath the thick archway of the capital’s outer northern wall.
She was outside.
The suffocating stone box had opened.
However, her optimism dissolved rapidly over the next hour.
The grand imperial procession moved with agonizing, deliberate slowness.
Because of the size of the escort, General Meng maintained a strict, unyielding marching formation.
There were no spontaneous stops, no detours into the bustling market streets, and zero opportunities to step down and wander into the capital’s commercial alleys.
Every time the carriage slowed down near a roadside tea house or a merchant stall, Rulan leaned forward, hoping for a brief halt—only to watch the armored guards push the crowds aside and clear the path, maintaining an unbroken forward trajectory.
Rulan sat back, her brow furrowing into a deep, irritated scowl.
Her original objective had been elegant and simple: step outside the palace, slip into a quiet back street, locate an independent physician, get a quick diagnostic check on her organ toxicity, and return before anyone noticed.
Instead, she was effectively trapped inside a moving gilded cage, surrounded by a wall of black-armored soldiers clearing a two-mile radius around her.
“Your Highness?” Lian’er asked cautiously, noticing the darkening expression on Rulan’s face.
“Are you feeling unwell from the carriage’s movement?”
“How much longer until we reach this temple?” Rulan asked, her tone dry enough to ignite kindle.
Lian’er pulled back the window curtain an inch, peering out at the passing pine trees and mountain slopes.
“We have already cleared the capital outskirts, Your Highness. We are ascending the lower winding path of Mount White Cloud now. We should arrive at the main outer gates in roughly two incense sticks’ worth of time.”
Rulan grunted softly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Escaping an armored military convoy mid-transit was foolish and unnecessary.
She forced her mind to cool down, filing her frustration away.
She had survived years in post-apocalyptic ruins by exercising absolute patience when waiting for openings.
She would wait until they reached the mountain compound.
Two incense sticks later, the carriage wheels ground to a heavy, final stop against paved mountain stone.
The heavy wooden door was pulled open from the outside, and a palace attendant bowed low, extending a hand to assist the princess.
Rulan stepped down onto the stone terrace, drawing in a long, quiet breath of the mountain air.
It was sharp, crisp, and filled with the clean scents of pine needles, wet moss, and burning cedar incense.
She looked up at the White Cloud Temple.
The monastery was a grand, sprawling complex built directly into the steep granite cliffs of the mountain.
Tiered red-tiled roofs curved upward toward the pale autumn sky, connected by sweeping stone staircases and painted wooden walkways.
However, as Rulan scanned the grand entrance courtyard, she immediately realized her initial assumptions about the place had been entirely wrong.
This was not a quiet, isolated, ascetic mountain retreat where monks lived in silent contemplation.
The wide stone plaza was filled with dozens of luxurious, polished wooden carriages bearing high-ranking family crests.
Elegant noble ladies in shimmering silk cloaks walked beneath silk parasols, flanked by retinues of servants carrying elaborate brass incense burners and carved lacquer offering chests.
Wealthy merchants in fur-trimmed robes conversed in low, respectful tones with senior Buddhist monks wearing yellow silk robes.
So this was White Cloud Temple.
It wasn’t some quiet mountain temple where ordinary worshippers came to burn incense and leave.
Noble families clearly came here regularly.
As General Meng began coordinating the guards around the main temple staircase, Rulan stepped forward, flanked by Lian’er and four palace maids.
As she passed a group of wealthy young women standing near a carved marble incense burner, a low, quiet whisper drifted across the breeze:
“…look at her… she really is as broad as a pig…”
Rulan stopped dead in her tracks.
Beside her, Lian’er’s face went instantly pale with sheer horror.
The young maid who had uttered the insult turned her head—only to find the Fourth Imperial Princess standing less than three feet away, staring directly down at her with cold eyes.
The maid’s eyes went wide with sudden terror.
The Fourth Princess’s reputation for violent, uncontrollable outbursts and immediate physical abuse was legendary throughout the capital.
The maid’s knees buckled, and she began sinking toward the cold stone flags, her whole body trembling violently as she prepared to beg for her life.
Rulan simply stood there, looking at the cowering maid.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Rulan looked down at her own robes, inspecting her thick waist and wide sleeves, before raising her gaze back to the servant’s trembling face.
“Are you jealous?” Rulan asked, her voice calm, clear, and genuinely curious.
The maid froze mid-bow, her jaw hanging open, completely paralyzed by the bizarre question.
“W-What… Your Highness…?”
“You were staring at my body rather carefully,” Rulan said, tilting her head slightly.
“I assumed you found something worthy of admiration.”
The surrounding noble ladies gasped softly, pulling their sleeves over their mouths in absolute shock.
Lian’er stood behind Rulan, her face twitching as she desperately forced her mouth into a rigid, neutral line.
“Be more careful with your whispers,” Rulan added casually, smoothing down her sleeve.
“Your voice carries.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned smoothly and continued walking up the grand stone staircase, her green skirts sweeping across the clean stone.
General Meng, who had observed the entire exchange from ten paces away while holding the reins of his warhorse, blinked in quiet surprise.
He had already tightened his grip on his sword hilt, fully expecting the spoiled princess to demand the immediate whipping or arrest of the servant, which would have created an embarrassing public scene among the capital nobility.
Instead, she had dismissed the insult with a single, bizarrely calm remark and moved on.
General Meng shook his head slightly, releasing his sword hilt.
He stepped up to the lower staircase, motioning for his officers to take up defensive positions around the outer pavilion.
“Princess,” General Meng called out formally as she reached the middle landing.
“The inner courtyard has been cleared. If Your Highness requires anything specific for the prayer service, please instruct the temple attendants.”
“Thank you, General,” Rulan called back without stopping.
General Meng bowed and turned his attention back to dispersing his guards along the perimeter wall.
He didn’t follow her up the final flight of steps into the inner temple grounds—there was no need to.
She was surrounded by four palace maids, two eunuchs, and a dozen temple monks.
She was entirely secure within the mountain compound.
Rulan, reaching the top of the terrace, glanced back over her shoulder.
She saw General Meng standing at the bottom of the long staircase, his back turned to her as he directed horse traffic near the outer gates.
He was not hovering over her shoulder.
He was not tracking her steps.
‘He sees a secure place’, Rulan realized, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed the guard layout.
‘He doesn’t care what I do inside the compound as long as no one attacks from the outside.’
It was a classic security blind spot.
Rulan turned back around, taking in the full view of the inner temple courtyard.
This was not the isolated, rural sanctuary she had envisioned, but as Rulan stood beneath the sweeping eaves of the main hall, excitement flared within her chest.
This place was different from the palace.
The people walking these stone paths came from noble households, wealthy merchant families, and estates scattered throughout the capital.
They had their own servants, their own connections, and undoubtedly their own physicians.
Rulan’s eyes moved slowly across the courtyard.
She didn’t need the entire palace to help her.
She only needed to find one person who knew a doctor she could trust.
She was no longer trapped inside a closed room with Physician Zhao and a poisoned cup.
Rulan smoothed her sleeves, a small, unreadable smile touching her lips as she looked across the crowded, bustling courtyard.
White Cloud Temple was not what she had expected.
It was better.