Rulan walked back along the mountain trail, her broad frame moving with a heavy, steady stride.
Her robes were thoroughly ruined.
Her hair, usually pinned in elaborate palace knots, was coming loose, a stray lock dangling beside her cheek, and her left golden hairpin was missing entirely, likely swallowed by the dry creek bed.
She was exhausted.
Her thighs throbbed, her lungs felt scraped, and her stomach was beginning to let out low, warning rumbles.
‘What a completely ridiculous afternoon’, Rulan thought dryly, brushing a speck of dirt off her wrist.
‘I left the palace to bypass court politics, wandered into a forest, rescued a troublesome boy, got diagnosed by a blunt old man with a satchel and now I’m on a lockdown.’
Beside her, Lian’er was hovering nervously, torn between relief that her princess was alive and sheer horror at her physical appearance.
“Your Highness… if other nobles the palace attendants see you in this state, they will think you were ambushed by mountain bandits!”
“Let them think what they want,” Rulan said, unbothered.
“Bandits would have been far less effort.”
Rulan stepped out into a shaded stone courtyard framed by cypress trees.
Standing near a carved stone bench was a small group of people.
At the center stood an elderly noblewoman, supported by a carved ebony walking staff.
She wore high-grade, unadorned navy silk robes lined with silver thread—a subtle, understated luxury that shouted wealth rather than ostentation.
Two maids and a middle-aged senior attendant stood half a step behind her, holding silk parasols and incense boxes.
Lian’er froze, her voice dropping into a frantic, barely audible whisper against Rulan’s ear: “Your Highness… that is Old Duchess Shen! The matriarch of the Shen clan. The Shen family is one of the oldest noble houses in Great Liang, with a hereditary ducal title and influence spread across several generations of officials.”
Rulan’s eyes narrowed slightly, filing the detail away.
The Shen family was one of the oldest noble houses in Great Liang—a neutral, deeply influential clan that even her imperial brother treated with absolute deference.
The old matriarch turned her head as the rustle of clothes announced their arrival.
Her face was lined with deep wrinkles, but her dark eyes were remarkably clear, sharp, and alert.
Her gaze swept over Rulan instantly.
She took in the mud-caked skirts, the messy hair, the missing hairpin, and the faint, red scratch running across the back of Rulan’s right hand.
Rulan stood her ground.
In a court setting, looking like a dragged-out vagrant before a high-ranking matriarch was an absolute scandal.
But Rulan simply smoothed her dirty sleeves, maintaining a straight, unbothered posture.
Instead of gasping or panicking, Old Duchess Shen merely looked at her with a quiet, measuring expression.
“Your Highness,” the old matriarch spoke, her voice dry, steady, and entirely devoid of the nervous flattery Rulan mostly encountered.
“It appears you have had quite a morning.”
“Duchess Shen,” Rulan acknowledged, bowing her head in a simple, polite gesture.
“It seems my walk took a minor detour.”
“A detour into a riverbed, by the look of your skirts,” Duchess Shen observed, her eyes twinkling with a faint, dry amusement.
“Did Her Highness lose her way on the mountain?”
“I encountered a small accident in the upper woods,” Rulan replied smoothly, keeping the explanation vague.
“Someone was trapped beneath some fallen timber near the creek. I assisted in moving it.”
The old matriarch raised a silver eyebrow.
“I hadn’t originally planned on doing heavy labor,” Rulan admitted plainly.
“The wood was simply in the way.”
Duchess Shen studied her face for a long, quiet moment.
In the capital, the Fourth Imperial Princess was infamous—a spoiled, screaming, arrogant terror who threw teacups at servants and demanded absolute submission from everyone around her.
Yet the woman standing before her now was calm, grounded, and entirely unbothered by her own ruined appearance.
“The rumors in the capital describe the Fourth Princess as a lady who refuses to step on unwashed flagstones,” Duchess Shen remarked softly, tilting her head.
“Yet here you stand, covered in dirt, completely unconcerned.”
Rulan didn’t get defensive.
She didn’t offer a dramatic defense of her character.
“Surviving a severe illness has a way of changing one’s perspective on what actually matters, Duchess,” Rulan said, her eyes meeting the old woman’s gaze with absolute calm.
“Dirt washes off.”
Duchess Shen didn’t press the matter.
Whatever conclusion she had reached, she kept it to herself.
Her eyes drifted down to Rulan’s right hand, noticing a thin trail of dried blood where a sharp wooden splint had grazed her skin.
“Your hand is bleeding, Princess,” Duchess Shen noted quietly.
Rulan glanced down at the scratch.
“It’s nothing. A scrape.”
“Small wounds have a habit of becoming troublesome if left in the dirt,” the old matriarch said dryly.
She turned her head slightly to her senior attendant.
“A Ling, give Her Highness the jar of green plum salve from my carriage.”
“There is no need—” Rulan began.
“Take it,” Duchess Shen interrupted smoothly, her tone bearing the gentle, unyielding authority of an elder who did not accept arguments from younger generations.
“It prevents swelling.”
Before Rulan could respond, the heavy, mouth-watering aroma of roasted meats and sweet pastries drifted across the stone wall from an adjacent pavilion, where servants were carrying lunch trays to the noble guest quarters.
Rulan’s stomach, thoroughly depleted from lifting heavy oak beams, let out a loud, distinct growl.
Lian’er turned red to her ears, looking ready to sink into the stone floor.
Rulan, however, didn’t even blink.
She simply rested a hand over her abdomen.
Duchess Shen’s lips twitched, a genuine, amused smile breaking across her wrinkled face.
“It seems the mountain air has given Her Highness an appetite.”
“I haven’t eaten in several hours,” Rulan admitted truthfully.
“And moving timber uses a surprising amount of energy.”
“A Ling,” Duchess Shen commanded her attendant, “have our kitchen staff send a tray of steamed pork buns and chicken soup to the Fourth Princess’s pavilion immediately.” Read this novel at novelping(.)com for the best experience.
“Thank you, Duchess,” Rulan said, genuinely appreciative.
Rulan accepted the offer with considerably more enthusiasm than she would have shown for another compliment about her virtues.
Steamed pork buns were far more useful than praise.
“Have you always enjoyed wandering into unknown spaces, Princess?” Duchess Shen asked, leaning lightly against her wooden staff as they walked a few steps toward the main path.
“Not particularly,” Rulan replied dryly.
“I prefer quiet, predictable environments where things stay where I put them. I only went into the woods because I heard someone shouting for help.”
Duchess Shen paused, looking at her sideways.
“And you stopped to help? Without knowing who it was?”
“A voice shouting in an empty forest usually means someone is about to die,” Rulan said.
“Someone shouting for help in an empty forest usually means someone is about to die. I thought it was worth checking.”
The old matriarch let out a soft, low chuckle.
“Worth checking. I see.”
She stopped near the arched gateway leading back toward the main terrace, turning to face Rulan once more.
“You seem very different from the princess I remember at the Spring Banquet three years ago,” Duchess Shen said softly.
Rulan raised an eyebrow.
“Did you know me well back then?”
“Not personally,” Duchess Shen replied, her clear eyes holding Rulan’s gaze.
“I have sat in the background of this court for forty years, Princess. I watch people. Most people in the capital are busy acting out a play they think everyone else is watching. You… do not seem to be acting.”
Rulan stayed silent, offering neither a confirmation nor a denial.
“Go wash the mud from your face, Princess,” Duchess Shen said, offering a small, polite nod of farewell.
“And have your soup while it is warm.”
“Good day, Duchess,” Rulan bowed her head respectfully.
The old matriarch turned and walked slowly toward her private courtyard, flanked by her quiet attendants.
Rulan stood on the flagstones, watching the old woman’s navy robes disappear around the corner.
“That was Old Dowager Duchess Shen…” Lian’er whispered, still looking shaken.
“She rarely speaks to anyone outside her own family! Even the high ministers treat her with immense caution!”
Rulan turned her steps back toward her guest pavilion, her eyes thoughtful.
Duchess Shen had been entirely different from the other nobles Rulan had encountered.
She wasn’t terrified of the Fourth Princess’s infamous temper, nor was she eager to flatter her for political favor.
She had observed Rulan’s ruined clothes, her scraped hand, her un-courtly speech, and her sudden hunger—and had processed every single detail without asking a single intrusive question.
‘She sees everything’, Rulan thought, stepping past the double-guarded gateway of her own courtyard.
‘And she keeps her own counsel.’
In a court filled with noisy, scheming players, an old woman who watched everything in silence was a dangerous force.
Rulan walked into her bedchamber, taking off her mud-stained clothes.
Tomorrow morning, she still had to reach Master Lu Zhen’s medicinal garden.
But for now, a warm bath and a tray of Duchess Shen’s steamed pork buns were waiting.