Meng Wantang gently patted Xiao Muyan’s head. “No, he’s not sick. He’s just a little shy.”
Just then, Su Yanci seemed to notice her gaze. He lifted his head abruptly, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. Seeing Xiao Muyan in her arms and her calm expression, confusion flickered in his eyes before he quickly looked down again.
After whispering a few words to Meng Wanqing, he was hurried back to his place by the escorting officers.
Meng Wantang withdrew her gaze and looked toward the distant mountain range. The exile caravan had gathered an increasingly formidable group—Imperial Advisor, generals, princes, and even the top scholar. This was no ordinary exile convoy; it was more like a collection of the kingdom’s most notorious “outliers.”
A faint unease stirred in her heart. This exile was far more complicated than she had imagined.
Meanwhile, Meng Wanqing clung to Su Yanci’s sleeve, tears streaming down like beads, her voice choking with feigned grievance. “Scholar Su, you don’t know… all of this is because of Meng Wantang, that wretch!”
She pointed at her swollen face and the bruises on her hands, her voice growing more pitiful. “It’s her who caused the Prince to misunderstand me, who incited the officials to punish my family. If not for her, I wouldn’t be exiled. And you wouldn’t…”
Su Yanci, who had long admired her brilliance, now listened with growing indignation. His eyes, previously full of respect, darkened with suspicion and anger. “Meng… how could you be so cruel?”
Meng Wantang, holding Xiao Muyan, observed her sister’s lies with a trace of cold ridicule. She remembered all too well how Meng Wanqing had stolen her poems and couplets, taking credit for her own talent, earning the title of “Jing City’s foremost lady of letters” through deceit.
Su Yanci’s admiration had always been for Meng Wantang, yet Meng Wanqing had taken that glory, leaving her to suffer unjustly.
At that moment, a tall, arrogant figure strode over—it was the Young Prince of Anle. His posture was commanding, his handsome features sharp, even in coarse prison garb. His expression bore impatience; he clearly could not tolerate Meng Wanqing’s whining.
He stopped before Meng Wantang, towering over her, eyes blazing with contempt. “You’re Meng Wantang?”
Seeing her nod, he sneered. “So you’re the lowly concubine who dared harm your own sister, sow discord, and bring ruin to both the Jing Prince’s household and the Meng family. You even deserve to live?”
Meng Wantang met his gaze calmly, her tone icy yet sharp. “Young Prince? This isn’t the capital. We are both exiles under punishment. There is no high or low here.”
She tilted her lips into a faintly mocking smile. “You are nothing more than an exiled prisoner with no freedom. Why flaunt your princely status? What’s there to be proud of?”
“You—!” The Young Prince choked, face flushing crimson, pointing at her nose. “You, a lowly concubine, dare speak back to me?!”
“So what if I’m a concubine?” Meng Wantang raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with disdain. “At least I can protect my child and live freely. What about you? Once the Young Prince of Anle, now suffering like the rest, barely getting a meal?”
“Don’t you dare curse Mother!”
Xiao Muyan poked his head out from her arms, eyes wide, voice small but firm. “My mother is not lowly! You’re the bad one!”
The Young Prince, berated by a child, stomped angrily and reached to push Xiao Muyan. “Who dares interfere with the affairs of the Prince of Anle?!”
Quick as a shadow, Meng Wantang moved to shield Xiao Muyan, catching his wrist with force. Pain shot through him. “Try touching my child again, and see what happens.”
Her eyes flickered with lethal intent. “Don’t think your princely title makes you formidable. Here, I protect my child, while you can’t even guard yourself. Disrespect us again, and you’ll taste suffering far worse than exile.”
The Young Prince felt a chill at her fierce gaze and the sharp pain in his wrist. He hadn’t expected this seemingly delicate woman to possess such skill and deadly aura.
Those around murmured in astonishment at the display.
Su Yanci, standing nearby, watched Meng Wantang protect her child and then glanced at the Young Prince’s sour expression. Doubt stirred in his heart. Was Meng Wantang really as malicious as Meng Wanqing had claimed?
Meng Wanqing froze, stunned that Meng Wantang dared confront the Young Prince and even lay hands on him. For once, she forgot to cry, her gaze fixed on Meng Wantang in fear and fury.
Meng Wantang released the Young Prince’s wrist, casting a cold glance at him. “Mind your tongue, and don’t provoke me again.”
She scooped up Xiao Muyan and walked away, leaving the Young Prince clutching his wrist, face alternating between red and pale.
Anger and humiliation burned within him. Born into privilege as the Emperor’s Anle Prince, no one in the capital had dared defy him—let alone strike back.
Moreover, Meng Wanqing had once saved him, leaving him in her debt.
Now, seeing Meng Wantang “bully” her, he was incensed.
“You lowly woman… you dare resist?!”
With a roar, he swung a fist at her, trained since childhood, filled with both strength and fury—enough to crush an ordinary woman.
Meng Wantang’s eyes narrowed. Holding Xiao Muyan, she sidestepped with grace, effortlessly evading the blow.
Before he could recover, she grabbed his arm, twisted it sharply—crack!—and with his scream, his arm was bent behind his back.
“You dare strike me?!” The Young Prince, forehead sweating, still refused to yield.
His free hand flailed, but Meng Wantang gave him no opportunity.
A swift kick struck the back of his knee. He collapsed with a heavy thud.
She released his arm, delivering a crisp slap to his face. The sound echoed across the resting area.
Half his face swelled red, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.
“You…” The Young Prince’s eyes widened in disbelief and pain. He hadn’t expected this seemingly fragile woman to be so formidable—he couldn’t even retaliate.