After leaving Yikun Palace, the sun had already begun to set.
Ning Nuannuan carried the pair of mutton-fat white jade bracelets given by Guoluoluo Shi, her mind still piecing together fragments of gossip she had heard in the rear hall. Yinzhen walked beside her, his expression not looking too good—it was obvious that his mother, Consort Yi, had not said anything pleasant when she kept him behind.
“What did your mother say?” Ning Nuannuan asked.
Yinzhen pressed his lips into a thin line, walking more than ten steps before replying, “She told me to manage the inner courtyard properly and not let outsiders laugh at us.”
“That’s it?”
“She also said—” he paused, “that the Dong’e family’s status is too low. She wasn’t willing when the marriage was first granted.”
Ning Nuannuan gave a simple “oh,” showing little reaction.
Yinzhen glanced at her. If it were any other woman, hearing her mother-in-law criticize her family background would at least bring tears to her eyes. But this one didn’t even change her expression.
“You… aren’t angry?”
“Would being angry help? Family status comes from one’s parents—I can’t change it.”
Yinzhen couldn’t quite describe the feeling, but the frustration in his chest eased a little.
The two sedan chairs exited the western gate of the imperial city and turned south along a narrow road by the palace walls. This was their usual route back to the Ninth Prince’s residence—direct and avoiding crowded areas.
Ning Nuannuan sat in the sedan, leaving a small gap in the curtain for air. The autumn sunlight slanted across the palace walls, red walls and yellow tiles reflecting the evening glow. It was beautiful—but cold.
After about fifteen minutes, they turned into a wide alley.
High walls and grand residences lined both sides—homes of nobles and officials. At this hour, the alley was nearly empty, with only the occasional carriage passing by, the sound of wheels echoing against the stone pavement.
Ning Nuannuan leaned back against the cushion, eyes closed, thinking about her plans for the silk shop the day after tomorrow.
Suddenly, the sedan jolted violently.
The eunuchs carrying it lost their footing.
“What’s going on?” She lifted the curtain.
About twenty meters ahead, a carriage burst out from a side alley—or rather, a horse that had broken free, dragging half a carriage shaft, charging straight toward them.
It was a reddish-brown Mongolian horse, large and powerful. Its hooves pounded wildly, foam hung from its mouth, its eyes rolled white, and its mane bristled—it was clearly in a panicked state.
The four eunuchs carrying the sedan panicked on the spot. The two in front dropped the poles and ran. The two behind reacted a moment too late, the falling sedan smashing into their feet before they scrambled away.
The sedan hit the ground with a loud bang, tilting sideways.
Ning Nuannuan braced herself with one hand on the frame, keeping her balance.
Yinzhen, riding nearby and speaking with He Yuzhu, caught sight of the scene from the corner of his eye. His face turned pale.
“Stop it! Stop that horse!” he shouted at the guards.
Among the six guards, two reacted quickly, drawing their swords and charging forward to intercept. But the panicked horse was incredibly strong and fast. It crashed into the first guard, knocking both man and horse into the wall.
The second guard slashed the rope connecting the carriage shaft, but once freed of the weight, the horse sped up even more.
Now unrestrained, it charged straight toward Ning Nuannuan’s sedan.
Less than fifteen meters away.
A hoarse shout tore from Yinzhen’s throat, “Nuannuan!”
Not “Madam,” not “you.”
Ning Nuannuan had already stepped out of the tilted sedan.
She ripped off the heavy gold hair ornaments from her head and tossed them inside. They were a hindrance—shaking loose and hitting her face.
The pounding of hooves grew louder, striking the stone in rapid, dull beats.
Ning Nuannuan stepped forward, standing in the middle of the alley.
Ten meters.
Seven.
Five.
She could smell the sweat of the horse, see the hot breath bursting from its nostrils.
“Move aside!” the guards shouted from behind.
She didn’t move.
She acted.
About half an incense stick of time before the sedan fell, at the eastern end of the alley, an inconspicuous carriage with blue curtains had been parked by the back gate of a large residence.
The curtain lifted slightly, revealing half a face.
A young man, around twenty-five or twenty-six, with refined features and fair skin. He wore a dark blue robe and held a folding fan—completely unnecessary in such cold weather, purely for show.
“Master, they’ve left the palace,” reported a servant in black outside the carriage. “Two sedan chairs, six guards, Ninth Master riding behind. They’re taking the west alley route along the palace wall.”
The man inside closed his fan and tapped it lightly against his palm.
“Is the horse ready?”
“It is. We found an inexperienced driver and tied a sharpened bamboo spike beneath the carriage shaft. Once the horse is pricked, it will go mad. It will look like an ordinary accident.”
The man’s lips curved slightly upward.
“Is it clean?”
“Rest assured. The carriage can’t be traced back to us. Even if someone investigates, it will only lead to a labor group outside Chongwen Gate—nothing connected to our residence.”
The man nodded and lowered the curtain.
“Let’s go. Take a detour back.”
The carriage disappeared silently into a side alley.
Back in the alley, the panicked horse continued charging forward.
Yinzhen’s hands trembled. He tried to rush forward, but his own horse, frightened by the commotion, spun in place, refusing to obey no matter how he pulled the reins.
He Yuzhu had already rolled off his horse, crouching by the wall with his head covered, muttering prayers.
Of the six guards, two had been knocked away, two were in pursuit, and the remaining two were stuck between Yinzhen and the sedan, unable to advance or retreat.
Yinzhen watched helplessly as the maddened Mongolian horse charged straight toward Ning Nuannuan.
He cursed loudly, leaped off his horse, his legs weak as he staggered forward—
And then he saw a scene he would never forget for the rest of his life.