Beauty, Power and Intrigue Chapter 16

Mei watched Zhao Yilou make such an indecorous move and couldn’t help but frown slightly. “Qiao only thinks that you need to bathe and change clothes.”

Zhao Yilou glanced at Song Chuyi, saw her properly lowering her head, and said, “Can I bring her with me?”

“Qiao gave no such instruction. You need not worry. The caravan will stop and set up camp for your bath, and your servant will not be far from you,” Mei said softly, but impatience had already crept into her eyes.

Zhao Yilou pressed his thin lips into a line, was silent for a moment, then shifted his body and descended from the carriage.

“Brother Yiyue…” As soon as the man left, Zhang Yi edged closer to Song Chuyi.

Had Song Chuyi not known Zhang Yi’s future, she might have let it pass, but since she did know and was inclined to befriend him, she said, “Song Chuyi, courtesy name Huaijin.”

Zhang Yi was taken aback for a moment, but did not blame her for having given him a false name earlier. He straightened up and cupped his hands in salute. “I am a few years older than you. From now on, I shall call you Huaijin – what do you say?”

“Ha, you’re too kind. You’re hardly just a few years older than me,” Song Chuyi said with a cupped-hand smile. She only spoke the first half of the sentence; the second half could have been: “With that appearance of yours, you’re probably old enough to be my father,” or alternatively: “You look about the same age as me, actually.”

The two were completely opposite in meaning – one sarcastic, the other flattering. How one interpreted it would depend entirely on the listener’s mood.

A single word can rejuvenate a state, and a glib tongue can bring a kingdom to ruin. As a strategist and diplomat, Zhang Yi himself placed great stock in the subtle power of language. Song Chuyi’s remark was merely a jest – he knew it carried a hint of teasing, but he found it rather amusing. With a hearty laugh, he said, “Huaijin, you and I are truly kindred spirits. Stranded together here as we are, it is like two wayfarers meeting a bosom friend at the ends of the earth. My name is Zhang Yi, my courtesy name Duanrong.”

“Duanrong” signifies composure, dignity, and grace – qualities befitting the name Yi (which means “ceremony” or “propriety”).

In general, one’s given name and courtesy name are related, the latter serving as a complement to the former. Song Chuyi’s original courtesy name was Yinyue, meaning “the first day of the first month” – merely a record of the date, with only a tenuous connection to her name, which rather suggests that her father’s cultural cultivation was… unconventional, to say the least. Later, her teacher bestowed upon her the courtesy name “Huaijin,” and had initially intended to change her given name to Song Yu (so that it would echo the phrase “huaijin wo yu” – “cherishing jade and holding pearls”), but out of respect for her late father, he ultimately allowed her to keep her original name.

As the two conversed, and with Song Chuyi deliberately steering the talk to please him, their initial wariness quickly dissolved. After chatting for a while, they gradually discovered that many of their ideas coincided, and they had much to say on current affairs as well.

When minds and interests align, bosom friends are made – such was generally how scholars of the Warring States period formed bonds.

The two of them huddled in the carriage, whispering and chattering away, utterly lost in their conversation, until someone lifted the carriage curtain. Only then did they reluctantly fall silent and turn their heads in unison to look at the newcomer. At that sight, both were taken aback.

Standing outside the carriage was a figure clad in ivory-white brocade finery, with wide sleeves and silk sashes, the collars and cuffs trimmed in dark orchid-blue and embroidered with azure and moon-white patterns of the chi xiao (a mythical bird). A band of black fur was wrapped around his neck, and his still slightly damp ink-dark hair was loosely tied behind him. The contours of his face bore the gentle lines unique to youth, yet when he raised his sword-sharp brows that swept toward his temples, a touch of coldness crept in. His eyes – just as Song Chuyi had seen them the first time – gleamed like cold stars in the night, as though they held the entire deep, dark sky: bright, yet distant and chill.

With one hand holding up the curtain, he stood outside the carriage. Seeing the two inside staring at him in dumbfounded amazement, he turned his face away in slight embarrassment, lowering his head to the side.

“A gentleman of such elegance, with a dragon’s bearing and a phoenix’s grace, peerlessly beautiful – there is none to compare,” Zhang Yi exclaimed in admiration. Had it not been for the bruise at the corner of Zhao Yilou’s mouth, he truly would not have recognized that this fair youth was the very same tattered, cowering figure from before.

Song Chuyi had known he was handsome, but she had never imagined that once properly dressed, he would be so striking to the eye. Remembering that not long ago she had touched and examined every part of him, she felt a warm sensation rising in her nasal passages. Once again, she felt that she had lost out considerably by not having copped a few more feels.

“Young Master, may we go now?” Mei’s voice was several times gentler and more melodious than before, enough to make one’s heart tremble at the sound.

Only then did Song Chuyi understand why Youqiao placed such great importance on Zhao Yilou – she was far more discerning than Song Chuyi herself. Zhao Yilou furrowed his brow and stood before the carriage, reluctant to leave with Mei. He stood there, and the mere slight knit of his brows was enough to break one’s heart. No one came forward to urge him, and for a moment, silence fell all around.

Song Chuyi stared at him and noticed that it seemed to be snowing outside – fine, crystalline ice particles had settled upon the black fur around his neck.

“If the young master does not wish to go, then come inside,” Song Chuyi said softly.

Zhao Yilou broke into a radiant smile and climbed back into the carriage.

“Young Master…” Mei’s voice came urgently from outside the carriage. “Young Master, Qiao is still waiting for you.”

“If he says he’s not going, then he’s not going. You maid, why must you pester him so?” Zhang Yi had suffered no small amount of mistreatment at their hands over these past days. He had been bound and brought here against his will, his heart full of resentment, so naturally he would not give them the slightest face.

No one replied from outside the carriage; only the sound of hurried retreating footsteps could be heard.

Song Chuyi let out a sigh. It seemed that escape was hopeless in the near future. With looks like Zhao Yilou’s, it meant he could afford to be willful without facing excessive reprimand, and his treatment would only improve from here on – but it also meant that Youqiao would keep an even stricter watch over him.

Zhang Yi also realized this problem, and he and Song Chuyi exchanged a glance, both at a loss for words.

“Huaijin.” Zhao Yilou seemed somewhat uneasy. He had always known that his looks were extraordinary – that was precisely why he had secluded himself in the mountains, afraid to approach others. Just now, after his bath, the way those people had looked at him told him that this was a calamity, not a blessing.

“Don’t worry,” Song Chuyi said softly, offering a word of comfort.

Zhao Yilou nodded and fell silent.

Song Chuyi let out another sigh. Originally, she had only intended to use Zhao Yilou for her own purposes, and when the time came to flee the caravan, she might not necessarily take him along. But this child had placed all his trust in her so readily, which stirred something deep within her.

She knew that Zhao Yilou appeared somewhat timid only because he had been alone for so long. One could read a person’s character from their eyes – he was stubborn and proud, a man of backbone who would never resign himself to being treated as a plaything. With such a face, his fate would inevitably be grim.

As she had expected, Qiao indeed did not press too hard. The caravan halted only briefly before resuming its journey.

“Did Qiao stop the entire caravan and set up camp just to give that beauty a bath?” Zhang Yi found it hard to believe, for every extra day spent on the road meant considerable consumption of supplies – not something an ordinary performer’s troupe could easily afford.

Song Chuyi was already plotting in her mind. She must seize the right moment to escape, for once they entered the city and Qiao made contact with her network, it would become even more difficult. “She must have great use for that beauty Zhao.”

Though the term “beauty” was not exclusive to women, it still sounded rather lacking in manly vigor. Zhao Yilou was quite displeased and, lowering his demands, said, “You may call me Zhao Xiaochong if you like.”

Zhang Yi folded his hands in his sleeves and chuckled. “Our looks are heaven-given. Those of us blessed with such bearing as ours bear a suffering that ordinary folk cannot comprehend. Endure it, then – if you do not wish to be reduced to mere appearance, you must only grow stronger.”

Song Chuyi stared wide-eyed. Needless to say, the so-called “ordinary folk” referred to no one but her. Outside, the sky gradually darkened; snow fell intermittently, never heavy, but never ceasing entirely. Thanks to Zhao Yilou, two thick quilts were added to the carriage that night, and both Song Chuyi and Zhang Yi were given a special opportunity to bathe, along with two changes of clothing.

In the days that followed, as Song Chuyi had predicted, the guards around the carriage increased by a full threefold, nearly forming an impenetrable encirclement. Zhang Yi and Song Chuyi no longer dared to discuss current affairs, nor did they dare to plot their escape. They each kept their own counsel, exchanging only a few words whenever an opportunity arose.