As daylight broke, the inn came to life. A young attendant walked along the corridor, carrying exquisite meals into the rooms.
“Food’s here!”
Cheng Ping, who had been freed from his restraints, taken a bath, and changed into fresh clothes, rubbed his hands together eagerly. With an almost exaggerated sense of anticipation, he admired the food placed before him on the table.
Perhaps aware of his own lack of decorum, he smiled at the others in the room.
“I haven’t eaten in days,” he said.
The two women forced faint smiles in response.
“Please, help yourself,” they said.
“Are you satisfied with everything?” one of the attendants asked.
Seeing the respectful faces before him, no longer filled with scorn or addressing him as “little swindler,” Cheng Ping raised his chopsticks and smiled.
“Very satisfied, very satisfied. But there’s no need to treat me like this anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Predicting fortunes inevitably leads to this—who wants to hear bad news? What happened to me is just retribution, and besides, you didn’t even lay a hand on me.”
As he spoke, he rubbed his wrists, arms, and legs.
The attendants exchanged glances, then knelt and sat formally on the floor.
“We apologize for offending you,” they said, bowing respectfully.
Since their lady had apologized, it was only right that they did the same.
Cheng Ping laughed heartily.
“No, no,” he said. “She didn’t apologize for this.”
Everyone in the room was taken aback, looking up at him in confusion.
Not for this? Then what for?
Cheng Ping paused with his chopsticks, then picked up his bowl.
“It must be because of someone she knew who looked like me,” he said, before adding with a light laugh, “Of course, she was also apologizing for the fright I got as a substitute.”
What on earth is he talking about?
The people in the room grew even more bewildered.
“Anyway, there’s no need to worry,” Cheng Ping said, waving his chopsticks cheerfully. “The fact that your lady acted this way means she’s clear-headed and fine now. Let’s eat, let’s eat!”
With that, he began devouring his meal in large, eager mouthfuls.
After leaving the room, the two women personally brought breakfast to Cheng Jiao-niang.
Following her emotional outburst in front of Cheng Ping, she had not fainted from agitation or wandered off as everyone had feared. Instead, she had returned to her room.
“Miss, please eat something,” one of the women said softly. “You’ve skipped two meals already and stayed up all night.”
Seated amidst a pile of books and scrolls, Cheng Jiao-niang looked up and nodded.
“Very well,” she replied.
The women were overjoyed, and the attendants breathed a sigh of relief.
When they had first set out with this young woman, they had felt entirely at ease. No matter what challenges or people they encountered, she had always handled everything with swift and decisive efficiency. But this time, the issue was not with others or external events—it was something deeply personal to the lady herself.
Truly, as the saying goes, it is easier to help others than to help oneself.
Rapid footsteps echoed from outside. Everyone turned to see Ban Qin, her face weathered and cloak dusted with frost, rushing in. Close behind her was Steward Cao, his expression equally anxious and worried.
“Miss!”
“What happened?”
Ban Qin called out as she hurried into the room, while Steward Cao stopped to question the attendants.
“It’s a long story… Truth be told, we’re not entirely sure what’s going on ourselves…”
Ban Qin didn’t catch the attendants’ words outside. As she entered the room, her eyes fell on Cheng Jiao-niang, who was quietly eating.
“Miss!” she cried out.
Cheng Jiao-niang set down her bowl and chopsticks, looking up at her with a faint smile.
That smile brought fresh tears to Ban Qin’s eyes, reigniting the sorrow she had carried all the way here.
“Miss, what happened?” she asked, kneeling as she wept. “Why do you look so pale?”
“I stayed up all night, so my complexion suffered a bit. It’s nothing serious,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Ban Qin stared at her, tears flowing even more freely.
“Miss, what’s really wrong?” she cried, her voice trembling with fear. “Why did you faint again?”
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered her head, slowly picking at grains of rice with her chopsticks.
“I won’t faint again after this,” she said.
Won’t faint again? That should be good news—so why did her mistress seem so heartbroken and despairing?
What on earth had happened?
“This is exactly what happened. Nothing else was said, yet Miss suddenly changed.”
“How is that possible? How could our lady be the type to be frightened by someone predicting death or misfortune?”
In the adjacent room, Steward Cao, Ban Qin, and the attendants sat in a circle. Meanwhile, Cheng Jiao-niang, having finished her breakfast, had gone out with the two women to practice archery—just as she always did.
But something was different. Profoundly different.
Ban Qin wiped her tears. Though she couldn’t quite put it into words, she could feel it.
If before, Miss had been wooden, like a person without a heart, now she seemed like a person who had lost her very soul.
The former, though detached, had still yearned for a heart—alive with longing and purpose. The latter, however, seemed utterly broken, devoid of all vitality.
A shudder ran through Ban Qin, and she lifted her head.
Hadn’t Miss always wanted to find her heart? Could it be… that she had found it?
But if she had, why would it leave her like this?
“…The key lies with this Cheng Ping,” Steward Cao said with a furrowed brow. “The young lady had been searching for him all along, and it was only after finding him that this happened.”
He rose to his feet.
“I’m going to question that fellow.”
Seeing him stand, Ban Qin snapped back to attention and quickly stood as well.
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
As the two stepped out of the room, they saw Cheng Jiao-niang returning from archery practice. The armguard was still tied around her forearm, and she held a bow in one hand and arrows in the other, walking calmly with an expression so composed it showed no trace of the distress others had described.
“Pack our things. We leave now,” she said.
Both Steward Cao and Ban Qin were taken aback.
“Hey, does that mean I’m free to go now?”
Cheng Ping leaned out from the doorway of the adjacent room and called out.
At his sudden appearance, Cheng Jiao-niang instinctively turned her head, avoiding his gaze.
“Yes,” she replied, lowering her eyes. “Sir, you… may do as you please.”
Sir?
Steward Cao frowned and glanced at Cheng Ping.
Cheng Ping grinned.
“And you… no need to be so polite,” he said with a laugh. He started to withdraw back into the room but paused and leaned out again. “Oh, by the way—were you also the one who had the whole city searching for me a while back?”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded. “Yes,” she acknowledged.
“My apologies,” she said.
Cheng Ping chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.
“If only I’d known earlier—I wouldn’t have had to stay away for so long,” he remarked. “Well then, I’ll be heading home now.”
Cheng Jiao-niang bowed once more.
“My apologies,” she repeated.
After Cheng Ping had indeed walked away, Cheng Jiao-niang began moving again.
“Pack our things,” Steward Cao instructed.
The attendants acknowledged the order and scattered to busy themselves.
“Something really is different,” Steward Cao sighed, turning to Ban Qin.
Ban Qin, who had been about to follow Cheng Jiao-niang into the room, paused.
“Did you notice? Miss didn’t dare to look Cheng Ping in the eye,” Steward Cao continued. “When someone avoids another’s gaze, it’s either out of respect or fear—and our lady has never shown either before.”
In the capital, she had never displayed reverence toward high-ranking officials, nor fear toward those who could have crushed her with a finger. Her gaze had always been calm and self-possessed, meeting everyone with unflinching composure. Yet now, faced with this inexplicable Cheng Ping, she had reacted in a way no one had ever seen.
If there wasn’t something strange about this Cheng Ping, then what could it be?
With that thought, Steward Cao quickened his pace and hurried after him.
“I’ve told you so many times—this has nothing to do with me! Why can’t you understand?”
Cheng Ping shouted as he was seized.
“Your lady is so clever—how can all you servants be so foolish?”
And you say there’s nothing strange about him? For as long as anyone could remember, people had called their young lady a fool—yet here was the first person ever to call her intelligent!
Steward Cao grabbed him and shook him firmly.
“Out with it! Who are you, really?” he demanded, glaring fiercely.
“Haven’t you already looked into my background?” Cheng Ping yelled back. “What would I have to hide? As a member of the Cheng family, I take pride in my name—there’s nothing for me to lie about! Even a fool could see it: I just happen to look like someone your lady knew, and it stirred up some memories or something. Your lady already apologized for startling me with her emotional outburst—why are you still making a fuss like idiots?”
Steward Cao glared at him. From this perspective, the young man did bear some resemblance to someone from the Cheng family.
“You really aren’t doing yourselves any favors. Your lady is so clever—it only makes you all seem even more foolish…” Cheng Ping muttered under his breath.
Steward Cao raised his hand and smacked him on the head.
“Don’t push your luck!” he snapped irritably.
Did this Cheng really think he was as remarkable as their lady, just because they shared a surname? How dare he lecture them!
“Get out of here, now.”
Cheng Ping snorted, straightened his clothes, and swaggered off.
Steward Cao stood where he was, watching until Cheng Ping disappeared into the street, then let out a sigh and turned back. By then, Cheng Jiao-niang had already finished packing and had even arranged for two additional carriages to be prepared.
“Miss mentioned that you rushed here overnight, so this time, please don’t ride on horseback. There’s a carriage for each of you—try to rest a bit on the road,” the two women explained to him. They added with admiration, “I’ve never seen such a kind and considerate lady before.”
Both a bodhisattva and a guardian deity—she truly was an enigmatic person. Steward Cao sighed softly and bowed respectfully toward Cheng Jiao-niang, who had already boarded her carriage.
“Miss.”
Ban Qin lifted the carriage curtain and stepped inside. Seeing Cheng Jiao-niang leaning against the armrest with her eyes closed, she called out softly, her voice tinged with concern.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a faint hum in response but did not open her eyes.
“Have you… found your heart?” Ban Qin asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang opened her eyes, looked at the maid before her, and smiled faintly.
Tears immediately welled up in Ban Qin’s eyes.
“Miss,” she said, moving closer and gently tugging at Cheng Jiao-naing’s sleeve. “Please don’t be sad. Having a heart means experiencing both joy and sorrow. Try to focus on the happy memories and let go of the painful ones. It can still be beautiful.”
Cheng Jiao-niang reached out and patted her hand, offering another soft smile.
“Go and rest now. You’ll have much to help me with when we return,” she said.
If only painful memories could be forgotten so easily—why would there still be so much suffering in the world? It was always simpler to advise others than to endure hardship oneself. Biting her lower lip, Ban Qin bowed and withdrew.
The carriage rocked gently as it moved forward. A breeze lifted the curtain, and from outside came a voice calling out, “Hey—!”
“Are you leaving too?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Cheng Jiao-niang lifted the curtain and looked out. On the street, Cheng Ping was waving at them.
“Miss?” an attendant nearby asked softly.
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head and let the curtain fall back into place.
The carriage picked up speed and soon left the scene behind.
Without her, her ancestors had still accomplished what they set out to do. Who was she to interfere or change anything?
Her ancestor had his own path to walk and deeds to fulfill, and she too had her own purpose and road ahead. She was his descendant, yet also a stranger to him.
She was herself, and yet not entirely herself—a truth so overwhelming it could break a person. But she could not afford to break. Instead, she needed to carefully consider what she herself must do.
What Cheng Fang, who had died and lived again, ought to do.
