I used him to protect myself?
I relied on him to protect myself?
Duke Jin’an’s expression shifted slightly.
No. No – no, that wasn’t it.
I was protecting him. I was protecting Liu Ge’er.
“I was protecting him,” he said, his voice a little hurried.
“How?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked softly. “How did you protect him?”
How… did I protect him?
“Father, it was I who asked Brother to come play with me – he didn’t sneak off on his own…”
“…Brother, I told them I sent you out of the palace to fetch something for me…”
“…It was I who made Brother play with me, that’s why he didn’t finish his lessons…”
“…Brother, don’t miss home. I haven’t seen my birth mother either…”
The childish voice kept echoing in his ears – dissolving others’ doubts and suspicions,
and warming the loneliness and fear in his own heart.
Duke Jin’an lowered his head.
Yes – it was he who had always been the one protecting him. Rather than saying he accompanied and watched over Liu Ge’er, it would be truer to say Liu Ge’er had accompanied and watched over him. And in the end, he had watched helplessly as Liu Ge’er was hurt – right before him, utterly unable to do anything.
Protect him?
Duke Jin’an gave a self-mocking laugh.
Is that what you call protection?
“Your Highness?”
A voice sounded beside his ear.
Duke Jin’an turned and saw the eunuch’s worried gaze – only then did he realize the carriage had already stopped before Prince Qing’s residence.
So he had already left her place.
Duke Jin’an rose and stepped down from the carriage.
From within the prince’s manor came shouts and laughter.
Standing by the roadside, Duke Jin’an watched as Prince Qing ran past, clutching a ball in his arms.
Even now, he was still relying on him – relying on him to win the sympathy and favor of the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. Relying on him to shield himself from the marriage they wanted to arrange for him.
And what, exactly, had he ever done for him in return?
From ahead came a sudden cry – Prince Qing had fallen, the ball tumbling from his arms.
The eunuchs around him hurriedly rushed forward, supporting him up on all sides.
Duke Jin’an stopped walking and watched as Prince Qing got up and began running again.
Favor would fade with time; affection, too, would eventually be forgotten. Anything that depended on others was never truly stable or lasting. If one wished to be beyond harm – if one wished to make others hesitate before striking – then there was only one way: to become strong oneself.
To be pitied might bring a prince temporary safety; to be feared might seem dangerous – but who said that danger could not also be a kind of safety?
When one is pitied, others can bestow kindness at will – and withdraw it just as easily. But when one is feared, those who wish to treat you lightly must weigh the consequences first.
That person – the boy – was growing up day by day.
When he ascends the throne, he will feel no affection for me, only disgust.
And the only thing that can restrain disgust – is fear.
“Someone – prepare the carriage.”
Duke Jin’an turned and said.
The attending eunuchs glanced at one another in surprise.
His Highness wasn’t going to stay and play with Prince Qing?
Only when they heard the order for the carriage did they come back to their senses and hurriedly follow after him.
“Your Highness, where are you going?” they asked.
“I’m going to attend lessons,” Duke Jin’an said. “I just remembered there’s a passage I’ve never quite understood – I’ll go consult the tutors about it.”
The eunuchs looked even more astonished.
“Your Highness, then… then I’m afraid your tutors will be very surprised,” one of them murmured.
Duke Jin’an smiled faintly.
“What’s there to be surprised about? It’s not that I’ve suddenly become clever – it’s just that someone else has been far too foolish all along.”
He paused, then lifted his hand as if recalling something.
“Prepare my court robes as well. I’m of the imperial clan – since I’ve received His Majesty’s commission, and now that calamities strike again and again, with the nation in distress, I ought to take up my post and share His Majesty’s burdens.”
The eunuch stared at him for a moment, then a faint smile rose in his eyes.
“Your Highness, should we have those men outside brought back?” he asked quietly.
“No – not yet. It’s not the time. If they come now, I won’t be able to make any arrangements,” Duke Jin’an said. “Wait for the right moment. That moment… shouldn’t be far off.”
At that moment, the Imperial Consort was beside herself with fury.
“How could this happen?”
She paced back and forth, her face dark with anger and frustration.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a good opportunity? We were supposed to bring down Chen Shao – and have His Majesty name a crown prince!”
The eunuchs hurried after her, some holding teacups, others warming hand stoves, all trying to soothe her nervously.
“And what happened instead?”
The Consort stopped in her tracks and clapped her hands sharply in exasperation.
“In the end, Chen Shao is still standing, there’s no Crown Prince appointed – and he has gone home to ‘avoid punishment’ himself!”
“Your Ladyship, please, calm yourself – Attendant Scholar will be all right,” one eunuch said timidly.
“Yes, Your Ladyship,” another echoed, “it’s only a temporary retreat to let the storm blow over.”
“His Majesty won’t truly punish him severely.”
The First Prince, who had been stopped outside, listened to this and curled his lips before turning away.
“Tell Her Ladyship I’ve been here – and that I’m off to study now,” he said.
The eunuchs hurried to bow and see him off.
“I really don’t know what she’s always so anxious and worried about,” the prince muttered as he stepped into his study.
“Whoever falls, whoever hides from punishment – what does that have to do with me? I’m the eldest prince, Father’s only son. Who else could the position of crown prince possibly go to?”
His personal attendant nodded in full agreement.
“Lady Chen has arrived.”
The eunuch’s announcement came from outside the door. The First Prince stopped chatting and laughing, straightened his posture, and sat solemnly. He watched as Chen Shi’ba-niang entered, and the two exchanged formal courtesies.
“Lady Chen,” the prince said, recalling something, “I’ve heard people say that Lady Cheng’s calligraphy is the finest in all the land – but she refuses to teach me.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang smiled faintly.
“Your Highness has no need to write the finest hand in the world,” she said gently. “What Your Highness must do is ensure that all under heaven may live in peace and prosperity – so that the people of the realm may have the safety and leisure to produce ever finer calligraphy themselves.”
The world itself rests in his hands – how stirring that is, she thought.
The First Prince gave a small “oh,” smiled slightly, and nodded, raising his sleeve in a graceful gesture.
“Please, Lady Chen,” he said.
Chen Shi’ba-niang bowed and moved to her desk, lifting her brush.
This time, the celestial omen had brought joy to some at court and worry to others, and it also seemed to dim the festive mood of the approaching twelfth month among the common folk.
Outside the city gates, in a roadside tavern spaced five miles apart, two men sat drinking together.
“What does it portend?” one of them asked.
The other gave a cold laugh.
“It portends that the gentlemen of the court have yet to rise, while the petty men have yet to fall.”
“Kuanzhi, don’t say another word.”
Lu Zheng set down his wine cup, looking at him with a warning in his eyes.
“Don’t think this is your chance. If you dare use this again as an excuse to call her a calamity, a scheming lady – then you really are beyond saving.”
Feng Lin said nothing. He held his cup in silence, his expression blank.
“Advance with the tide, retreat against it – Kuanzhi, you’ve learned how to speak, but you still haven’t learned how to hold your tongue,” Lu Zheng sighed.
It was from her that he’d learned how to speak, and three years later, it was because of her that he could no longer speak at all.
Feng Lin’s hand tightened around his wine cup, and at last his expression shifted.
“Today’s for your send-off – let’s not talk of anything else,” Lu Zheng said quickly when he noticed, pointing to the roasted meat before them. “Come, try this. Three years ago when you left the capital, you hadn’t tasted it in ages; and now that you’re back, before you and I can even share a proper drink and outing together, we’re already parting once again.”
And this time, once he left, who knew when they would meet again?
Lu Zheng suddenly felt a pang of emotion. He remembered how not long ago, he too had been the one being sent off – and his situation had been even worse than Feng Lin’s.
The Emperor had granted a high official an external posting, meaning no real danger to his life; but in Lu Zheng’s case, Attendant Scholar Gao had driven him to the desolate lands of Nanzhang – a place from which no one returned.
Back then, he too had been bid farewell by others, his heart heavy with resentment, frustration, and fear – emotions no one could truly understand.
Yet when he had lifted his head to look outside, with that single glance, everything had changed.
His fate had been wrenched onto a different path.
He had died – and lived again.
It was that girl.
The girl who could give life, and take it away; who could grant a man rebirth – and destroy him just the same.
Lu Zheng glanced at Feng Lin’s hand gripping his wine cup, then at himself, a tangle of feelings rising in his chest.
Unconsciously, he turned once more toward the tavern door – then his expression changed sharply, and he sprang to his feet.
“What is it?” Feng Lin asked, turning to look outside as well – and his expression changed too.
From the direction of the capital came several horses and a carriage. A group of men and women reined in before the tavern. A maid stepped down first to help a lady alight. Though it was midwinter, the lady did not wear a hood, and her face was exposed to the open air.
The sunlight was bright, but the winter wind still stung the skin.
“Jiao Jiao,” said Master Zhou as he dismounted. “You can wait here. No need to ride ten li out to meet them. It’s freezing, and they’ve been taking their time, stopping wherever they please, and only now they arrive in the capital – just in time for the New Year.”
As he spoke, he glanced toward the tavern – and his eyes met those of Feng Lin and Lu Zheng. His face changed at once.
“Go, go! This tavern’s been tainted by unlucky man – best not set foot inside!” he shouted loudly. “We’re leaving now! Even if we have to sit out in the open, we mustn’t get stained by his misfortune!”
Feng Lin rose to his feet.
“Kuanzhi–”
Lu Zheng reached out to stop him, but he was a step too late. Feng Lin had already lifted his foot and walked out.
Master Zhou’s loud shouting did not make Cheng Jiao-niang turn to get back into the carriage; she simply stood there, calm and steady.
“Lady Cheng,” Feng Lin said, pointing up at the sky, his expression solemn, “may I ask -how do you interpret this omen of both sun and moon eclipsed?”
Lady Cheng, may I ask, what do you make of this omen where sun and moon are both swallowed?
It was a question, yes – but so blunt, so pointed, that it was practically an open insult flung in her face.
The moment the words left his mouth, Lu Zheng – coming up behind – couldn’t help but raise a hand to cover his face.
Master Zhou spat sharply to the side.
Ban Qin’s face, too, turned dark with anger.
They had thought that after standing outside her door that day, Feng Lin had felt some guilt – but they hadn’t expected he would still speak to her like this.
“At least you have some self-awareness,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
At those words, Feng Lin’s expression changed color.
Master Zhou, however, burst out laughing.
“You!” Feng Lin took a step forward.
“Kuanzhi.” Lu Zheng stopped him from speaking further and turned to Cheng Jiao-niang with a respectful bow.
“Greetings, Lady Cheng.”
Cheng Jiao-niang returned the courtesy, then turned and stepped into the carriage.
Master Zhou hurried after her, glaring once more at Feng Lin and spitting in disdain.
“Kuanzhi.” Lu Zheng caught hold of Feng Lin, who still wanted to follow after her.
“Kuanzhi, you’re being too harsh.”
Feng Lin said nothing, his gaze fixed on the woman now seated inside the carriage.
“…Unlucky. Even if he’s gone, he’s still unlucky. Just meeting him, even speaking to him – it’s all bad luck…”
“Go, go! Drive carefully – don’t startle the lady again!”
Master Zhou’s voice rose and fell in the cold air, scolding and waving his hands, making the whole party look flustered and disordered.
He was that girl’s uncle, yet at this moment he seemed no more than a servant.
“When men cease to act as men, the natural order of kinship is overturned; when the human order is broken, so too is the order of Heaven,” Feng Lin said slowly. “If this woman does not leave, she will surely bring calamity upon the court.”
Lu Zheng’s expression changed; instinctively, he reached out to grab Feng Lin’s arm, but Feng Lin stepped aside.
“Feng Lin!” Lu Zheng called urgently.
But instead of doing what Lu Zheng feared – charging again toward the Zhou family’s entourage – Feng Lin turned and walked to his own horse. In one smooth motion, he mounted.
“Kuanzhi,” Lu Zheng said, his feelings tangled as he stepped forward.
“Brother Lu,” Feng Lin cupped his hands from horseback. “For the country and for the people – never forget one’s original purpose. Feng Lin takes his leave.”
Lu Zheng returned the gesture, watching as Feng Lin turned his horse around.
At that moment, Cheng Jiao-niang’s carriage also began to move forward. Feng Lin glanced once in that direction.
Our paths are different; we cannot work together.
He cupped his hands toward her carriage, then raised his whip.
The lean horse leapt forward, carrying him past Cheng Jiao-niang’s party and swiftly ahead on the road.
Master Zhou spat again in the direction of Feng Lin’s departing figure.
“Ungrateful, deceitful, treacherous – one who dares to deceive the Emperor and defy Heaven’s will! His Majesty ought to have his head cut off as an offering to Heaven’s justice!” he said loudly – loud enough to make sure Cheng Jiao-niang inside the carriage could hear.
He lifted his head to glare at Feng Lin’s fading silhouette. Just then, a noisy procession of carriages and horses came toward them.
“Master, it’s Second Master Cheng!” a servant called out, having recognized a familiar face among the group.
Master Zhou spat again.
“Perfect timing, isn’t it? All the chaos and misfortune have passed, and now they come strolling in to enjoy the fruits of it!” he cursed. “Heaven must be blind!”
Though he still grumbled about Second Master Cheng, Feng Lin had already been driven out, the merit of the stone projectiles was firmly established, and – most importantly – that remark, ‘the speaker meant nothing, the listener took it to heart,’ still hung over everyone like a warning.
Who could say the girl wouldn’t turn those words back against them someday?
So once Second Master Cheng entered the capital, all he would have to do was make a token appearance before the Grand Court of Revision – either admit to the charges or shift the blame onto someone else, perhaps a post-station official. In the end, he’d be lightly scolded at most – and then promoted as planned, and profit as usual.
After all, wasn’t it his fortune to have such a capable daughter?
Master Zhou cursed twice more under his breath, watching as the approaching carriages drew near.
“Qi-niang, look – there, that’s the capital!”
Second Madam Cheng lifted the carriage curtain, pointing excitedly outside, her face alight with joy.
Cheng Qi-niang leaned out by the window. Ahead, in the gray haze of winter, the vast silhouette of the city loomed faintly. The cold wind rushed against her face, quickly cooling her excitement.
“Mother, it’s freezing! My face is going to be ruined by the wind!” she cried, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
Second Madam Cheng pulled her into her arms, and on the other side, another child scrambled over, squeezing into her embrace as well.
“What are you afraid of? We’re entering the capital now. Qi-niang, the rouge and powders in the capital are the finest in all the land. Whatever you want, you shall have. I will make you as beautiful as a heavenly fairy,” she said with a smile.
“Like a fairy!” Cheng Qi-niang laughed gleefully.
The mother and her two children looked out of the carriage and saw a group of riders approaching.
“Look, your sister has come to welcome us!” Second Madam Cheng said happily.
Sister…
Cheng Qi-niang curled her lips, reluctant but still glanced outside.
The girl in the carriage did not appear; instead, the man at the head of the group was giving a perfunctory smile as he cupped his hands toward her father, who rode in front.
“You’ve certainly taken your time,” said Master Zhou with a mocking grin. “We thought you wouldn’t make it in time for the Kitchen God’s offering.”
Second Master Cheng gave a cold snort.
“The children are young – it’s hard to travel in winter,” he said. “We can’t compare to you, enjoying your ease and comfort in the capital.”
Ease and comfort?
Master Zhou nearly cursed aloud.
They had almost lost their heads in the capital – all because of this wretch’s troubles!
Looking at Second Master Cheng, wrapped in fine sable, his face ruddy and untroubled, showing no trace of hardship – if anything, looking thoroughly well-rested and content – Master Zhou ground his teeth fiercely.
Fine then. Let’s see you enjoy some of our ‘ease and comfort’ too!
With that thought, he suddenly raised his hand and, without warning, struck hard at Second Master Cheng, who had just adopted a dignified air, gazing forward.
A cry of pain tore through the air – a scream ringing out in what should have been a joyful reunion between family.
The blow from Master Zhou, who had the strength of a trained soldier, sent Second Master Cheng tumbling from his horse to the ground.
The startled horse neighed wildly, rearing up.
Second Madam Cheng, seeing the scene, let out a sharp, terrified scream.
“I’m beating you, you disgrace to the court, you ungrateful wretch who’s betrayed His Majesty’s grace!” Master Zhou roared, his brows drawn tight. Amid the chaos, he stood firm as a rock, thrusting out his hand. “Tie him up! Take him to the Censorate for questioning!”
Cheng Qi-niang watched as fierce, brutal men rushed toward her father. Her mother’s screams filled her ears. When she looked ahead toward the faint outline of the great city, her gaze finally fell upon the carriage opposite them.
The carriage remained utterly still – no one came out. Yet to Cheng Qi-niang, the drooping curtain seemed to darken, turning into a black, gaping maw – as if, at any moment, a man-eating beast would leap out from within.
The capital… how terrifying.
Cheng Qi-niang clutched her ears, squeezed her eyes shut, and screamed at the top of her lungs.
