After such an unpleasant scene, Xing Muzheng took Qian Jiaoniang and bid farewell to the Crown Princess. Outside, Qingya and Dongsheng were waiting; the moment Qian Jiaoniang emerged, Qingya came forward to meet her, squeezing her hand tightly. Qian Jiaoniang patted her hand in reassurance, signaling that all was well.
The Crown Princess personally escorted them out of the inner courtyard. Turning back toward Wan Hong’s quarters, she had not yet reached the room when she heard the Crown Prince’s wailing cries from within. She paused in the outer hall, her interest gone. This… was this any way for a Crown Prince to behave?
She turned toward the doorway instead, glancing at the heavy layers of dark clouds that had gathered unknowingly overhead. She remembered that today was her own birthday, and there was still a group of guests waiting for her in the rear garden. For some reason, her eyes grew moist. She felt her life had been utterly joyless — what was there to celebrate?
“Crown Princess, try to think more openly,” her wet nurse said softly, coming forward to comfort her.
The Crown Princess gave a long sigh and looked to the horizon. “Nanny, I truly cannot understand now — how was it that I was so overjoyed when I first heard I had been chosen as Crown Princess?”
***
When Xing Muzheng and his party left the inner courtyard, a mule litter waited nearby for the ladies. Not far away, Hang Zhi sat on an ornamental rock, a alcohol jug in one hand and a cup in the other, pouring and drinking alone. He squinted at Xing Muzheng emerging with an expressionless face yet brimming with killing intent. A mocking smile tugged at his lips as he muttered to himself, “A general who endangers the state…”
Duanfang frowned bitterly. “Master, you are the Prime Minister — to speak so…”
“What of it if I’m the Prime Minister? This has nothing to do with me anyway!” Hang Zhi let out a loud laugh, which abruptly cut off. His expression changed sharply, as if he had seen a ghost. He leapt to his feet, tossing aside jug and cup, and strode forward. But after just one step, his legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees. Had Duanfang not been quick to catch him, he would have fallen flat on his face.
“Master, what’s wrong? Have you drunk too much again?” Duanfang was startled.
Hang Zhi’s lips were as pale as his white hair. Gripping Duanfang’s hand, he struggled to his feet, staggered a few steps, then shook off the support and bolted forward without a care.
Xing Muzheng had just helped Qian Jiaoniang into the litter. She motioned for Qingya to join her inside. The mule handler was about to set off when someone came running hard from behind. The shock of white hair was impossible to miss.
The handler saw him — and so did Xing Muzheng. He moved to intercept, but Hang Zhi’s eyes seemed not to register him at all; they were fixed intently on the litter. Skirting around Xing Muzheng to grab it, he was blocked by Xing’s outstretched arm.
“Lord Hang.”
Hang Zhi seemed dazed, oblivious, only sensing an obstruction and instinctively trying to go around it. Xing Muzheng sidestepped again, blocking him.
“Lord Hang,” Xing Muzheng repeated, more firmly.
It was as if Hang Zhi finally awoke from a dream. He looked at the impassive Xing Muzheng before him, opened his mouth, and at last straightened up. “Lord Xing.”
Inside the litter, Qingya froze at the sound of the voice outside. For some reason, tears instantly welled in her eyes. Perhaps… it had simply been too long since she last heard his voice.
“What business does Lord Hang have?” Xing Muzheng asked.
Hang Zhi glanced again toward the litter. “I thought I caught sight of an old acquaintance getting into that litter just now… My joy got the better of me, so I ran over.”
Qian Jiaoniang had heard clearly as well. She looked at the now-rigid Qingya, and her long-held suspicions began to take shape.
Xing Muzheng’s face remained as impassive as death. “Inside the litter are my wife and her maid. No old acquaintances of yours, Lord Hang.”
“Maid?” Hang Zhi looked as though he had taken a heavy blow, disbelief written all over his face.
“Yes. A maid born and raised in Yuzhou City. My wife only just arrived in Yongan, so she cannot possibly be any acquaintance of yours. I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Xing Muzheng gestured for the mule handler to move on, and Yanluo and the others closed in around them.
The long-familiar, stabbing pain surged through Hang Zhi again, as if that person had, before his very eyes, left him once more — just as in all his countless midnight dreams. He swallowed the strange bitterness in his throat. “Let me see her, just once.” He still would not give up.
“Today my wife has been frightened,” Xing Muzheng replied. “I will not allow anyone to disturb her peace again. Please understand, Lord Hang.”
Hang Zhi looked into Xing Muzheng’s eyes for a long moment, then finally let his hand fall in defeat.
The litter moved slowly forward. Behind the light curtain, Qingya’s face was already wet with tears. Qian Jiaoniang let out a quiet sigh.
Once they left the Crown Prince’s residence, the Xing family’s carriage was already waiting at the foot of the steps. Qian Jiaoniang stepped down from the sedan chair and entered the carriage. Qingya and Yanluo were about to follow when a thick arm barred their way. “You ride in the back carriage.”
A deep voice sounded above them. Qingya looked up and saw only a shadow, and in the next blink, a flash of dark green slipped into the carriage, the door shutting with a bang. Qingya blinked her dry eyes, lowered her head, and walked with Yanluo toward the carriage at the rear.
Once inside, Qingya quietly lifted the curtain and gazed into the distance. By the Crown Prince’s gates, that head of white hair was shockingly stark. She sucked in a sharp breath, covering her lips with a gauzy sleeve.
She had known his hair had turned white, but seeing it with her own eyes was… so… Her heart trembled. Was it… for her?
When Qian Jiaoniang saw Xing Muzheng stride into the carriage, she hadn’t yet spoken before the man pulled her into his arms, burying his head into the crook of her neck, sniffing hard like a hound. Jiaoniang stiffened, the shameless image of the Crown Prince holding her and running his hands all over her flashing into her mind. She clenched her fists in secret—so tightly she forgot to push Xing Muzheng away.
But the sound—creak, creak—made her, in her anger, falter. Since when could she make her fists creak? She lowered her gaze and saw that on his long legs rested a huge fist, veins bulging as though it might smash the carriage to pieces at any moment.
Xing Muzheng was exerting tremendous effort to restrain his rage. On Jiaoniang’s body clung the Crown Prince’s unique Fo Long incense—right here at her neck.
Wu Hong… he had dared to disgrace his beloved wife.
He pressed his chin to her shoulder, holding her tight so she would not see the savagery on his face. Only his lowered right hand betrayed the master’s fury.
Hooves clattered on bluestone—clop, clop—and the carriage fell silent. Faintly, a scent not belonging to either of them floated in the air—sickening, the shameless man’s scent. Jiaoniang now understood what Xing Muzheng had been smelling. Nobles like them always carried fragrances.
She stared at that tightly clenched fist for a long moment. Then, with her fingernail, she scraped her skirt, making the bell at the hem jingle. Only then did Xing Muzheng lift his hand, gently stroke her hair, and meet her eyes—his face once again calm.
Their gazes locked, both holding some unspoken depth.
Qian Jiaoniang forced a smile. “Marquis, in truth… I lied…” She planned to tell him the truth. A man like him surely could not tolerate such a thing happening, could he? Then perhaps she could hope for divorce. She calculated in her heart, but before she could finish speaking, Xing Muzheng interrupted.
“…I’m sorry.”
Qian Jiaoniang froze. Xing Muzheng… was apologizing to her? She gave a dry laugh. “Why would my lord apologize to me? It’s I who have wronged you. Just now, I had already taken off my coat, and then the Crown Prince came in—”
“Shhh—” Xing Muzheng pressed his thumb to her lips, his dark eyes fixed on her. “…You don’t need to say it. I know you’ve been wronged.”
He clenched his back teeth hard. He had not exposed the Crown Prince’s feigned drunkenness—not because he feared confronting him, but because if it came to an open quarrel, the first to suffer would be Jiaoniang.
She blinked. This reaction was not what she had imagined. Shouldn’t he be furious? Shouldn’t he feel disgraced and send her away?
“He is the Crown Prince. I couldn’t seek justice for you on the spot—that is my failing. But…” He would make him pay. Xing Muzheng stopped himself from speaking further, exhaled a long, dry breath, and repeated, “…I’m sorry, Jiaoniang.”
Qian Jiaoniang stared at him blankly. The way he looked at her—those black eyes were far too strange! Why did he gaze at her like that? That gaze was like a deep, still pool, drawing one in, clawing at the heart.
What was he thinking? Could he really want to oppose the Crown Prince for her? Impossible! Women like her could be found by the handful on any street, but the other man was the future emperor.
Snapping herself out of Xing Muzheng’s water-soft gaze, she turned her eyes aside, pinched her own thigh hard, warning herself not to be fooled by empty tenderness.
Suddenly—whoa!—outside, the horses were pulled up short. The bells on her skirt rang as Xing Muzheng steadied her, displeased. “What is it?”
“My lord, the Imperial Guards are riding toward us!”
