It was rare for Xing Muzheng to sigh. Hong Tai panicked for real. So Madam Qian truly was that important to him—entrusting her to him was also a sign of great regard, wasn’t it? What a fool he’d been, to betray Muzheng’s trust so lightly.
“Muzheng,” Hong Tai said, “Older Brother was in the wrong this time. Next time—next time I’ll stake my life to protect your wife, and I’ll never break my word!”
Xing Muzheng still said nothing. In truth, he had foreseen this outcome. Hang Zhi would never let matters rest; Jiaoniang would never leave Di Qingya to go alone. If she was at the Hang residence, Di Qingya would naturally get Hang Zhi to protect her—Hang Zhi’s deep feelings for Di Qingya were well known, or he wouldn’t have turned white overnight. Jiaoniang would be safe at the Hang residence. He was merely taking the opportunity to give his brothers a little warning.
Sure enough, Hong Tai had been thoroughly frightened, and kept making promises. Xing Muzheng, expressionless, kept his eyes on the cloak, his mind drifting. That cloak seemed to be one of the garments his mother had sent him years ago, and he had almost forgotten. Only recently had Jiaoniang mentioned making him a cloak in the past… Xing Muzheng’s thoughts stirred. He stepped forward and grabbed the cloak, shaking it out.
Qian Jiaoniang didn’t know why he suddenly shook out the cloth from the altar. When she saw, she realized it was a cloak—and on closer inspection, saw it was entirely covered in blood. Ah Da told her proudly about the brutal battle in Qingzhou, his voice brimming with admiration. She had already heard storytellers speak of it, but had never imagined it was that vicious—that the cloak had been dyed black with blood.
She gave Xing Muzheng a complicated look as he searched the cloak for something. This man had gone through so many life-and-death trials in places she could not see—just to be alive and standing before her now was already Heaven’s mercy, wasn’t it?
Suddenly Xing Muzheng looked at her. “Did you make this for me?”
Qian Jiaoniang froze. “What?”
“This cloak—blue, originally. Years ago, my mother sent it to me through someone. Was it you who sewed it?”
Her gaze changed. “No.”
Xing Muzheng narrowed his eyes. “Truly not?”
“Truly not.”
But Xing Muzheng didn’t believe it. He came up to her, still running his hands over the cloak in search of proof. Qian Jiaoniang had never expected this cloak to appear here. She wanted to snatch it away and tear it to pieces, but was afraid he would notice something, so she could only feign indifference—though she couldn’t stop her eyes from glancing toward it. Xing Muzheng caught the flicker. Following her gaze to the corner of the cloak, he felt a slight bump beneath his fingers. Even though the corner was stained through with blood, hiding anything beneath, the texture beneath his thumb felt very much like embroidery.
Yet there was no trace of embroidery on the outside. Xing Muzheng looked again at Qian Jiaoniang and saw that her lips were pressed tightly together in nervousness. He drew his dagger and deftly slit open the seam along the edge.
Inside was a small piece of blue cloth, with a few words clumsily stitched in red thread. Though blood had seeped into it, the words could still faintly be made out:
My love, be safe.
Xing Muzheng’s chest felt as though it had been struck by a heavy hammer. He was about to take a closer look when, suddenly, his vision blurred—someone, like a cat snatching at prey, grabbed the cloak away. Instinctively, he tried to take it back. Looking up, he saw Qian Jiaoniang’s face flushed scarlet.
Qian Jiaoniang clutched the cloak tightly, wanting nothing more than to burn it to ashes. Back then, in her foolishness, she had only wanted to embroider those few words. Afraid her mother-in-law would laugh at her, she’d gone everywhere asking how to write them. “Peace” was easy enough—most household couplets at the door used it. “My” was also simple to find. But that “love” character—so shameful, and so hard to come by—had her at a loss. In the end, she coaxed a fallen, impoverished old scholar into writing it for her, buying him several jin of alcohol in the process. She then traced it exactly, staying up in the middle of the night to stitch it, bit by bit, into this hidden corner of the cloak.
She’d secretly delighted in it for quite a while, thinking she’d done something remarkable. But now it seemed she had done something remarkably foolish.
“Give it back to me.” Xing Muzheng had never imagined that in the fiercest battle of his life, he had been accompanied by a cloak she had sewn for him—one with such words stitched inside. My love… my love… She had actually used those two words! He couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from lifting.
“What give back? This is mine.” Qian Jiaoniang turned her body to avoid him. Xing Muzheng reached out, trying to grab it from behind her. She dodged left and right, refusing to hand it over.
“This is clearly my cloak—you embroidered it for me,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, tinged with laughter, right by her ear. “And with your hopes stitched inside.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s face was so hot it could boil an egg. She snapped viciously, “That wasn’t me—it was Mother who embroidered it!”
“Mother could embroider these four characters? And so poorly at that?” One glance showed the hand of a beginner.
Qian Jiaoniang made a dying struggle: “She tricked me into stitching it! I didn’t even know what it was at the time!”
“Still arguing? Mother is the most reserved person—how could she tell you to use those two words?”
“It was Mother. If you don’t believe me, go ask her!” She could only use her mother-in-law as a scapegoat. Anyway, there was no way he could confirm it.
“I don’t need to ask—this was written by you yourself.”
“Are you stupid? I can’t read—why would I write anything?”
The two of them tussled back and forth. Xing Muzheng, afraid of hurting her, dared not use force, but he also wouldn’t let her escape. His smile grew broader, lingering on his face for a long time.
Hong Tai was staring in stunned silence. When had he ever seen Xing Muzheng look so boyishly spirited? This wasn’t the decisive, ruthless Grand Commander—this was clearly a youth in the throes of first love.
Not just Hong Tai—Ah Da, and even Xing Pingchun, who came running over, were stunned. Xing Pingchun had heard his parents had come to fetch him, and happily ran all the way here, only to see such an undignified scene—Mother blushing furiously, Father grinning from ear to ear. For some reason, his heart suddenly felt so happy.
“Dad! Mom!” Xing Pingchun shouted with a wide grin.
Hearing him was like waking from a dream. Qian Jiaoniang pinched Xing Muzheng’s arm and hissed, “Don’t let the boy see us making fools of ourselves.”
Xing Muzheng took advantage of the moment to snatch the cloak from her hands.
Qian Jiaoniang wished she could bite him to death, but instead had to tidy her slightly disheveled hair and greet her son with a smile. “Chou’er’s here.”
“Yes!” Xing Pingchun replied crisply. He bounded over to them and happily said to Xing Muzheng, “Dad! Mom said you went to discuss state affairs with His Majesty and wouldn’t be back for five days, and you really did come back in exactly five days!”
What Chou’er was worried? She had never told him that. Was it because she trusted him so much, or simply didn’t care? It seemed far more like the latter. Xing Muzheng glanced at Qian Jiaoniang, but she averted her gaze.
He felt a little hurt, but one look at the cloak in his hands cheered him again. The love she once had—he was determined to make her find it again.
They returned with Chou’er to Prince Alley. Xing Muzheng spent two days bidding farewell to acquaintances in Yongan, and Qian Jiaoniang returned the bangle to the Second Prince’s consort. On the morning of the third day, they set out for home. Since many people might have wanted to see them off, Xing Muzheng told no one and left Yongan at dawn. But when they reached Salei Pavilion, someone was still there with alcohol to see them off.
A youth in a gray squirrel-fur cloak knelt in the pavilion, burning incense as he waited, two servant boys standing behind him. Xing Muzheng recognized him: Wuze, the legitimate eldest son of the Second Prince.
Hearing movement, Wuze rose to greet them and bowed from afar.
“Ah!” Xing Pingchun called out. Wuze met his eyes, the corners of his lips curling faintly, his sickly, refined beauty stirring pity.
“Dad, that’s the brother I made here in Yongan!” Xing Pingchun said happily. “I told him I was leaving today—I didn’t think he’d come to see me off!”
“Do you know who he is?”
“He’s the Second Prince’s son—his name’s Wuze, courtesy name Mianzhi.”
Xing Muzheng raised a thick brow. “Go on then.”
Qian Jiaoniang lifted the curtain just in time to see Xing Pingchun hopping toward the delicate-looking youth. She looked puzzled. Xing Muzheng turned his horse’s head toward her and explained, “Chou’er has become sworn brothers with the Second Prince’s eldest son, Wuze.”
Qian Jiaoniang also raised an eyebrow—rather like the one Xing Muzheng had just lifted. No wonder their son had seemed to roll in the mud every day these past few days—he must have been crawling through dog holes. Otherwise, how could he have met such a friend?
Xing Pingchun and Wuze stood a little apart from the group, too far for Qian Jiaoniang to hear what they said, but it was clear her son was delighted. Wuze took the jade pendant from his waist and gave it to Xing Pingchun, who fumbled to find something to give in return. After searching a while and finding nothing, he ended up giving Wuze the handkerchief Qian Jiaoniang had embroidered for him.
“Oh dear,” Qian Jiaoniang thought, watching with great interest. Her Chou’er seemed to have grown up.
“Tomorrow, have someone prepare some little trinkets for him to carry,” Xing Muzheng said. “Otherwise, he’ll end up giving away the things you stitched yourself.”
Xing Pingchun parted ways with Wuze. Wuze then came over again to present a farewell drink to Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang. Both drank, and only then did Wuze stand to the side to see them off. Xing Pingchun reluctantly mounted his horse, still reminding Wuze to come to Yuzhou to visit him when he had the time.
Wuze agreed, coughing lightly with a smile as he waved goodbye.
