In the first few days after being taken hostage, Cheng Danruo remained in a hazy stupor.
It was not a feigned coma – she was genuinely groggy. Bai Mingyue knew pharmacology and fed her medicinal decoctions. Though she threw up quite a bit, the medicine that went down must have had some effect, leaving her in a state of neither sleep nor wakefulness.
She could only try hard to register her sensations: a period of time in a horse-drawn carriage, then long stretches on the water route, with the sound of flowing water always in her ears.
Her perception of temperature had not changed much – clearly they were not heading south, nor north.
Most likely she was being taken to Qingzhou, to the rebels’ lair.
What Bai Mingyue had said earlier did not seem feigned. There must be a purpose in holding her hostage, but whether she could return safely – that was probably unknowable.
If she failed to do what the rebels wanted her to do, then likely there was only death.
Cheng Danruo thought hazily: if she were to die just like this, it would be too much of a pity. She had finally become a female official, and before she could leave behind anything at all, she was about to depart?
But going alone into an enemy camp – how much confidence did she have in preserving her life? Could she preserve her life? Could she preserve her chastity? The lower someone’s station, the more they took a conquering pleasure in violating women.
Endless panic surged up, and she could only desperately remind herself:
Do not be pessimistic, do not despair. You must pull yourself together, you must save yourself.
If the guards discovered she was missing, perhaps they would try to rescue her – but who would truly spare no effort? No one could be relied upon; no one would save her.
Do not place hope in others. Think of a plan quickly – take the initiative into your own hands.
Another wave of dizziness came, and the sound of water rushed past her ears.
Cheng Danruo sensed someone bringing a bowl close and trying to feed her medicine again.
She opened her eyes faintly and pleaded in a low voice, “It’s too unbearable – I want to throw up – urgh.” As she spoke, she secretly clenched her fist and pressed her stomach, retching up sour fluid.
“Divine Mother?” the person feeding her asked for guidance.
Bai Mingyue smiled. “Never mind. We’ve already left Yanzhou anyway – she can’t run.”
“Th-thank you.” Cheng Danruo lay on the ground, dry-heaving again.
Bai Mingyue handed her a bowl of water.
Cheng Danruo quickly took it, but after a single sip, it had an indescribably strange taste, and she spat it all out.
“Heh, people from the capital sure put on airs,” someone said with a sarcastic edge.
Cheng Danruo slowly sat up, blinked hard, and retorted weakly, “When you don’t know anything, don’t be so quick to pass judgment on others.”
Bai Mingyue made a gesture to soothe her disgruntled subordinate, then said leisurely, “You’ve been missing for days now, and no one has come searching for us. You can see for yourself – you really don’t have much in the way of ‘airs.'”
Cheng Danruo’s lips curved slightly, but she did not show much disappointment.
Bai Mingyue had been watching her face all along. “You – are you disappointed?”
Cheng Danruo smiled. “Miss Bai, it’s impossible that the guards aren’t looking for me. I came by imperial command, representing the dignity of the imperial house. My life doesn’t matter – if I die, I die – but I cannot die at your hands.”
Bai Mingyue’s smile immediately faded. She studied her seriously, her eyes flickering.
“The people in the palace don’t care about my life, but I do,” Cheng Danruo said calmly. “I will cooperate with you as much as I can – on the condition that you do not humiliate me.”
With effort, she raised her arm and knocked over that bowl of strange-tasting water. “Otherwise, you’ll have to go to the trouble of finding someone else.”
“You’re smarter than I thought.” Bai Mingyue was unexpectedly decisive. She said crisply, “Fine, I accept your terms. Pour her a cup of tea.”
Though the subordinate beside her still looked displeased, he obeyed her in everything and properly poured a cup of hot tea.
Cheng Danruo slowly drank two mouthfuls, finally settling the discomfort in her stomach.
Now it was her turn to observe Bai Mingyue.
This rebel leader was around twenty or thirty years old, with an oval face, willow brows, and cherry lips – she had a delicate, dignified beauty, a very likable appearance. At the moment she wore a blue cotton jacket and skirt, her head wrapped in a blue kerchief, like a wife from a modest household about to go out and buy groceries.
They were on a fishing boat. A fisherman was rowing, and a sturdy, rough-looking man was staring at her intently – the same one who had spoken sarcastically earlier.
Bai Mingyue stayed outside the cabin for a short while, then came back in carrying a bowl of rice with a few slices of fish on top.
“Eat,” she said.
Cheng Danruo had not eaten for at least two days. She did not rush to eat; she poured the hot tea over the rice, waited for it to soften, and only then began eating slowly.
Bai Mingyue spoke, “You’re a female official in the palace – what exactly do you do?”
Cheng Danruo swallowed a mouthful of rice before saying, “I deliver imperial edicts.”
Bai Mingyue asked, “Isn’t that something eunuchs do? Why you?”
“Because it was an edict to be delivered to the Princess Dowager,” Cheng Danruo answered cooperatively, explaining patiently. “Delivering edicts to the inner and outer titled ladies is the duty of the Speech Office in the Bureau of Palace Administration. It also carries a meaning of consolation and concern – something eunuchs are not suited to do.”
The rough man beside them muttered, “Way too many rules.”
Cheng Danruo said, “The imperial palace is the place with the most rules under heaven. Without rules, how could the supreme dignity of the imperial house be demonstrated?”
Bai Mingyue laughed. “You do have an interesting way of speaking. Then let me ask you – what did the emperor’s edict say?”
Cheng Danruo sighed and said, “The Princess Dowager is over seventy. A white-haired person burying a black-haired one – naturally there was much consolation and soothing to be done. The whole household was present when the edict was received. Couldn’t you just ask around and find out?”
Bai Mingyue smiled but did not dare admit that the spy they had left behind had understood absolutely nothing. She said directly, “Who told you Prince Lu is dead?”
Cheng Danruo was taken aback, slightly puzzled. “The funeral rites were already conducted…”
The corners of Bai Mingyue’s mouth curved into a mocking arc. “Fancy that – we kept him alive, yet someone else couldn’t wait for him to die.”
Cheng Danruo said nothing.
This was their first contact with each other; both sides were assessing and observing. It was best to be as docile and taciturn as possible to avoid arousing suspicion. So she said nothing and ate quietly.
Regaining her strength was the most urgent matter – not that she intended to flee. On the water, where could she run? Even if she were lucky enough to escape, the Qingzhou area was in the midst of military chaos. A woman traveling alone would be far too dangerous.
Fifteen minutes later, she finally finished the dry, hard food and recovered some strength.
Bai Mingyue brought over a coil of hemp rope. “If you won’t drink the medicine, then you’ll have to be tied up. Don’t blame me for not warning you – we’re on the water, so you’d best not think about running.”
Cheng Danruo nodded and obediently let her bind her hands behind her back.
A chilly autumn wind blew in through the cracks in the cabin.
She curled up, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
Deep night fell quickly.
The small fishing boat was divided in two. The rough man and the fisherman took turns rowing outside, while Bai Mingyue laid out a piece of hide and slept on the outer side, leaving Cheng Danruo to sleep on the inner side.
It was both surveillance and protection.
Cheng Danruo relaxed slightly – it seemed she did indeed have some value – and allowed herself to sleep lightly for a while.
The next day, she was still confined to the cabin all day long.
Only when eating or relieving herself would Bai Mingyue untie her. Cheng Danruo took the opportunity to move her hands and feet, lest poor circulation cause her limbs to go numb and necrotic.
Occasionally, she glimpsed the outside through the cracks.
What met her eyes was either the winding river water or vast stretches of withered yellow grass. Wild geese flew south across the sky, and thin ice had already formed in many places – the oars broke through it with a crisp cracking sound.
In the dense grass, wild animals could always be seen poking their heads out, their fur glossy black, a thick tail rising above the white reeds – then gone in a flash.
Then came a sharp cry, and some unknown animal had its throat bitten through and was dragged off by a hunter as winter provisions.
There were scattered traces of blood along the riverbank. Animals bent to drink at the water’s edge, their eyes wary.
In such a desolate and remote place, Cheng Danruo thought that if she were walking alone out there, she probably would not survive a single night.
But she could not give up just like that.
Pretending to doze, she sank her consciousness into the jade and brought up the tablet to check the downloaded offline maps.
There were two rivers near Yanzhou – the Si River and the Yi River. Lately she had been seeing hills with increasing frequency, so they were clearly heading toward the central-southern Lu region.
Where was the destination?
Another day passed, and Cheng Danruo could clearly feel that she had entered a hilly area.
There were more mountains, and the river channel gradually narrowed until finally they had to abandon the boat.
She was finally pulled out of the dark, sunless cabin and allowed to breathe fresh air. But Bai Mingyue said, “You’re going to suffer a bit from here on.”
Cheng Danruo saw several mules, and a sudden sense of foreboding came over her.
Sure enough.
She was hauled onto a donkey, her hands bound in front of her, the mule tethered to another, and thus carried along toward the mountains.
Bump, bump, bump.
A mule was not a fully equipped horse – no stirrups, no saddle. One simply straddled the mule’s back directly, and with her hands bound, she could not keep her balance well. Cheng Danruo could do little more than lie prone.
Grass blades cut across her wrists, her thigh muscles were clenched stiff, and countless scratches appeared on her face.
Cheng Danruo was in a wretched state. Before long, sweat had soaked through her temple hair, which clung stickily to her cheeks. Feeling she had endured about enough, she pleaded, “Could you untie my hands? In this desolate wilderness, even if you let me run, I wouldn’t know where to run to.”
Over the past two days she had behaved sensibly – enduring, silent, quiet – and Bai Mingyue had begun to trust that she was genuinely cooperating. Seeing her in such a sorry state, she nodded. “Ah-Niu, untie her.”
With her hands free, she could finally regain some balance.
Cheng Danruo breathed a sigh of relief. She knew the two sides had established a preliminary sense of trust, and she could begin the next step.
Bai Mingyue seemed to be thinking the same thing.
The journey was tedious, and she made casual attempts to probe for information. “How old are you?”
Cheng Danruo replied, “Sixteen.”
“So young?” Bai Mingyue was a little surprised, then asked, “Why did you enter the palace? Did you want to become a consort?”
Cheng Danruo gave a bitter laugh and said slowly, “There’s no point hiding it from you. My parents were killed by the Oirats. I was fostered with relatives from a young age, and when I grew older and no good match could be arranged, I had no choice but to enter the palace.”
Bai Mingyue was slightly taken aback, and her tone softened a little. “So you’re a pitiful one after all.”
Cheng Danruo smiled. She could see Bai Mingyue’s deliberate intent – but that was fine; they were both acting. She curved her lips slightly and put on a sorrowful, grief-stricken look.
After a moment, Bai Mingyue suddenly said, “The people of the Wusheng Cult are all pitiful people too.”
“I’ve read books. I know that if people could survive, they wouldn’t rebel,” Cheng Danruo said, showing an appropriate trace of sympathy, but her stance remained clear. “But since you have raised troops in rebellion, the court will not let you off.”
Bai Mingyue sneered. “Last year, the Yellow River flooded in autumn and so many people died. Only then did the authorities think to repair the dikes – and in the end, a great many people died for nothing. With a court like that, what can anyone expect?”
Cheng Danruo opened her mouth as if to speak, then stopped.
“This spring there was drought. The harvest was already a total loss, yet the authorities would not open the granaries to distribute grain – they even raised taxes. Do you know how many common people starved to death? In Qingzhou Prefecture, with my own eyes I saw soldiers ride out on horseback to drive away the refugees. There was a child who clung to a soldier’s leg, begging for a mouthful of food, and was trampled to death by the horse’s hooves.”
Every word Bai Mingyue spoke cut deeply into Cheng Danruo.
She did not need to pretend – her expression was already very heavy.
“If we hadn’t rebelled, we would have died right then. By rebelling, we’ve managed to survive until now,” Bai Mingyue said. “The court is clearly the one at fault, yet they call us the utterly wicked rebel bandits. Tell me, isn’t that ridiculous?”
Cheng Danruo was silent.
All peasant uprisings are just in the beginning, but what comes after… that is hard to say.
