In the Capital City.
Deep within the palace halls, layered pavilions amid pearl curtains and emerald railings, the Shunren Emperor, who had yet to retire for the night, leisurely fed the fish under the brilliant palace lanterns on the White Jade Bridge.
The White Jade Bridge spanned the emperor’s sleeping chambers, with flowing water murmuring beneath and schools of ornate carp swimming about.
“By my calculations, things in Jiangning should be prepared by now.”
The white-haired old man at his side, fanning himself with a feather fan, smiled without speaking.
No one dared let the emperor’s words fall flat—except for this white-haired old man.
The Shunren Emperor tossed out all the fish food, and a kneeling palace maid wiped his fingers clean.
“Fair winds and gentle rains cannot temper a man. We set this trap with great pains. This is the Crown Prince’s first real crisis. We hope he withstands the pressure, lives up to Our expectations, and steadies the military’s morale in Jiangning.”
The white-haired old man stepped forward. Even in the biting cold, he continued fanning, scattering the rouge scent around the emperor.
His hoarse voice carried a chuckle. “This old minister dares to remind Your Majesty: His Highness the Crown Prince has faced crises before—the emotional entanglement he severed with his own hands.”
“Imperial father-in-law! Out of all the things not to mention, you bring that one up!”
Faced with the emperor’s mock reproach, the white-haired old man’s smile did not fade, his aged eyes narrow and willow-like.
Strangely enough, the “imperial father-in-law” the emperor mentioned was not Grand Secretary Dong, father of Empress Dong, but Grand Tutor Cui, father of the late Yide Empress.
The Yide Empress had passed sixteen years prior, yet Grand Tutor Cui was still called the Imperial Father-in-Law. Court officials often jested that one mountain could not hold two tigers, so they dubbed Grand Tutor Cui the Grand Imperial Father-in-Law and Grand Secretary Dong the Lesser Imperial Father-in-Law.
The Crown Prince was the second son, and his elder half-brother had gone with his mother, the Yide Empress.
That year, the Shunren Emperor grieved and blamed himself. Had he not broken the rule of “establish the eldest, not the wisest” and insisted on naming his second son as Heir Apparent, his principal wife would not have chosen to perish in flames.
The silver zither played melodiously, yet could not soothe his waning spirits.
The coral pillow was exquisite, but added no warmth to the brocade quilt.
The Shunren Emperor occasionally brought up old matters with Grand Tutor Cui, sighing as white hair grew from sorrow.
Grand Tutor Cui would fan himself silently each time, seemingly at peace, but profound grief often left one speechless. To remember his eldest daughter, Grand Tutor Cui and his wife had a second daughter, Cui Shihan, who was enfeoffed as a county princess at birth and settled in Yangzhou.
The past was like smoke. The white-haired old man walked out of the palace gates with hands clasped behind his back, without a backward glance at the towering halls. As he boarded the carriage, he was stopped by a duty-bound sixth-rank captain.
The captain, who had chased after the carriage while holding his helmet, panted. “This lowly officer has sent multiple self-recommendations to the Ministry of War, all sunk without a trace. I beg the Grand Tutor to enlighten me—is there still a chance for a transfer?”
Known as the court’s know-it-all, Grand Tutor Cui had vast connections and keen intelligence, often providing pivotal advice. The captain seeking promotion had waited days for this face-to-face chance.
Grand Tutor Cui fanned slowly and chuckled unhurriedly. “Give it a shot.”
The coachman cracked his whip, and the carriage sped away, leaving the captain overjoyed in place.
Back at his residence, Grand Tutor Cui received a family letter from Yangzhou. He did not open it immediately but glanced at the old retainer who delivered it and casually named an address. “This man excels at treating rheumatic pains. Go see him for a consultation soon.”
The old retainer, who had lived nearly fifty years in the Capital City, had no idea such a renowned physician resided in that obscure alley corner.
Grand Tutor Cui returned to his study and opened the letter from his second daughter, Cui Shihan.
In the letter, Cui Shihan asked her father whether she should properly host the esteemed guest from the Eastern Palace.
“Esteemed guest…”
Grand Tutor Cui’s pitch-black, narrow eyes rippled with the passage of years.
Sixteen years.
His eldest daughter had died harboring resentment for sixteen years.
In the early morning, she rolled up the curtains, her breath forming thin mist. Jiang Yinyue shook her wind-filled sleeves, shivering from the fragmented snow under the eaves.
This winter was unusually harsh; snow fell across Huainan and Huaibei, even the sparrows huddled silently on branches, unwilling to sing.
When the post-station worker brought breakfast, Jiang Yinyue had already packed her bundle, ready to continue the journey. No one knew when a fire musket had appeared in her bundle—not even her.
The fire musket taken by the Crown Prince had circled back to her hands, now loaded with extra shot in the barrel.
On the long road ahead, Jiang Yinyue turned to look at the ink-green palanquin behind the carriage and couldn’t help tugging Wei Qin’s sleeve, silently protesting.
Taking a shortcut over mountains and wilderness was to shorten travel time, yet Yan Zhuyu had two guards carry her sedan behind—was she afraid Yan Zhuyu’s relatives and old neighbors in Yangzhou wouldn’t know this was a second-rank official’s gift to curry her favor?
Jiang Yinyue sensed it: Yan Zhuyu’s trip was not just for visiting family. Times had changed; she was no longer a pawn her father used for connections.
“You two were neighbors. Have you heard of any family in Yangzhou that ever slighted Yan Zhuyu?”
Wei Qin, driving the carriage, looked at the woman peeking from the curtain and used one hand to push her head back. “It’s cold outside.”
“I’m not cold.” Jiang Yinyue poked her head out again, waiting for his answer.
“The prefect’s daughter.”
“Tell me more.”
Wei Qin calmly recounted some past events he had witnessed, without asking why Jiang Yinyue was interested—as if he had foreseen that Yan Zhuyu’s family visit would trample those who once looked down on her.
The group traveled haltingly, crossing mountains and ridges, passing towns. Unnoticed, the north winds faded, fine rain moistened the ice, and lingering snow quietly melted, bidding farewell to the year’s extreme cold.
In the second month, the east wind blew, willow buds stirred.
The further south, the warmer the weather: willow eyes and plum cheeks, misty light and floral shadows.
The ramie garment on Wei Qin finally looked somewhat normal.
Jiang Yinyue withdrew her gaze from him, holding the terrain map and carefully identifying the route. Delayed several days by that broken palanquin, she planned to bypass the county town ahead without stopping.
The maid Han Yan stated bluntly, “The lady had abdominal pain last night; movement causes sweating. She needs to find a doctor in the small town.”
Jiang Yinyue closed her eyes to regulate her breathing, unwilling to clash directly with Yan Zhuyu. After all, she was the Eastern Palace Side Consort—minor ailments every three days, major ones every five. Her pampered body was unfit for long journeys.
The small town bustled with the morning market, vendors hawking nonstop. The group wove through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds and found a clinic along the way.
The clinic barred idle people; only one maid accompanied, while the rest waited outside.
The female physician, who had just taken Yan Zhuyu’s pulse, suddenly withdrew her hand and instinctively looked at the refined woman before her.
“Madame, you’ve been married three years?”
The word “married” stung slightly, but Yan Zhuyu nodded calmly.
The female physician smiled and took the pulse again. The marketplace hid reclusive experts; not even locals knew this infrequent clinic doctor was a wandering healer of renown.
One check revealed the woman before her was still a virgin.
Three years married without consummation, and her body showed no major issues—it was mostly the husband’s fault.
The female physician did not pry, only advising Yan Zhuyu, “Madame, your liver qi is stagnant, emotions depressed. You must relax your mind. I’ll prescribe some medicine to soothe the liver, regulate qi, dispel stasis, and unblock meridians.”
“Thank you.”
Depressed emotions? That was true. Yan Zhuyu had her maid offer extra payment, generous as always.
While waiting, Jiang Yinyue pulled Wei Qin to the tea shop across the way and ordered two bowls of sweet soup.
They sat by the window. Jiang Yinyue glanced at the four guards pacing outside, absently stirring the almond paste in her bowl.
“Like lingering spirits.”
Wei Qin looked out the window, his slender index finger tapping the spoon handle lightly. From the Crown Prince’s departure until now, these four differed from the other guards, shadowing him and Jiang Yinyue inseparably.
The Crown Prince’s special orders, no doubt.
He did not want the woman he owed to face danger on the road again.
Entrusting Yan Zhuyu to them was merely a pretext; his true intent lay elsewhere.
“Let them be.”
Jiang Yinyue ignored them, downed the whole bowl of almond paste, then leaned by the window, idly scanning the long street.
A guesthouse caught her eye. Her left knee, under Wei Qin’s care, had fully recovered—it had been a minor dislocation, treated promptly without sequelae.
“Wei Qin, I want to bathe.”
The two headed to the guesthouse, the four guards shadowing them.
The innkeeper, tallying his abacus, smiled. “Heaven-grade rooms are full today. Do the two want an earth-grade room?”
Bathing took only a few cups of tea’s time, so Jiang Yinyue took an earth-grade room. As she followed the waiter upstairs, she glanced back at the four annoying shadows.
Once the waiter brought the bathwater and filled the wooden tub, Jiang Yinyue blocked Wei Qin, who meant to leave out of propriety, and bolted the door behind her. “Those four are sneaking around. I’m uneasy. Stay and keep me company.”
“I’ll guard the door.”
“No, stay right here.”
With Wei Qin there, she felt secure in this city full of strangers.
The earth-grade room was cramped with no partitions—not even a screen to block the view. Wei Qin pulled out an embroidered stool, sat with his back to the tub, and took a shallow sip of the tea the waiter had brought.
The tea was coarse and astringent, but he paid it no mind. His mild features stiffened slightly at the sound of splashing water behind him.
His sipping slowed.
The room was quiet, filled only with water sounds.
Jiang Yinyue comfortably scooped bathwater over her body, occasionally peeking at Wei Qin, who sat motionless like a mountain.
In her heart, Wei Qin was akin to a chaste gentleman unmoved by temptation.
Three years had proven this.
The guesthouse’s soapberry was too coarse; she picked it up and set it down. Hands gripping the tub rim, she poked out her dripping little face. “There’s sheep’s milk soap in the bundle. Fetch it for me.”
Wei Qin’s back twitched—a light breath. He retrieved a fragrant block of soap from the bundle; it felt warm and smooth, milk-white in texture, yet paled against the woman’s translucent skin amid the steam.
As he handed it over, their fingertips inevitably brushed.
His rough callus unintentionally grazed smooth softness.
Fine as porcelain.
Jiang Yinyue took the soap and sank back into the water.
Bubbles bubbled upward.
Wei Qin did not linger; he turned away, but the image lingered uncontrollably.
The woman, unclothed, wet hair in strands draping front and back, rounded shoulders half-hidden within.
He went to the window, cracked it open narrowly, pinched his high nose bridge—and suddenly smelled the lingering soap fragrance on his fingertips.
A healthy man gazed at the bustling traffic outside, distracted, until a “splash” sounded behind him.
The sound of emerging from the bath.
Followed by the rustle of cloth.
“It’s fine now.”
When Wei Qin turned, Jiang Yinyue had changed into thinner spring attire that clung to her damp skin, accentuating her graceful figure.
She stood by the tub wringing her hair, tilting her head to reveal a section of pink-tinged white neck.
Wei Qin approached, took the cloth towel, and gently dried her long hair, careful and thorough, even behind her ears.
Her ears were sensitive; Jiang Yinyue felt itchy and shrank her neck, looking lazily content like a pampered Siamese cat, just short of leaning on Wei Qin for support.
She lifted her head with a smile, about to say she was hungry, but her gaze fell on Wei Qin’s prominent Adam’s apple.
Exceptionally sharp.
She stared curiously until the cloth covered her eyes.
Wei Qin swapped to a fresh white cloth, blindfolding her.
Even after her emotional trial, she remained ignorant of carnal matters.
Wei Qin’s gaze drifted down to her bath-flushed red lips.
That sharp protrusion rolled lightly.