With her back to the door, Jiang Yinyue closed her eyes. Just from the sound of the knock, she already knew the identity of the visitor.
She did not wish to turn around. Looking back filled her with regret for her lost youth, trapped in hardship as her prime faded away.
After being kicked out of the game, Jiang Yinyue once could not distinguish true feelings from false ones. The recluse who shut herself away often faced scoldings from her father, who blamed her for being useless, for losing to the daughter of an eighth-rank minor official, and for shaming the Jiang Clan.
Her marriage became a hot potato; no high family in the capital wished to take on the Crown Prince’s “discarded piece.”
In the eyes of high families, accepting a thoroughly mocked “discarded piece” was undoubtedly an insult to their door lintel.
Yet after Jiang Yinyue became the target of public criticism, the heartlessly estranged Crown Prince claimed he could grant her a marriage.
With the Heir Apparent’s decree, no high family could refuse, willing or not.
The words stuck like a fishbone in her throat. She resolutely refused and, in a fit of pique, agreed to the poor scholar her father had chosen for her.
Wei Qin, the poor scholar who had just earned the title of Bangyan, was caught as a son-in-law from under the list and joined the Jiang Mansion. But just a few days after their wedding, the Jiang Mansion’s matriarch, Lady Yu, suffered a relapse of her old illness and passed away without treatment.
Three years prior, the northern borders had been unstable, and the Jiang Mansion’s eldest young master, who guarded the frontier, could not return in time. Jiang Yinyue stood in for her elder brother—and for herself—as well, observing three years of mourning for her mother. She had only just passed the mourning period and was still unwilling to change out of her plain clothes.
Her frost-white dress was plain enough, and the cloak draped over it was an even duller shade of blue-gray. She pulled open the door just like that, lowered her eyes, and stood dazed in the doorway until a light cough sounded—Yan Zhuyu reminding her.
Jiang Yinyue dropped to her knees with indifferent eyes and paid her respects to Da’an’s Heir Apparent.
As the door swung open, their paths intertwined after three years. Wei Xichen instinctively supported Jiang Yinyue’s arm. “Rise.”
His long, even fingers clasped her upper arm, and through her clothes, he felt the woman’s body trembling.
She must have been overly frightened.
“Yinyue, I hope you’ve been well.”
Jiang Yinyue looked up in surprise. She had thought the Crown Prince would sternly wait for her to explain the matter of the fire musket. After all, three years had passed, and even the deepest affections would have worn thin—especially since they had parted on bad terms.
No dealings without fate; they should have been distant and estranged. Yet his tone sounded more like encountering an old friend.
As expected, the mindset of the one who hurt others differed utterly from the one who was hurt.
The former always found excuses to soothe their conscience, while the latter healed bit by bit over long years.
Jiang Yinyue withdrew her arm and subtly blocked the Crown Prince from entering the small room by standing in the doorway.
A lone man and woman under the watchful eyes of the crowd would not do.
Before the Crown Prince could ask about the fire musket, Jiang Yinyue repeated the excuse she had used to deceive the guards. Thinking of the hunter she had shallowly buried in the snow, her fine brows furrowed into a “chuan” shape.
“This wife became separated from her husband and unluckily encountered a brown bear that had just awakened to forage. For self-preservation, this wife drove it off with the fire musket.”
Yan Zhuyu stepped forward a few paces and stood diagonally behind the Crown Prince, asking doubtfully, “It’s not even past the first lunar month. Would a hibernating bear awaken?”
Jiang Yinyue explained, “Some wild beasts, upon entering hibernation, wake once every few days for four to ten hours at a time.”
Yan Zhuyu half-believed it but knew she could not match the knowledge Jiang Yinyue had absorbed from childhood in the Eastern Palace. Further questioning might expose her ignorance, so she pressed her lips together and said nothing, though she still found the chance encounter with a brown bear too far-fetched.
Wei Xichen’s moist eyes narrowed slightly as he smoothly asked, “Who gave you the fire musket?”
Jiang Yinyue felt somewhat weary and mustered her strength to respond, “The road to Yangzhou is long and the mountains steep. My father gave it to me for self-defense.”
“By law, second-rank officials of the Three Judicial Departments may carry muskets, but their families may not.”
Wei Xichen spread his pale jade palm, his intent clear. His eyes unconsciously took on a faint teasing light from their childhood “confrontations” with the girl.
He saw through her forced composure.
The young Jiang Yinyue had worn the same expression after being caught stealing tribute fruits.
Fire muskets were exceedingly precious, and Jiang Yinyue naturally did not wish to hand it over—it was the “talisman” her father had given her for protection. She pressed her brows, utterly unselfconscious.
Wei Xichen did not press her. He withdrew his hand, tucked both sleeves, and said lightly, “Then when this prince returns to court, he will have to question Minister Jiang on the matter.”
“Take it.”
Jiang Yinyue handed over the fire musket, suppressing her emotions. Things were no longer as in their youth—no more igniting at a touch, no more venting dissatisfaction bluntly with unrestrained words.
Wei Xichen took the fire musket and laughed with a sigh. “You’ve changed quite a bit.”
That willful, arrogant girl had become quiet and reticent.
Wei Xichen turned the fire musket and held it behind his back with clasped hands. His gaze fell on Jiang Yinyue’s face, but the woman lowered her head, avoiding his eyes.
The arc of his laughing sigh stiffened on his lips.
“Yangzhou and Jiangning are not far. Since we’ve met, let’s travel together. It’ll be safer with company.”
“This wife will wait here for her husband.”
“What if Wei Qin never comes?”
“Compiler Wei will come.”
Jiang Yinyue did not lift her head. Her heels dug firmly into the ground to support her tottering body. She did not waver from the Crown Prince and Yan Zhuyu’s persuasions. She wanted to wait for Wei Qin—and also to avoid frequent encounters with the Crown Prince.
The past was the final coda. She was not as obsessed as she had imagined. One thought lets go, and new life begins—this was Wei Qin’s guidance to her.
However, she did not know Wei Qin all that well. On their wedding night, unable to accept a stranger’s touch, she refused to consummate the marriage. With perfect righteousness, she demanded the groom sleep on the floor and forbade him from complaining to her father.
Yet Wei Qin was prouder than Jiang Yinyue had imagined. He did not meekly submit like a typical son-in-law. Rejected once, he never proposed consummation again. During the three-year mourning period that followed, the two did not cross paths.
Minister Jiang knew he had forced this union, but with no regrets after the move, he coerced and lured the young couple to go to Yangzhou together after his daughter’s mourning period. He even forbade her maidservant Hong Mei from accompanying them, simply hoping prolonged proximity would foster affection.
Seeing Jiang Yinyue refuse to yield, Wei Xichen did not press further. He urged her to rest well and then left with Yan Zhuyu.
The remote courtyard, usually undisturbed, returned to its chill quiet. Jiang Yinyue dragged her weary body toward the bamboo bed when the door was knocked again.
The visitor was the imperial physician traveling with the Crown Prince, a kindly man. While taking her pulse, he deliberately let slip, “I just heard from the posthouse worker that Compiler Wei came here looking for his lady two hours ago. Before leaving, he instructed the worker that if there was any news of his lady, they could signal with fireworks.”
The imperial physician withdrew his hand from her pulse and added, “The posthouse worker is preparing the fireworks now. They’ll be more visible if lit at night.”
Jiang Yinyue breathed a sigh of relief. Fireworks bursting toward the horizon would be visible for miles around. She believed she would soon reunite with Wei Qin.
Night fell, the cold moon urging on the chill. Wei Xichen slowly ascended the slope where the guards had found Jiang Yinyue.
His silver rat cloak brushed over the withered, snow-covered grass.
An elderly eunuch with graying temples followed behind him.
The two stood on the slope, quietly waiting for something. After a moment, four guards ran up from another direction. One had found a clue to Jiang Yinyue’s crisis.
“Your Highness, a hundred zhang to the southeast, there is a trail of bloodstains, likely left by the wounded crawling.”
According to the accompanying imperial physician, Jiang Yinyue’s body was unharmed, but her fright had disordered her pulse. Wei Xichen had guessed as much and thus ordered the four guards to search and verify his suspicions.
He glanced toward the southeast. His refined air gradually chilled under the cold moon. “Find that person. Leave no one alive.”
The old eunuch bowed at the waist and watched Wei Xichen depart. He turned back to sweep his gaze over the four guards, a warning hidden in his eyes. “This matter must not be mentioned to anyone.”
Fortunately, Lady Jiang had emerged unscathed from the ordeal. Otherwise, he was unsure if His Highness the Crown Prince would slaughter that lecher’s entire family.
His Highness felt guilty toward Lady Jiang and could not bear for her to suffer such grievances again.
The winter night stretched long. Silver snow dotted the vast mountains and wilds. A trail of blood stretched along the endless snowscape, gradually freezing solid.
The hunter whom Jiang Yinyue had shallowly buried in the snow could crawl no farther. He rolled onto his back, hand clutching his chest, his breath ragged. He had never imagined nearly dying at the hands of a little lady. The wound could not be delayed; if he could not crawl home, he feared he would perish here.
“You’re injured.”
A clear, ethereal voice suddenly sounded in the midnight. At first listen, it seemed ghostly and hollow. The hunter thought he was hallucinating. He laboriously lifted his eyes; the cold moon overhead was blocked by a figure.
A young face appeared in his blurry vision.
Radiant and exquisite, yet an innate uprightness tempered the allure of her features.
What a countenance this was. The hunter thought he had encountered a mountain spirit.
“Save me…” He rasped, his eyes full of pleading.
The man lifted the lantern, shining it on his chest where blood had nearly drained dry. He extended an abnormally pale finger and pressed it, heedless of whether the hunter could bear the pain. “Caused by a fire musket. Who did it?”
“Save me.”
“Answer my question first.”
“A woman.”
“Why did she injure you?”
The hunter’s breath grew fainter. He parted his purple, cracked lips with effort. “She got lost in the mountains. I kindly took her in, but she didn’t know gratitude and repaid kindness with enmity.”
The man raised the lantern higher, illuminating the hunter’s face.
The flickering firelight danced in the man’s pitch-black pupils, tiny glimmers of blue-green fluorescence falling into the depths. “Where is she?”
“Ran away.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than clusters of fireworks exploded in the dark night sky, brilliant as scattered stars.
The slight furrow in the man’s brows gradually smoothed. He rose and stepped over the hunter. His coarse hemp robe fluttered as he moved, and the lantern in his hand lit the wooden plaque at his waist, engraved with the characters “Wei Qin.”
Seeing the man had no intention of helping, the hunter grew anxious. Clutching his chest, he tried to rise. “Save…”
Before the word finished, a melodious whistle sounded.
In his suspicion, the hunter’s peripheral vision caught a horse charging from the thick darkness of night.
The horse was jet-black and glossy. It galloped toward the lantern-holding man, its hooves heavily trampling the hunter’s chest.
A muffled grunt drowned in the sudden wind and snow.
The man named Wei Qin did not look back. As he brushed past the horse sideways, he seized the saddle horn in one hand and vaulted onto the horse in a fluid motion.
Hooves thundered, splashing snow and mud.
When the guards arrived, they found only a corpse with a crushed chest bone.
Jiang Yinyue awoke amid the brilliant fireworks illuminating the window lattice. After a short rest, her strength had recovered somewhat. She pushed open the window and looked up at the inky sky, hoping Wei Qin would hurry and take her away.
“You’re awake.”
Following the direction of the voice, Jiang Yinyue looked out the window at Yan Zhuyu in a cloud-purple dress. The rich hue did not suit this woman; the blue dress and white skirt from her memories suited her better.
Standing alone, tearful as pear blossoms in rain—it stirred protective instincts.
Jiang Yinyue did not open the door to bow. She stood by the window and watched Yan Zhuyu’s maid carry in bird’s nest porridge.
“Her Ladyship instructed the posthouse worker to stew bird’s nest for the lady. Worried about disturbing your rest, it has been kept warm on a hot plate. You should be grateful for this kindness.”
“Han Xun, too talkative.”
Yan Zhuyu cut off her maid and walked to the window. She personally lifted the porcelain bowl and handed it to Jiang Yinyue.
Slender jade hands, fingers tipped with dan kou. From her makeup and hair to her attire, all was meticulously chosen.
In contrast, Jiang Yinyue went without makeup, her hair bun askew. In Yan Zhuyu’s eyes, she was no longer the pampered girl who was exquisite from her hair tips to her soles.
She still remembered their first meeting, when the highborn lady who never touched spring water mistook her for an Eastern Palace maidservant.
The pampered girl and the maidservant…
Yan Zhuyu felt a smoothness in her meridians. She handed over the bird’s nest and curved her lips. “Drink more. Once you reach your husband’s family in Yangzhou, you’ll have to restrain yourself. I come from a poor family and know well that poor families cannot compare to high ones. They are frugal in food, clothing, and daily needs, calculating every penny.”
High families were high families, poor ones poor. Even with Minister Jiang Song backing his daughter, the poor Wei family could not produce top-grade bird’s nest.
How could a spoiled, delicate miss not disdain cheap bird’s nest.
Still, even the poorest family is far wealthier than common folk. They may lack official bird’s nest but can eat feathered nests or grass nests, which also nourish.
“Must one eat bird’s nest?” Jiang Yinyue asked.
“What?”
“Bird’s nest is sweet and neutral in nature, nourishing yin and moistening dryness. Many foods have similar effects; expense does not make it irreplaceable.”
Jiang Yinyue took the porcelain bowl and set it by the window. She glanced at the yellow dog by the door. “Her Ladyship keeps mentioning ‘poor family’—do you truly despise your own origins from the bottom of your heart? Poor families can produce nobles, high families wastrels. Most families’ wealth does not last three generations, nor poverty five mourning degrees. Ability and character are the foundation of one’s standing. Climbing up through crooked paths requires cultivating one’s heart. Sneakily damaging others while thinking oneself clever, respecting oneself while belittling others— it only reveals pettiness.”
Yan Zhuyu looked slightly stunned. The recovered Jiang Yinyue shattered the facade of decorum, no longer a soft pushover. For a moment, Yan Zhuyu glimpsed the spirited girl from three years ago—but now calm and even-tempered, no longer overbearing.
The female servant at the side unconsciously raised her voice. “Lady Jiang, mind your words!”
“Speaking of minding words, that one sentence from Your Ladyship back then—’I didn’t see anything’—made me the target of public criticism. Was that a most cautious testimony, Yan Liangdi?”
A liangdi’s status in the Eastern Palace was second only to the Crown Princess Consort, yet she was still a concubine of the Crown Prince.
The grand wedding between the Heir Apparent and the daughter of an eighth-rank official took a sharp downturn due to the intervention of Empress Dong and Grand Secretary Dong. In the end, Yan Zhuyu formed a bond with the Eastern Palace as a liangdi and became another hot topic among the Capital City’s populace after Jiang Yinyue.
That year, the Eastern Palace’s web of grievances, affections, and rivalries had truly been lively.
The composure that Yan Zhuyu had honed showed faint ripples. She glanced indifferently at Jiang Yinyue, turned, and departed, leaving behind a tepid reply.
“A deserter who fled the field of battle, a coward greedy for life and afraid of death—a stain that can’t be washed clean.”
Jiang Yinyue’s fingertips, clenched against the windowsill, turned white. The relentless barrage of insults crashed over her like surging river waves, more turbulent than mere mockery.
Over the past three years, she had replayed it countless times. It was that assassination attempt which shattered the pure innocence between childhood sweethearts, turning the Crown Prince’s indulgence toward her into exploitation.
Besides her reputation for arrogance and hubris, she remained in everyone’s mouths the coward who had abandoned the comatose Crown Prince and fled the scene.