After finishing the dinner sent by the post station workers, Jiang Yinyue sprawled on the small bed studying the terrain map. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Wei Qin carrying a bucket of water inside. She didn’t need to guess to know the water had been drawn from the well—icy and piercing.
She pretended as if nothing had happened, but her peripheral gaze remained fixed on him. She watched as he undid his ramie garment in the corner, revealing his lean and sturdy upper body, then wiped his back with a cloth towel.
The lamplight cast fluid, taut lines across his slim muscles—different from the burly, sinewy build of a brute, highlighting an elegant refinement.
Yet on his back lingered an old whip scar, stretching from his left shoulder to the dimple at his right waist.
It wasn’t hard to imagine how much force the wielder had put into that lash.
“Wei Qin, I’ve never heard you mention your birth father.”
The man who had killed himself out of guilt from that massive debt on his back.
Wei Qin paused, then quickly wiped down and straightened his clothes. “Old matters, old people—not worth mentioning.”
“He often beat you.”
Jiang Yinyue spoke with certainty. She set down the terrain map, slipped into her shoes, and walked up to him. Tilting her head, she stared at the man’s tense jawline. “Do you hate him?”
“Not worth mentioning.”
“No father is ‘not worth mentioning’—unless you hate him.”
Wei Qin’s deep eyes lowered slightly. His tall frame cast a shadow that enveloped her entire face. “Doesn’t Miss have people you don’t wish to mention?”
Jiang Yinyue choked, her concern instantly turning to icy shards. But putting herself in his shoes, she realized she had touched his reverse scale.
“Forget it, forget it.”
She waved it off and returned to the small bed, falling silent in a sulk. It was her mistake. They were just temporary travel companions; she shouldn’t dig into roots and force him to bare his heart.
It wasn’t just the Ministry of Personnel—for peace of mind with no loose ends, her father had sent people to Jinyang and Yangzhou well before selecting a son-in-law from the exam roster. They had thoroughly investigated Wei Qin’s background.
Wei Qin was born to merchants. His birth mother was the frail daughter of a vinegar seller who died young. His father had a fiery temper and would take out business failures on him—a whipping was considered light.
These old tales had been gleaned by the Jiang Mansion steward from Wei Family neighbors. Even now, those old neighbors gnashed their teeth at the mention of Wei Qin’s father.
The past was hard to trace, but the wounds were heavy. Wei Qin’s reticent nature was closely tied to those old hurts.
Jiang Song had once said that if everyone was like a qin player, the tune Wei Qin played wouldn’t appeal to all tastes—the strings under his fingers were taut.
At the Qionglin Banquet, the Crown Prince had laughed upon first seeing Wei Qin and said something intriguing—
“All of you combined don’t look as profound as the Bangyan.”
With that one remark, the Crown Prince had pointed out the weight in Wei Qin’s heart.
Praise or criticism—interpretations varied.
Jiang Yinyue pulled up the quilt, leaving only her eyes exposed. She watched as Wei Qin silently fetched bedding to make a floor pallet right beside her small bed, then lay down with his back to her.
He wasn’t throwing a tantrum at her, then.
Having uncovered his scars, Jiang Yinyue no longer felt at ease. Guilt consumed her.
In her dream, she suddenly heard the crack of a whip. Backlit, she ran forward, trying to stop the middle-aged man swinging it.
Don’t hit him!
Wei Qin, does it hurt?
Jiang Yinyue jolted awake, heart pounding. As awareness returned, she turned to look at the floor pallet.
It was empty.
Where was he?
The night was dark and still, all sounds hushed, but the whip cracks from her dream grew clearer. She followed the noise to the stables, arriving just in time to see Han Jian whipping the scruffy horse.
The stables were closest to the side courtyard where Jiang Yinyue stayed, farther from the Crown Prince’s and Cheng Gao’s courtyards—that was why Han Jian dared to be so brazen.
Jiang Yinyue rushed forward, accompanied only by the bright moon and her shadow. She blocked Han Jian’s path and glanced at the horse groom cowering far away. In a cold voice, she said, “Haven’t you had enough?”
Han Jian caught his breath from exhaustion. “The little beast won’t submit, so it gets beaten. Watchdogs are tamed that way.”
“How much silver?”
“What?”
Jiang Yinyue crossed her arms, adopting a negotiating stance. “I want to buy this horse. Name your price—I’ll cover it.”
“Consort Liangdi said a thousand gold wouldn’t change it.”
“That’s your lady’s word. I’m asking you.”
The pointed remark would be understood by the clever. Yan Zhuyu wouldn’t care about a dead horse—as long as Han Jian inflated the number, the matter could end.
Tomorrow morning, the caravan would depart. She would take the horse and detour, away from these headaches.
She couldn’t fathom—and didn’t want to guess—the Crown Prince’s reason for blocking her and Wei Qin’s farewell today, but he had no cause to obstruct repeatedly.
Part on good terms—that was what the Crown Prince had taught her.
Jiang Yinyue tossed a bulging money pouch. She jerked her chin. “You’re done here.”
Han Jian hefted the pouch. A glint of depth appeared on his perpetually unsmiling face. He left without a word.
Jiang Yinyue stroked the scruffy horse. “From now on, you’re Lightning Chaser.”
After soothing the horse, she returned to the side courtyard and saw Wei Qin waiting under the moonlight. “Where did you go?”
She had thought he followed the noise to the stables.
Wei Qin picked up the cloak draped over his arm and put it around her. “His Highness summoned me.”
Dragging someone out in the dead of night?
Jiang Yinyue grumbled inwardly. Unless it was an emergency on the scale of a fire, it just showed the Crown Prince was still young and impetuous, not knowing how to spare others.
As Wei Qin led her by the wrist—reluctantly—to the main guest hall, the hall blazed with lights. Cheng Gao and the other officers sat by, all with worried faces.
Two quarters of an hour earlier, the Jiangning Guard Commandery had sent an urgent report: the Guard Commander had been kidnapped, whereabouts unknown.
It disrupted Cheng Gao’s plans to escort the Crown Prince.
Wei Xichen ordered an immediate nighttime departure to Jiangning, to take personal command and prevent unrest among the troops. But one matter needed to be handed to Wei Qin and Jiang Yinyue.
“Consort Liangdi traveling with you?” Jiang Yinyue knew nothing of the report and was baffled to be saddled with this chore. Naturally, she was unwilling.
Wei Xichen had no time for lengthy explanations, nor could he publicly reveal the Guard Commander’s kidnapping. “Yan Zhuyu is heading back to Yangzhou for family matters this trip—perfectly timed to travel with you for mutual support on the road.”
His tone was mild but grave, commanding without anger, leaving no room for Jiang Yinyue to refuse.
The incident was sudden, no time to delay. Wei Xichen abandoned the carriage for a horse. In the deep night, he glanced back, his gaze landing on someone.
His grip on the reins tightened repeatedly, knuckles whitening.
“Move out.”
With the Crown Prince leading by example, soldiers and officials all switched to horses. The procession stretched out grandly and vanished into the elongating moon shadows.
Jiang Yinyue, kept in the dark, tugged Wei Qin back, ignoring Yan Zhuyu who had come to see them off as well.
Yan Zhuyu, who had hoped to fill the Crown Prince’s gaze, was left disappointed.
The Crown Prince had a fondness for collecting Ge Kiln porcelain. She didn’t know if she was the rarest Ge Kiln vase in the Eastern Palace—so rare the collector couldn’t bear to touch it—or the lowest quality one among the grayish-blues, pinkish-blues, and creamy yellows: flawed like chicken ribs, barely qualifying for the collection under the Ge Kiln name.
The Crown Prince’s affections were too restrained, tied to his role as Heir Apparent. A ruler shows no joy or anger on his face, kills without a trace. Yet his hatred for Jiang Yinyue was too obvious, laced with resentment.
This was Yan Zhuyu’s new insight into the Crown Prince on this journey.
Three years of never mentioning her—it must have been suppressing that hate and resentment.
How could one let go of resentment?
Unwillingness stirred. Yan Zhuyu lingered, gaze fixed afar. Then footsteps sounded behind her, and she suddenly spoke. “Next time you bribe Han Jian, remember to give me half the silver.”
Jiang Yinyue turned. Yan Zhuyu had her back to her, hand raised with a bulging money pouch dangling from it.
“Minister Jiang excels at winning hearts, yet his legitimate daughter hasn’t learned even the basics. Looks like even a tiger father might not raise a dog daughter.”
Standing in the cold moonlight away from the Crown Prince, Yan Zhuyu’s words cut sharp, her eyes deep and shadowed—nothing like the gentle, compliant vine she usually was.
Nearby stood Han Jian and his siblings, plus a few guards left by the Crown Prince—perfectly bolstering her sudden aura.
Jiang Yinyue linked arms with Wei Qin and shrugged. “I just wanted to trade a few dozen taels of silver for Han Jian’s kindness. I underestimated human malice. Those who aid the wicked are beyond saving too.”
Yan Zhuyu stopped her maid from advancing to argue. “It’s late—don’t disturb the couple’s intimate whispers.”
Jiang Yinyue clung tightly to Wei Qin’s arm, uncaring of the deliberate barb. But the next instant, Wei Qin withdrew his arm.
“……”
The north wind turned to knives, thin frost to swords—silent as they sheared iron, sharp and biting. Jiang Yinyue still held the pose, her composure shattered by the wind-knives and frost-blades.
Wei Qin had withdrawn his arm—in front of Yan Zhuyu. Where did that leave her face?
Stiff-necked, she dared not turn back, afraid to see Yan Zhuyu’s gloating.
Just as embarrassment turned to humiliated anger, the man who had pulled away suddenly hooked her knee and scooped her up horizontally.
“You’re not fit to walk tonight.”
Lying cradled in a pair of strong arms, Jiang Yinyue looked up in shock. From her angle, she could only see Wei Qin’s jaw shadowed by moonlight.
Her lost dignity surged back twofold. She turned to meet Yan Zhuyu’s gaze, subtly arching a brow with a hint of provocation.
Not triumph, but knowing Yan Zhuyu couldn’t stand seeing her well.
Watching Yan Zhuyu’s expressionless face, Jiang Yinyue wrapped her arms around Wei Qin’s neck, tilted her head against his chest, and winked slyly up at him as he looked down.
Moonlight on the laurel tree cast shadows across one side of Wei Qin’s face, extending to his neck. The sharp prominence there bobbed visibly.
His voice low and husky, he said, “Hold tight.”
Jiang Yinyue tightened her grip around his neck, her rosy fingertips digging into his shoulder, sinking into the ramie fabric.
The little lady was still caught up in the spat, unaware how intimate their actions were.
Back in the side courtyard room, Jiang Yinyue made to jump down but was held by Wei Qin at the small of her back as she straightened.
“Don’t move around.”
Wei Qin supported her with one arm, like hoisting a child single-handed. He carried her back to the bed, laid the “child” on the bedding, removed her shoes, and meant to check her injury again.
Jiang Yinyue pressed down her pant leg with a smile. “It’s not a serious wound. A few days’ rest and it’ll heal.”
“Are you treating me like an outsider, Miss?”
“No……”
Having seen Wei Qin’s stubbornness along the way, Jiang Yinyue knew better than to fight it—she compromised. She rolled up her pant leg herself, an inch above the knee, baring a stretch of fair, tender leg.
The bruise stood out more clearly now, the color of withered roses.
Wei Qin dried his hands, warmed his fingertips, gently lifted her calf onto his thigh, applied medicated oil, and massaged her knee.
It was all proper business, yet Jiang Yinyue’s ears burned. She clearly felt the rigid muscles of his leg and the rough calluses on his fingertips rasping over her skin through the oil.
One lamp flickered, warm and soft. Amid shyness and fatigue, she slowly closed her eyes, head lolling against the wall, unaware of the hour.
A clean, refreshing large hand lifted her head, guiding her to the soft bedding.
“Mm……”
The sleeping woman let out a lazy murmur and unwittingly caught the man’s lingering fingertip between her lips.
A wet warmth at his index fingertip. Wei Qin’s dark eyes shifted. He should have withdrawn, but somehow, he delayed.
The soft, yielding tenderness of her lips was indescribably alluring.
Wei Qin curled his hand, trapping the lingering dampness in his palm. He gazed quietly at the sleeping woman and brushed aside her stray hairs for her.