Chapter 18

Even now, the memory sent a shiver through her. Her hands instinctively crossed over her abdomen, as if to stifle the lingering tremor in her voice.

"I brought enough money."

Her own worth seemed to be consistently underestimated; in truth, she carried enough wealth to purchase an entire restaurant, far from the destitution she was currently feigning.

Pei Muci sensed the momentary emptiness and panic in her eyes. He stepped back half a pace to give her space to compose herself, explaining calmly, "I saw that Your Highness was fond of the little pastries, so I bought some as a snack."

Every courtyard in the Princess's manor had a dedicated kitchen for preparing delicacies, and the trays in her bedchamber were always stocked with freshly sliced sweets. Even the carriage was supplied with two plates to help the Princess pass the time. For more than half a year, a maid would always deliver pastries to his quarters first, signaling him to prepare for her arrival.

Yet, he did not care for sweet things. In fact, he could be said to despise them from the bottom of his heart.

When he was very young, his mother, in order to trick him into consuming various poisons, would always mix honey into the powders and mold them into small, square shapes.

But it seemed so many years had passed since then...

After leaving the pastry stall, Pei Muci did not linger anywhere else. It was as if the bustling street scenes of the capital were nothing more than fleeting smoke and mirrors, unworthy of a second glance.

Qingwu had eaten her fill at lunch and had snacks in the carriage, so she was not particularly hungry. Unknowingly, the two wandered out of the night market. The surrounding vendors thinned out, and the area was no longer as crowded as before. Qingwu chased after Pei Muci, acting with the playfulness of a child as she stepped into his footprints, trying to match the length of his stride.

Whether intentional or not, he teased her like one might tease a kitten, never quite letting her have her way.

Qingwu grew annoyed, her voice tinged with petulant frustration, "You are not allowed to walk so fast!"

She stood where she was, though she did not release the hand she was holding.

Pei Muci retrieved a thin blade from his sleeve and secured it to his forearm. Only after tucking away the package of pastries did he use his free hand to take hers. "I feared that walking too close might accidentally harm Your Highness."

But if he had it strapped so close, would it not harm him instead? Still, Qingwu reasoned that if he dared to do it, he must be confident in his control.

She quickly pressed against him, palm to palm, their forearms tucked tightly together. The mesh of her skirt fluttered, constantly brushing against Pei Muci’s moon-white outer robe. On a sudden whim, she asked, "Where did you run off to the day before yesterday?"

Pei Muci had not expected her to ask this. He pondered how to respond. In truth, he had not run outside the city that day, but had gone to a pre-arranged meeting spot to collect an antidote. Even though he would never ingest what those people gave him, meeting them punctually every month was merely to lower their guard, making them believe he could not survive without their remedy.

Was this not exactly what his mother wanted to see? To have him leashed by her side like a dog? That was why he disliked the feeling of being dependent on others.

***

Seeing that he remained silent for a long time, Qingwu assumed he did not wish to answer. She did not care where he had gone; even if he fled to the ends of the earth, she would drag him back, watching the hope in his eyes slowly crumble until he, like all the other male courtesans before him, became entirely reliant on her.

She had the means to do so. After all, she was the Emperor's most beloved princess, and the only remaining seedling left in his lineage.

Yet, he was vastly different from those she had kept before. No matter what methods she employed, he always smiled with composed fearlessness, his unfathomable eyes always holding a sense of detachment and calm that dismissed life and death. He yielded to her in many matters, but he had never bowed his head on matters of principle.

Qingwu also knew that after she had been forced to slaughter his household that night, his attitude had already begun to shift. Fearing she might frighten him away, she decided to proceed slowly, like simmering a soup over a low flame. "There is a porridge stall by the city wall. Did you see it?"

Pei Muci nodded.

Since the war between the two nations began, the capital had been flooded with refugees—some seeking relatives, others truly destitute and homeless. To prevent these displaced people from causing unrest, there were temporary hostels at the corners of the city, and some wealthy families had set up free porridge stalls nearby to help settle them.

"Shall I take you to see it?"

Pei Muci was always agreeable on such trivial matters; he rarely refused.

Qingwu waved at the side of the road, hailing an ox cart loaded with heavy goods. "Old man, could you take us to the South City Wall? I will make sure you are well compensated."

The old ox pulled a dusty, flat cart bed. It lacked even side rails to contain the cargo, and in the corner lay a coil of rope used for securing sacks; there was not even a proper seat. The old man wore a tattered, patched tunic, his disheveled hair streaked with white.

Qingwu’s demeanor remained natural, without a hint of disdain. She gazed at the driver with a beaming smile, as if she knew he would surely agree.

Seeing the porcelain-doll-like beauty, how could the old man bear to refuse? He tightened the reins on the cart frame, and the old ox stamped its hooves twice, coming to a steady halt by the roadside.

The old man looked at his dilapidated cart with embarrassment. He pulled the sweat-rag from his shoulder, wiped the wooden board a few times, and crouched down to pull out a four-legged stool from beneath the cart. "I am usually alone, so I only prepared this one," he said apologetically.

Qingwu thanked him, stood by the edge of the cart, and laid her handkerchief over the stool. She pursed her lips, signaling Pei Muci to get on. "Make do with this."

She acted as if she were yielding the seat to him. If they were determined to take this cart to the South City Wall, this was the only stool available. If one sat, the other would have to kneel on the wooden planks.

***

The dust aside, the road was bumpy, and one would need to keep their back straight and muscles tense to maintain balance, which was exhausting.

Pei Muci, bracing himself against the cart, asked in confusion, "And what about you?"

Why did he have a sudden chilling sensation down his spine?

Qingwu, true to form, offered an innocent smile, though her words were shocking.

"I will sit on your lap."

As expected.

Pei Muci sighed, accustomed to her ways. Qingwu rubbed her hands together in anticipation, a crafty, triumphant look on her face—like a bandit leader entering a wealthy den, a den that was hers to plunder as she pleased.

Pei Muci shook the pastries in his hand to ensure nothing would spill, placed them carefully against his chest, and climbed onto the cart with a long stride.

Qingwu felt a sudden lightness as she was hoisted onto the cart bed in a flash. Now that the arrow was on the string, she hesitated.

Sit sideways? There was nowhere to lean her back.

Sit with her back to him? She couldn't see his face.

If she straddled him, would Pei Muci be unhappy?

Qingwu gave this serious thought before finding a comprehensive solution. The cart rattled, but she stood firmly upon it, her voice even steadier.

"Spread your legs."

Pei Muci: ...?

Qingwu stepped forward, using the raised toe of her clog to nudge his feet apart.

Pei Muci looked at her with profound significance. He lifted his robes slightly, opened his knees, and allowed her to slip into his embrace and sit upon his right thigh.

The injury on his leg seemed to throb with the peculiar itch that comes only when a wound begins to scab and knit new flesh.