Chapter 20

On the other side, the pale moonlight of the new moon washed over the precarious walls of the palace. An old man and a young one had dismissed their attendants, passing the time with a game of chess under the moon; for a moment, the scene appeared strangely harmonious.

"I sometimes find myself drifting, thinking that Brother Du is still among the living."

In their youth, the two had been high-spirited and ambitious. Brother Du, raised in the military camps, possessed a temperament that was inexplicably eccentric and worlds apart from his own, yet he remained the only confidant in the deep palace with whom he could speak his true mind.

The palace gates were strictly guarded, yet Brother Du, with his formidable skills, moved through the imperial grounds as if they were his own home. He would often show up unannounced, hauling the Emperor out of his bed just to play a game of chess. While the Emperor yawned and drowsed, Brother Du would weave various military strategies into the placement of the pieces, teaching him clever tactics to crush the barbarians of the south.

The Emperor placed a black stone, his mind flooded with memories of the past. He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile, startled to realize that as the years passed, he had grown increasingly sentimental.

Du Jin’s expression remained indifferent. "It has been ten years. It is kind of Your Majesty to still remember."

When the punishment of the "flesh-scraping" was carried out back then, the Emperor had still been unconscious, his survival uncertain. The executioner, acting under orders from an unknown source, had deliberately inflicted torment on the most agonizing parts of the body. They had poured eight buckets of scalding water over him, and only when his back was a mangled mess of flesh and blood did they produce the white-hot iron comb to scrape the meat away, inch by inch. An ordinary man would have lost consciousness after the first few buckets of water, but his father had endured it until the very end.

The members of the nine clans had all been brought to witness the execution. However, because the Empress had taken the Princess that day, he had been locked in a prison cell, unable to see his father one last time. He had heard that the executioner did not gag his father, and from beginning to end, his father had not uttered a single sound; no one knew exactly when his heart had stopped.

"Rong Zhao is bold to have brought you out of the imperial dungeon." Whenever Emperor Minghui thought of his youngest daughter, a smile always graced his face.

"The Princess’s rescue of this humble commoner was no easy feat." Unsure of the Emperor’s intent, Du Jin pressed his lips together. As the heir to the General’s estate, he was, of course, included among the nine clans. His father’s former subordinates had tried many things, but in the face of a charge of treason, everyone feared being implicated. He had never expected that it would be the Princess who opened the prison door for him.

At that time, her hair had been disheveled, a clear red mark circled her delicate neck, and her face had been stained with tears, yet she had held out her hand, asking if he was willing to go with her.

"I know you do not wish to see me." The Emperor now seemed merely a father concerned for his daughter, his tone even bordering on pleading. "Now, for the sake of Rong Zhao, would you be willing to take a risk?"

Du Jin lowered his eyes. Of course. But he did not say it immediately; instead, he picked up the white stones one by one, waiting for the Emperor’s next words. Emperor Minghui remained silent, one hand resting on the stone stool, waiting for an answer.

"Your Majesty knows," Du Jin conceded. He believed that when it came to Rong Zhao, the Emperor and he shared the same heart.

Emperor Minghui’s gaze lingered on Du Jin’s face, as if he might slip back into memory at any moment. After a few minutes, he produced a sheet of rice paper covered in symbols and unfolded it with a meaningful air. The chessboard and bowls were set aside on the ground, and the paper covered the entire stone table, some edges hanging off the side.

"Here," the Emperor pointed to a crimson dot on the right. "This is the 'Pale Lake' in the garden of Princess Rong Zhao’s residence."

His finger did not move away, but slid across the paper to the other side of the table. "This is a patch of hunting ground within the city, rarely frequented by people."

Du Jin stared at the diagram in disbelief, exclaiming in awe, "Your Majesty intends to build a secret passage from the residence to outside the city walls?"

"Yes." The Emperor suddenly looked at Du Jin, his gaze sharp and piercing. "I want to leave a path of retreat for Rong Zhao."

"Very well," Du Jin replied without hesitation.

Emperor Minghui was somewhat surprised. "You are willing?" If it truly came to that, even with this top-secret passage, bringing a princess of the realm out of the city would be no small feat.

Du Jin nodded firmly, as if completing a sacred pact. His expression was earnest, and Emperor Minghui, deeply moved, suddenly sighed, "If not for Brother Du’s folly, your lineage would have been enough to marry into the imperial family."

The Empress had held high expectations for Rong Zhao, and having just ascended the throne, he had found it difficult to interfere with the Princess’s upbringing. Only on rare occasions, behind the Empress’s back, did he secretly allow the Princess to come to his chambers to play freely. Brother Du had also loved Rong Zhao dearly, unwilling to put her down once he held her, often saying his own son couldn't compare to the Princess in the slightest. He had laughed heartily at that, telling Brother Du to bring the young heir to keep Rong Zhao company, while his heart swelled with pride.

"This commoner would not dare covet the Princess," Du Jin said calmly, though his heart ached with bitterness. He did not know where these absurd feelings came from, yet they felt as if they had been with him since birth.

Emperor Minghui had never interfered with Rong Zhao’s affections and could not make decisions for her in this regard, so he asked, "What reward do you want?"

"Enough money to buy a house, and twenty dead-men."

The Emperor was stunned. He had expected Du Jin to make a greedy demand, asking for something that would put him in a difficult position. "Nothing else?" For instance, to set up a new tomb for his traitorous father. The Emperor had prepared himself to make concessions before summoning Du Jin; as long as he handled this task well, he would grant him anything.

"No," Du Jin lowered his eyes. "With the money Your Majesty provides, this commoner will purchase a residence for the Princess outside the city, hidden amidst the common folk."

The Emperor sent an attendant to fetch the items, then probed, "Do not let Rong Zhao know of this matter for now." He feared it would increase her worries and potentially worsen her condition.

"If the Princess asks, I will not hide it from her." Du Jin took the diagram and the small box of gold, walking away alone like a wandering immortal.

The Emperor wanted to ask about Rong Zhao’s illness, but swallowed the words as they reached his lips. After all, Du Jin’s medical skills were unparalleled; with him around, Rong Zhao would be fine.

***

The people hired at the porridge stall did not recognize Qingwu and brought over a folding wooden table as they would for any ordinary refugee. A group of young ruffians kept their eyes fixed on Qingwu, but Sister Gu scolded them away and brought the two to the stove to serve the freshly cooked porridge.

"Princess, please forgive us for these conditions." The middle-aged woman wiped the edge of a ceramic bowl with the corner of her apron, then secretly pulled a clay dish from under the table. She used a small spoon to crush a lump of brown sugar and sprinkled a spoonful over the porridge. "I know you like it sweet."

She went to gather the remaining sugar crumbs, but Qingwu quickly stopped her. "Auntie, he does not care for sweets."

Sister Gu’s face turned pale. She hurriedly set the dish down, wiping her palms and the backs of her hands on her apron as if she had committed a grave error. "How could this servant ever bear to be called 'Auntie' by the Princess?"

Qingwu said nothing, offering a honey-sweet smile as she stirred the bottom of the porridge with a wooden-handled iron spoon. The pale yellow sugar crumbs swirled into the distinct grains of the thick porridge, and Qingwu was reminded of that dream. Her slender, jade-white fingers had been just like this, mixing the bowl before forcing her to drink it again and again.

Qingwu glanced at Pei Muci out of the corner of her eye. But he sat beside her with a calm expression, seemingly unaware of her searching gaze.

Sister Gu worked nimbly, chopping scallions on the cutting board and floating them on top; the vibrant green dots made the dish look quite appetizing. She carried the two bowls to a corner of the stall and settled them there. "There are too many idlers here; it would be improper if they bumped into the Princess."

Qingwu reached out to pick up the bowl with her palm, but Pei Muci snatched it away. "Be careful, it’s hot."

It was unclear if she even heard him, her gaze trailing eagerly after his hands. There were so many delicacies in the Princess’s residence that couldn't be found anywhere else, yet she had never looked at them like this. Pei Muci was amused by her appearance and bent down to place the sweet porridge in front of her.

Qingwu picked up the spoon, inverted it on the table, and used her four fingertips to tilt the bowl—which was larger than her own face—drinking little by little from the rim. Though the movement was slightly uninhibited, she made not a sound, as if she were naturally well-bred and did everything with grace.

After drinking a few mouthfuls, a thin layer of sweat appeared on her forehead, and she set the bowl down to catch her breath. In this brief interval, Pei Muci asked her, "Did Your Highness bring me here just to revisit the past?" To let him know that no matter how far he ran, he could never escape the palm of her hand.

Qingwu looked up, staring at him, seemingly puzzled as to why he would misunderstand her so. "I brought you here to taste the life of the common folk." Not so dead and lifeless.

After she finished speaking, she buried her head back into the porridge. Pei Muci, however, was stunned. His slender fingers slowly rolled up his wide sleeves, and he used a porcelain spoon to stir the scallions in his bowl before gently setting the spoon aside.

In the past, in the dungeon, he could only get one bowl of thin broth a day, either leftovers from that person or the previous night’s spoiled scraps. If that person’s eldest son committed a crime and he took the blame and was punished, the man might throw him the scraps of meat left over from a banquet. But if that person’s son fell ill, they would blame him for "cursing" him, and he would face a whipping at night, leaving him too hurt to eat anything. Therefore, he had absolutely no interest in this bowl of thin broth, which to him was only slightly thicker than water.

Qingwu, however, was in high spirits, and her bowl was soon empty. She had a penchant for doing things beneath her station in the marketplace, as if this could break the shackles the royal court had placed upon her.

The two sat side by side on low wooden stools. Pei Muci was very close, so close that their heartbeats were indistinguishable, and their breath mingled, becoming inexplicably lingering.

The spoon began to slide down the side of the tilted bowl, and only then did Qingwu notice the savory porridge that hadn't been touched. "Not used to eating in a place like this?"

"I’m not very hungry."

How could he not be hungry? When Pei Muci had angered her, the servants in Qingsong Garden certainly wouldn't have dared to send him food. She assumed the small kitchen had spoiled his appetite and felt a bit displeased. Stiffly, she addressed him, "Pei Muci."

Indulging him and loving him had made him forget his own status. Her face fell, and her tone turned sharp. "How dare you refer to yourself as 'I' in front of this Princess?" After all, a princess was a princess, the only master in the residence; all others, no matter how close, were nothing more than servants.

Qingwu exuded a low pressure, her gentle and beautiful face masked by cold, frosty anger. The surrounding noise grew quieter, and the space they shared seemed to be slowly eroded by gray haze, the atmosphere turning stagnant in the silence.

Pei Muci opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again.

"Hurry up," Qingwu frowned. "I am waiting for you."

Pei Muci remained silent, seemingly suppressing his emotions, but in the end, he picked up the spoon and brought the bowl to his mouth, swallowing one spoonful at a time. The wick in the lantern was about to burn out, and the flickering candlelight was shattered by the bamboo strips of the cage, casting fragmented shadows over his refined and graceful figure. He swallowed without haste or agitation; to him, it seemed there was little difference between coarse husks and delicacies. It was difficult for an ordinary person to discern his preferences from his perfectly refined movements.

Qingwu watched him expressionlessly. She felt she could sense that his desire for food was extremely low, as if he could go a day without eating, though she didn't know the reason.

Pei Muci put down the bowl, rested the spoon at the bottom, and pushed it away. "If Your Highness is curious, why not ask?" He had thought she would ask while combing his hair in the inner chamber.

"If you wanted to tell me, you would have said so naturally." Qingwu also pushed her bowl aside, the two bowls sitting side by side. Her mood improved with this small gesture. "If you didn't want to say, I wouldn't care to listen to a pack of lies riddled with holes."

The wind rose in the sky, and the plastic-covered roof flapped noisily. Nightfall drifted in from the horizon, and many merchant horses were rushing toward the city center before the curfew; as long as they were paid enough silver, they were willing to give people a ride.

Qingwu curled one corner of her mouth and stood up to look at the distant sky, preparing to return. She had just stood up when, unexpectedly, Pei Muci pressed her back into her seat, leaning in over her.

Qingwu was startled and turned her head, intending to rebuke his insolence. But as she turned, the tips of their noses nearly brushed against that perfect, handsome face. Pei Muci froze for a split second, then immediately retreated half a step. His thin lips were pressed into a line, and his jawline was as hard and defined as if carved by a knife, yet his gentle, clear eyes added a touch of elegance to his entire demeanor.

Qingwu swallowed, her fingers unconsciously resting on his forearm, where she could feel the undulating lines of his tense muscles.

"Your Highness." Pei Muci caught Qingwu’s wrist by the sleeve, knowing how delicate her skin was, and dared not use too much force. He looked down at the person in his arms, his voice softening along with his movements. "I will count to three, and then Your Highness must run toward the crowded area."

The surroundings were terrifyingly quiet. The city guards were in the middle of a shift change, and there were far fewer people on duty than usual. The city gate was cold and deserted, with no sign of life. Not far away, a row of gossiping onlookers who had been watching the spectacle were blocked into an oval shape by unidentified men, acting like a siege circle that trapped the two inside.

Pei Muci caught sight of Sister Gu in the distance, forced to her knees with her mouth covered. He saw the situation clearly, but Qingwu, blocked by him, knew nothing.

"Three..."

Qingwu felt this was inexplicable. She turned to look around, but Pei Muci, fearing to alert the enemy, wouldn't let her look everywhere. He straightened her head, with the faint air of protecting her behind him. He worried that if Qingwu saw the disparity in strength, she would lose her composure, ruining the small chance of survival he was fighting to secure for her.

"Two..."

"What are you doing?" Qingwu knew the situation was not good; her voice trembled with panic. But what unsettled her even more was Pei Muci’s calm, as if he had anticipated this all along. She regretted not having kept Hanyue and the others nearby.

Pei Muci smiled at her, as if this were the only way to comfort her in this narrow space. Qingwu wanted to say something, but she felt his grip on her wrist tighten, then quickly release, his hands coming together. She knew that in that sleeve, there was a thin sword Hanyue had hidden for him.

Pei Muci gripped the hilt hidden in his sleeve without a trace, a dazzling smile playing on his lips. "One!"

As the word fell, countless black shadows soared into the air, leaving the two not even a sliver of room to escape.