Chapter 8

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Qingwu had asked Ningchun to prepare the luxurious carriage bestowed upon her by the Emperor. Its spacious interior could easily accommodate seven or eight grown men. Most remarkable were its panels, intricately carved and lacquered with rare black nanmu wood, exuding a subtle, refreshing fragrance even without the addition of incense.

Yet, such precious treasures were as commonplace to Qingwu as the stray cats and dogs scrounging along the streets below.

The thoroughfare bustled with many passersby, but few lingered; most hurried with bowed heads, eager to reach their destinations. Only the shopkeepers thrived, their businesses thriving with steady crowds, their seats never empty. Observant eyes might notice clusters of people huddled within tea houses, seemingly deep in discussion—some gesturing animatedly in debate, others sitting quietly, listening intently.

Qingwu cast a glance outside; the gleam reflected in her pupils gradually dimmed into gloom.

"Are you really not going to eat?" She withdrew her gaze, picked up a piece of preserved jujube cake, and chewed it slowly. "There’s nowhere inside the palace walls to find you food."

Between her and Pei Muci stood a small table bearing their tea and snacks; a small charcoal brazier kept a pot of mild tea warm in an iron cup.

The princess’s residence was not far from the palace gates. Two maids sat with the driver outside the carriage, while Hanyue lagged a few meters behind, vigilantly surveying the surroundings.

The window was half open, stirring the gold-edged jade bead curtains into gentle motion.

Qingwu reclined lazily against the low couch, listening to the soft clinking of the tassels as they brushed together—a pleasant, soothing sound.

The interior was arranged entirely to her liking, designed for utmost comfort.

“Your Highness, allow me to assist you with changing your clothes,” Ningchun said, drawing back the curtain and nonchalantly moving the small table beside Pei Muci, then presenting a makeup box and carefully laying out its contents.

At her words, Pei Muci lifted a corner of the jade curtain and tilted his head to peer outside.

This angle was deliberate, preventing any hint of the carriage’s interior from escaping, while occupying his idle moments.

He took a piece of snow pastry—sweet, soft, melting on the tongue—but after one bite, he set it aside and stared absentmindedly at the crumbs on his fingertips.

Qingwu tilted her head back, allowing the gentle, warm breeze to sweep the stray hairs from her cheek.

Zhixue entered to assist with her hair, then used hot water to soften the jade roller, smoothing out nearly invisible creases in the outer robe of her palace dress.

The driver pulled the reins tight, slowing the two fine horses to a steady, moderate pace as the carriage glided smoothly and unobtrusively through the streets.

“All done.”

Qingwu pinned a dangling hairpin into her updo, running her fingers through the swaying tassels, then spoke softly to someone nearby.

The driver pulled the reins again, bringing the carriage to a gentle stop. Pei Muci lowered the curtain as if nothing had happened and turned his head.

Her ancient palace gown, dyed deep purple like the lingering dusk clouds, floated like drifting mist—light yet textured. The folds shimmered, wafting a pure, refreshing floral scent.

Her three thousand strands of jet-black hair were coiled into a dignified bun, and her light makeup only enhanced her clear, ethereal beauty.

Pei Muci had never seen her dressed like this before—more vivid, more daring than when she was at home.

“What are you looking at?” Qingwu folded a piece of greaseproof paper, biting her lip lightly.

Pei Muci parted the curtain again to show her.

The deep blue sky was framed into a perfect rectangle by the carriage window, stretching endlessly.

A silent, ironic smile curved Qingwu’s lips.

Then, she suddenly realized how close she was sitting to Pei Muci.

Her smile did not widen, but she straightened slightly and fixed her gaze outside the window.

Pei Muci grasped her wrist, drawing her closer.

Just ahead of the carriage was a small stall selling sugar figurines. The elderly vendor shakily stirred his copper ladle, forming rough shapes one by one.

Children gathered in a circle, their cheerful shouts rising. They fumbled in their pockets for scattered coins, pooling their money into the hands of a larger child, who bought a sugar painting stuck into a stalk of wheat.

Pei Muci took a silk handkerchief from the soft seat, wrapped it twice around his index finger, and wiped the red lipstick that had spilled at the corner of Qingwu’s mouth.

“Meow—” A faint cat’s cry drifted from outside.

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Ningchun exclaimed with delight, “Ah!” and lifted the curtain to see the small furry creature curled up.

“It even knows it can wait for a noble here.”

“There are no stray cats inside the palace walls,” Qingwu said with a detached tone, almost devoid of warmth.

Ningchun felt as if doused head to toe in cold water and snapped to attention.

How could she mention cats in front of the princess...

Realizing her mistake, she withdrew her hand and stepped back to the side of the carriage to gauge Qingwu’s expression.

Fortunately, Qingwu did not pursue the topic further but bent down to pull open two drawers beneath the soft seat.

Inside were books Qingwu often read to pass the time during journeys. Not knowing Pei Muci’s tastes, Ningchun gathered two piles and hesitated before selecting the ones Qingwu had most frequently browsed, holding a small stack in her arms.

“For you to pass the time,” she said, handing them over without further thought, placing them on Pei Muci’s lap.

The weight pressed firmly on his newly carved wound, causing a sudden heaviness in his chest and disrupting his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Qingwu asked.

Pei Muci picked up each book, pretending to read, and subtly shifted them to his other leg.

Seeing no unusual reaction, Qingwu stood and spread her arms, waiting for Ningchun to bring a small box and open it.

Zhixue had gotten off earlier to prepare a stepping stool, leaving no one inside to help Ningchun lace the princess’s waist.

Pei Muci accepted the soft sash with a composed expression. Being tall, Qingwu could stand upright inside the carriage, but he could not.

His uninjured leg braced against the carriage wall as he half-kneeling before Qingwu, his arm sliding over the soft fabric to encircle her slender waist.

The narrow waist was cinched by an embroidered sash adorned with fluttering butterflies and flowers. Qingwu glanced at Pei Muci and reached out to brush aside the stray hair at his temple.

“Princess, come out now,” Zhixue shooed the kitten away and adjusted the footrest.

Qingwu stepped out onto the carriage shaft, scanning the bustling street scene, which seemed unworthy of her attention.

She stood tall, her heavy, layered gown trailing beneath the golden palace walls, adding a regal grandeur to her refined appearance.

No one knew what she was looking at. After a long pause, she finally spoke, “When I leave the palace, I’ll take you shopping.”

Ningchun arranged a gold-embroidered sheer shawl over her shoulder, smoothing the flowing hem.

Qingwu continued gazing into the distance without turning back.

Only then did Pei Muci lift his eyes to look at her. “I’ll wait for you.”

The interrogating guards approached to search the three maids and temporarily confiscated Hanyue’s dagger before escorting the princess into the palace.

“You stay here and keep watch,” Qingwu told Zhixue as she climbed the steps, raising her arm to block her. She tossed a money pouch to her. “Get him something to eat.”

Zhixue assumed the princess was leaving her to guard Pei Muci, preventing him from slipping away again.

She took the coins obediently and stood watch by the carriage.

Unexpectedly, Qingwu turned back, looking seriously at the carriage. “Don’t buy anything sweet.”

Zhixue was still stunned as Qingwu strode into the palace.

—

The palace’s thick stone roads were spanned by three white lacquered bridges adorned with gilded dragons. The evening light bathed the solemn pavilions and towers, their vermilion walls and golden tiles glistening like glazed jewels, creating the palace’s unique majestic solemnity.

The temple bells tolled long and melodiously, echoing over the golden and jade-embellished palace.

Under heavy clouds, the grand high walls seemed muted and somber.

Qingwu sent away the guiding maid and walked confidently to the west hall of the Hall of Loyal Counsel—the Emperor’s retreat after handling affairs.

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Emperor Minghui was nearly forty. His long hair was half tied, half loose. A pale yellow robe lay over the armrest, revealing a neatly pressed narrow-sleeved shirt beneath.

He looked less like a ruler wielding absolute power and more like a carefree poet reveling in nature’s beauty.

He was bent over his desk, reviewing scrolls one by one, his brows furrowed deeply.

Having long withdrawn from direct governance, he struggled to unravel the tangled affairs before him.

Qingwu lifted her skirt and skirted around a massive pillar that soared like a suspended dragon to the roof. She crouched behind a low step to observe, ensuring no one noticed her, then cautiously moved forward.

The empty side hall echoed with the sound of ink sticks rubbing against inkstones.

The chief eunuch who served the Emperor had recently injured his face and was no longer fit to attend to him. His carefully trained apprentice was pushed forward to serve instead.

Yunting switched the white feather duster from one elbow to the other and happened to catch sight of the sneaky princess.

Fearing that the young eunuch might report her to the Emperor, Qingwu nervously placed a finger to her lips, signaling silence.

Yunting only saw a fleeting flash of radiant smoke and clouds before quickly composing himself and lowering his head.

Though unfamiliar, the young eunuch was quite sensible and had a delicate appearance upon closer inspection.

Qingwu gave him an approving look and continued inching backward toward Emperor Minghui.

“Father!” she stomped her foot playfully and pounced on the dragon throne with a mock ferocity.

“Rongzhao is here,” the Emperor said, hanging his brush on the stand and turning with surprise.

Qingwu squeezed onto the same bench beside him, muttering in discontent, “Father wasn’t even scared by me.”

The Emperor shifted over, making room for her to sit cross-legged comfortably on the throne.

“Who else could enter so casually besides you?” He gestured to the tightly stationed Imperial Guards inside the hall, not to mention the countless armored soldiers and archers outside.

Yunting swiftly tidied the desk, setting out snacks and fresh tea from the kitchen, then bowed deeply to the two seated together. “The princess likely wishes to speak privately with His Majesty. We will take our leave.”

With a wave, he motioned the court attendants to withdraw.

They trained their gaze on the backs of those in front, none daring to object to the princess sitting on the dragon throne as a woman.

For those bold enough to speak up before, their graves were nearly overgrown with weeds.

Having been castrated and brought to the palace as children, they had neither heirs nor families and wished to avoid such a fate.

Only the Emperor, his daughter, and a few wooden-like palace guards remained inside.

Qingwu flexed her feet beneath her voluminous skirt and skillfully kicked off her clogs.

The Emperor watched his cherished daughter silently, then sighed softly, “Rongzhao will soon come of age. It’s time to find a husband.”

His tone was tinged with both hope and a sense of emptiness.

“Isn’t it better for your daughter to stay by your side?” Qingwu offered the sweetest words she could, trying to cheer him.

The Emperor laughed and scolded her for being cunning, then pulled a scroll from the bottom of the pile and spread it before her.

It was a roughly drawn military map, marking every watch post.

Such a crucial document was laid out so casually before Qingwu.

The Emperor saw no issue and pressed down the curling corners with an inkstone, pointing to a remote spot near the edge. “I’ve chosen a fief for Rongzhao. It’s far, yes, but fertile and prosperous, blessed with talented people. See if you like it.”

Could Qingwu not understand the unsaid meaning behind her father’s words?

That place was distant from the capital, separated by a river from the war-ravaged south. The flames of battle would never reach there. Her father was not just choosing a fief for her—he was selecting a refuge.