Wei Lingci’s expression barely changed. She waved the maids away and looked at the despondent Xun Changqing, her heart twinging. Glancing at the paling sky, she urged, “You should enter the palace. Arrive early to wait on His Majesty; it’ll show sincerity.”
“I know,” Xun Changqing replied dryly. She then rallied, hiding the faint sadness in her eyes, and smiled brightly at Wei Lingci. “Master, go back and sleep more. Wait for me in the mansion.”
Wei Lingci turned, signaling the outer maids to bring hot water. “No matter. Change first to avoid catching a chill.”
Perhaps the Princess Consort didn’t know Xun Changqing’s preferences; every color had several pieces. Zi Jin selected a lotus-green skirt with verdant leaves at the cuffs, intricate hidden embroidery. For early winter, it was refreshingly light.
Wei Lingci had someone fetch a fox-fur cloak and fastened it for her. “Be careful on the road. If cold, wait in the hall. His Majesty won’t mind with a junior like you.”
After they left, Xian Yun approached. “Why didn’t you teach the little County Princess how to respond?”
Wei Lingci gazed at the watery night outside. “If she can’t even handle this, all these years of teaching were wasted. She’ll manage.”
…
In Containment Origin Hall, the officials gathered.
Palace servants led Xun Changqing to a side hall to wait, served tea, then withdrew. Xun Changqing had no appetite for tea and sat propping her cheek, leaning against the chair back.
After some unknown wait, as the hall’s charcoal fire lulled her to drowsiness, cries of “Long live!” echoed from outside. She instantly perked up, standing aside. When the yellow dragon robe entered her view, she hurriedly knelt in salute.
The Emperor passed her, leaned down to support her virtually, and laughed heartily. “You’ve grown so big. When you left, you were still a child, always in boy’s clothes. I should have sent you to your father’s army camp to fight wars for me.”
Xun Changqing rose. Seeing the sovereign on the dragon throne, she tugged her lips into a forced smile. “Your Majesty, Changqing was ignorant before and made you a laughingstock.”
Such address from Xun Changqing mildly surprised Xun Ziqian, who had heard it daily from others. He looked her over. Beneath her plain face, dark circles under her eyes stood out. The winter chill bit, and she wore thinly. He sighed softly. “Changqing, do you know why I insisted on your return?”
The Emperor’s direct question bewildered Xun Changqing. Her chest felt hollowed and roasted over fire. She hesitated, shook her head, mist gathering faintly in her eyes, timid as a startled rabbit.
Xun Ziqian saw her as a child and paused inwardly, unwilling to press. “You’re still young; extra words would go over your head. I called you back just to ease your father’s mind. Lingyun Mountain is a jianghu place, unsuitable for long stays. Rest assured in the Imperial Capital.”
If the Emperor treated her as a child, she’d play the part. Asking too much would arouse suspicion. She was but a butterfly seeking survival in storm and rain—strong winds or downpours would scatter her.
She stood frozen, biting her lip, tears welling. “Your Majesty, when will Mother return? Yuan Commander said she went to the Southwest Region. May I go to the Southwest to find Father?”
Yuan Qingming’s words were the Emperor’s. If he said it, she’d pretend to believe. It couldn’t hurt.
“Her?” The Emperor’s brows furrowed sharply, lips curving faintly, smile ambiguous. “Soon. Girls fare better in the Imperial Capital. The Imperial Academy has a Women’s Academy; you can study there. If anyone bullies you, tell me. I’m your imperial uncle; I’ll back you.”
Xun Changqing agreed. Someone led her out the palace gates. Her mind turned to how Xun Ziqian seemed to dislike a female ruler. Xun Yisu’s talents outshone the three princes by far, yet he’d rather marry her off distantly than pin hopes on her.
Perhaps in men’s eyes, women weren’t suited for politics. The Previous Emperor’s female officials were now nominal. Soon, even women taking imperial exams might be abolished.
Outside the gates, the view widened slightly, morning mist adding haze. The carriage passed East Market amid rising vendor calls and enticing food aromas wafting on the wind. Xun Changqing lifted the curtain, glanced out—all Imperial Capital specialties.
Someday when free, she should drag Master here. They’d stayed on the mountain so long, ignorant of worldly sights.
She dropped the curtain. The carriage rolled slowly forward but halted abruptly after half a li, jolting downward. Xun Changqing gripped the window swiftly to steady herself.
Lifting the curtain, she saw they’d hit a pedestrian. The driver argued with the man. With crowds everywhere, the Pingnan Prince’s Mansion carriage drew eyes. No point in disputing; compensate with silver and move on, no need to draw a spectacle.
Xun Changqing told the driver to pay silver and dropped the curtain. But the carriage lingered. Puzzled, a shrill scream pierced from outside. Lifting the curtain again, onlookers scattered. Clashing blades’ cold gleam chilled the winter morning further.
Only one black-clothed man, face-masked, wielded his longsword adeptly—not some novice. The driver lay in a blood pool, chest pierced by a thrown dagger.
She’d just returned to the capital last night, and already someone couldn’t wait. Daylight assassination—bold, but foolish. Striking now was thrusting at knife’s edge.
Yet the streets emptied; only guards, assassin, and she remained.
