Chapter 15: Yan Zhi’an Was Away for Three Days, and Her Home Was Stolen

The winter wind was bitter, and with the New Year approaching, few pedestrians were out on the road. Only the occasional carriage rolled past.

Yuan Fusheng quietly lifted a corner of the carriage curtain, catching a glimpse of the bleak scene outside. At her ear came Xunqi’s obedient voice: “How could a junior freely gossip about her elders? Mother, are you trying to frame me as unfilial?”

Interesting. Yuan Fusheng let the curtain fall and glanced at the Left Prime Minister. Sure enough, Yan Zhi’an wore a cold smile, a look of utter heartlessness.

Yan Zhi’an seemed gentle, but beneath the surface she was fickle and cold. She appeared to open her heart to everyone, yet no one had ever truly walked inside it. She was like a Divine Maiden cast down from heaven to cross tribulation—pure of heart, spare of desire, untouched by worldly cares. Were she not the Head of the Yan Family, she likely wouldn’t have spared a single thought for the family’s future, either.

A person like that inspired awe and reverence, making people afraid to grow close.

Yan Zhi’an was so exasperated she could only sigh. She raised a hand and patted Xunqi on the forehead. Her fair, jade-like hand swept past Xunqi’s eyes, and Xunqi immediately reached out, caught hold of it, and leaned her whole body against her. Such easy intimacy made Yuan Fusheng blink in surprise.

It seemed Yan Zhi’an truly intended to properly discipline this Heir Apparent!

The carriage clattered onward, and the cabin fell quiet. Xunqi dozed against her mother. Yuan Fusheng studied her rosy little face and remarked in surprise, “You actually treat her with such sincerity.”

“What else would I do?” Yan Zhi’an was just as helpless. The longer they spent together, the more she realized that Xunqi truly regarded her as a mother—and was growing more and more dependent on her.

A girl alone and helpless, suddenly meeting a “birth mother”—how could she not cling to her?

Yan Zhi’an closed her eyes, her red lips parting slightly. “Back then, when I was taken from my mother’s side, I was afraid too.”

That year, as her Mineral Prospecting Talent gradually surfaced, the Yan family took her away without a second thought. Her mother couldn’t refuse—couldn’t even dare to resist.

Later, her mother was allowed back to her side, but by then she had long since passed the age when she needed a mother.

Xunqi was still young. She could understand why Xunqi clung to her mother.

Hearing this, a trace of tenderness crept into Yuan Fusheng’s eyes. But the next moment, Yan Zhi’an smiled coldly. “Headmaster Yuan, what are you trying to do, following me around? The Yuan family has its Family Precepts—descendants must never enter officialdom. Break that oath, and you’ll die with no place to be buried. Have you forgotten?”

Her pity lasted barely two breaths before being met with mockery. Yuan Fusheng smoothed her robes and said calmly, “I came looking for you in the first place. Who said anything about entering officialdom? I only wanted to look at you a while longer.”

Yan Zhi’an, as if seeing a ghost, reached out and covered Xunqi’s eyes. “Don’t spout nonsense in front of my daughter.”

Her fluster made Yuan Fusheng smile smugly. She looked over, as if to say: Is she really your daughter?

Yan Zhi’an was so enraged she nearly fell over backward. “Get off the carriage!”

“Fine, fine, I won’t say any more!” Yuan Fusheng caved in extraordinarily fast. She sat up primly, took a moment to straighten the Jade Hairpin at her temple, then said serenely, “There. Pretend I don’t exist.”

Yan Zhi’an snorted coldly. She released Xunqi’s ear and looked down at her nervously. Seeing that the girl was sleeping soundly, she finally breathed a sigh of relief.

She watched Xunqi; Yuan Fusheng watched her. Never had she expected that this normally coldhearted woman could care so deeply for another person—and even if the girl really wasn’t her daughter, it was still baffling.

Tenderness appeared in Yuan Fusheng’s eyes. She had no choice but to turn her body away to shift her attention.

That evening, the group lodged at a Post Station. Xunqi, being young, had gone to bed early. Yan Zhi’an studied the Realm Map, and Yuan Fusheng followed her gaze. “Where are you going?”

“Southeast of Southern Yuzhou.” Yan Zhi’an pointed at a mountain. “Here.”

“That far…” Yuan Fusheng marveled. She hadn’t left Jinling City in years.

Yan Zhi’an glanced at her. “A mere hundred li is ‘far’ to you? Round trip—half a month at most.”

Yuan Fusheng rarely left home. Two hundred li truly was far for her, but she still chose to follow and see. “Are you sure there’s something there?”

“Not sure. But I brought gunpowder. We can try.” Yan Zhi’an was confident. “I went once a few years ago but didn’t get to the bottom of it. This time, I’ll try again.”

Yuan Fusheng was startled. “Where did you even get gunpowder?” It was forbidden by the Imperial Court. If discovered, it would be a crime.

Yan Zhi’an curled the corner of her mouth knowingly. “I have my own sources.”

“Oh, forget it. You ARE the Left Prime Minister—you are the court.” Yuan Fusheng let out a helpless sigh. Her gaze wandered over the other woman’s features, lingering time and again, before finally pulling away with reluctance. “You’ve acknowledged Xunqi. What will you do in the future?”

“Naturally, I’ll support her.” Yan Zhi’an’s voice was calm.

Yuan Fusheng sighed. “I clearly meant your marriage prospects.”

“I’ve never once thought about marrying.” Yan Zhi’an swept her a glance. “You refuse to marry yourself, and yet you urge me to? Careful—you’ll be struck by lightning.”

Urging others to marry brings a thunderbolt down from heaven!

Yuan Fusheng was exasperated. “When did I ever urge you to marry? I’m only saying—you’ve sullied your reputation for Xunqi’s sake. Is it worth it?”

Since ancient times, emperors were paranoid. How would Xunqi treat her in the future? If she honored her as a good minister, so be it. But what if suspicion took root in her heart? Would it be worth it then?

Moonlight drifted in through the window. The courtyard pooled with radiance—like a pond from afar, a sea of dazzling white up close.

Yan Zhi’an walked to the brazier, lifted the kettle, and poured into a Tea Cup, warming the half-cooled tea.

Yuan Fusheng followed her over. The woman before her was still pure as ice and jade, elegant in every movement. The years had settled upon her, sweeping away every trace of innocence, stripping away the paint and powder until only a deep, quiet gravity remained.

She watched her; the other turned to look back at her and said, “Headmaster Yuan, when you go out, might you be hit by a carriage? When you eat, might you choke? Everything you do carries danger. Even putting on clothes, you must worry a thread will strangle you. Tell me, then—do you still choose to live?”

“You—” Yuan Fusheng nearly fell over with rage. “I offer you well-meaning advice, and this is how you mock me?”

“I’m not mocking you. I’m speaking the truth.” Yan Zhi’an sipped the half-cool tea, her mood low. In response to Yuan Fusheng’s concern, she said, “I am the first Matriarch of the Yan family. In the days to come, I can lift the Yan family to its peak.”

After traveling hard for three or five days, they finally reached the foot of an unnamed mountain. It was deep winter—cold and gloomy among the hills, the ground carpeted with dead leaves, gusts of chill wind burrowing into the skin.

Xunqi sniffled against the cold. Yan Zhi’an handed her the Hand Warmer and urged, “Back to the carriage. Wait until I call you.”

With that, she took a book and walked off. Wushuang and the others immediately followed.

They watched her walk a hundred-odd paces, crouch, and pick up a clod of earth. She crumbled it finely between her fingers, sniffed it, then opened the book and studied something unknown. After a moment, she rose and headed into the mountain.

Xunqi waited a full half day. Inside the carriage, Yuan Fusheng, who had been reading, seized the chance to ask, “Your poem that day was quite remarkable. Do you have the inclination to compose one today?”

Xunqi’s head was full of poems. Hearing this, she plucked one out at random. Yuan Fusheng offered her brush and ink.

At the sight of the brush, Xunqi immediately balked. Yuan Fusheng understood. “I’ll write. You recite.”

Xunqi stole a glance at her. “What kind of poem would you like?”

“Oh? I get to make requests?” Yuan Fusheng was surprised. She saw the girl’s eyes, limpid and genuine, not feigning at all, and said, “A snowy mountain?”

Xunqi thought for a moment, then chose to take up the brush and write it herself.

【Wind past the window startles the bamboos; open the door—snow fills the mountains. Scattered through the air, the deep lane falls still; piled white, the broad courtyard lies at leisure.】

The handwriting was ugly, but Yuan Fusheng’s attention was all on the poem. She gave a slight start. From outside, a voice called, “Young Mistress!”

“I’ll go see!” Xunqi dashed off at once. “Wushuang, I’m coming!”

The girl leapt down from the carriage and sprinted to Wushuang’s side, light as a swallow.

“Young Mistress, blast here.” Wushuang pointed at a spot on the map. “How many of those jars of yours should we use?”

“Let’s go look.” Xunqi swept her eyes over the map—too hard to tell from this alone; she needed to see the ground in person. “By the way, where’s my mother?”

“The Head of the Family is right over there.”

“Let’s go.”

Xunqi walked a few paces ahead; only then did Wushuang follow.

After the time it takes a cup of tea, they came upon the figure by the stream. Yan Zhi’an wore a water-blue Fox Fur Robe, her skirts trailing along the ground, making her frame look slender and elegant. Seeing the girl approaching from afar, she naturally reached out a hand. Xunqi trotted over.

Yan Zhi’an took her hand without a second thought and walked a little farther, then pointed to a spot. “Here.”

Xunqi leaned in to look, studied it for a moment, then said, “At least ten.”

“Good. Ten it is. Wushuang, make the arrangements. We’ll head off first.” Yan Zhi’an nodded and, still holding Xunqi’s hand, turned to leave. Xunqi glanced back once. “I know how. I can stay.”

“We go together. These things don’t need your help—they know what they’re doing.” Yan Zhi’an naturally refused to let go. If anything went wrong, the entire Yan family would be buried alongside her.

Xunqi tried to argue, but a single look from Yan Zhi’an made her hang her head and follow her mother away.

They had just returned to the carriage when a thunderous boom echoed from the mountain. Startled, Yuan Fusheng spilled ink all over herself. She hurriedly tucked away the shabby page Xunqi had written, muttering, “Mustn’t let it get dirty.”

Beside her, Yan Zhi’an sneered. “That girl’s handwriting is a disgrace. If it got spoiled, she’d have to rewrite it—it might even turn out better.”

Xunqi flushed crimson with embarrassment and shot her mother a silent protest.

But Yan Zhi’an ignored her. She released her hand and walked back toward the mountain herself. “You go back with Headmaster Yuan. Leave the rest to me.”

Xunqi wanted to follow, but Yuan Fusheng caught her hand. “Listen to your mother. We’ll head back—I’ll teach you calligraphy.”

“No, no, I don’t need you to teach me…” Xunqi floundered. Why did every single person insist on tormenting her?

The two returned to the Post Station first. Before long, local soldiers arrived and cordoned off the mountain.

Yan Zhi’an vanished for three days. On the fourth day, she trudged back to the Post Station, exhausted.

Yuan Fusheng had been watching over Xunqi’s calligraphy practice. The moment her mother returned, Xunqi rushed up to her and immediately lodged a complaint: “Mama, she makes me practice calligraphy all day, every day, and wants me to take her as my master and become her student.”

Yan Zhi’an had been away for three days, and her home had been stolen right out from under her. She turned to Yuan Fusheng with a sinister smile. “In your dreams!”