Ch 2: When the Wild Goose Returns

The wind had stilled, and the rain had lightened. Barely two ke—half an hour—had passed, and the storm was no longer as fierce as before.

He Ping walked ahead in a hurry, and Qing Yan followed close behind, lifting the hem of her skirt as she moved quickly to keep up.

Along the secluded path leading to the back mountain, they occasionally passed a few young monks.

Whenever the monks saw Qing Yan, they bowed their heads and quickly stepped aside to avoid her.

They passed through a gate—still within Yongzhou Temple—before He Ping finally slowed down to wait for her.

As she caught up, he suddenly spoke.
“Do you have confidence?”

“Huh?”

Qing Yan blinked in confusion, caught off guard by his abrupt question.

He Ping chuckled softly, his voice calm and gentle.
“Princess Huachao is known as one of the Three Treasures of the Tao Kingdom—not just because she’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

Qing Yan glanced around to make sure no monks were nearby before continuing in a soft voice:
“The Princess… is the best in the world! She knows everything, she can do everything. She’s beautiful, kind, and wise—like a fairy who descended from the heavens…”

He Ping pushed open the wooden gate to the back mountain and stepped through.

Qing Yan was still softly praising the princess when He Ping suddenly turned and said,
“Qing Yan has her own strengths too.”

She paused, startled. Then a smile quickly brightened her face. Her eyes curved as she replied,
“Everyone has something good in them.”

He Ping’s pupils contracted slightly, then slowly returned to normal. He turned back around and continued walking.

Qing Yan frowned. Something about He Ping felt strange today.

She stopped briefly, then continued walking.
“In this kind of weather, how did the Princess even get up the mountain?
Where is she?”

He Ping glanced around and casually pointed to a thatched hut halfway up the slope.

“Then let’s hurry.”

Qing Yan quickened her pace.

He Ping watched the red figure dart past him and stood still, eyes resting on her light and graceful form.

“Little Qing Yan.”

She turned her head, puzzled.

There were no stars or moon in the sky. Her eyes glistened softly in the shadows, damp with mist.

The red veil brushed across her cheek, and her eyes—so close—seemed separated by a thin, dreamlike fog.

Enchanting. That was the first word that came to He Ping’s mind.

“Zither, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, wine, flowers—how many of these can you do?
Give it up.
You’ll never be able to pass for the Princess.”

He stepped forward.

“Have you thought about what will happen if you’re exposed?
The Princess has already fled, off somewhere enjoying herself with her lover.
How many heads do you have to offer if things go wrong?

King of Yi is ruthless. If he finds out you’ve deceived him like this, turning you into a mutilated corpse and feeding you to snakes would be considered mercy.”

Qing Yan gave him a strange look.

She was born in the Kingdom of Yi and had lived there for fifteen years.

The king might be cowardly and weak-willed, but he wasn’t cruel.

She’d heard that when generals raised their voices in court, the king would tremble so badly he could barely speak.

“You’re trying to scare me,” she said calmly, voicing her thoughts aloud.

“Even if the King isn’t the real threat, the palace struggles aren’t something you’re prepared for. You’ll—”

“Thank you for the warning,” Qing Yan interrupted. “But did the Princess actually come?”

He Ping didn’t reply. He lowered his gaze, fiddling with an earring in his palm, and said,
“The Princess went off to find her beloved.
And little Qing Yan—you’re really going to go and marry a stranger in a harem of three thousand?

Don’t you want to find someone who truly loves you?”

“No.”

A sudden seriousness overtook Qing Yan’s expression, as if she were remembering something.
“All that talk about ‘true love’ and ‘soulmates’—it’s all lies.
A man’s so-called sincerity is the most unreliable, most useless thing in the world.”

He Ping looked at her, surprised.

By now, Qing Yan understood—Princess Huachao had never come. He Ping had led her here on purpose.

But why? She still didn’t know.

Was it just a warning? Genuine concern?

They’d known each other for six months, but they weren’t especially close. Qing Yan didn’t believe it was just kindness.

“My words are sincere,” He Ping said. “Qing Yan has her own kind of beauty.”

He paused.
“No—In my eyes, little Qing Yan is even better than Princess Huachao.”

He stepped forward again.

Time was running short. He couldn’t afford to stay here any longer.

“We’ve known each other for a while, but I don’t even remember when it began.
One day, I just suddenly realized—
you’re the one who truly descended from the heavens.”

Everyone says Princess Huachao is beautiful, but I think it’s nothing more than her violet eyes adding a bit of charm.

My Qing Yan is the real beauty—so beautiful it defies description, untouched by dust and impurity.

Qing Yan, come with me.

Let’s go now.

Just follow this path.

He Ping stepped forward again, reaching out to lift the red veil covering Qing Yan’s face.

Qing Yan stepped back, avoiding his hand.

“You’re General Li’s personal guard! If we run away, he’ll be severely punished!”

He Ping suddenly let out a cold laugh, and a twisted expression flickered across his face.

“Hah, personal guard?

What use is that? General Li? Hmph.

Ah… better to run off with Qing Yan.

Just like Princess Huachao and her lover, living freely and happily…”

General Li would never care about past loyalty. If he didn’t escape today, the general would not spare him.

Yes, he truly desired Qing Yan—but it wasn’t out of passion strong enough to throw everything away.

Still, escaping with a beauty by his side would be a fine reward.

And if, because of this, General Li could be charged with dereliction of duty, all the better.

He Ping curled his lips into a smile—sinister and cold.

“Sister Wen Xi!”

He Ping froze and whipped around, but there was no one behind him.

Before he could turn back, a sharp scream rang out from behind.

“Ah—!”

He had never imagined that the soft-spoken and sweet-voiced Qing Yan could produce such a sharp, piercing cry.

Her scream tore through the stillness of the temple and the mountains.

He Ping quickly recovered and lunged forward, trying to cover Qing Yan’s mouth.

But Qing Yan had been prepared. She turned and ran.

Screaming as she fled, she covered her ears with her hands.

They weren’t far from Yongzhou Temple—surely someone there would hear her, and the guards would come soon.

“Stop screaming!”

He Ping’s face darkened as he gave chase.

What had begun as a simple idea—to steal away a beauty while making his escape—was now unraveling, and Qing Yan’s resistance enraged him.

A darker impulse rose within him. At that moment, he no longer intended to flee with her—he just wanted to have her here and now, enjoy it once, then leave.

But reason pulled him back. General Li’s men would be here soon.

If he couldn’t have her, then he’d rather destroy her.

A cruel glint flashed in He Ping’s eyes.

There was a flash of silver—the dagger in his hand.

He was tall and strong; he quickly caught up to Qing Yan.

The glint of the dagger flickered. Qing Yan’s heart jumped. She knew she couldn’t outrun him.

The guards would be here soon, but He Ping could still land a fatal blow before fleeing.

Heart pounding, her foot slipped. She fell backward and began rolling down the mountain slope.

But in the very next moment, a strange joy flashed through her.

After the winter rain, the mountain paths were either muddy or covered in ice. It was already hard to walk. Maybe rolling down would get her away faster than running.

The world spun around her. In the blur, she caught a glimpse of He Ping’s furious face.

He Ping turned back to glance at Yongzhou Temple. As expected, he didn’t pursue her. He gave her a vicious glare before darting down a different path.

He had already committed a serious crime. General Li would never forgive him.

And now, trying to abduct the false princess—if General Li found out, there would be no chance left for survival.

Seeing He Ping run away, Qing Yan felt a wave of relief and tried to stop herself.

But the sky was dim, and she hadn’t realized just how steep the back slope was. The icy ground offered no grip at all.

She was picking up speed.

Panic started to rise. She couldn’t see clearly, and as she tumbled, she reached out desperately, trying to grab onto something.

But before she could find a hold, her lower back slammed hard against—a tree?

Qing Yan gasped from the pain and pushed herself up from the ground with one hand.

She rubbed her wrist and, seeing it wasn’t injured, got to her knees and slowly stood.

Turning around to see what had stopped her fall, she realized—

there was no tree.

What had stopped her from falling… was a bamboo umbrella.

Qing Yan stared, dazed.

Only then did she see a person sitting on the ground, one hand resting on a propped-up knee, the other holding a bamboo umbrella planted into the earth.

He was dressed in monk’s robes, wearing a bamboo hat, completely silent.

The night was deep and dark—his face couldn’t be seen clearly.

“Ah!”

Qing Yan jumped in fright and instinctively took a step back, stumbling and landing on the ground.

A sudden gust of cold wind came howling through. It lifted and tangled the red veil across her face, fluttering up and down before her eyes, slicing her vision apart.

She stared wide-eyed at the monk before her, too stunned to react.

Patter. Patter.

The drizzle suddenly transformed into heavy rain, thick drops slamming down like beads.

With a soft whoosh, the strange monk opened his bamboo umbrella.

He held it forward.

Not to shield himself from the rain, and not to shield Qing Yan either—but to shield one small patch of ground before him.

Qing Yan was astonished. Her gaze naturally shifted to the space beneath the umbrella.

In the midst of this bleak, lifeless season, beneath the umbrella quietly grew a single vibrant green plant. On its layered, thick leaves sat a tight, snow-white flower bud.

In this season? In this weather?

She had to admit—the monk’s robes did make her feel a bit more at ease.

She asked, “Monk, what kind of flower is that?”

There was no answer.

But Qing Yan thought she vaguely heard a faint scoff.

The rain was too loud. Maybe she misheard.

The next moment, the white bud suddenly began to bloom.

First one petal, then a second, a third…

Qing Yan was utterly amazed.

She knew about the legendary short-lived epiphyllum, but this flower bloomed even faster than that.

Its fragrance was rich and lingering, intoxicating in its sweetness.

The rain poured down, drenching Qing Yan completely.

But she didn’t notice at all. Her eyes never left the flower as she watched it bloom.

Just as the final curled petal unfurled—

Snip.

Qing Yan’s smile froze on her face.

Right before her eyes, the monk clipped the newly opened flower with a pair of shears. Then, tossing aside the bamboo umbrella, he placed the white and green blossom into a wooden box and stood up.

Qing Yan stood up as well, tilting her head up to look at the tall, strange monk.

“In this bitter cold, it’s not easy for a flower to bloom like that. Why would you break it?

Maybe you thought it wouldn’t live long and wanted to save it in a warm room. But you’re not the flower—how do you know it didn’t bloom just to witness the wind and rain, to complete its life as a flower?”

Suddenly, everything fell quiet. Only the wind and rain roared in her ears.

“No one’s trying to save it,” the monk replied.

He lifted the wooden box and took a gentle sniff.

“Yanxin Orchid. It’s edible. One taste and you’ll feel blissfully drunk.”

…Edible?

Qing Yan: “…”

General Li and the guards were making their way over.

Only then did the monk—Duan Wucuo—finally look at Qing Yan.

The rain was getting heavier. She was soaked through, her hood had fallen off, her veil was askew, and her cloak had been blown completely behind her.

Mud and dead grass clung to her, leaving her in complete disarray.

And now that she was drenched, her clothes had turned nearly see-through in places.

Even though she couldn’t see his face clearly, Qing Yan had a vague sense that he’d just looked down.

A bad feeling crept into her chest. She lowered her head to look at herself—and her cheeks instantly flushed red.

Before she could lift her head again, a red monk’s robe came down over her like a blanket.

Qing Yan quickly pulled it off her head.

Duan Wucuo was already gone.

“Princess!”

General Li and Wen Xi ran over.

Wen Xi hurried ahead of the others, rushing to wrap a cloak around Qing Yan’s shoulders.

General Li stopped at a distance, not stepping closer.

Once he saw Qing Yan unharmed, he finally let out a breath of relief.

“Was it He Ping?”

Qing Yan nodded.

“The temple is a place of peace—we planned to handle him at dawn with proper discipline. But I didn’t expect him to… Don’t worry, Princess. He won’t escape.”

Qing Yan lowered her head and sniffed the robe in her arms.

Wen Xi cleared her throat lightly.

Qing Yan hesitated, then couldn’t hold it in. She whispered, “This robe smells like vinegar fish…”

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