Ch 3: When the Wild Goose Returns

Wen Xi was angry.

Qing Yan leaned over the edge of the wooden bathtub, calling out pitifully, “Sister Wen Xi?
Sister Wen Xi?”

She called a few times, but Wen Xi ignored her, quietly folding clothes off to the side.

Qing Yan immediately softened her tone and sincerely admitted her mistake. “Sister Wen Xi, I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left with He Ping before you came back.
I shouldn’t have trusted someone so easily, either.

But Sister Wen Xi, you know this about me—I have this terrible habit of trusting people too easily. I really am trying to fix it.
I promise it won’t happen again!”

She swore up and down.

Wen Xi set the folded clothes down with a heavy thud and looked at Qing Yan, helpless.

Qing Yan immediately beamed, eyes curving sweetly, and clasped her hands together, swaying like a little pup begging for a treat—playing the spoiled child.

“Do you know that if something had happened to you, everyone in the wedding escort party—over a hundred people—would’ve been implicated? Even Her Highness the Princess could’ve been dragged back.”

“I know, I know.
I promise I won’t mess up again! Please don’t be mad, Sister…” Qing Yan’s voice was soft and sweet, even more affectionate now that she dropped the formality and just called her “Sister.”

Looking at Qing Yan’s adorable act, Wen Xi suddenly couldn’t bear to stay angry.

She had a younger sister about Qing Yan’s age who used to do the same—begging with a pout and a string of “Sister, Sister” whenever she made a mistake.

The truth was, this incident wasn’t entirely Qing Yan’s fault.

What princess didn’t travel with a large entourage?

Including Wen Xi and Qing Yan, the real Princess Huachao had brought ten handmaidens when leaving the capital. But before their departure, the princess staged a false accident. The other eight maids faked their deaths and secretly fled with her.

Wen Xi had stayed behind to train Qing Yan. Before Qing Yan could fully pass as the princess, no guards were allowed near, to avoid suspicion.

Aside from Wen Xi, Qing Yan had no other attendants at her side.

And He Ping was one of the very few who knew the truth. He had occasionally passed messages to General Li in the past, so Qing Yan hadn’t found it strange to trust him at first.

Wen Xi wasn’t so much angry as she was shaken.

She kept her expression stern and said seriously, “Be more careful from now on. Don’t let the princess down.”

“I understand.”

Having calmed Wen Xi down, Qing Yan scooped up a handful of water and watched as the droplets trickled between her fingers and fell back into the tub.

She said casually, “The princess saved my life. Of course I should repay her.”

Wen Xi looked at her with a complicated expression.

She walked over to Qing Yan, softened her tone, and asked, “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

Qing Yan immediately stopped playing with the water and tilted her face up. Her pretty eyes were misty. “My lower back hurts so much…”

There it was again—the spoiled tone.

Wen Xi sighed.

Qing Yan stood up in the bath, water splashing softly.

A beautiful woman rising from the water was always a lovely sight—but her pale, flawless skin was marred by bruises and scrapes.

Wen Xi said nothing and went to get ointment for her injuries.

Qing Yan looked delicate, but she’d endured hardship from a young age.

Bumps and scrapes didn’t faze her. She mentioned her lower back, and sure enough, Wen Xi saw a long red welt across it—like the mark of a whip.

“You said earlier that a monk saved you?” Wen Xi asked.

Qing Yan thought back carefully, then slowly shook her head and muttered, “I’ve figured it out.
He didn’t save me. He was just worried I’d crush his flower.”

She tilted her head, glancing at the red monk’s robe draped over a rack in the corner.
“Mysterious wine-and-meat monk…”

That night, Qing Yan and Wen Xi shared a bed.

After midnight, Wen Xi woke from a restless dream to find the space beside her empty. Alarmed, she sat up immediately.

Her first thought was that Qing Yan had gotten into trouble again.

She bolted upright—only to find Qing Yan still in the room.

Qing Yan had dragged a small square table into the corner, lit a candle, and was reading.

One hand turned the pages gently, making no sound. The other hand shielded the candle flame, keeping its dim light contained in a tight little circle. None of it reached the bed.

Qing Yan was not the best candidate to impersonate the princess. In fact, any of the other palace maids would’ve been better suited.

She had only been by Princess Huachao’s side for less than a year, and early on, her legs had been broken. She’d spent most of the past six months bedridden.

Still, not just anyone could be passed off as the most beautiful woman in the Tao Kingdom.

Among all the available candidates, only Qing Yan’s face had any credibility.

“What are you doing up in the middle of the night? Go to sleep immediately.”

Qing Yan had been so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t even notice Wen Xi walking up.

Startled, she gasped and jumped, her hand knocking over the candleholder. She scrambled to catch it and uprighted the candle in a flurry of movement.

Then she tilted her head up and gave Wen Xi an apologetic smile. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“If you stay up too late, your complexion will look awful tomorrow—and no princess should look like that.”

Wen Xi scolded her.

Qing Yan wanted to say, But I wear a veil—no one can even see my face.

She didn’t argue, though. She smiled, stretched her arms lazily, and obediently went to bed.

Wen Xi glanced at the book on the table, then lay back down herself.

Some people are born with everything; others claw their way up from the mud.

Everyone starts in a different place—why judge too harshly?

Sometimes, attitude matters more than results.

Do your best and leave the rest to fate—so Wen Xi thought.

…

The next morning, Fu Quanming hurried through the temple corridors in the light drizzle, on his way to see Duan Wucuo.

Under his rain cape, he wore the armor of the Imperial Guard from Yi Kingdom’s capital.

“Your Highness, this letter is from Her Majesty the Empress.”

Fu Quanming said respectfully.

“My sister-in-law wrote to me?

You must have the wrong name.

I’m not reading it.”

Duan Wucuo casually tossed the letter straight into the brazier.

“This one’s from General Zheng of the Ministry of War. The border’s unstable, and several generals kneeled in the Hall of Eternal Peace just days ago, begging His Majesty to dispatch you—”

Duan Wucuo cut him off. “I am a violent man, sent here to Yongzhou Temple to cultivate inner peace and embrace the teachings of Buddha.

Among the five precepts of Buddhism, the first is to refrain from killing. This poor monk takes it to heart.

How could I break precepts for worldly affairs and ruin my spiritual practice?

Amitabha.”

Fu Quanming stood there, dumbfounded.

Duan Wucuo rose and began walking outside.

“Where is Your Highness going?” Fu Quanming asked.

Standing beneath the eaves, Duan Wucuo turned back. His monk’s robes were clean and unadorned.

Rain fell gently from the edge of the roof, and the morning light was pale, casting a soft glow over the world.

Even though Fu Quanming was a man, and already knew what Duan Wucuo looked like, he still froze for a moment.

Only an immortal, sculpting jade with divine brushstrokes, could create someone so striking.

All the words scholars had ever invented to describe a handsome man were clumsy and excessive when applied to him.

If you said he was elegant, graceful, like a spring breeze—then what of the time he ordered nearly ten thousand people butchered and fed to beasts?

If you said he was brutal and cold-blooded—how could such a man have a face like this?

When he smiled, it was like bathing in sunlight.
When he was angry, even his eyes carried a trace of sorrow.

This was Prince Zhan, Duan Wucuo.

He was the living god of Yi Kingdom.

“I’m going to hear what sutra the old monks are reciting for morning prayer today.”

Duan Wucuo picked up a bamboo hat hanging by the door and stepped out slowly.

In the courtyard, a young monk was sweeping rainwater off the stone path.

As Duan Wucuo passed by without stopping, he said casually, “Bu Er, come listen and calm your spirit.”

Fu Quanming, who had followed him out, got a good look at Bu Er’s face—and was instantly stunned.

That… that was his former superior. How had he ended up as a monk?

Bu Er shrugged at Fu Quanming and rubbed his freshly shaved head before following Duan Wucuo.

Honestly, Bu Er was just as confused. Clearly, it was Prince Zhan who was supposed to go into monastic retreat on behalf of the emperor, but somehow he’d been the one to get his head shaved.

His long hair hadn’t been shaved off by the temple’s high monks, but rather by Prince Zhan himself, who had nothing better to do and used Bu Er’s head to practice his blade techniques.

And he didn’t shave it all at once—just a little whenever he felt like it.

To have Prince Zhan personally wield a blade to shave your head—wasn’t that an honor?

Bu Er proudly rubbed his bald head.

Of course, in the beginning, he’d been terrified. What if the prince suddenly got too excited and used the knife to scoop out his brain and experiment with making a new kind of pastry?

Fu Quanming scratched his own head, dazed.

He hadn’t expected his old boss to look this short without hair or a hat.

And in monk’s robes, he looked even more Quite delicate-looking.

…

Early that morning, though a light rain still fell, it seemed the weather would not be as harsh as the day before.

General Li decided to lead the marriage escort team down the mountain.

After all, this was sacred Buddhist ground—not the proper place for women to reside for long.

Unfortunately, just as nearly a hundred people packed up and began their descent, they discovered a thin sheet of ice covering the mountain path.

It was likely that the official roads below were also slick and treacherous, forcing them to turn back and stay another night.

They could only hope for sunshine that day to melt the ice, making travel easier tomorrow.

As for He Ping, General Li certainly wouldn’t let him off lightly.

But a cornered rabbit still bites. He Ping knew an enormous secret—and they were on Yi Kingdom’s territory.

So General Li merely dispatched a few guards to quietly track his whereabouts, dealing with it discreetly.

At least until Qing Yan managed to fully deceive the royal family of Yi, they couldn’t afford to make a fuss.

After thanking the abbot, General Li went his own way while Qing Yan and Wen Xi returned to their guest room from the previous night.

Learning from yesterday’s mistake, this time they had four or five guards following them closely.

Before they even passed through the stone archway, Qing Yan heard a familiar voice from that night.

As she stepped through the arch, she saw two monks approaching—one tall, one short.

A third person followed behind them—not a monk.

Her eyes quickly locked onto the taller monk.

Even if that strange wine-and-meat monk had only saved her because he didn’t want her crushing his flower, the fact remained—he’d saved her.

Whether it was intentional or not, she still owed him thanks.

Qing Yan stopped walking and stood to the side of the path. When Duan Wucuo came close, she spoke.

“Monk, thank you for last night.
Oh… I left the kasaya with one of the young monks here. He said he’d find out whose it was and return it to you.”

Duan Wucuo stopped, lifting the brim of his bamboo hat slightly to look at Qing Yan.

The misty drizzle landed on her head, soft strands of hair glistening with moisture.

Her petite frame was mostly hidden under the half-length red veil of her traveling cloak.

The red gauze was damp, too—no longer light and airy, but heavy and clinging.

“Blind,” Duan Wucuo said.

Qing Yan blinked, confused, and looked up in surprise—finally getting a clear look at his face.

And froze.

Duan Wucuo removed his bamboo hat and placed it on Qing Yan’s head.

He did it casually, but the hat sat crooked.

Qing Yan hurried to straighten it, adjusting the brim so she could see properly.

She watched Duan Wucuo turn to leave, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out:

“Prince Zhan!”

There was a slight tremble in her voice.

Wen Xi flinched.

As soon as she said it, Qing Yan regretted it and quickly pressed her lips together.

Duan Wucuo stopped and turned back, speaking casually, as though making small talk.

“You recognize me?”

“G-guessing…” Qing Yan stammered, face going pale.

Her face, small as a palm, had gone white with fright.

She was from Yi Kingdom. As a servant girl growing up, whenever she messed up a task, the older maids would grab her ear, plant their hands on their hips, and scold:
“Can’t even do this? You’ll end up like the ones Prince Zhan had boiled and fed to wolves!”

For kids her age, who hadn’t grown up terrified of Prince Zhan’s bloody reputation?

Even though, truthfully, he wasn’t that much older than she was.

Duan Wucuo looked at her with an almost-smile.

Wen Xi gently tugged at Qing Yan’s sleeve. Snapping back to herself, Qing Yan’s hand trembled slightly at her side. Remembering her false identity, she forced herself to stand straight, raise her chin, and calmly explain:

“Everyone knows that Prince Zhan went into monastic retreat on behalf of the late emperor and the people.

Since you wear monk’s robes but have not shaved your head, I guessed you must be the legendary Prince Zhan.”

Duan Wucuo said nothing. His eyes didn’t leave her face.

After a pause, Qing Yan added, “A-and… I’ve also heard that the most handsome man in Yi Kingdom is none other than Prince Zhan.

I didn’t believe it before. But now… I’m convinced.”

Through the layer of red gauze, Qing Yan peeked up at Duan Wucuo’s face once more.

A fat raindrop, which had been pooling on the brim of her bamboo hat for some time, finally slid off the edge and dropped lightly to the ground.

Duan Wucuo smiled.

The moment he smiled, Qing Yan felt even more afraid.

They all said Prince Zhan, Duan Wucuo, never showed anger—he always smiled when he killed.

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔