Ch 4: When the Wild Goose Returns

Duan Wucuo took a step forward.

Qing Yan’s eyes widened. Guiltily, she took a step back.

His strides were long; hers were short. Even as she stepped back, the distance between them remained close—so close that Qing Yan could faintly catch a pleasant and unfamiliar scent from him.

She wanted to retreat again, but Wen Xi’s hand on her lower back stopped her.

In her ears, she could almost hear Wen Xi’s countless scoldings: Look at you—where’s even a hint of a princess’s poise?

The pitiful little Qing Yan immediately stiffened her posture, doing her best to appear like a proud, dignified princess.

She straightened her back and lifted her chin, puffing out her chest with effort.

Duan Wucuo was caught off guard by the sudden motion and, almost instinctively, his gaze dropped to her chest.

Because of their height difference, Qing Yan had to tilt her head up to look at him. The red veil of her face covering brushed against her cheeks. The bamboo hat on her head nearly slid backward.

Duan Wucuo’s eyes shifted upward slightly, landing on her raised, delicate chin.

“Tao Kingdom’s Princess Huachao?” he asked.

Qing Yan restrained the urge to curtsey. Instead, she nodded with forced arrogance.

—She dared not speak, afraid her voice would tremble.

Wen Xi frowned slightly and, with the guards behind her, lowered herself into a formal bow.

Duan Wucuo stepped forward again, closing the distance between them in an instant.

Thump, thump—the sound of Qing Yan’s heartbeat seemed to ring in her ears.

“There is no Prince Zhan at Yongzhou Temple.
This humble monk’s Dharma name is ‘Not Listening.’”

He smiled with his eyes, though his expression revealed neither joy nor anger.

“Oh, and,” Duan Wucuo added in a low voice, “though I may be a wine-and-meat monk, I’m no lustful monk.”

As he said it, his gaze deliberately drifted downward again—to where Qing Yan was still puffing out her small chest with effort.

Qing Yan froze in place, cheeks instantly burning bright red, the flush spreading all the way to the tips of her ears.

Thump thump thump.

Duan Wucuo plucked the bamboo hat off her head and walked past her without pausing.

He tossed the hat casually behind him. Bu Er caught it.

Qing Yan stood rooted to the spot, feet heavy as lead, staring blankly at Duan Wucuo’s retreating figure.

He stepped through the arched stone gate, heading toward the scripture hall.

As the arch’s curve slowly obscured her view, Qing Yan couldn’t help leaning to the side to keep looking.

The scripture hall had open windows on all sides. Despite the cold, the doors and windows were left wide open.

Inside, the monks of Yongzhou Temple were all chanting the morning sutras.

Duan Wucuo entered and picked a spot at random, sitting cross-legged with practiced ease.

The abbot, eyes closed in meditation, opened them to glance kindly at him, offering a faint smile.

Two and a half years ago, when Duan Wucuo had first arrived, the abbot had begun to give him a Dharma name. Before he could finish the sentence, Duan Wucuo had impatiently said, “Not listening.”

The abbot had simply smiled—and named him Not Listening.

It wasn’t clear if it was because Duan Wucuo hadn’t shaved his head and still wore his hair tied up, but among the neat rows of monks, he stood out so strikingly it was hard to look away.

Under the eaves, the rain continued to fall, drip, drip, drip.

Qing Yan slowly turned back, reaching up to touch the damp top of her head. Suddenly, Duan Wucuo’s earlier comment echoed in her mind—“Blind.”

“…Oh.” She finally realized why he’d put the bamboo hat on her head.

—Because she had called him a monk, he had shown her his hair.

And after removing the hat, he’d casually used her head as a stand to place it.

“Cough.”

Wen Xi’s light cough startled Qing Yan, making her shoulders jump. She turned to look at Wen Xi, and before the older woman could speak, Qing Yan quickly straightened up and said, in her best attempt at dignified speech, “We are weary. Let us return.”

Back in their room, after Wen Xi shut the door, Qing Yan immediately tore off her red face veil and tossed it onto the table. She grabbed Wen Xi’s hand and earnestly asked, “Sister Wen Xi, did I mess up?
What did he mean by ‘lustful monk’? Did Prince Zhan misunderstand something?”

“He did,” Wen Xi replied plainly. “Prince Zhan meant you were being far too obvious.”

“That’s impossible!”

Qing Yan was stunned.

She wasn’t trying to get his attention—she was scared of him! Prince Zhan had practically been her childhood nightmare.

Thinking back on how she’d carried herself just now, she frowned and glanced down at her own chest.

“I—I wasn’t…” she mumbled, voice growing smaller.

Qing Yan murmured a weak defense and turned to the side, lowering her head. A hint of girlish shyness, tinged with faint disappointment, showed on her face.

Wen Xi said nothing. She fetched three books—one placed on top of Qing Yan’s head, the other two balanced on each of her shoulders.

Then she made Qing Yan spend the entire afternoon walking around the room to practice her posture.

Even by the next morning, when they set off, Qing Yan’s legs were still sore.

From Yongzhou Temple to the imperial palace in the Yi Kingdom’s capital, it took another six days of travel.

That winter was exceptionally cold. Even though the New Year had already passed, there was still no sign of warmer weather.

Although the six days remained bitterly cold, they were fortunate not to encounter any more storms or snow. The journey was smooth, and they arrived safely in the capital.

During that time, the guards sent to pursue He Ping returned empty-handed.

They had found traces of him early on, but the trail disappeared soon after, and they couldn’t track him further.

Sending more than thirty people out of a hundred-person escort party to hunt He Ping would’ve drawn too much attention—especially on Yi Kingdom’s soil. Worse, if He Ping exposed the secret about the princess’s identity switch, it would be a disaster.

General Li had no choice but to call back the pursuit and pretend as though nothing had happened, focusing instead on escorting the false princess safely.

Meanwhile, he had already dispatched secret messengers back home to send trusted people into Yi Kingdom in disguise, to quietly eliminate He Ping.

Once the princess’s marriage was complete, he’d have more freedom to deal with the matter.

The Yi Kingdom sent officials to receive Qing Yan, personally escorting her to a side palace near the imperial residence, where she would await her audience the following day.

It had been a month since Qing Yan learned she was to impersonate Princess Huachao for the marriage alliance. At first, she’d been nervous beyond words. But now, on the eve of meeting the emperor, her nerves had strangely settled.

It was Wen Xi, usually calm and composed, who was more anxious this final night. She paced around the room, restless.

Qing Yan lay on the beauty couch, a cloth soaked in medicine covering her eyes.

Hearing Wen Xi’s footsteps back and forth, she couldn’t help but speak up:

“Sister Wen Xi, why do I have to act like Princess Huachao anyway?

Princess Huachao is great, yes, but are all princesses in the world great?

I don’t believe it.

There must be shy princesses, and silly ones, and bratty ones too! Hey—right!
Why can’t I be a bratty princess, holding a little whip and smacking whoever annoys me…”

“You? Using a whip on someone?

You’d go soft in the knees before you even raised it.”

Sometimes, Wen Xi didn’t understand Qing Yan’s optimism—nor could she help but envy it a little.

Wen Xi sighed, walked over to the beauty couch, and sat on the edge. She lifted the cloth gently from Qing Yan’s eyes and said, “It should be about time now.

Open your eyes and let me see.”

The medicine always stung badly, and Qing Yan’s eyes were aching again.

Her lashes fluttered slightly as she carefully blinked, slowly opening her eyes.

Wen Xi’s expression was calm, but inwardly, her nerves were taut.

After the recent treatment, a faint trace of violet had appeared in Qing Yan’s eyes.

But it was still too light—barely noticeable.

Today they’d increased the dosage, hoping to deepen the color further.

Only when Qing Yan fully opened her eyes did Wen Xi finally let out a deep breath.

Qing Yan was watching Wen Xi’s face closely.

Seeing that, her heart leapt. She quickly grabbed a mirror to check her reflection, staring curiously into her own eyes.

Her eyes, once dark and clear, now held a layer of violet that felt unfamiliar—even to her.

Did they look better?

Qing Yan couldn’t quite tell. But deep down, she still preferred her original pitch-black eyes.

The next morning, Wen Xi, who hadn’t slept all night, woke Qing Yan early.

She applied another round of medicine to Qing Yan’s eyes and carefully went over all the key points for the day—yet again—even though she had already explained them countless times before.

Entering the palace, Qing Yan walked across the polished marble floors of Yi Kingdom’s inner court.

With her head slightly lowered, she saw her own reflection in the mirror-like surface—dressed in bright red from head to toe.

Forcing herself to ignore the discomfort in her eyes, she looked up at the majestic pearl-and-jade halls ahead and finally felt a hint of fear.

A eunuch’s high-pitched voice echoed as he loudly announced her arrival.

Qing Yan’s hand, hanging at her side, trembled ever so slightly.

Just before stepping into the Hall of Eternal Peace, she leaned in and whispered to Wen Xi:

“Sister Wen Xi, if Qing Yan messes up and gets exposed on the spot…

You must shout and claim I deceived you all—that I coveted delicious food and pretty things and plotted to impersonate the princess—that you were all forced into it!”

Wen Xi froze for a moment at Qing Yan’s words, her emotions a tangled knot of feelings.

It wasn’t a court morning assembly, yet standing inside the Hall of Eternal Peace were several of the empire’s highest-ranking ministers, along with a number of royals and nobles.

The emperor, seated at the top in dragon robes, looked nothing like a traditional ruler—his round face wore a perpetually kind, gentle smile.

Though Prince Zhan and the emperor were born of the same mother, their appearances couldn’t have been more different.

It was said the late emperor was as handsome as Pan An, and Prince Zhan had inherited some of those features—only to surpass them, refined and more striking.

The current emperor, however, more closely resembled the Empress Dowager—broad-faced, warm, and benevolent in demeanor.

Empress Su sat beside him.

She wasn’t what one would call devastatingly beautiful, but her arched brows and high features gave her a natural aura of sharpness and pride.

Her garments were regal and splendid, and her abdomen was noticeably rounded—she was with child.

Looking more closely, one would notice that not only the empress, but the other consorts too, had all gone to great lengths to dress beautifully today.

General Li stepped forward to present a letter written personally by the emperor of Tao Kingdom, followed by some customary diplomatic formalities.

Qing Yan didn’t really register what was being said between General Li and the emperor of Yi. Her mind wasn’t on their words.

Not until the empress spoke:

“So this is the famous Princess Huachao?

They say her light violet eyes and celestial beauty can make a thousand blossoms bloom and birds sing in welcome.
At last, I have the honor of seeing her in person today.”

Qing Yan could feel it clearly—countless pairs of eyes were fixed on her.

Don’t panic.
Don’t panic.
Don’t panic.

Inside her shoes, her toes curled tightly with nervous tension.

Qing Yan responded in the soft, practiced tone Wen Xi had trained her in:
“Stories from the common folk are rarely true. While I was indeed born with uncommon eyes, I possess no such talent to summon birds or bloom flowers.”

The hall fell completely silent.

Qing Yan stood with perfect poise, her hands folded gracefully in front of her. Beneath her calm exterior, the thumb of her lower hand slowly curled inward, nervously pressing into the gemstone ornament at her waist.

Empress Su smiled. “Princess Huachao is far too modest. That only makes me more curious to see her face.”

Even the emperor leaned forward slightly, gazing down at Qing Yan with growing interest.

The pressure of so many eyes in the grand hall was suffocating. Even her scalp tingled.

With this many people watching, Wen Xi couldn’t speak up or offer reminders like usual—she could only stand silently, head lowered, and hope everything would go smoothly.

Beneath the red veil, Qing Yan took a deep breath.

She gathered her courage. Her clenched thumb slowly relaxed, and she lifted her hands to gently pull back the red gauze.

As the veil lifted, her fair chin was revealed first, then her rosy lips, and finally, her entire delicate face.

She was dressed in red throughout the journey, but today her attire was especially elaborate. Even the red veil she used to cover her face was adorned with gold and gemstones.

The vivid red of her outfit made her skin appear even fairer—like snow, glowing like a lotus flower in bloom.

Inside the hall, many of the men couldn’t help but glance a second time. The expressions of the women grew subtly complex.

Suddenly, just like before, the medicine in Qing Yan’s eyes seemed to stir again, as if tiny insects were crawling inside.

She resisted the urge to rub them, but the discomfort grew unbearable. Tears welled up, soaking her pale violet irises, and slowly rolled down her cheeks.

A beauty shedding tears—heartbreaking and tender.

She did not know how many hearts in the room had been moved.

Qing Yan cursed silently. This is bad. She felt she had failed again. Flustered, she quickly lowered her head.

To others, however, she appeared to be a shy beauty—bashful and speechless, lowering her gaze at just the right moment.

The gazes of the men in the room deepened.

Even the emperor on his high throne seemed briefly stunned. Then, almost involuntarily, he stood up.

The empress’s face instantly darkened.

The emperor stared at Qing Yan, smiling as he spoke:
“The princess, far from home, carries such deep longing. It is truly moving.

We…”

Suddenly, the empress cried out, “Aiyo!” Her brows twisted, and her face contorted with pain as she clutched her belly.

“What’s wrong, my queen?” the emperor asked in alarm, hurrying to her side.

The maids and attendants rushed over in a flurry.

“Your Majesty…” the empress gripped his hand tightly, speaking through clenched teeth, “I… I don’t know what’s wrong. My stomach suddenly hurts so much!”

“Imperial physician! Summon the imperial physician—now!” the emperor shouted, his voice sharp with urgency.

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