Ch 7: When the Wild Goose Returns

Qing Yan’s cheeks were unnaturally red — partly from the rising steam, and partly from the unbearable shame and embarrassment.

Her cherry lips were beaded with water, looking dewy and irresistibly soft.

She didn’t dare look at Duan Wucuo, her gaze lowered, long curled lashes trembling slightly.

The damp wooden ladle lifted her chin.

Drip.
A bead of water fell from the ladle.

It landed on the robe, wetting it. Slowly, the robe sank down and floated on the surface of the water.

It was Qing Yan’s robe — a shade of blush red.

Once soaked, its color deepened into a dark crimson.

The red robe clung to Duan Wucuo’s pale blue monk’s robes, then draped down along the edge of the tub, covering more than half the ginger-colored wooden bath.

The robe’s hem moved slightly without wind, barely brushing against his monk’s garb.

“Not much, after all.”

A calm, detached comment drifted to her ears.

He was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin.

Her ears tickled faintly.

With only a red robe between them, one stood frozen, the other utterly composed.

Qing Yan’s hands, submerged in the water, clenched tightly.
She kept reminding herself — she was now a princess of Tao Kingdom. She shouldn’t respond to being humiliated like a helpless girl.

She finally summoned her courage and raised her eyes to meet Duan Wucuo’s, then mimicked Princess Huachao’s expression when angry — slightly tilting her chin up, narrowing her eyes, and speaking in a slow, drawn-out tone:

“Impertinent.”

The words weren’t loud, nor panicked.

There was a hint of displeasure, but she wasn’t flustered.

Duan Wucuo had just turned away, but her voice made him pause and glance back at her — eyes meeting hers.

In that instant, the world seemed to freeze.

Drip.
The sound of water falling.

Thump-thump.
The sound of Qing Yan’s heartbeat.

Duan Wucuo spoke:
“You have a fine pair of almond-shaped eyes, clear and luminous like water.
Barely worthy of the praise ‘spirited and full of life.’
If you smiled and let them curve like a crescent moon, they’d shine with brilliance.”

“But trying to mimic an adult’s anger with narrowed eyes? It only makes you lose your natural charm.”

He continued:
“Such a shame your violet irises appear so dim.
If they were a deep black, they’d be purer.”

Qing Yan kept her face taut, trying to stay composed — she had no energy to really listen to his nonsense.

She recited a line she had prepared and rehearsed:

“Is this how Yi Kingdom treats its guests?”

Duan Wucuo smiled faintly and straightened, gazing down at her from above.
He pointed casually at her.

“Hold it yourself. Careful, or the robe will slip.”

Qing Yan froze, then glanced down out of the corner of her eye.

Because one end of the robe was draped outside the tub, with the middle soaking in water, it hadn’t slipped after he let go. It remained in place, just as it had before.

She only gave it a quick look — but immediately locked eyes with Duan Wucuo again.

“The water’s getting cold. If the princess stays too long, you might catch a chill.”

Duan Wucuo said.

His eyes held a gentle smile. He looked refined and proper — every inch the noble gentleman.

He was always like this: using the most elegant manners to do the most outrageous things.

Duan Wucuo didn’t wait for her reply. He turned and walked out.

As he passed the yellow pearwood table by the wall, he stopped and picked up a chrysanthemum-paste sugar cake from a small dish, taking a bite.

His handsome brows furrowed instantly —
the chrysanthemum paste was too coarse, and the sugar-to-paste ratio was wrong.

He placed the bitten cake back down.

Then he left.

Just like when he came, he strolled out as if through his own courtyard, completely unfazed — as though no guards existed.

Two full patrols passed through the grounds, and none saw him at all.

Duan Wucuo had long since disappeared, but inside the wooden tub, Qing Yan remained motionless.

Eventually, the part of the robe soaked in water became heavier and tugged down the part draped over her shoulders.

The bathwater had grown completely cold.

Achoo—!

The sneeze jolted Qing Yan out of her stupor.

Her stiff body slumped down limply into the water.

A long while later, when she had finally regained some strength, she climbed out of the tub and called her maid in to clean up.

Dragging her tired feet, she returned to her canopy bed and slipped under the covers.

That night, Qing Yan once again dreamed the same nightmare.

All year long, she had often dreamed it.

But it wasn’t really a dream — it was something that had truly happened.

In her dream, she saw the wedding candles knocked over, setting the gauze curtains ablaze — and she did not put out the fire.

She heard the groom trapped under a fallen beam crying for help — and she did not pull him out.
Instead, with trembling hands, she threw the burning red bridal veil onto him.

Then she ran.
She ran with everything she had.

When she looked back, the raging fire had turned the night sky into a sea of crimson.

“Princess?
Princess?”

Qing Yan took a moment to respond, finally realizing Wen Xi was calling her.

She opened her eyes and saw Wen Xi’s stern face.

“If you don’t get up now, are you planning to skip lunch too?”

Qing Yan struggled to shake off the remnants of the dream and curved her eyes into a sweet smile:
“Sister Wen Xi, I think I have a fever.”

Wen Xi swallowed the scolding that was about to escape, leaned down to feel her forehead — then slapped it lightly and said angrily,
“You’re even learning to fake illness now!”

“Oh… maybe I got heatstroke in the dream!”
Qing Yan sat up, lifted her quilt, and affectionately looped her arm through Wen Xi’s.
“What’s for lunch today?”

“All you ever do is eat or sleep…”
Wen Xi brushed her off and turned to leave.

As she passed the yellow pearwood table by the wall, she picked up a chrysanthemum sugar cake with a bite taken out of it. She turned back to Qing Yan and scolded,
“Eat, eat, eat — you won’t stop until you’re stuffed so full you can’t breathe!”

Little Qing Yan’s smile froze on her face as her gaze landed on the bitten sugar cake.

Then a blush rose to her cheeks, creeping up in soft, unnatural pink.

Last night’s events flashed before her eyes.

She stared at Wen Xi standing beside the screen and for a moment thought she was hallucinating, seeing Duan Wucuo walking toward her with open arms, bending down to drape a robe over her.

Oh —
So that wasn’t a dream.
It had really happened.

As little Qing Yan lay slumped on her bed, dazed and lost in thoughts of the night before, Duan Wucuo entered the palace.

He hadn’t changed into court attire — still wore his simple, pale blue monk’s robe, unstained by dust and not a wrinkle in sight.

A bamboo hat shielded his neatly tied black hair.

From afar, he looked like a reclusive monk carved from jade, detached from the mortal world.

He walked slowly toward the palace gates.

The guards crossed their blades in front of him to block his way.

“Bold bald donkey! You dare beg for alms in the palace?!”

Duan Wucuo didn’t grow angry — he even let out a soft chuckle at the insult.

He reached up and tilted his hat, revealing his face.

The two guards paled the instant they saw him.

Their swords clattered to the ground, followed by the heavy thud of their knees hitting the floor.

“Your Highness, have mercy! Your Highness, please forgive us!”

Duan Wucuo casually straightened his sleeves and continued walking.

Throughout the grand palace, wherever he passed, servants and attendants dropped to the ground in reverent silence.

He did not walk fast, and by the time he reached the Chang’an Hall, the emperor, Wen He, had already received word and rushed to greet him, bundled up in a padded coat, smiling brightly.

As Duan Wucuo approached, Wen He handed him a hand warmer he’d been cradling in his arms.

“Ninth Brother, come in and warm up!”

Duan Wucuo didn’t take it.
He glanced at the hand warmer with a slight look of distaste.

Wen He didn’t take offense.
He simply grabbed Duan Wucuo’s sleeve and pulled him inside, chattering the whole way:
“I just knew you’d come back to see your brother!”

He pulled Duan Wucuo over to the luohan bed.

Duan Wucuo sat down naturally. Only then did Wen He gleefully settle cross-legged beside him.

“You’re starting to look more and more like a nouveau riche, brother,” Duan Wucuo commented as he accepted a cup of Bi Lu tea from a palace maid and took a sip.

It was his favorite.

Wen He chuckled sheepishly, then picked up the topmost memorial from a small stack of reports.

His smile faded a little, voice more serious:
“This Fan Kangyu has repeatedly framed other officials, and now he’s even meddling in the imperial exams — not to mention bribery and embezzlement.
He deserves to be punished severely. But… he’s a relative of Prince Xingyuan…”

“Then just kill him,” Duan Wucuo said casually.

Wen He looked conflicted.
“If I issue the order and Prince Xingyuan finds out, it’ll cause trouble.
Why don’t you handle it quietly for me?”

Duan Wucuo picked up a newly made palace dessert to taste and didn’t answer.

His silence was as good as agreement.

We He’s smile deepened and he eagerly picked up the next memorial, continuing to report to his younger brother.

He spoke for Duan Wucuo to hear.

Some matters he was still undecided about, others he simply wanted Duan Wucuo to handle for him.

Duan Wucuo, frankly, found it exasperating.

Emperor Wen He had been on the throne for eight years and still hadn’t managed to establish a proper covert intelligence network.
He couldn’t even discreetly deal with a single person.

After they finished discussing state affairs, the conversation turned to personal matters.

The Emperor, recalling that Duan Wucuo hadn’t refused any of the requests he’d just made, assumed his Ninth Brother must be in a good mood today.

“Ninth Brother, what do you think of the matter I mentioned in the letter?

Take your brother’s word for it — Princess of Huachao is beautiful enough to catch your eye.”

Why did he say that?

Because when he tried to arrange a match for Duan Wucuo back then, Duan had dismissed Zhenxian County Princess as “quite plain.”

Duan Wucuo lowered his eyes and stared at the rippling surface of the tea in his cup.

He thought of Qing Yan’s eyes.

He took a sip of tea and said nothing.

The Emperor immediately understood.

He knew he couldn’t hide anything from this brother, so he spilled everything — the full truth, no embellishments.

In the end, he slumped his shoulders and sighed in defeat:
“Ninth Brother, you really are the most suitable choice.”

“I don’t take things others don’t want,” Duan Wucuo replied casually.

The Emperor grew anxious.
“Fine! If you’re willing to lead an army and wipe out Tao Kingdom, seize their lands — then you don’t have to marry her!”

Everyone in the hall lowered their heads.

“I am a humble monk with compassion in my heart. I do not take life,” Duan Wucuo said.

The Emperor blurted out, “Utter nonsense!”

Duan Wucuo rose, bent slightly, and solemnly intoned, “Amitābha—”

The little maid by the window nearly burst out laughing.

The Emperor glared at Duan Wucuo’s departing figure, wishing he could kick him right in the rear — but he didn’t dare.
And truth be told, he couldn’t bear to.

As Duan Wucuo left the Chang’an Hall, Bu Er immediately stepped forward and whispered,
“The person following you before you entered the palace has been handled. Not even bones left behind.”

Duan Wucuo’s expression didn’t change as he kept walking.

Just before exiting the palace, he ran into County Princess Zhenxian and County Princess Zhenshan.

The Su sisters had come to see the Empress today regarding Duan Wucuo’s marriage, but the Empress had refused to receive them.

Disappointed, they’d heard that Duan Wucuo had entered the palace, so they waited on the path they knew he must take to leave.

From a distance, they spotted Duan Wucuo.
Su Ruche immediately nudged her sister and whispered, “Sister, go!”

Su Ruqing adjusted her hair and gracefully stepped forward.

Su Ruche hid behind a corridor pillar, excited to watch.

Her eyes moved from her sister to Duan Wucuo’s approaching figure — and suddenly, she froze.

Her coming-of-age ceremony was three days away; she had only just turned fifteen.
In past years, she seldom left home, and with Duan Wucuo staying in the monastery for the past two years, this was the first time Su Ruche had truly seen his face.

So the rumors were true.

No — the words in those rumors weren’t worthy of describing him at all!

She couldn’t see anything else now — only him.

That was the moment this fifteen-year-old girl understood what it meant to fall in love.
And the man she’d loved from afar for two years — the one she’d always called her “future brother-in-law” — was standing right there.

Now that her heart had been stirred, she forgot all about her sister.

When Su Ruqing walked toward Duan Wucuo, he immediately knew.

But he didn’t stop, nor did he look her way — simply kept walking forward, eyes ahead.

It wasn’t until she stepped directly in front of him that he came to a halt.

Su Ruqing clutched her handkerchief nervously.
Or rather, far more than just “a little” nervous.

She called softly, her voice trembling and full of emotion,
“Your Highness…”

Duan Wucuo paused, his face still wearing a gentle, mild smile.

“Look at me… look at me again!”

Su Ruqing’s eyes were red.
“I—I hadn’t grown into my looks back then…
Look at me again, now…”

Her hand holding the handkerchief was almost white from the force of her grip.

She was the eldest legitimate daughter of Prince Xingyuan, the most celebrated young noblewoman in the capital — the famed County Princess Zhenxian.
Who in the court didn’t call her talented and beautiful?

But years ago, Duan Wucuo had dismissed her as merely “average” — a comment that had crushed her pride and left her bedridden for days.

Now, with her eyes glistening, she stared at him, clinging to the tiniest sliver of hope.

She knew the Empress would no longer support her. She had to fight for herself.

He was smiling at her — such a beautiful smile.

Then Duan Wucuo said, gently and politely:
“You are…?”

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