Ch 12: When the Wild Goose Returns

The moment the palace doors closed behind her, Qing Yan hesitated.

Climbing into someone’s bed… was truly disgraceful.
Just the thought of it made her feel deeply uncomfortable.

If she were Qing’er, she would never have agreed.
Just like before.

But she was Qing Yan now.
She had returned to Yi Kingdom only to repay Princess Huachao’s life-saving grace.
Even her life could be given in return—so what was a little discomfort?

She had known from the start this was a political marriage. That matter would have to happen sooner or later.
She always joked to Wen Xi about wanting to live a peaceful life in the Cold Palace.
That was partly true—but mostly, it was a tactic to make herself seem insignificant, so no one would dig into her true identity.

The inner palace was filled with women. As long as she kept her head down, eventually people would forget her.
Even if the palace was a cage, it was one that could protect her. She didn’t want to leave it.
She feared meeting anyone from her past—even if it was unlikely.

If she were married to someone else, she’d inevitably have to attend banquets and meet others.
And more importantly, she truly didn’t want to marry Prince Zhan.

Every time she thought of that title, she remembered being scolded as a child by older maids:
“If you can’t even do this, just wait till Prince Zhan gets hold of you—he’ll break your arms and legs and boil you for the wolves!”

Especially after meeting Duan Wucuo in person, Qing Yan had treated him like a plague god.

She didn’t dare look into his eyes. His smiling eyes always seemed like they could see right through her.

She didn’t even know why, but whenever she met Duan Wucuo’s gaze, she felt a guilty conscience—like he would expose her any second.
And if he did, her death wouldn’t matter—but she couldn’t drag down Princess Huachao because of her own foolishness.

Qing Yan quietly took a breath to steel her nerves.

So what if it was seduction?

She could handle this.

On the way to Yi Kingdom, she had secretly studied little pamphlets on the subject.

She finally crept to the side of the bed and cautiously lifted her eyes—Emperor Wen He wore pale snow-colored trousers.

Just one glance, and she quickly dropped her gaze, not daring to look higher.

Her heart thumped wildly.

“If I dawdle, he’s going to wake up…” she muttered.

She bit her lip, slipped off her shoes at the foot of the bed, and—bracing herself—climbed in.

She moved carefully, bending to avoid the emperor’s legs, inching along the wall like a little snail.

She didn’t make a single sound, not even in her breathing.

At last, she made it to the far side of the bed, pressed against the wall, still on her hands and knees, motionless.
She didn’t dare look at the man lying beside her.

“I need to lie down…” she told herself three times before her stiff body finally moved again.

Still cautiously, she straightened her legs, slowly turned onto her side, and lay down facing the wall.

Her face was nearly flush with it.

Such a simple action—yet Qing Yan felt she’d used up all her strength.
Her hand near her face clenched slightly, fingers trembling.

Now that she had climbed into the bed and thrown away her shame, she was terrified for her life again.
What if the Yi emperor woke up and found her there? Would he fly into a rage?

Should she wait for him to wake naturally, or wake him herself?

If he needed to be called awake by servants, there’d be no moment alone to carry out the “seduction” plan.

Qing Yan was still lost in worry when the man behind her suddenly rolled over.

She stiffened at once.

His breath brushed against the back of her neck, sending a chill and a tingle down her spine.

Then, a weight pressed down on her waist—his hand.

Qing Yan froze for a long time, but he made no further move.

Was he still asleep?

She quietly let out a breath, but couldn’t relax.
The arm across her waist felt like a thousand pounds.

She scolded herself—
Qing’er, you’re so stupid!

Don’t be afraid. Grab his hand, turn around slowly, and look at him with the gentlest, most affectionate gaze of your life!

She finally summoned her courage and inched her little hand toward his.
Her fingers just touched the back of his hand—she flinched, then tried again.

She placed her palm lightly on top of his.

Her five fingers were stiff and outstretched.

His hand was slightly cool.

Now what?

Qing Yan slowly curled her pinky and lightly scratched the back of his hand.

It was feather-light.

Warmth rose from her pinky like a tiny flame slowly crawling upward.

Her hand froze again. Her mind blanked. She had no idea what to do next.

Then he suddenly flipped his hand over and caught hers.

Her hand was so small. His was large and strong.
Her fingers lay limp and obedient in his grip.

His thumb gently, slowly stroked the back of her hand.

Qing Yan froze.

Was he… awake?

People might unconsciously grab someone’s hand in their sleep.
But this slow, deliberate stroking—he was definitely awake.

Qing Yan shut her eyes and took a deep breath.
When she opened them again, she’d switched to the sweetest, gentlest smile she could manage.

She reached out and grasped his hand—cold and heavy—carefully holding his index finger.
Then, as gracefully, tenderly, and alluringly as she could, she turned to face him.

Her eyes lifted slowly, full of soft shimmer.

But the moment her gaze met Prince Zhan’s—

All the grace, all the charm she had painstakingly summoned—collapsed in an instant.
What remained was pure embarrassment.

The tenderness on her face hadn’t even faded yet—now it only served to mock her.

“P-Prince Zhan…”

Duan Wucuo had propped himself up, clearly watching her for a while now.
Who knew how much of her squirming, flustered performance he’d already seen.

He spoke at last, voice unhurried and indifferent:

“This humble monk is a man of the cloth, devoted to precepts and worship.
For a woman to tempt others into breaking their vows and harming their cultivation—
In death, such a soul must descend to the Eighteenth Level of Hell.”

Qing Yan’s scalp tingled. She instantly yanked her hand from Prince Zhan’s and scrambled backward.

But the wall was behind her—there was nowhere to run.
Her head struck the wall hard, the pain bringing tears to her eyes.

Everyone said Prince Zhan killed with a smile.
If he smiled at you, you ought to feel danger.

Yet as Qing Yan glared at him with wide almond eyes, she found the legend lacking.
It was this expressionless version of Prince Zhan that made her hair stand on end, made her tremble with dread.

He spoke again, slowly and deliberately:
“At Ouhé Lake, I thought the princess was merely naive, being used by the two county princesses.
Now I see—you were an accomplice from the start.”

Qing Yan hurriedly stammered,
“I—I… I won’t tell anyone what I saw between you and Consort Shu, alright? So please don’t tell anyone I tried to seduce the emperor either, okay?”

Prince Zhan was visibly stunned, his gaze faltering for a moment.

“Me and Consort Shu?”

Wasn’t that the case?

If not, why else would he be resting in her bed?

Qing Yan nodded firmly, whispering,
“Let’s just keep each other’s secrets, alright?
We’ll pretend none of this ever happened—we didn’t see each other at all!”

Prince Zhan let out a breathy laugh, clearly exasperated.

Ever since he returned from Yongzhou Temple, he had cultivated peace of mind and rarely lost his temper.
Yet today, Qing Yan had managed to provoke him twice in a single day.

He raised his hand, knuckles brushing her cheek.

To Qing Yan, it felt like something cold and slithering—dangerous and numbing.

His hand slowly trailed down to her slender neck.
Then, without warning, he gripped it and lifted her before him.

Her face was mere inches from his.
At such close range, her every exhale warmed his face—slightly sweet.

Her eyes were full of panic, like a startled fawn lost in the misty woods after rain.

Qing Yan forced herself to be bold:
“If you don’t let go of me, my imperial father will send troops to defend my honor!”

But as soon as she spoke, the sweet scent brushing his face grew stronger.

Prince Zhan didn’t respond.
He only furrowed his brow slightly, the disgust between his brows obvious—
and his hand around her neck relaxed and let go.

Just then, Qing Yan—already tightly wound—heard movement from the next room.

A woman’s startled cry, quickly muffled.
Whether by someone else’s hand or her own, she couldn’t tell.

Then came soft sounds—half crying, half moaning.

Qing Yan blinked in confusion.

And then came the unmistakable sound of a canopy bed shaking.

The room next door was built later, sharing only a thin wall with this one. It didn’t insulate sound.

The bed must’ve been pushed right up against the wall, because each time it creaked, it thudded against it—sending the sound straight through.

Qing Yan lifted her head, eyes drifting to the canopy tassels above the bed, which seemed to sway along with the noise.

She finally understood what was happening—and her face flushed crimson.
Utterly humiliated, she buried her face in the bedding.

Prince Zhan glanced down at her.

Even her ornate gown couldn’t conceal how delicate she was—so thin at the waist, she looked like she might break with a touch.

A beauty like a painting… but no trace of regal composure.

Her green skirt pooled messily around her; one foot curled beneath it, the other bare with a silk stocking halfway off, revealing her soft round heel.

She was lying prone, flushed cheeks buried in the bed, her hairpiece askew.
A portion of her nape was exposed—smooth and white as jade.

Prince Zhan reached out and gently adjusted the hair ornament by her temple.

Then he said:
“This humble monk shall gift the princess a tortoise shell one day.”

Qing Yan bit the bedding and mouthed:
Not listening, not listening—stupid tortoise chanting sutras!

Outside, a flurry of footsteps approached—many people, it sounded like.

And faintly, Qing Yan thought she heard the empress’s voice.

Startled, she immediately raised her head to look toward the door.

“What do we do?”
She grabbed Prince Zhan’s hand in a panic, eyes wide with worry.

“Are they coming to catch us in the act?
If they find us like this… and the emperor orders a marriage between us—what then?!”

She didn’t know that the emperor had already discussed such a match with Prince Zhan in private—and Prince Zhan had agreed to it.

He glanced at her hand grasping his, then at her face.

Her face was even redder than he’d expected.

Just as the guards burst in, Prince Zhan picked up her shoe and stocking and dragged her into the wardrobe.

It was cramped, filled with women’s clothes.
Consort Shu’s garments had been perfumed, and the fragrance filled the tight space.

Light filtered in through the carved slats.

It took a moment before Qing Yan noticed what he held—her stocking and shoe.

She froze, then bashfully tugged up her skirt and peeked at her foot.
Sure enough—she was missing a stocking.

She wrinkled her brow in embarrassment, then gently pulled the stocking from Prince Zhan’s fingers and awkwardly tried to put it on.

Balancing on one foot, she nearly toppled into the wardrobe wall.

Prince Zhan steadied her—she stumbled forward, bumping her forehead into his chest.

Her ears turned red.
She shifted away from him, ears perked to catch the sound outside.

The guards hadn’t searched thoroughly—once they saw no one on the bed, they rushed into the next room.

Then came a brief stillness… followed by the sound of kneeling.

“All hail His Majesty!”

Mixed with that, the sound of a woman sobbing.

Qing Yan stared in shock—unable to believe it.

So… Emperor Wen He was in the next room?

“Ruqing?”

—It was the empress’s voice.

High-pitched and sharp, filled with disbelief and fury worthy of her station.

“Elder Sister! Someone set me up! You must stand up for me!”

That was Su Ruqing, crying for help.

The emperor seemed to say something, but it was too far to hear clearly.

Then came another shout—this time from one of the older palace maids:

“Quick! Summon the imperial physician—!”

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