Ch 17: When the Wild Goose Returns

The elderly woman, face full of fury, glared hard at Qing Yan.

Her eyes were small—so small that even when glaring, they appeared as narrow slits with no whites visible.
Anyone on the receiving end of that kind of stare would be shaken.

Qing Yan instinctively tried to sit up straight, but Duan Wucuo’s hand pressed against her waist wouldn’t let her move.

Unfortunately, the chess table was blocking the view. From the other side, it looked entirely like she had flung herself into his arms, clinging to him and refusing to leave.

He was doing it on purpose—deliberately putting on a show for the old woman across from them.

Thinking this, Qing Yan reassessed the woman as she approached.

She was dressed in rich robes adorned with soaring phoenixes, her hair heavy with golden pins and jade ornaments—commanding in every sense.
Behind her followed seven or eight dignified maidservants.

That sort of presence… could she be the Empress Dowager?

Duan Wucuo removed his hand at some point. Qing Yan gave a small cough, straightened up a bit, and rubbed her sore chin.

The woman strode up aggressively and called out in a low voice, “Ah Jiu.”

Duan Wucuo gave a lazy “Mm,” as he placed a white piece on the board—calmly finishing the endgame alone.

The old woman’s eyes turned to Qing Yan, scanning her from head to toe.

Her gaze reminded Qing Yan of broken ceramic shards scraping repeatedly at a potato’s skin.

“This one here must be the foreign Princess Huachao?”

The woman’s tone was lofty.

“Wishing Your Majesty peace,” Qing Yan said with a respectful curtsy.

There was a sudden silence in the air—like everyone had held their breath.

All the kneeling maids buried their heads even lower.

The woman’s lips twitched, her expression growing even darker.

She was only forty-one!

Her gaze shifted from disdain to outright disgust.

Beside her, Duan Wucuo let out a quiet chuckle.

Qing Yan blinked in confusion and subtly glanced at Wen Xi for help.

Wen Xi gently shook her head.

Had she guessed wrong?

But in all of the capital, who else would dare scold Prince Zhan and call him “Ah Jiu” with such ease?

Su Ruche stepped forward, suppressing her glee, and leaned close to Qing Yan to whisper, “She’s our eldest princess—Prince Zhan’s older sister.”

Ah…

Qing Yan’s eyes swept over the woman’s graying temples and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes.

Suddenly, it was very awkward.

No woman likes to be reminded of aging.

Qing Yan gave a light cough and offered sincerely, “Eldest Princess, you have such grace and poise.”

The princess snorted coldly.

“I’ve heard Princess Huachao has been frequenting Prince Kang’s residence lately—drawing no small amount of gossip from the capital.
Is this how Tao Kingdom raises its royal women?
If it weren’t for the diplomatic entourage, I’d have thought you were some illegitimate daughter from a rural backwater, born to a lowly concubine—no manners, no shame!”

Now that was rude.

Princess Consort Kang had just rushed over upon hearing the commotion and happened to catch that last line. She bit her lip, worry written on her face.

But the Eldest Princess didn’t seem to think she had gone too far. She pressed on:

“Whatever shameless behavior you got away with in your own country, you’d best drop it here in Yi Kingdom.
At the very least, act like a proper young lady if you wish to become a daughter-in-law of the Duan family!”

Su Ruche gently took the princess’s arm and coaxed her,
“Please, Eldest Princess, calm down… calm down…”

She stole a glance at Duan Wucuo, trying to hide the longing in her eyes.

Just one look. Even one glance would be enough.

But Duan Wucuo seemed entirely detached from the situation—like none of it had anything to do with him.

Su Ruche’s heart sank, but that disappointment quickly turned into subtle delight.

So what if he didn’t look at her? He wasn’t intervening either—not even to defend Princess Huachao.
Didn’t that mean he didn’t care about her either?

That was good news.

She lowered her eyes to hide the pleasure flickering in them.

The Eldest Princess took a deep breath and lowered her voice just a touch, though her tone remained cutting.

“Flirtatious, affected—hardly capable of preserving her own chastity…”

It had been a long time since Qing Yan had been scolded like this.

But after a few sentences, it all came rushing back—like muscle memory.

What maid hadn’t been raised on daily lashings of scolding from sharp-tongued matrons?

For a moment, the Eldest Princess’s face blurred with the faces of the women who used to berate her as a child.

Qing Yan didn’t get angry. Instead, she looked up at the princess with wide, innocent eyes.

The woman ranted on, white breath puffing out with every sentence.

At last, when she paused, Qing Yan curved her eyes and flashed two charming dimples.

She said sweetly, “Eldest Princess, why don’t you take a seat while you speak? You seem a bit tired.”

“You—!”

The princess’s anger flared even hotter.

There’s nothing more infuriating than punching into cotton—no resistance, no satisfaction.

Duan Wucuo’s mouth twitched ever so slightly.

Just as the princess took two more furious steps forward, he said,

“Royal Sister, your maid seems to be in a rush.”

The Eldest Princess turned—and indeed saw a maid hurrying over.

“What is it?”

The maid panted as she replied,
“Good news—wonderful news! The Empress has given birth!”

She was delivering joyful tidings, but her expression didn’t quite match.

Realizing it must be premature labor, Princess Consort Kang quickly stepped forward.

“Are mother and child safe?”

The maid replied awkwardly, in a low voice:
“Yes… but… Her Majesty gave birth to a princess…”

The Eldest Princess and Princess Consort Kang both froze.

Everyone had been so certain this baby was a boy—the future Crown Prince.

How had it turned out to be a girl?

The Empress had indeed gone into early labor. Before her due date, she’d been distressed and in constant pain. The imperial physicians had tried their best to preserve the pregnancy, but in the end, she delivered prematurely.

There were many consorts in the palace. Though the Empress was known to be jealous, it wasn’t as if she would go into early labor just because the Emperor favored another woman. But the one who had climbed into the Emperor’s bed was her own younger sister—and worse, she had caught them in the act with her own eyes. That… was an entirely different matter.

Upon hearing that the Empress had gone into labor, the Eldest Princess temporarily set aside her intention to speak with Duan Wucuo and rushed to the palace.

Before leaving, she shot Qing Yan a disgusted, venomous glare.

Princess Consort Kang also gave a few brief instructions before hurrying after the Eldest Princess to visit the Empress.

The Qiangli Garden quieted instantly.

Qing Yan slowly sat down, head lowered, picking at the sachet in her hand.

After a long while, Duan Wucuo turned his head to look at her—only to find the girl’s eyes red, as if she were about to cry.

Qing Yan was working hard to stir up the emotion, but she just couldn’t cry.

She tried to recall the times she’d been caned or fed spoiled food—but at most, it made her eyes a little misty. No tears would come.

Alright, this would have to do.

She sniffled, then slowly looked up at Duan Wucuo.

Her eyes were filled with aggrieved sorrow, a pitiful look on her delicate face.

Though she hadn’t shed a single tear, to others it looked as if she were quietly suppressing her sadness, holding it in with maturity beyond her years.

Especially when her lips moved just slightly—those faint dimples at the corners made it look as though her tears were right on the edge of falling. It was heart-wrenching to behold.

“Your Highness,” she said softly, “no matter what others may think of me or how much they may despise me… so long as Your Highness knows my heart, that’s enough.”

She held the sachet out to him, like a young girl shyly presenting her affections. In her clear, shining eyes was the reflection of the man she admired.

Duan Wucuo’s gaze dropped to the poorly stitched sachet.

He asked, “The Princess embroidered this herself?”

“Yes,” she replied.
“Every stitch and every thread holds Yan’er’s feelings for Your Highness.
This is… this is a pair of lovebirds—joined wings.
They represent my heart…”

“Lovebirds?” he repeated.

“Yes. Joined-winged lovebirds.
The one on the left is Your Highness, and the one on the right…” Qing Yan turned her face coyly, smiling bashfully—her performance of innocence and coquetry was masterful.

If she hadn’t explained it, no one would’ve guessed the design was meant to be lovebirds. It looked more like two tangled tufts of wild grass.

To appear “unvirtuous,” Qing Yan had purposely made the embroidery ugly.

In truth, she was quite skilled—she’d once earned pocket money selling embroidered handkerchiefs.

Duan Wucuo didn’t take it right away. Instead, he asked, “This incense has a rather unique scent.”

Qing Yan’s smile grew even more sincere. Her eyes sparkled.
“Your Highness has entered the monastic life and follows the precepts daily—you can’t taste wine or meat.
Wu’er often hears people say wine is the finest of earthly pleasures. I worried Your Highness might crave it yet couldn’t break your vows…
So I spent a great deal of money finding this special wine-scented incense.
If Your Highness wears it each day, perhaps it’ll ease your longing.”

She looked at him with earnest, radiant joy—the glow of a girl in love.

But inside, she was shouting:

Come on! Hurry up and scold me! Say the stitching is hideous! Get mad at the wine scent!
Slap the table and storm off! Throw the sachet in my face! Come on! Show that fearsome demon-king temper of yours!

But Duan Wucuo simply set down the chess piece in his hand—and, under her hopeful gaze, accepted the sachet.

His pale fingertips touched the cloth, and he slowly rolled the rough embroidery thread between his fingers. Then he brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply.

His eyes narrowed, and an entranced smile tugged faintly at his lips.

Wearing plain monk’s robes and an air of abstinence, his infatuated expression gained a quiet, reverent beauty.

So pure… it was almost sacred.

He sat right there, yet seemed shrouded in mist—so close, yet impossibly far.

A nearby maid was momentarily dazed before hurriedly lowering her head, blushing.

Even Qing Yan was briefly stunned.

Her hand, still outstretched from offering the sachet, hung frozen in midair.

“Princess, you are most thoughtful.
This gift… is wonderful,” Duan Wucuo said, opening his eyes and tucking the sachet into his robe—an expression of genuine appreciation on his face.

Then he turned, grasped her wrist, and lifted her delicate fingers to his nose for a deep breath.

His breath brushed her skin. Qing Yan shivered.

The depth of his gaze unnerved her. That tingling sensation from his breath began at her fingertips and spread throughout her body.

Still holding her fingers, Duan Wucuo’s eyes were calm and bottomless as he slowly said,

“Since I was young, I’ve been forbidden from drinking wine.
Even a drop will make my skin flush and itch, sometimes even break out.
But… I’ve always been fond of the smell.
The scent alone makes me drunk.
This gift, Princess, suits me perfectly.”

“…Ah.” Qing Yan’s mouth opened slightly.

So when the Consort had said “Prince Zhan doesn’t like wine,” she really just meant he was allergic…

Duan Wucuo didn’t let go. His grip on her fingers tightened slightly.

He said,
“You’ve held this sachet so long that your fingertips now carry the same alluring wine scent.”

He tilted his head slightly, her fingertips almost touching his lips.

Amid the wild pounding of her heart, Qing Yan abruptly pulled her hand back and hid both hands behind her back.

She stared at him, stiff-backed, chest rising and falling.

She had a sudden illusion—if she hadn’t pulled away, Duan Wucuo might have bitten her fingers.
Bitten them to the bone. Swallowed them whole.

He looked at the now-empty space between his fingers, then turned to her with a cryptic smile.

He sighed,
“There’s wine scent on your body too, Princess.
But… it’s too faint.
If you were to bathe in wine at night, I imagine the taste would be much richer, much more delicious.”

A terrifying image flashed in Qing Yan’s mind:
Prince Zhan smiling as he submerged her in a vat of wine—letting her soak and ferment—then pulling her out and biting into her with that intoxicated look, devouring her whole… not even the bones left behind.

Snapping back to reality, she met Duan Wucuo’s intense gaze.

The way he looked at her—Qing Yan knew that look.
It was the same look she had when she saw braised pork after going hungry for three days.

She shuddered, scalp tingling.

Panicked, she jumped up and blurted,
“I—I’m going back to soak in wine, Your Highness wait—”

She bit her tongue mid-sentence, realizing what she had just said.

Her cheeks were already flushed crimson. She didn’t dare look him in the eye again and fled in a fluster.

Prince Kang, being pushed forward by attendants, could only shake his head helplessly.

“Ah Jiu, why must you scare her like that?”

Duan Wucuo gave a casual chuckle.

He leaned back, long legs crossed on the chess table, lazily swinging.

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