Ch 22: When the Wild Goose Returns

Duan Wucuo’s gaze remained gentle.

Across the long desk stacked with memorials, he caught every flicker of expression on Emperor Wen He’s face.

His own dark eyes remained as calm as a still lake—emotionless, unmoved.

His tone was as ordinary as could be, as if he were casually chatting with an older brother about some household matter.

And that was exactly the problem.

Emperor Wen He was the sovereign; as the saying went, a ruler is ruler, a subject is subject. Yet between these two, not a trace of that hierarchy could be seen.

Strangely, no one in the hall found this odd.

The emperor, however, felt unspeakably awkward.

By rights, Princess Huachao had been sent by Tao to strengthen diplomatic ties through marriage—surely, she was meant to enter the harem.

That day in the Chang’an Hall, upon seeing the princess’s face, Wen He had been enchanted.

But then, things took a turn. The Empress had raised objections about her violet eyes, claiming astrological clashes and ominous fate. On the grounds that the child might harm the future crown prince, she forbade the princess’s entrance to the palace.

Wen He knew well how jealous the Empress could be—he didn’t necessarily believe her claims. But, thinking of the empire’s future heir, he reluctantly agreed.

Then, with no shame at all, he went begging Duan Wucuo to take the girl in instead.

He’d said every flattering word he could think of to get Duan Wucuo to accept the mess.

…But then the Empress gave birth prematurely, to the Eleventh Princess.

Those court sorcerers, led by the Grand Diviner—weren’t they the same ones who had guaranteed the baby was a boy?

If they couldn’t even tell the sex of a fetus, what good was all their talk of fate and destiny?

Besides, who even knew if that future crown prince had crossed the Bridge of Forgetting from his past life yet?
All that talk of astrological conflict—what nonsense!

Ever since the Su Ruqing incident, the Empress had grown cold and distant. The emperor had faced multiple rebuffs and was growing irritated.
His mind wandered back to Princess Huachao.

He had already changed his mind and was trying to think of a way to bring her into the palace again.

In fact, just before Duan Wucuo arrived, he had been pondering how to broach the subject—how to admit that he’d changed his mind and wanted to add the princess to his harem after all…

And now, in the span of a few moments, the expression on Emperor Wen He’s face shifted rapidly—from surprise, to regret, to hesitation, to a sort of grievance.

“That… wouldn’t it be hard to explain to Tao?”

His eyes shifted uncertainly.

“Your Majesty can use the same wording as in the letter you sent me before,” Duan Wucuo said, calmly reciting the letter’s contents:

“Princess Huachao of Tao is bright-eyed and gracious, full of spiritual charm. As one who could nearly be her father in age, I cannot bear to confine her within the deep palace and waste her prime years.
Yet, since Tao offers her in good faith for the sake of alliance, she must not be slighted.
I have therefore arranged her marriage to Prince Zhan…”

“With such phrasing, Tao will feel no disrespect.”

The emperor opened his mouth—but the very words he’d once written now blocked his tongue.

He racked his brain, then tried another angle:
“But Ah Jiu, you’re a monk now!
How can a princess be married off to a man who’s taken vows?”

“No no, Ah Jiu, don’t misunderstand,” he quickly added.
“As your elder brother, I’m not just thinking of Tao’s reputation—but of your spiritual cultivation!”

Duan Wucuo didn’t reply. He just smiled and looked at him.

The hall fell into silence.

All the palace attendants bowed their heads like lamp posts—quiet and motionless.

After a long pause, Emperor Wen He forced a sheepish laugh and said awkwardly,
“Well, your elder brother is getting on in years.
We can grant the marriage now and hold the actual wedding after six months—once you return to secular life.”

“Wise decision, Your Majesty,” Duan Wucuo replied.

Everything was going according to his plan.

The emperor scratched the back of his hand and tried to make his smile appear sincere, though it felt like his heart was bleeding.

As soon as Duan Wucuo turned to leave, Emperor Wen He immediately summoned Liu Zhengping.
Gripping Liu’s arm, he groaned again and again:
“Aiyoh, aiyoh…”

Clutching his chest, he wailed,
“I’ve truly lifted a stone just to smash my own foot!”

Then he turned on Liu:
“Why was I in such a rush to write that letter back then?
Why didn’t you stop me?
And why couldn’t the Empress have gone into labor a few days earlier?”

What could Liu Zhengping possibly say to that?

After a long sigh, the emperor muttered with resignation,
“Then again, if she’d delivered earlier, it might’ve harmed my poor Eleventh Princess…”

Only then did Liu Zhengping dare to speak:
“Your Majesty, shouldn’t the young lady of the Su family be granted a title now?”

The emperor froze, suddenly remembering Su Ruqing.

That night, he’d been half-asleep, assuming the woman in his chambers was Consort Shu.
He had pulled her into his arms before realizing the truth.

But as emperor, accepting a woman who offered herself willingly seemed perfectly reasonable.

And besides, he’d already embraced her—add to that the effect of the scented incense in the room…

He mulled it over for a while and decided: he should go see her.

—

That night, Qing Yan had been forced by Wen Xi to practice the zither until late before she was allowed to crawl into bed.

She flopped onto the soft quilt, burying her face into the covers.

Wen Xi tidied her shoes and asked,
“County Princess Zhenshan has invited you to her manor tomorrow for a small gathering. Are you going?”

“That girl is vicious and cunning.
Better to decline than say something wrong,” she added.

Qing Yan rubbed her numb fingers and slowly said,
“If it were the real princess… would she go?”

Wen Xi replied,
“If the real Princess had been sent to marry into this land, she would surely need to rebuild her social network and make connections with the local elites.
Of course she would go.”

Qing Yan let out a lazy hum.
“So I don’t really have a choice…”

She yawned, hugged the blanket, rolled to the inner side of the bed, and burrowed into the warmth.

She had already been sleepy while playing the zither earlier.

Wen Xi stood beside the bed, watching Qing Yan wriggle around like a little caterpillar under the covers.

Her brows slowly furrowed.

She had overheard the entire conversation between Qing Yan and Duan Wucuo at Yinxing Pavilion earlier.

After some hesitation, she sat down by the bed, pulling the quilt away from Qing Yan’s face and asked:

“Qing Yan, I need you to tell me the truth about something.”

Qing Yan mumbled sleepily in response.

“…Are you still a virgin?”

Qing Yan mumbled a soft “mm-hmm” twice again, her delicate voice sounding like a kitten kneading and purring.

Wen Xi couldn’t tell if she was just brushing her off.

She reached out and grabbed Qing Yan’s wrist, speaking seriously:
“Qing Yan, this is important.
You said you were once married, but it wasn’t consummated?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“Qing Yan!”

Wen Xi lowered her voice, sharp and firm.

Qing Yan let out a few more hums and pulled the blanket over her face—she truly was too sleepy to think clearly now.

But Wen Xi didn’t dare take this lightly. She knew this could become a big deal.

Considering Qing Yan was still young, she didn’t want to ask too bluntly.

Instead, she leaned closer and rephrased:
“Qing Yan, have you ever had someone you liked? Ever been fond of a man?”

“Mmm… I like Miss.
I also like the princess.”

She rubbed her soft cheek against the pillow and added,
“I like Sister Wen Xi too…”

Wen Xi grew annoyed and raised her voice a little:
“I meant a man!”

“Then… I like my younger brother…”

Wen Xi gave up in frustration.

She tried asking again, but Qing Yan didn’t even respond this time—she had already drifted off into a deep sleep.

—

The next morning at breakfast, Wen Xi asked casually,
“You have a younger brother?”

“Yeah. It’s because I had a little brother that my father sold me in exchange for food.”

Qing Yan took a bite of her fragrant honey-scented chrysanthemum jujube cake and spoke offhandedly.

As if remembering something, she suddenly picked up a bun from the tray and said,
“They traded me for three buns—much bigger than this one.”

Wen Xi looked at Qing Yan, stunned for a moment, unable to speak.

After the fall of the Zhao Kingdom, war had ravaged the land.

Even now, with ten kingdoms standing, conflict flared up at the drop of a hat.

There were simply too many suffering people in this world.

Wen Xi changed the subject:
“Do you have a plan to approach Prince Min yet?”

Qing Yan had just opened her mouth to bite into another jujube cake.

At the question, she paused and simply licked the green fruit paste between the two layers with the tip of her tongue.

A sweetness spread across her lips and tongue before she said softly,
“No need for now…”

Somewhere in her heart, Qing Yan knew this marriage was already out of her hands—no matter how she struggled, it would make little difference.

—

After breakfast, Qing Yan brought Wen Xi and several guards to fulfill their invitation to the Prince Xingyuan’s manor, specifically the Fragrant Clarity Courtyard where Su Ruche resided.

Today, Su Ruche hadn’t invited just Qing Yan—she’d also called a number of other noble girls.

Two daughters from prominent official families were present, as well as Shan Qian Yue, and a few unfamiliar young ladies.

Qing Yan had gotten up late and arrived much later than the others.

Before she showed up, the entire topic of conversation among the young ladies had revolved around her.

Most of them hadn’t actually seen Qing Yan’s face, but all had heard tales of the stunning Princess Huachao.

They couldn’t resist asking those who had seen her for details.

And naturally, the talk turned to subtle insults and comparisons, all in the name of bonding.

Where there are people, there are hierarchies.

Even among the wealthy and powerful, they ranked themselves based on their families’ influence at court.

Though they hadn’t even seen Qing Yan in person, these girls confidently asserted that Princess Huachao couldn’t possibly be as beautiful as everyone claimed.
Certainly not as lovely as Princess Zhenshan or the daughters of the Cheng and Tao families.

“The ancients said, ‘Better to meet someone than just hear about them’—but I think it’s the opposite. A lot of people disappoint in person.
All those titles like ‘Most Beautiful Woman’ are just overhyped.
Our little princess here is charming, Sister Muxin is gentle, and Sister Ningxin is seductive. How could some foreign princess compare to our Tao beauties?”

“Exactly.
I haven’t seen this Huachao myself, but from what I’ve heard, she’s really just average.
It’s just those weird violet eyes getting all the attention.”

“If you ask me—how can violet eyes be considered beautiful?
They sound scary!”

A dark-skinned girl giggled with her hand over her mouth:
“She might not even be as pretty as me! Hahaha…”

“Shh, is that her—Princess Huachao?
She’s coming…”

The cluster of girls in the garden all looked up toward the figure gracefully approaching them.

Today, Qing Yan was dressed very plainly—an elegant combination of apricot and bluish-gray, subdued and simple.

Even her face veil was the most common white gauze.

She stepped lightly into the garden and gently lifted the veil, offering a soft smile as she greeted them,
“I’m sorry for being late.”

For a fleeting moment, the spring garden fell utterly silent.

To host this gathering, Su Ruche had carefully decorated the garden with expensive pots of magnolias and daffodils.

Yet suddenly, those delicate blooms seemed to dim in her presence.

Qing Yan wore only a hint of makeup—defined brows, a touch of red on her lips.

But her face, glowing like dewy lychee and blooming like a lotus, outshone all.

Su Ruche’s charm, Cheng Muxin’s grace, Tao Ningxin’s flirtatiousness—none could compare.

And she bore something more: the handwritten praise from Emperor Wen He himself—“graceful and spirited.”

She didn’t need flashy clothes or dazzling jewels.

Just by standing there and smiling gently, she made even the lotus feel ashamed.

The dark-skinned girl who had earlier joked about her own looks now bit her lip in embarrassment.
Thankfully, her complexion hid her blushing cheeks.

Suppressing her growing resentment, Su Ruche smiled sweetly and pulled Qing Yan over to sit beside her.

After a moment of stunned silence, the group slowly recovered and resumed their chatting.

But the mood had shifted—subtly, more of their words began to target Qing Yan.

Qing Yan, however, kept her smile relaxed, never arguing or retaliating.

Her serenity left them all unsure of what she was really thinking.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Qing Yan’s engagement to Duan Wucuo.

The dark-skinned girl suddenly raised her voice,
“This marriage probably won’t happen. Prince Zhan is very picky.”

In truth, every girl here was thinking the same.

Su Ruche smiled slightly, her mood inexplicably lifted.

Then a maid rushed in, footsteps hurried and voice anxious:
“P-Prince Zhan is here!”

Su Ruche shot to her feet:
“Who did he come for? Where is he now?”

There was no need to answer—everyone could already see Duan Wucuo approaching.

He walked into the inner courtyard as if it were his own home, completely unfazed.

All eyes locked onto him, full of confusion.

Qing Yan instinctively shrank back slightly, her brow furrowing.

A bad feeling gnawed at her heart.

Then she watched—stunned—as Duan Wucuo strode through the winding path and stopped directly in front of her.

He bent down, took her wrist, and placed a heavy keyring into her palm.

Her hand sank from the weight—and her heart sank with it.

Duan Wucuo gently closed her fingers over the keys and said leisurely:
“The Prince Zhan Manor burned down.
The restoration… is yours to handle.”

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