Ch 25: When the Wild Goose Returns

The residence that His Majesty personally selected for Prince Zhan was, of course, nothing short of exceptional.

When Chang Bai arrived, the servants were diligently cleaning and preparing the estate.
He inspected everything carefully and gave a few more instructions before leaving.

Once he was gone, everyone in the manor praised him.
They said that although he looked young, he was remarkably meticulous and organized.
When someone mentioned he was Liu Zhengping’s adopted son, the rest immediately fell silent, not daring to be careless.

Instead of returning to the palace, Chang Bai used an excuse to slip away from the two junior eunuchs accompanying him.
He got into a small sedan chair alone and gave the bearers an address.

The sedan turned and twisted through several alleys before entering a secluded lane.

Chang Bai got out and walked deeper in, finally stopping in front of an old, worn-down house.

It had clearly stood for many years and looked just as inconspicuous as the neighboring homes.
This street was quite remote, and most of the original homeowners had already moved away. Those who remained lived poorly—this was perhaps the poorest area in all of the capital.

With a faint smile, Chang Bai passed through the small courtyard and entered the side room.

Then, he opened the wardrobe cabinet—behind it lay a hidden passage that led underground.

As he descended, the smile gradually faded from his face.

After unlocking three doors, a stench rolled out.

Inside the dim chamber was a man, chained to the floor, all four of his limbs broken.

The man lifted his head, revealing a face that had been horribly burned in a fire.

His lifeless eyes widened in horror the moment they saw Chang Bai.
His body began to tremble violently, the chains clinking with each shudder.

Even though the man’s limbs had already been shattered, Chang Bai had still secured him with iron chains—just in case.

Without expression, Chang Bai picked up a branding iron from the brazier and pressed it against the man’s arched back.

The sizzle of flesh searing brought a twisted sense of pleasure to Chang Bai.

The man let out a hoarse, muffled wail.

He had screamed so many times that his throat was long since ruined.

Chang Bai used the hot iron to peel back the man’s tattered clothing. As he pressed the brand into the man’s skin, slowly drawing circles, he said softly,
“Young Master, I dreamed of Qing’er again last night.”

Clang—the branding iron dropped to the floor.

Chang Bai squatted down and grabbed the man’s filthy hair, lifting his mangled face.

“You destroyed Qing’er. You destroyed everything,” he said.

The trembling man’s pupils dilated sharply.

Then he suddenly rasped in a cracked, furious scream,
“You bastard! If it weren’t for me, you’d have never been given her! You were the one who handed her over—you traitorous dog!”

Chang Bai’s hand trembled as he picked up the branding iron again.

The glowing iron was pressed once more to the man’s body. He thrashed wildly, the chains rattling with force.

“You were right next door! You heard her crying—‘Brother Chang Bai, help me!’ But you told her to endure! It was you—AHH!”

Chang Bai took up an iron whip lined with barbs and beat the man until he collapsed, sprawled like a dog on the floor, unmoving.

He threw the whip aside and shut his eyes, breathing heavily—twice.

Then, when he opened them again, his smile returned—pure and clean.

He treated the man’s wounds with the finest salve and even personally fed him water and food, patiently waiting for him to wake up.

When the man finally regained consciousness, his voice was like gravel grinding against bone.

With great effort, he croaked,
“When will you let me die?”

Chang Bai stood and replied coldly,
“When thinking of Qing’er no longer hurts.”

Then he left the filthy chamber.

Under the sunlight, he straightened the cloud-patterned hem of his robe, then walked off smiling—headed for Prince Kang’s manor.

Naturally, Duan Wucuo did not meet with him.

So Chang Bai found Bu Er and asked about the new residence and the wedding arrangements.

Bu Er answered everything in full, finally smiling and saying,
“Even if Prince Zhan has joined the Buddhist order, this is still his first time marrying a wife. Every detail must be handled with care.”

Chang Bai nodded and agreed to everything.

After returning to serve Duan Wucuo, Bu Er couldn’t help but praise,
“I’ve heard about that boy Liu Zhengping took in—looks delicate, but his work is thorough. With Liu Zhengping backing him, he’ll accomplish great things.”

“Just a eunuch,” Duan Wucuo said irritably, tossing aside the thin knife in his hand.

Bu Er fell silent immediately, forcing a smile as he tried to change the subject,
“Master, you told me to track the blooming times of the Heart-Lotus Orchids. Another one’s set to bloom tonight!”

Only then did Duan Wucuo’s expression ease somewhat.

He wasn’t specifically targeting Chang Bai. In truth, he didn’t even know who Chang Bai was.

He’d barely paid attention to what Bu Er had said.

His irritation came from something else entirely—someone from the magistrate’s office had actually come by today, asking questions about a case.

Of course, Duan Wucuo hadn’t gone with them. He hadn’t even responded. He simply had them thrown out.

Recently, seven people had died horribly in the capital—
And the method matched one Duan Wucuo had used three years ago.

Prince Kang had even mentioned it to him not long ago.

The attempt to frame him was too obvious.

But whether it was someone trying to implicate him directly, someone unhappy with him staying in the capital, or someone trying to stir suspicion between him and the emperor—it was hard to say.

People always projected layers of complexity onto his simple intentions, treating him like a threat and cloaking their paranoia in high-sounding strategy. It made him sick.

“Filthy bastard,” Duan Wucuo muttered suddenly.

Bu Er jumped in fright and dared not say another word, silently wishing he could sew his lips shut.

After leaving Prince Kang’s manor, Chang Bai followed Liu Zhengping’s advice and went to the auxiliary palace to ask the future mistress about the new residence.

After all, Duan Wucuo would soon return to Yongzhou Temple for six months, making Princess Huachao the real master of the estate during that time.

Naturally, he didn’t meet her directly but passed the message through Wen Xi.

Wen Xi played the part gracefully, telling him to wait and leaving briefly before returning with a list of suggestions and requests.

After all, not asking anything at all would be out of character for the Princess of Huachao—so Wen Xi simply made up a few things to say.

Once she sent Chang Bai off, Wen Xi returned to the room.

Qing Yan was frowning deeply, hard at work practicing her handwriting.

Without looking up, she asked,
“Who was that just now?”

“A eunuch from the palace,” Wen Xi replied casually.
“Asking about the new residence and the wedding.”

Qing Yan responded offhandedly,
“What a pity.
If only they were here to escort me into the palace instead.”

“Still dreaming of a peaceful little life in the Cold Palace?”

Qing Yan put down her brush and sighed,
“Sister Wen Xi, why are my lines never straight?”

“I clearly followed the strokes in the book exactly.
My eyes aren’t crooked, so why does my brush always land crooked?”

Then she asked,
“There are Cold Palaces in the imperial court—why can’t there be one in a prince’s manor?
Sister Wen Xi, how about helping Prince Zhan find a few more concubines?”

Wen Xi gave her a sharp look.
“You think the reason Prince Zhan doesn’t have a bedmate is out of respect for his future princess consort?
He’s just too arrogant—no one has caught his eye.
He’s had plenty of chances to pick someone and still didn’t. You think it’ll be so easy to find a side consort he actually likes?”

Qing Yan tilted her head and fell silent.

Wen Xi finished making the bed and turned around, only to see Qing Yan still sitting there with her head tilted in thought.

She walked over and said,
“Qing Yan, maybe pretending to be the princess isn’t that hard after all.
Once you dispel Prince Zhan’s suspicions, you’ll truly be Princess Huachao—the real Princess Consort Zhan.
You can peacefully enjoy endless silks and delicacies, and have a husband everyone envies.”

Qing Yan blinked and looked at her in surprise.
“How could that be?
How could I ever deserve that?”

“Why not?” Wen Xi asked.

Qing Yan didn’t know how to answer.

She just shook her head and said lightly,
“I’ve never had good luck—not since I was little.
A life of good food and warm clothes like this… it won’t last long. I know that already.
I’m used to it.”

The more indifferent she looked, the more Wen Xi felt a sting of heartache.

She didn’t know much about Qing Yan’s past. Only that she’d been sold by her parents at a young age, and that by the time Princess Huachao rescued her, her leg had already just healed—only to be shattered again.

As for what happened during those ten years in between—Wen Xi didn’t know.

“Ah,” Wen Xi suddenly remembered something.
“Qing Yan, aren’t you only fifteen?”

“I turned sixteen yesterday,” Qing Yan said matter-of-factly.

Wen Xi was stunned.
“Yesterday was your birthday?
Why didn’t you say anything?”

Qing Yan looked confused.
“You told me that whatever the princess likes, I must like too. The princess’s birthday is my birthday.
So I’m eighteen this year, born on the seventh day of the second month.”

Wen Xi was speechless for a moment.

A guard knocked outside and reported,
“Princess, someone from Prince Kang’s manor has sent word—Prince Zhan requests your presence.”

Qing Yan turned to look out the half-open screen. The sun was already leaning westward.

If she freshened up and then took a carriage over to Prince Kang’s residence… it would be almost evening by the time she got there.

“Not going!” she declared firmly.

Wen Xi changed her words more gently—
“The wedding is in less than seven days. It’s inauspicious for the bride and groom to meet beforehand.”

The message was passed along to the guards.

Bu Er rubbed his bald head, looking helpless.

Others might not know, but he did—Prince Zhan was in a foul mood today.

So just imagining himself going back and reporting that Princess Huachao had refused to come… it gave him a cold sweat.

But when Duan Wucuo—currently cooking—heard the message, he only gave a faint snort.

Bu Er couldn’t read his mood and dared not push his luck. He quickly made up an excuse and slipped away.

Duan Wucuo scowled and tossed a handful of cinnamon and star anise into the thick, simmering stew pot.

That night, Qing Yan was sleeping soundly.

Duan Wucuo walked into the auxiliary palace openly, carrying a food box.

Last time, he had come silently, just to catch a glimpse of her face.
This time, there was no need to sneak. No one dared stop him.

Qing Yan was deep in a dream.

In her dream, she didn’t have to learn all the skills required of a princess.
She didn’t have to live in fear of being exposed as a maid.
She was just herself—Qing’er—eating all the meat she wanted.

The scent of braised pork was intoxicating.

The moment she caught that smell, a glistening slab of pork belly layered in rich red sauce appeared in her mind.

She sniffed eagerly, trying to get closer to it.

Without even realizing it, she opened her mouth and bit into the meat.

Because it was a dream, she didn’t need to worry about her table manners. Her soft lips opened wide, and her teeth eagerly chewed.

The pork smelled heavenly, and it tasted even better.

The fatty meat was melt-in-your-mouth tender, sweet and savory, with a richness that lingered.

When the first piece was gone, she gave a satisfied hum and opened her glossy lips again, wanting more.

When the second piece was placed in her mouth, she happily continued eating.

Her lips curled up into a smile, dimples deepening.

She looked utterly content in her sleep.

As she chewed, her eyelashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes—right into the smiling gaze of Duan Wucuo.

Her eyes, still misty from sleep, were wet and dazed.

But her mouth instinctively kept chewing.
When she finished the second piece, she opened her mouth again, waiting for the third.

Duan Wucuo placed another soft, quivering piece into her mouth.

Overwhelmed by the rich flavor, Qing Yan mumbled with her mouth full,
“Why would I dream about that bald monk again… what a buzzkill…”

“Oh?” Duan Wucuo drawled slowly.

Qing Yan, now done with the third bite, impatiently reached for the chopsticks in his hand.

Her warm fingers brushed his cool hand and recoiled from the chill.

She blinked hard and stared at him in a daze, her mouth slick with oil, half-open in shock.

N-not a dream?

Qing Yan jolted fully awake, her almond eyes wide with panic.

She instinctively opened her mouth to call for help—but just before she could shout, she slapped a hand over her lips.

Duan Wucuo reached out and patted her head, quite pleased.

As expected, watching this little girl’s cheeks puffed out with food really did put him in a good mood.

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