Ch 27: When the Wild Goose Returns

Early spring brought warmth mixed with lingering chill.

This was the season when Qing Yan most loved to bury herself deep in soft, warm blankets—especially in the mornings, when being awakened felt like being forcibly uprooted. She wished she could grow roots in her bed and never leave it.

Wen Xi dragged her out from under the covers and plopped her down, listless, in front of the dressing table to do her hair and makeup. As she worked, Wen Xi explained the schedule for the day. Qing Yan sat there with drooping eyelids, nodding from time to time, half-asleep and barely registering the words.

As the final gold hairpin was inserted into Qing Yan’s hair, Wen Xi looked at the reflection in the bronze mirror. For a moment, she was dazed—almost believing the girl before her was the real Princess Huachao.

She had grown up by the princess’s side and once imagined she would be the one to dress the princess for her wedding. But now…

“Sister Wen Xi?”
Qing Yan tugged at Wen Xi’s sleeve. “Where’s breakfast?”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Wen Xi scolded her, “You’ve gained weight again. Eat anything now and you’ll burst out of that wedding robe.”

Qing Yan’s round almond eyes widened in protest.

“Purse your lips,” Wen Xi said, handing her a vivid red lip paper.

Qing Yan opened her mouth reluctantly.
“And now that your lips are colored, you can’t eat anything at all,” Wen Xi added.

Realizing she’d been tricked, Qing Yan muttered in frustration, “It’s not even time yet. We got up too early.”

Wen Xi gently held her shoulders and turned her to face the mirror. “Then just look at yourself in the mirror and mentally run through today’s ceremony.”

Qing Yan gazed at her unfamiliar reflection and sighed deeply. Maybe she was just too young for such heavy bridal makeup. Qi dynasty wedding styles were already exaggerated, and thick layers of rouge and powder masked the natural translucence of her fair skin. Her face looked whitewashed—more pale than luminous.

She gave a soft grunt at her reflection and sat there waiting for the auspicious hour to arrive.

After what felt like forever, the wedding procession came.

Wen Xi placed the red veil over Qing Yan’s head and helped her up, escorting her to the bridal sedan.

As the sedan lifted off, Qing Yan quietly opened her palm. In her snow-white hand was a small handful of red dates. Under the veil, the corners of her lips curled up as she popped one red date into her mouth after another. She remembered Wen Xi’s instructions—to keep her lips pursed and careful so the red paste wouldn’t smudge.

Even after finishing the last red date, she still felt hungry. It was a habit formed by years of hunger; even now with regular meals, she still ate more than most.

She rested her hands on her lap and listened to the noise outside.

The citizens of the capital lined the streets, chatting excitedly about the grand wedding. Sitting in her bridal sedan, Qing Yan didn’t care whether it was impressive or not. She felt like an outsider, emotionally detached from the entire affair.

The sedan stopped, and a matron shoved the ceremonial red ribbon into her arms. Confused, she held it awkwardly until she felt the other end tug. Quickly, she took small steps to follow—and only then realized the other end was in Duan Wucuo’s hand.

With the veil blocking her vision, she suddenly wondered: what was Duan Wucuo wearing today? A traditional red wedding robe, or his usual monk’s robe?

That thought stuck with her through the rest of the intricate rituals.

At the call of “send the bride into the chamber,” Qing Yan’s steps grew noticeably lighter—none of the typical shyness of a new bride. The matron had explained yesterday that since Duan Wucuo had left secular life as a stand-in for the emperor, having children within three years of becoming a monk would be sacrilegious—disrespectful to both the late emperor and the Buddha.

So today’s wedding was purely ceremonial. Duan Wucuo wouldn’t even stay the night; he’d leave and not return for half a year.

Qing Yan had been dreading the daily interactions with Duan Wucuo, fearful of being exposed. Now that she knew he’d be gone right away, she felt immense relief—like a weight lifted, a half-life restored.

“Miss Wen Xi,”
Chang Bai called out as Wen Xi trailed behind Qing Yan. He had questions for her.

Wen Xi recognized him and knew they’d see a lot of each other from now on. She left instructions with Qing Yan’s maid and stepped aside to speak with him.

Qing Yan sat properly on the bed. The veil was lifted.

The room was filled with unfamiliar faces—even Wen Xi was gone. The only person she recognized was Duan Wucuo.

He wasn’t wearing monk’s robes. He wore a resplendent red wedding outfit that made him look like a different person—distant, almost unrecognizable. He’d always worn coarse cloth before. Now, in this rich red robe, his striking looks were more dazzling than ever.

He stood there and effortlessly drew every eye in the room. The young women glanced at him, then quickly looked away, afraid to be caught staring too long.

Duan Wucuo turned slightly and placed the weighing scale on the red lacquer tray, then sat down beside Qing Yan.

Her heart suddenly skipped—a sharp jolt of reality.
Even if she wasn’t the real Princess Huachao, this wedding—once the veil was lifted—felt very real.

And the pressure from Duan Wucuo sitting beside her was suffocating.

Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she reached for the wine cup. Panicking inwardly, she worried others would notice, but Duan Wucuo’s hand calmly looped around hers to assist.

She pressed her lips together, already missing the red veil that had covered her face all day.

As they drank the ceremonial wine, Qing Yan’s eyelashes trembled. She didn’t dare blink again, afraid her lashes might brush his cheek.

So close. Far too close…

She silently begged for the ritual to end and for Duan Wucuo to return to being a monk. She quickly downed the drink—but choked on it by accident.

“Cough! Cough!”

The matron chuckled, “Don’t be so nervous, dear bride!”

Qing Yan frowned. I’m not nervous, she thought, lightly scratching at the embroidery on her dress to calm herself.

On second thought, the wine they drank had the fragrance of alcohol, but didn’t actually taste like it. She realized—it must have been something else.

Duan Wucuo was allergic to alcohol, wasn’t he? So they must’ve used a substitute.

It was sweet and fragrant. She’d never tasted anything like it before.
…It was surprisingly delicious.

The room eventually cleared out. The carved wooden door, adorned with double-happiness characters, closed. Only she and Duan Wucuo remained.

Qing Yan kept her head down, muttering internally: Why hasn’t he left yet?

Duan Wucuo stood and walked over to the round table draped in red silk. He picked up the wine pot, poured himself another cup of that “wine,” and leaned against the table—watching her.

So this was the wife he had ultimately chosen—at best, just barely satisfactory.

Yet her makeup today left Duan Wucuo visibly displeased.

Though Qing Yan kept her head lowered, she could feel his eyes on her, scrutinizing.

What is he looking at?
So annoying.

But Duan Wucuo didn’t linger long. A few moments later, the matron came knocking to escort him out.

As soon as he left, Qing Yan let out a long breath of relief, the stiffly straight posture she had held finally collapsing in on itself.

Before long, two maids entered.

“Princess Consort, I’m Sui’er, and this is Qing’er. We will be serving Your Highness from now on.”

“You’re also called Qing’er?”
Qing Yan blinked in surprise at the delicate, pretty young girl.

Qing’er replied softly, “Yes.”

Realizing she’d spoken too hastily, Qing Yan quickly added, “I used to have a maid named Qing’er too.”

Qing’er responded right away, “I’ll make sure to serve you well.”

Soon after, Wen Xi—who had been called away by Chang Bai—returned.

Outside, the wedding banquet was lively and boisterous, and at long last, Qing Yan received her lunch.

She’d barely eaten anything all day and was starving. But Wen Xi shot her a look, silently warning her to be mindful of her image. Qing Yan dared not eat too much, so she nibbled delicately as Wen Xi had taught her, then claimed she was full.

As the sky darkened, the banquet finally came to an end.

Qing Yan let out a long sigh, thinking to herself: So begins my blissful half-year of freedom.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Qing Yan had just stood up when she turned to the door in surprise—only to see Duan Wucuo stepping inside.

The smile on her face stiffened.

Sui’er stepped forward. “Your Highness, will you be taking dinner here with the princess?”

Duan Wucuo nodded.

Sui’er immediately left to give orders to the kitchen.

Duan Wucuo glanced once at Qing Yan, then walked into the room as he said, “Bring a basin of water.”

Hot water arrived before the food. Duan Wucuo rolled up his sleeves, soaked and wrung out a cloth, then handed it to Qing Yan with visible distaste.

“Wipe off that opera face of yours.”

As much as he’d found her eating expressions oddly pleasant before, her face caked in powder completely ruined his appetite.

Qing Yan washed her face. Droplets still clung to her skin as she looked up at him.
“Your Highness… aren’t you returning to the temple tonight?”

Duan Wucuo looked at her oddly.
“No. I’m not leaving.”

Qing Yan said nothing more.

When dinner was brought in, she had even less to say—too busy eating after a day of hunger.

Spotting a bowl of sweet autumn pear soup, Qing Yan asked Qing’er to serve her some.

She took a hasty bite, then blinked in surprise.
“Huh?”

Across the table, Duan Wucuo looked up.

Qing Yan asked in a small voice, “Is there a new chef?”

Duan Wucuo tasted a spoonful too. A faint, unreadable smile played at the corners of his eyes.
“This entire residence is new—from the inside out.”

“Oh…” Qing Yan murmured, a little disappointed as she set the bowl down and reached for other dishes.

Qing’er and Sui’er exchanged glances, a hint of envy in both their eyes.

Qing Yan probably didn’t realize it—but to others, the sight of her dining with Duan Wucuo was strikingly beautiful. The two sitting face to face like that made for a perfect picture.

After dinner, Qing Yan went to the bath chamber off the side room.

Her heavy ceremonial robes removed, she sank into hot water.

Wen Xi soon dismissed Sui’er and Qing’er, then handed Qing Yan a medicinal cloth for her eyes.

Qing Yan gripped the edge of the wooden tub tightly, trying to suppress the stinging pain.

Later, with her long hair loosely tied and dressed in soft red sleeping robes, she returned to the bedchamber.

Duan Wucuo had also bathed and changed. He now sat on the bed in red sleeping clothes embroidered with a twin-mandarin-duck motif—the same design as hers.

The maids bowed and withdrew.

Qing Yan instinctively grabbed Wen Xi’s sleeve.

Wen Xi glanced at Duan Wucuo and gently shook her head.

Qing Yan bit her lip and slowly let go.

With the sound of the doors closing behind them once again, she walked over to Duan Wucuo, acting as if nothing were amiss. Standing at the bedside, she said plainly, “The matron told me yesterday that Your Highness would be returning to the temple tonight.”

Duan Wucuo replied casually, “Seems my lady is quite eager for me to leave—looking forward to being alone with her bridal candles and an empty room.”

Qing Yan sat firmly at the edge of the bed and said, “I didn’t want to marry you. You know that.”

She added, “To be honest, I already have someone I care for.”

“Oh?”
Duan Wucuo responded lazily, without much seriousness.

“The princess and her beloved were torn apart by a heartless emperor. For the sake of peace, she was sent to marry a foreign prince.
Has Your Highness never heard such a common tale?”

He didn’t seem at all interested in the story she was fabricating. Instead, he pointed to a porcelain box on the nightstand.
“Eat the candy.”

“…What?”

Qing Yan blinked, then looked at his expression, confused. She opened the box, glanced at him again, and picked out a piece of candy.

It was sweet. Very sweet.

She licked her lips and continued eating—one piece after another—until she’d finished the entire box under his watchful gaze.

“Mm.”
Duan Wucuo nodded in satisfaction.
“Now you can be tasted too.”

“…But there’s none left,” she said.

Duan Wucuo smiled faintly. His gaze dropped and came to rest on her soft, pink lips.

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