Author Archives: Thandar

Duan Wucuo was deep in thought, distracted.

He glanced at Qing Yan’s small hand sticking out from under the blanket and casually caught it, toying with it between his palms.
He gently pinched her fingers, letting his curved index finger graze the back of her hand, while his fingertip slowly traced the lines of her palm.

The touch made Qing Yan’s hand ticklish, with a strange sensation—
The strange, instinctive feeling of physical contact between a man and a woman.

She endured it as long as she could before softly saying, “It’s almost past midnight.”

Duan Wucuo asked, “Want something to eat?”

“Huh?”

Qing Yan was stunned. “Your Highness… you didn’t eat dinner before coming back?”

Duan Wucuo suddenly let out a soft chuckle. He leaned over, rubbed her head naturally, and then lay down beside her.

Qing Yan stayed perfectly still for a while, making sure he wasn’t going to do anything and was really settling down to sleep.
Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.

But she couldn’t fall asleep.

She lay motionless beside Duan Wucuo, eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
So much weighed on her heart—how could she sleep?

In daylight, she could force a smile.
But when night cloaked everything in darkness, those heavy worries crept out thread by thread.

This whole act of impersonating a princess felt like walking down a dead-end road.
Being exposed was only a matter of time.

She regretted not being more cautious.
She’d already found Cheng Ji suspicious when they ran into him at Suyuan Alley—why had she only sent Wen Xi to investigate? Why hadn’t she been more careful?

If she had ordered more guards to patrol at night, maybe Cheng Ji would have given up if he saw no chance of sneaking in.
And maybe… he wouldn’t have ended up dead in her room.

Duan Wucuo wasn’t one to talk much, and she didn’t dare press him, leaving her uneasy and uncertain about the consequences of Cheng Ji’s death.

She thought it through: even if her identity as both the peace-bride princess and Princess Consort Zhan offered her protection—what about Wen Xi?
If everything fell apart, Wen Xi would surely die.

She quietly opened her eyes and looked toward Duan Wucuo in the darkness.

It was pitch black—she could only make out his silhouette.

She grew annoyed at her own timidity.
She should just ask him outright what they were going to do next.

What was there to be afraid of?

She should be bold, justified, and upright.

She made up her mind silently:
When Duan Wucuo woke up tomorrow morning, she would carry herself with the dignity of a princess and have a proper conversation with him.

Only then did she have the space to think back to how Chang Bai had reacted earlier.
Unfortunately, she had been so focused on Duan Wucuo that she barely noticed him. She wasn’t sure if he’d sensed anything off.

As long as Chang Bai stayed in the residence, she’d have no peace of mind.

But she also knew that kicking him out without a good excuse would only raise suspicions.

Her thoughts were a mess.

When she fled from the Yi Kingdom, she thought she’d left the past behind.
But fate twisted again, and now she had returned—under a different identity—to the same place.

She almost never let herself think of the past… unless it appeared in nightmares.

But after seeing Chang Bai, it was like a door had been pushed open—
The memories came pouring in, not just the painful ones, but waves of longing.

—How was her lady doing now?

Just thinking of her lady’s gentle smile made Qing Yan feel heartache.

She had burned the young master to death.
Would her lady be grieving?

Her lady had loved him so much…

And then there was the little miss.

When she left, the child had only just learned to walk—
Wobbly little steps, so adorably clumsy…

She couldn’t think about it.
The more she thought, the more it hurt.

Qing Yan shifted her body and burrowed deeper under the blanket until her whole face was hidden.

—Just sleep. Force yourself to sleep.

But Duan Wucuo was awakened by the soft sound of sobbing.

A martial artist’s senses were sharper than most—especially hearing.

He opened his eyes and looked at Qing Yan beside him.
She was curled up under the blanket.

He lifted the blanket and realized she wasn’t awake—she was crying in her sleep.

Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten, a faint gray seeping through the window lattice.

Duan Wucuo gently took her wrist and pulled her upward.

Suddenly, Qing Yan cried out in alarm, “Don’t hit me!”

He was startled.

“No one’s hitting you,” he said softly.

He pulled her into his arms. In his embrace, Qing Yan sniffed a few times, and the tension in her brows slowly eased.
She mumbled something under her breath.

Duan Wucuo tilted her ear and asked, “What?”

“Steamed pork with rice flour…” she muttered.

Duan Wucuo chuckled and pinched her nose. “Dreaming about food and getting hit for it?”

The pinch woke her. She blinked up at him, groggy.

Half-asleep, she stared at his lips as they moved—
They looked exactly like soft glutinous pomegranate cakes.

She was thirsty.

She could almost taste the sweet juice of pomegranate on her tongue.

She blinked once slowly… and then leaned in to bite the “pomegranate cake.”

Duan Wucuo froze.

…This was the first time he’d ever been kissed like that.

Plenty of women had thrown themselves at him—
But none had ever gotten close enough.

“Hiss—”

A sharp taste of blood filled his mouth.

Duan Wucuo grasped Qing Yan’s chin and pushed her back, tilting her face upward.

His grip wasn’t exactly gentle.
Qing Yan winced and woke up completely.

Their eyes met.

She blinked once, then again.

Duan Wucuo pried open her little mouth, pressing his thumb gently against her tiny canine tooth.
He asked slowly, “Madam… does this monk’s mouth taste good?”

Qing Yan shut her eyes tight and blurted, “I’m not awake yet!”

A moment later, she cracked one eye open to peek at him—then offered an awkward smile.

She reached out and gently wiped away the trace of blood on his lips.

In a tiny, stumbling voice, she mumbled, “Wasn’t awake… pomegranate cake… thirsty… so I just… um…”

“Heh.”

Duan Waco licked the corner of his lips. “Madam, are you thirsty?”

Qing Yan was mortified. Her smile froze stiffly on her face.

“That can be arranged.”

Duan Wucuo leaned down and once again pried open her just-closed lips.
He licked her, tracing the outline of her lips with slow, deliberate care—
Then his teeth and tongue followed.
His lips and tongue were soft and moist, with a hint of blood’s metallic tang.

Qing Yan clutched the blanket beneath her and squeezed her eyes shut.
Inwardly, she cried out that she had brought this upon herself.

“Still thirsty?” Duan Wucuo asked.

He lifted a strand of her hair, curling it lazily around his finger—loop after loop.

Qing Yan shook her head vigorously.
“The sun’s already up… I should help Your Highness get ready for the day?
Or summon someone to prepare breakfast?”

She tried to wriggle away from his embrace like a little eel and sat up—
Then let out a soft “Eh?” of surprise.

Her nightclothes were on inside out.

That meant… when she changed last night, she hadn’t worn them wrong.
Which meant Duan Wucuo lied to her!

Qing Yan’s eyes widened, staring at him in disbelief.

Duan Wucuo lifted the corner of his mouth in a silent smile.
He said gently, “How did madam’s clothes end up backwards?
Shall this monk help you change?”

“Bald monk! You’re shameless!”

Qing Yan raised her foot and kicked him hard in the chest.

But Duan Wucuo easily caught her ankle and pulled her back toward him,
Then very naturally draped both her legs over his shoulders.
He leaned over, hands planted on either side of her.

Looking into her eyes, he smiled tenderly.
In a slow, unhurried voice, he said,
“So madam doesn’t like a bit of playful affection?
Very well. Next time, this monk will undress you directly.”

The posture was intimate. The words were explicit. The meaning was clear.

Qing Yan’s heart pounded, her whole body floating like she was caught in a cloud.
She snapped, “Why bother teasing me like this? You might as well finish me off!”

Duan Wucuo looked genuinely surprised.
Then, a faint trace of regret appeared between his brows.

“To marry a princess yet not satisfy her… I’ve failed in my duties as a husband.
This monk is deeply ashamed.
But madam, you must wait just a little longer.
Once this monk returns to the secular world, I will surely…”

He leaned close to her ear and chuckled softly—
A breath of warmth brushed her earlobe, and the rest of his unfinished sentence disappeared into that quiet laugh.

Duan Wucuo released her and lay down beside her again.
With both hands behind his head and eyes shut, he said,
“It’s still early. There’s time for another hour of sleep.
Do as you please.”

Qing Yan sat frozen for a long time before slapping her cheeks and crawling far away to lie down—far from him.

At the break of dawn, the world was still and quiet.
Before long, both of them—though separated on the bed—fell back asleep.
They had barely rested the night before, and the hour was still early.

At that moment, Chang Bai still hadn’t slept.

He had opened the roster of palace staff assigned to this residence.
Pen in hand, he grouped and reorganized the names.

It was a serious lapse on his part that Cheng Ji had managed to sneak in disguised as an attendant.
Starting tomorrow, he planned to regroup the servants and assign night patrols.

By the time he finished, the sky was already light.

He set the brush down, and suddenly, an emptiness settled in his chest.
He rose and opened the window, gazing at the pale, overcast sky.
The light was cold and bleak.

For a moment, Chang Bai didn’t know why he was doing any of this.

He suddenly felt absurd for worrying so much about Princess Huachao’s safety.

After all… she wasn’t her.

His Qing’er was dead.

This princess only happened to resemble her.

Some memories were too painful to forget.
With every breath he took, they returned again and again.

If time could turn back, he would never let such a tragedy happen.
If he could go back, he truly wished he could slap that past self awake.

This past year, he had lived like a madman.
At first, to avenge his Qing’er, he entered the palace and clawed his way up.
That was the only way he now had the power to trap that young master in a dark chamber and torture him.

And later?

He believed only by becoming powerful enough could he protect the ones he wanted to.
He used every means possible—
But in the dead of countless nights, he awoke to the cruel realization that there was no one left who needed his protection.

He stood by the window for a long time, then returned to the bed—but sleep would not come.
He hadn’t been able to sleep for most of the year.

Which was fine, he thought.
At least he wouldn’t be tormented by nightmares, forced to relive the pain over and over.

He lay silently for a long time.
When he estimated it was nearly time, he got up, washed, dressed, and went to the main residence to serve.

In the courtyard, Qing’er was crouching down, using a dry twig to draw on the ground.
Seeing Chang Bai arrive, she quickly got up and greeted him with a smile.
“Master Chang Bai, the prince and princess consort are still asleep.”

“Alright,” Chang Bai smiled and nodded.

He glanced at the sun—it was already rather late.

But his eyes inevitably returned to the tightly shut bedchamber door.

It was past mid-morning when Qing Yan finally awoke.

She rubbed her eyes and realized Duan Wucuo was no longer beside her.

“Madam is awake,” Qing’er and Sui’er came in, carrying clean clothes and washbasin.

Qing Yan asked, “Has His Highness returned to the monastery?”

Sui’er respectfully replied, “No.
Someone from the palace came early this morning.
The Empress Dowager summoned His Highness to the palace.”

Qing Yan’s heart lurched—whatever sleepiness remained vanished completely.

She remembered clearly what Wen Xi had said yesterday:
Cheng Ji had grown up by the Empress Dowager’s side and was deeply loved by her.
That was why he could act lawlessly in the capital.

Now that the Empress Dowager had summoned Duan Wucuo, it must be about Cheng Ji.

Panic immediately rose in her chest.

Qing Yan asked urgently, “Where’s Wen Xi?”

“Sister Wen Xi asked me to tell you that she’s escorting General Li out of the city today,” Sui’er said.

Qing Yan then recalled that General Li was returning to Tao today.

Qing’er wrung out a warm towel and gently wiped Qing Yan’s hands.

She said, “Master Chang Bai has been waiting in the courtyard since early morning.
He wishes to see Madam.”

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔

Chang Bai stepped into the room. At the sight of Cheng Ji’s corpse on the floor, his expression changed, and he immediately turned to Qing Yan with deep worry in his eyes.

But Qing Yan didn’t even notice Chang Bai—she was staring blankly at Duan Wucuo, who stood at the doorway. Her mind went completely blank for a moment—she hadn’t expected him to return now of all times.

Cheng Ji’s body was still at her feet, completely unhandled. How was she supposed to explain this to Duan Wucuo?

Cheng Ji’s malicious threats before death still echoed in her ears—and she knew there was some truth to his words. After all, she was a foreign princess, married into this household. Her background was nothing compared to the pampered eldest grandson of the Empress Dowager’s favored Left Prime Minister.

And now there was a real, undeniable dead body.

Taking a life could mean losing her own.

She couldn’t help but wonder—would Duan Wucuo uphold the law and hand her over to the magistrate?

All these thoughts flashed through her mind in the span of a few heartbeats.

Then she made a decision. Clutching the hem of her skirt, she stepped over Cheng Ji’s corpse and ran, panicked, into Duan Wucuo’s arms. She threw herself into him and burst into loud sobs.

“Wuu wuu… it was so scary… that bad man… he tried to hurt me… wuuu wuu…” she cried so hard she couldn’t speak clearly, tears falling like rain and soaking into his monk robes.

Qing Yan had flung herself into Duan Wucuo with such force that “threw” was hardly sufficient—”crashed” was more accurate.

Duan Wucuo stood still for a moment, then finally lifted his hand to gently pat her back. The gesture seemed comforting, but his detached manner made others wonder whether it was just for show.

The impersonal feel of his hand on her back made Qing Yan’s heart race. She looked up at him from within his embrace—her small face stained with tears, as though washed clean.

She watched his expression carefully, then lowered her eyes and feigned a pitiful look, clutching tightly at his robe and sobbing, “Wuuu… what do I do… what do I do… I killed someone… wuuu…”

Wen Xi had been just as startled by Duan Wucuo’s sudden return. Her thoughts mirrored Qing Yan’s—worry, fear, and calculations.

And when she saw Qing Yan throw herself into his arms crying, her face, usually calm as stone, flickered with rare emotion.

Chang Bai’s eyes dimmed slightly.

…It probably wasn’t Qing’er, right?

His Qing’er never cried. She even used to scoff at weeping, saying it was the mark of the weak and helpless.

He composed himself, then stepped forward and bowed. “This man disguised himself in dark eunuch robes to sneak into the estate. Most of the servants were newly transferred from the palace and didn’t recognize each other yet, which gave him an opportunity to slip through. I failed in my duty and let Madam be frightened. I await punishment.”

Qing Yan’s eyes flickered—she was just considering whether to use this incident as an excuse to send Chang Bai away.

But before she could decide, Duan Wucuo spoke first.

“Go to the stables and summon Bu Er.”

“Yes.” Chang Bai bowed and quickly left.

Wen Xi came to her senses. She walked over, pretending not to know who Cheng Ji really was, and spoke with anger: “Who knows where this man came from—bold enough to sneak in and pull such disgusting tricks. Either he didn’t care about His Highness, or he really lost his mind. Luckily Her Highness wasn’t sleeping soundly and managed to call for me in time to deal with the scoundrel!”

Qing Yan clung to Duan Wucuo, sniffling pitifully, and followed Wen Xi’s lead. She sobbed, “Since I’ve married you, you’re supposed to protect me! How could you let some thug sneak in and scare me like this—wuuu wuuu…”

She started crying again.

“Got a handkerchief?” Duan Wucuo asked.

Wen Xi blinked, then quickly handed him a clean one.

Qing Yan stared at him with teary, hopeful eyes—nervous about what he would do next.

Then she watched in disbelief as Duan Wucuo, looking slightly annoyed, used the handkerchief to… wipe her nose.

Her cheeks instantly flushed red.

Duan Wucuo glanced at the bloodstains on the floor and frowned. “Go tidy up the guest room,” he instructed Wen Xi.

“Yes.” Wen Xi nodded out of habit, then added, “We’ve just moved in, so all rooms have been cleaned and have fresh bedding. She can go rest there now.”

“Take Madam to lie down,” Duan Wucuo ordered.

“Yes.” Wen Xi walked over, gently took Qing Yan by the arm, and led her toward the adjoining room.

As she reached the doorway, Qing Yan turned to glance at Duan Wucuo’s back—then stepped over the threshold.

Most of her panic had now dissipated.

After all, Duan Wucuo hadn’t dragged her off to the magistrate.

Bu Er arrived soon after. He crouched by Cheng Ji’s body, inspecting the wounds. “That maid beside Princess Huachao did this?”

“Tsk. Not bad at all.”

Duan Wucuo had already seen Wen Xi’s skills before—back when they were at Lake Ouhe.

“But… Cheng Ji is dead. By tomorrow, the entire capital will be talking. This isn’t a small matter. The Empress Dowager will definitely demand answers.”

“My lord, what should we do?”
“Should we destroy the body? Make him vanish without a trace, like he was never here?”

Duan Wucuo walked over to the side table in the room and slowly poured himself a cup of cool tea. He had rushed back, dusty and tired—he was thirsty.

He said, “Leave signs of the torture I used to kill with. Dump him out on the street.”

Bu Er froze, then said quickly, “My lord, the recent string of murders in the capital hasn’t turned up a culprit yet, but every victim has wounds matching your old methods. A lot of people already suspect you. If you keep this up…”

Duan Wucuo looked down at Cheng Ji’s corpse from above. His gaze was gentle—almost pitying.

“For the sake of framing me,” he said, “seven people have already died. What’s one more? This will give them a fresh example to copy—might as well gift them something useful.”

His lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.

Bu Er didn’t understand his master’s intent, but he didn’t need to. He swiftly got to work, cutting the tendons in Cheng Ji’s wrists and ankles to mimic the signs of a brutal death.

Meanwhile, Duan Wucuo stepped into the adjacent room. Qing Yan was there, sleeves rolled up, washing her face and hands.

Wen Xi’s attack had been clean and precise—Cheng Ji had barely bled. Still, Qing Yan’s hands were stained, and whether real or imagined, she felt her face and skin were filthy.

The moment Duan Wucuo entered, Qing Yan noticed.

She studied his face as he approached. When he was near, she softly asked, “Why are you back?”

“Isn’t this my home?” he replied with a question.

“That’s not what I meant…” Qing Yan lowered her head, voice growing smaller.

She had just washed her face but hadn’t dried it yet. Droplets clung to her cheeks, her hands still submerged in the basin, fingers splayed.

As Duan Wucuo passed by her, he reached out and lightly patted her head, then walked straight to the bed and lay down.

“It’s late. Once you’re done, turn out the lights.”

Qing Yan couldn’t guess what he was thinking, and she was too anxious to question anything. All she could do was act obedient and try to stay in his good graces.

She quickly dried her face and hands, then motioned for Wen Xi to take the basin and leave.

Her sleeping robe was dirty—Wen Xi had brought a clean one, draped neatly over a chair.

Qing Yan glanced at it, blew out the candles, then groped in the dark for the robe.

Ever since she began using medicated cloths on her eyes each day, her vision had worsened—especially in the dark, where she could barely see at all.

In her hurry, as she stripped off her robe and reached for the new one, it slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.

She crouched to retrieve it and accidentally bumped her forehead against the chair leg.

“Mm.”
She winced, letting out a small sound and continuing to grope around the carpet—until her hand touched something.

A hand.

Qing Yan’s fingertips froze.

“Here.”
Duan Wucuo picked up the fallen robe and placed it in her hand.

She hadn’t even realized when he’d gotten out of bed.

Without thinking further, she just wanted to dress quickly.

As she slipped an arm into the sleeve, Duan Wucuo said calmly, “It’s inside-out.”

Qing Yan paused.
How could he tell?

She didn’t want to think about it. She pulled the robe off again and fumbled to turn the sleeves right.

Watching her scramble awkwardly in the dark, Duan Wucuo asked, amused, “Madam, shall I light a candle for you?”

“No!” she said quickly.

The robe slipped from her hands again. She didn’t want to know how much he could see in the darkness—if she couldn’t see, then it was like hiding behind an invisible wall.

A pitiful illusion, but one she clung to.

Duan Wucuo sighed.

He picked the robe up from the carpet and draped it over her shoulders.

Before she could react, he took her wrist and helped guide her arm into the sleeve. Then he overlapped the robe across her front, his long fingers straightening the fabric.

Qing Yan wanted to refuse him—but delaying would only make things worse.

Duan Wucuo leaned in and bent down to tie the sash at her waist. A lock of his hair brushed her cheek.

It tickled—cool and tingling.

“Can you handle your pants on your own?” he asked.

“I can!” she said, cheeks burning.

She found the chair behind her and slowly sat down, grabbing the pants hanging there and pulling them on with two hurried kicks.

Even if he told her she wore them backwards again, she wasn’t going to fix them.

“It’s late. I’m exhausted!” she declared, standing up and walking quickly toward the bed.

But she didn’t see the step-stool in front of the bed. Her foot caught, her shoe flew off, and she stumbled forward with a surprised yelp.

The pain never came. Her forehead hit a hand instead.

It was braced between her and the bed. Duan Wucuo had stopped her from crashing headfirst.

He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest.

Qing Yan staggered—then realized she was sitting on his lap.

Her back stiffened.

Duan Wucuo let go and casually shook the hand he’d used to block her fall.

Then he said, “Madam, move forward a little. You’re about to break something.”

Qing Yan blinked, confused—until Duan Wucuo shifted his hips slightly.

She jumped up like she’d been burned and scooted to the edge of the bed, mortified.

Her thin legs were pressed tightly together. One foot still wore a shoe—the other was completely bare.

Flustered, she pulled off the remaining shoe and scrambled under the covers, curling up near the wall and dragging the blanket over her head.

In the dark, her wide almond eyes stared into nothingness.

She couldn’t see, so she listened—every sound Duan Wucuo made.

After a while, she carefully reached out from under the covers, touched his robe, tugged it gently, and whispered, “Let’s sleep now?”

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔

“Yes, indeed. When I look at the Princess, I feel such closeness—like you’re my real sister. Maybe we truly were blood sisters in a past life,” Su Ruche said with an expression of pure innocence.

Real sister?

Qing Yan thought of Su Ruqing, who was now in the imperial palace.

Her expression didn’t change, and she replied warmly, “If I had such a sweet and kind younger sister in a past life, that would’ve been my great fortune.”

Su Ruche smiled shyly and said, “Then from now on, I’ll call you Sister Princess!”

“Good little sister,” Qing Yan responded without hesitation.

“Is Sister heading home already?” Su Ruche asked.

“It’s almost dark. Shouldn’t you head home too? Staying out overnight isn’t something good girls do.”

“You’re so funny, Sister. How could I possibly stay out overnight?” Su Ruche said with a sweet laugh, stepping up to the carriage and affectionately reaching for Qing Yan’s hand.

“I know a pastry shop nearby that makes excellent sweets. I was just about to buy some to bring home. Would you come with me?”

She pointed as she spoke. “See? Just that one over there—very close. Sister, since you’ve come from far away, you probably don’t know how famous Suyuan Pastry Shop is. Their lotus paste crisps, red bean cakes, and seven-layer brittle are especially delicious. Come, let’s go buy some together.”

Qing Yan had been about to decline—until Su Ruche mentioned the lotus paste crisps.

She suddenly recalled the lotus crisps she had eaten that day at the Prince Kang’s residence. Were the ones in the capital different from those in Zhan Yuan Prefecture? Did they also include that sweet green syrup?

The thought of that flavor gave her pause. Smiling, she nodded and stepped down from the carriage, walking with Su Ruche toward Suyuan.

Previously, Qing Yan had asked her guards to investigate famous eateries in the capital—Suyuan was on that list. She had meant to go eventually.

The shop was just across the street. Not far at all.

Wen Xi instructed the guards to wait outside and followed along with Sui’er.

As soon as Qing Yan and Su Ruche entered the shop, an attentive clerk hurried up to greet them. Noting their fine clothing and the maids behind them, he instantly recognized them as nobility.

He said smartly, “Ladies, we have a selection of rare new pastries upstairs as well. If you’ve seen everything on the ground floor, feel free to take a look above.”

Even before he spoke, Qing Yan had already selected a few items and handed them to Sui’er.

Su Ruche said, “Sister, go on upstairs first. No need to wait for me—I’ll browse a bit longer.”

“All right,” Qing Yan replied, taking Wen Xi with her up to the second floor.

Su Ruche’s eyes flickered briefly. Then she said, “Sister, your maid looks like she’s got her hands full. Why not have her stay and let one of these girls help? There are plenty of clerks upstairs to assist.”

Qing Yan hadn’t intended to take Wen Xi with her, but hearing Su Ruche’s comment, her eyes sparkled mischievously. She smiled brightly and slipped her arm around Wen Xi’s.

“No need. Sister Wen Xi has the best sense of taste. She’s here to help me pick. She’s my designated taster!”

Su Ruche opened her mouth to speak, but Qing Yan interrupted with a cheerful, “Once I find something good, I’ll bring some back for you.”

With that, she turned and headed upstairs.

The moment she turned, Qing Yan rolled her eyes.

Before, she thought perhaps Su Ruche had a personal feud with Su Ruqing. But now that Su Ruche kept pestering her directly, how could Qing Yan not realize she was the real target?

As for the reason… she had a suspicion, though she couldn’t yet confirm it.

The second floor was far more elegant than downstairs. The display cases held daintier, more refined pastries.

Aside from a few neatly dressed shop assistants, there was only one young man browsing pastries.

Qing Yan glanced briefly at his back as she followed the clerk toward the shelves.

The young man turned around—it was Cheng Ji.

He walked toward her, and as he passed, his hand suddenly trembled. The milk custard pastry he was holding brushed against Qing Yan’s sleeve.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” Cheng Ji said quickly, reaching for a handkerchief to wipe her sleeve.

Qing Yan stepped back.

Wen Xi’s face turned cold. “Be careful,” she snapped sternly.

Cheng Ji froze.

He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth—pampered and arrogant. This was the first time anyone had scolded him—let alone a servant.

“How dare you speak that way?” the servant behind him retorted.

Cheng Ji raised his hand to stop him and said slowly, “I was careless. My apologies to the lady.”

Qing Yan kept her head down and used her own handkerchief to clean her sleeve, ignoring him.

“This is the Princess Consort Zhan,” Wen Xi said coldly.

Cheng Ji licked his teeth and gave a strange smile. He looked at Qing Yan and said,
“I’m Cheng Ji. I failed to recognize Her Highness. I’ll visit to offer my apologies another day.”

With that, he turned and walked downstairs.

Qing Yan handed the soiled handkerchief to Wen Xi, then resumed browsing the pastries calmly.

After she finished shopping and went back downstairs, Su Ruche had also completed her purchase. The two exchanged a few polite words before returning to their own carriages.

Back at the estate, Qing Yan had dinner, then dismissed the other servants, keeping only Wen Xi behind.

“Sister Wen Xi, Chang Bai recognized me.”

“…What did you say?” Wen Xi looked shocked.

Qing Yan hesitated. “I’m not sure if he really did or not.”

Wen Xi pressed her, “Recognized how? How well do you two know each other?”

Qing Yan didn’t hide anything. “I told you before—I ran away on my wedding day. Chang Bai… he was the groom.”

There was a pause.

Then Wen Xi said firmly, “All right. I’ll take care of him.”

“…What?”

Qing Yan’s expression changed dramatically. “How can you even say that?”

“He knows you too well—he’s a huge threat that cannot be left alive,” Wen Xi said, turning to leave.

Qing Yan quickly ran after her and spread her arms wide to block Wen Xi’s path.

Rarely did she show such a stern face, but now she said firmly, “I forbid you to do that.”

“Do you even understand what you’re saying? If we don’t eliminate such a dangerous threat, once your identity is exposed, you know what the consequences will be!”

“That’s still no excuse for killing an innocent person!” Qing Yan shouted.

Wen Xi asked coldly, “And you’re willing to risk the Princess’s safety for his sake?”

Qing Yan gripped Wen Xi’s sleeve tightly. “The Princess once saved my life—I owe her a life debt. If one day the truth must come out, I’ll end my life while still under the name of Princess Huachao to protect her secret. But innocent people shouldn’t have to die. I won’t let you kill someone just to be safe!”

Wen Xi looked into Qing Yan’s pale violet eyes—eyes just like Princess Huachao’s. She recalled what General Li had said that day.

She hesitated.

Qing Yan softened her tone. “Sister Wen Xi, Chang Bai might not have recognized me. He thinks I’m dead. Let’s find a way to make him truly believe I’m Princess Huachao—just someone who looks like the girl he once knew. And then… we can send him away. Please? Please?”

Her voice turned gentle and pleading.

After a long pause, Wen Xi finally said, “I’ll watch him for another two days. If he really hasn’t recognized you, we’ll do it your way. But if he has—I’ll have to end his life.”

“Alright, alright! Sister Wen Xi is the best!” Qing Yan beamed, her eyes curling with a smile, dimples appearing on her cheeks.

Wen Xi looked at her closely and asked, “Why did you run from the wedding? Why does he think you’re dead?”

Qing Yan yawned, then turned and walked toward the bed, waving her hand. “Sleepy. Going to bed!”

“Qing Yan.”

Qing Yan flopped down on the soft bed and muttered into the mattress, “If you’ve got time to interrogate me, you should go look into that Cheng-whatever guy. Something’s fishy about him…”

She inhaled deeply. The bedding had been replaced, but she could still faintly smell the sandalwood fragrance that clung to Duan Wucuo.

Wen Xi gave it a thought, then left to investigate Cheng Ji—and to keep a close watch on Chang Bai.

To her, nothing was more important than the safety of Princess Huachao.

That night, while Qing Yan was asleep, a figure dressed in dark-colored eunuch robes silently crept into her room.

Usually, Qing Yan would have been sleeping soundly at this hour. But seeing Chang Bai again had stirred up countless memories. She couldn’t even tell whether she was dreaming or overthinking—her mind was murky and chaotic.

So when that shadow lifted the bed curtains, Qing Yan’s eyes suddenly snapped open.

For a brief moment, their eyes met.

Qing Yan trembled and instantly sobered. She instinctively opened her mouth to scream—

But Cheng Ji’s hand clamped over her mouth.

He bent down and stared closely into her pale violet eyes.

He whispered, “I’ve seen Your Highness from afar many times. I was always curious about those eyes. Seeing them up close now… tsk, they really are beautiful.”

After the initial shock, Qing Yan calmed quickly and glared at him.

Cheng Ji was displeased by her reaction. He had hoped for a frightened, trembling beauty.

He especially wanted to see what her eyes would look like if they were filled with fear and helplessness—how delicate and pitiful she would seem.

In a low, coaxing voice, he murmured, “A lonely princess in a foreign land, newly married but already abandoned… how pitiful. Let Cheng Ji show you the pleasures of the bedchamber, let you taste joy. Don’t worry—it’ll just be one night. You’ll still be Prince Zhan’s consort tomorrow. No one will ever know our little secret.”

Cheng Ji gave a chilling smile. “If you scream, I’ll just say we’ve been lovers all along. Who would believe in the innocence of a princess sent away in marriage? Prince Zhan won’t let you off easy.”

His voice turned more sickly sweet. “There now, I’ll let go. Just don’t make a sound, alright?”

Qing Yan nodded.

“That’s right. The spring night is short. Let’s take our time. Let me teach you—”

As soon as he let go, Qing Yan whipped out a folding knife from under her pillow. The blade snapped out and slashed toward Cheng Ji.

Startled, he staggered back just in time.

Just as he regained his footing, Qing Yan shrieked, “Wen Xi—!”

“You little bitch!”

Cheng Ji lunged onto the bed to grab her. Qing Yan rolled into the corner, gripping the knife tightly.

He easily caught her wrist and yanked her toward him.

Qing Yan grabbed onto a bedpost, trying to hold on.

Suddenly, a short arrow struck Cheng Ji’s shoulder from behind.

Shocked, he turned his head—

The second arrow hit him squarely between the eyes.

His pupils glazed over instantly.

Wen Xi stood in the doorway, face cold and expressionless. When she saw Cheng Ji’s face clearly, she froze.

“Cheng Ji?”

Qing Yan sat collapsed at the edge of the bed, gasping for air. Memories she had forced down surged up all at once, nearly suffocating her.

Wen Xi quickly checked his breath, then said grimly, “He disguised himself as a eunuch—I didn’t know it was him. Otherwise I would’ve killed him earlier.”

“I checked already. Cheng Ji is the legitimate eldest grandson of the Left Prime Minister. The only son. He’s been wreaking havoc in the capital for years, but since he grew up in the Empress Dowager’s quarters, no one dares touch him.”

“He died here. That’s bad. We’d better dispose of the body quietly.”

Chang Bai hadn’t slept. The moment he heard Qing Yan’s voice, he rushed over.

Standing outside her door, he restrained himself from barging in. “What happened?”

Wen Xi replied, “The Princess had a nightmare. It’s nothing. You may go.”

But Chang Bai didn’t leave.

His shadow loomed on the door, prompting Qing Yan to snap, pretending to be annoyed: “Leave!”

Chang Bai’s lips tightened. He slowly let go of the doorframe and turned stiffly away.

He had only taken two steps when he saw someone approaching.

He stopped in his tracks. “Your Highness.”

Prince Zhan frowned. Years of experience had made him especially sensitive to the smell of blood.

Even from a distance, he had caught the metallic tang in the air.

Inside, Qing Yan heard the door creak open and began to scold: “I told you to—”

But the second half of her sentence died in her throat when she saw who had entered.

Duan Wucuo’s gaze rested on her face for a moment—then lowered to the corpse of Cheng Ji.

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Qing Yan’s ears hadn’t reacted yet, but her apricot eyes were already clouded with uneasy shock.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Duan Wucuo rolling up his sleeve, revealing a section of pale wrist. Her mind seemed to spin in circles before sluggishly clicking into place.

She finally realized what Duan Wucuo was saying.

“What do you mean…”
Her tongue moved faster than her thoughts—her soft voice trailing off like a murmur.

Suddenly, Duan Wucuo leaned closer. His sleeve brushed lightly against the back of her hand resting on her knee, then drifted away.

He turned his head slightly, bringing his ear near as he asked, “What did the princess say?”

So close—if she opened her mouth, her lips might brush his ear. If she blinked, her lashes would graze the raven-black hair at his temple.

The world seemed to fall silent. The shouts and calls from the bustling street below faded, as if separated by the River of Forgetfulness.

“Insolent—!”
Qing Yan’s voice abruptly changed from soft and gentle to drawn-out and indignant, laced with anger.

Like a proud peacock—though one plucked bare, all bravado and no force.

She reminded herself she wasn’t Qing’er now, but Princess Shi Lingwu of Tao, defending her honor against humiliation.

Duan Wucuo rubbed the edge of his ear with the back of a finger, then turned to face Qing Yan directly.

His dark eyes were like still water under soft moonlight, calm and gentle.

With a faint smile in his voice, he said,
“If the princess truly speaks the truth, then the kingdom of Yi might need to question the Emperor of Tao’s sincerity.”

Panic flared in Qing Yan’s heart.

She knew perfectly well that Duan Wucuo was only threatening her—there was no way he’d really travel all the way to confront the Emperor of Tao over this.

But she was a fake princess, so the threat still struck deep.

Her little face went pale. She bit down on her plush lips, eyes reddening as she looked at him.

She said,
“Why must Prince Zhan press me so?
I know my own shortcomings. That’s why I’ve humbled myself these past few days, trying in every way to win your favor.
All in hopes that when you one day learn the truth, you’d remember my efforts and temper your anger.

Now that I’ve learned Prince Min has lost his wife, I simply found a more suitable match for myself.
Whether I’m worthy or not, I’ll no longer be your wife.
Please, Prince Zhan, let me go.”

Her pale little face and reddened apricot eyes radiated a pitiful sense of grievance.

Her voice was naturally sweet, and when she deliberately softened it, it gained an almost syrupy quality.

Word by word, her pleading tone landed straight on Duan Wucuo’s heart.

“And what if I insist that you become this monk’s wife?”

Qing Yan’s eyes widened in shock, staring blankly at him. Her cherry lips parted, but no words came.

His words echoed in her ears, looping over and over as she tried to make sense of them.

“Hmm?”

Duan Wucuo placed both hands on the windowsill, on either side of her, and slowly leaned closer, as if trying to peer deeper into the secret panic behind her deer-like eyes.

Qing Yan caught the faint scent of sandalwood from his robes.

Her mind was blank. Her heart was flustered.

As Duan Wucuo drew closer, her body instinctively reacted—she leaned back, away from him.

But she was seated on a narrow windowsill.

His scandalous words continued to slide leisurely into her ears:

“Having lain with someone else isn’t so bad.
More experience means more fun.
Like a fine, heady wine—it has a charm that sweet spring water can never match.”

Dressed in monk’s robes, looking like a figure of ascetic purity, yet speaking such outrageous words with utter calm—he was the very picture of righteous depravity.

Qing Yan’s lips trembled. Staring at his opening and closing mouth, she reached up to cover her ears.

A teasing glint flashed at the corner of Duan Wucuo’s eyes.

He leaned in further, grasped her wrist, and gently pulled her hand away, murmuring by her ear:
“This humble monk, bound by the five precepts and long suffering beneath the cold lamplight of the temple,
—if the princess would kindly offer some instruction in the pleasures of fish and water,
it would truly be the utmost bliss of the mortal world.”

Qing Yan yanked her hands free, desperately trying to escape both his trapping gaze and the filth he was spouting.

She forgot she was perched on a narrow ledge. As she pushed against him and leaned back, her upper body suddenly tilted outward.

She gave a startled cry and flailed for something to hold onto—grabbing the front of Duan Wucuo’s monk robe.

He didn’t move. His hands still rested on the sill around her. He merely smiled at her panic, poised and elegant.

And yet—with those filthy words still echoing in her ears—this beautiful face seemed to hide nothing but treachery beneath its fine features.

The wind brushed past her ears. Qing Yan was truly afraid now.

Afraid she might fall from this third-floor window.

She clung tightly to his robes, tugging them into disarray. The loose monk’s robe slid open, revealing a snowy white inner garment beneath.

The simple blue sash tied at his narrow waist slipped slowly to the floor.

Duan Wucuo looked out the window toward the official road, where Prince Min’s caravan was passing.
Unhurriedly, he said,
“No need for such urgency, Princess.
To begin disrobing in public like this… hardly proper, wouldn’t you say?”

Qing Yan’s ears burned. She let go at once.

She reached blindly for the window frame, but her hand slipped on the carved lattice. She lost her balance—her waist and hips tipping backward.

Only then did Duan Wucuo finally reach out and catch her.

Dangling outside the window, he was her only support.
With his tug, she crashed hard into his chest.

She was soft and warm—but his chest beneath the silken robe was cold and unyielding.

Across the street, a few curious eyes peeked through opposite windows.

Duan Wucuo calmly closed the window. His palm fell gently on Qing Yan’s slim back, lightly patting her.

He seemed to be soothing her, comforting her.

But with each gentle pat, Qing Yan’s spine arched slightly—until her entire body went stiff.

She remained still, her frantic heartbeat pressed against Duan Wucuo’s chest.

Sensing it, his eyes finally took on a different look.

He lowered his gaze to the girl frozen in his arms, thoughtful.

To him, Qing Yan was like a transparent little girl—like a sheet of white paper, every thought written clearly upon it.

He realized, just then, that perhaps he had gone too far.
He had truly frightened her.

But behind every tease was an unspoken premise—he had already decided he would marry her.

Since receiving Emperor Wen He’s approval, he had been halfway there.

After seeing her appearance at the other palace that night, he was nearly fully convinced.

Whether or not she wanted to marry him didn’t matter.
It was never part of his consideration.

Duan Wucuo curved his lips into a light smile.
Thinking about it this way, he didn’t feel he had gone too far after all.

A wife is someone one has to cherish for a lifetime—so it’s only right to make sure she grows into someone interesting. That way, the days to come will be filled with amusement.

He picked a sunflower seed off Qing Yan’s skirt, popped it into his mouth, and cracked it open. The small sound echoed clearly in the overly quiet room.

That tiny crack coincided perfectly with a single loud thump of Qing Yan’s heart.

It was as if a cloud had wrapped around her—yet in that moment, the cloud dispersed with the crisp snap of the seed shell.

The distant hawking and street calls became clear again.

Qing Yan’s heartbeat slowed. The flush on her cheeks cooled as she slowly regained her composure.

Duan Wucuo pinched her chin, lifting her face—and then placed the seed kernel he’d just cracked open into her mouth.

His fingertips were cold, brushing unintentionally against her soft lips.

For a second, their eyes met.
Qing Yan forcefully pushed him away, swiftly slipped past his side, jumped down from the windowsill—and fled without looking back.

The sound of her ornaments chimed faintly as she left. Duan Wucuo didn’t stop her; he only bent down and picked up the blue sash of his monk’s robe that had fallen to the ground.

Qing Yan flung open the door—and ran straight into Su Ruche.

Su Ruche was standing at the door. No one knew when she’d returned, or how long she’d been standing there.

“I… I’m going back first.”

Su Ruche smiled and agreed, her expression giving nothing away.

Qing Yan pulled the just-arrived Wen Xi up the stairs and hurried downstairs.

She no longer wanted to stay anywhere Duan Wucuo was. As long as he was there, even the scent of sandalwood made her dizzy.

Su Ruche watched Qing Yan’s retreating back as she descended. Her gaze turned cold. Even the whites of her eyes gradually tinged red, brimming with hatred.

Her hand on the doorframe clenched tightly. Her nails dug into the aged yellow wood.

She no longer believed that Qing Yan was some foolish, naive princess—she only saw a scheming girl full of hidden agendas.

Su Ruche was tense, her thoughts singular:
If she wanted Prince Zhan, she had to get rid of this wretched woman.

And she was jealous.

Her vision blurred—under the broken, dappled light, it was as if the person falling into Duan Wucuo’s arms wasn’t Qing Yan, but herself.

Dark vines of obsession grew wildly in the shadowed corners of her heart, threatening to strangle it completely.

The thorns on the vines were dense, and with each surge of anger, they stabbed viciously into her chest.

She had already gone mad for Duan Wucuo once—had even set up her own older sister. Why would she show mercy to Qing Yan?

In just an instant, a cruel plan took root in her mind.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Su Ruche turned her head—putting on the bright, innocent smile of a 15-year-old girl. She greeted Duan Wucuo sweetly:
“Prince Zhan.”

Duan Wucuo had somehow already put himself back in order. Not a single wrinkle marred his monk’s robe.

He responded casually with a soft “Mm,” without even glancing at her, then walked out at an unhurried pace.

Su Ruche’s eyes clung to him.

She wished she could follow him right now, never be apart again.

But she knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t time yet.

She suppressed her longing, gathered herself, and went to find Cheng Ji.

Cheng Ji—Cheng Mujin’s younger brother—was the legitimate eldest grandson of the Left Chancellor’s family, and a well-known rake in the capital.

Chasing cats, walking dogs, indulging in wine and pleasure, gambling, frequenting brothels, and bullying others—

Every vice a typical rich wastrel might have, he had.
And even a few others they wouldn’t dare indulge in, he had those too.

Su Ruche arrived at the Cheng residence.

Cheng Ji was perched on a courtyard wall, a woman’s ornamental hairpin clamped in his mouth, squinting down at her with a rogue’s grin.

“Well now, what brings the little princess to slum it at my place?”

Su Ruche said,
“I heard you tried to win over the top courtesan at Manxiang Pavilion a few days ago, but lost to a penniless scholar?”

Cheng Ji’s expression darkened at once. He ran his tongue slowly across the bead on the hairpin, then asked,
“What, the little princess want to come keep me company instead?”

Then he burst into loud laughter.

Su Ruche forced down her disgust and had her maid hand over a portrait of Qing Yan.

With a stern face, she said:
“I haven’t seen this top courtesan of Manxiang Pavilion, but I refuse to believe she could outshine the beauty of Princess Huachao.
It’s just a shame she has her eyes set on Prince Min.”

Cheng Ji scoffed and casually unrolled the painting—to reveal a stunning woman in a bridal gown.

His smile faded ever so slightly.

Su Ruche caught the shift in his expression and felt reassured.

She said slowly:
“Cheng Ji, last time you lost to a scholar.
This time, you’re not going to lose to that blind, foolish Prince Min, are you?”

Cheng Ji tossed the scroll aside, leapt down from the wall, and landed right in front of Su Ruche. She took a step back.

He twirled the hairpin in his fingers and chuckled:
“Little princess, you think I’m stupid, don’t you?
Trying to use me like some tool.”

“Think what you want.”

With that, Su Ruche turned and left.

Cheng Ji stood there, tongue leisurely circling the base of his teeth, arms crossed, tapping his elbow rhythmically.

One look, and it was clear—he was already scheming something.

Meanwhile, Duan Wucuo entered the palace to meet with Emperor Wen He.

“Ah Jiu, you’re here!”

As soon as he saw Duan Wucuo, the emperor broke into a broad smile.

Just moments before, his brow had been furrowed with worries about the Empress, imperial heirs, and the chaos of court affairs.

He stood up quickly.
“Come, come—sit!”

Duan Wucuo didn’t sit. He got straight to the point:
“I want Princess Huachao. Bestow the marriage.”

Emperor Wen He paused for a beat before replying blankly:
“Ah?”

He had both hands resting on his desk, but now stood upright like a kindly old man with his hands behind his back.

His smile hadn’t yet faded—but there was a stiffness to it.

He looked at Duan Wucuo, hesitating to speak.

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