The Chu Princess silently followed Meng Xizhao.
Yu Fulan had already scouted ahead; no one was outside. He stepped aside, letting the princess go first. She gave him a brief glance but said nothing, then continued walking.
Yu Fulan: “……”
As always, he was the Crown Prince’s man—not hers. Everything he did prioritized the Crown Prince’s benefit first, then considered others.
As for whether the princess’s escape was beneficial…
Anyone with an IQ higher than a deer would know the answer: it wasn’t!
The Crown Prince was being sent on an imperial errand for the first time. Though it was meant to embarrass him, and he had managed some maneuvering of his own, it was still an errand. Even if the emperor didn’t care, the officials were watching. If he failed on his first errand, how would he face others in the future?
So don’t ask if Yu Fulan felt guilty—when he realized the one escaping the new palace was the Chu Princess, he nearly lost his composure.
One of the maidservants had intended to follow, but just as she was about to enter, bang! Meng Xizhao closed the door behind them.
The maidservant froze. Her first thought: this isn’t right. How could the princess be alone in the same room with a courtier?
However, Yu Fulan, acting as Zhang Shuogong’s assistant, watched her intently from the side. She dared not speak, lowering her head, silently hoping that the princess wouldn’t dig herself into further trouble.
Ants cannot shake a tree.
In front of the Crown Prince, the Chu Princess was somewhat afraid—after all, he was the Crown Prince. But in front of Meng Xizhao, she felt no fear. After being seen at her most vulnerable, she no longer cared.
She walked straight to the only chair in the room and sat, leaving Meng Xizhao standing aside.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
After a moment of silence, he glanced around, pulled over a round stool from the corner, and sat down across from the Princess of Chu.
He said nothing—just looked at her.
The Princess of Chu forced herself to endure his gaze, pretending she did not care.
In this situation, if there had been a spotlight shining down on her, and a pair of handcuffs locking her hands to the table, it would have looked even more like a proper interrogation.
…
The Princess of Chu had already been under intense pressure tonight. Now she was on the verge of breaking down. Being stared at like this by Meng Xizhao, she quickly lost her patience.
“If you have something to say, just say it! At worst it will be the same old clichés!”
Meng Xizhao looked at her and obediently spoke.
“Why did Your Highness try to run away tonight?”
The Princess of Chu lifted her head, her almond-shaped eyes wide as she stared at him as if he were an idiot.
“Why did I run away? Can’t you see that yourself?”
Meng Xizhao replied, “I would like to hear Your Highness explain it.”
The Princess of Chu choked on her words, ready to snap back at him. Yet this was the first time since her mother’s death that someone had said they wanted to hear what she thought.
Pressing her lips together, she actually began to speak.
“Because I don’t want to marry that Chanyu. I don’t want to be sent away in a political marriage. I don’t want to spend my entire life in the barbaric land of the Xiongnu. I don’t want to die alone in a foreign country when I’m barely past twenty!”
Meng Xizhao listened quietly. Her voice rose higher and higher, until the final sentence was nearly shouted. After saying it, her chest heaved violently. Just those few sentences seemed to have drained what little strength she had in this life.
Meng Xizhao blinked and said, “But even if Your Highness escaped tonight, the outcome would not change much. You cannot return to Qi, and you cannot leave Xiongnu territory. You would spend your days hiding from place to place, living in constant fear, disheveled and miserable.”
“I saw that you brought a maidservant with you. On the run, do you expect her to take care of you? But she may not even be able to take care of herself. Every land raises its own people. Even if she is Your Highness’s maid, in the eyes of the Xiongnu she has lived in luxury all her life. She would not be able to endure the harsh cold here.”
“If you remain here, your lives would be worse than those of pigs or dogs—worse than snakes, insects, and rats. You would live in darkness forever.”
At this point he softened his voice slightly.
“After living like that for long enough, Your Highness might even find that the day you are finally captured is the day your heart relaxes. At least the dust would settle. That is better than stumbling alone through endless despair.”
The Princess of Chu stared at him, her face turning ashen.
But she knew he was right.
She glared at Meng Xizhao as if he were the murderer of her father. Then suddenly, she began to cry.
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Am I supposed to lie with that damned Chanyu like some prostitute? You might as well kill me directly!”
As she spoke, the Princess of Chu’s sobbing suddenly halted. She looked toward a nearby vase, deep in thought.
Right. She did not want to live this kind of suffering even for a single day.
A scholar may be killed but not humiliated. She was a woman, but the same principle applied.
Her whole life had been unlucky. Born into the imperial family, the only warmth she had ever known came from her low-ranking mother. But her mother died early. From the day she passed away, the rest of the princess’s life had been steeped in bitterness, like being soaked in a jar of coptis root that could never be broken open.
Perhaps dying would be better.
If she died, she could go find her mother. She could even take revenge on her father. If a political-marriage princess killed herself on the eve of her wedding, the Xiongnu would surely be furious. Perhaps furious enough to attack Qi.
No one in this world cared about her anyway. Let them fight. Let everyone fight! The more people who died, the better!
Meng Xizhao watched in horror as the Princess of Chu’s expression grew increasingly twisted. Whatever she was thinking about, she suddenly began to laugh softly, as if madness were not far away.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
What a disaster.
Now he no longer had any doubts. The old Chanyu mentioned in the book was ninety-nine percent likely killed by a darkened, vengeful Princess of Chu.
Seeing her sink deeper and deeper into those thoughts—if she continued much longer, she would probably make up her mind—Meng Xizhao quickly called out her name.
“Princess Yongshan!”
The Princess of Chu paused and looked up at him.
Meng Xizhao said, “Does Your Highness remember who gave you your name?”
The Princess of Chu looked at him expressionlessly.
“It was a steward in the prince’s residence at the time. He proposed four names. My eldest sister took one, my second sister took one, I took one, and the youngest sister took the one that remained.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Damn it.
Emperor Tianshou, just how lazy were you? Not even one of your daughters deserved your attention?
Silently swallowing his complaints, he spoke again with determination.
“‘Shan’ means goodness and fortune. That name was not used for any other princess, but for Your Highness. That itself is a kind of fate. This is not yet the end of the road—why speak such hopeless words?”
Princess Yongshan: “…”
This isn’t the end of the road?
Where exactly are you from? Let me see—how rich must the mountains and waters be there?
…
Under her piercing gaze, Meng Xizhao spoke again.
“Besides, even if we step back ten thousand steps and say the road truly has reached its end—Your Highness, if you are not even afraid of death, then why fear marrying the Chanyu?”
The Princess of Chu looked at him in silence.
Death was far easier than marrying the Chanyu. At least death would spare her the torment of the spirit.
She was a well-read woman. After her mother’s death, books had been her greatest companions. The more she read, the more she understood the world—and the less hope she had for the future.
Her spiritual standards kept rising higher and higher, and her sense of purity grew increasingly severe. Yet reality could never give her what she desired. Instead, it kept demanding more and more from her.
If life was nothing but this kind of suffering, why endure it?
Better to die.
…What she might not even realize was that she had already begun to lean more and more toward escape as her way of solving everything.
Meng Xizhao grew a little anxious. Why was the Princess of Chu still silent?
Had she even heard him? Judging by her expression, clearly not. This wouldn’t do—if she really attempted suicide, this whole situation would explode.
He fell silent for a moment, staring at the Princess, who looked even more desperate than before.
He had wanted to hint at a solution subtly, but now it seemed that would not work.
Pressing his lips together, he quickly weighed the pros and cons, then spoke slowly: “Your Highness, you are a princess of our Great Qi.”
The Princess of Chu looked away, completely losing interest in talking with him.
Meng Xizhao continued: “And I am a minister of Great Qi. Protecting the Crown Prince and protecting you—that has been my most important duty all along.”
The Princess of Chu sneered silently in her mind.
He paused, leaning slightly toward her: “Your Highness, if someone must die, it can be me, it can be Chief Yu, it can be Minister Zang, it can be any random Qi or Xiongnu person—but it absolutely cannot be you, and it cannot be the Crown Prince.”
The Princess of Chu suddenly turned her head, frowning, as if she didn’t understand what he meant.
Meng Xizhao held her gaze, as though trying to look into her heart. “I swear to protect you with my life. Even if I die, I will have no regrets.”
The Princess of Chu stared at him. At first, she had no reaction, but after two seconds, she straightened her posture.
It was as if she were meeting Meng Xizhao for a second time—shocked and incredulous.
Shocked because she seemed to understand his meaning. Incredulous because she couldn’t believe this person had such courage.
She couldn’t believe that a princess, destined to be sent away, could actually receive help from Meng Xizhao.
Her eyes remained stiffly fixed on him. She could hardly dare to trust him—if she misjudged his intentions, she felt she truly could not survive.
“You…how exactly will you protect me?”
Meng Xizhao smiled: “Naturally, to the best of my ability.”
Her heart pounded. She asked again: “Whatever I want to do, you’ll help me?”
He continued smiling: “Except anything that harms the Crown Prince.”
The Princess of Chu froze, her mind racing.
Her first thought was to have Meng Xizhao help her escape again. With his help, she would definitely succeed this time. She wouldn’t return to Great Qi—she could go out to sea and drift wherever she pleased. But then she realized that Meng Xizhao would not support her, because if she ran, the Crown Prince would be implicated.
But what else could she do? Not run meant staying here, and staying meant marrying the Chanyu. Marrying the Chanyu—
Wait. The Chanyu.
A sudden flash of insight came to her. Thinking carefully, she still couldn’t fully understand, until she looked up and saw Meng Xizhao smiling gently at her.
Now she truly understood.
The Princess of Chu’s mouth hung open in astonishment. Slowly, she closed it, and with the look one gives upon meeting someone for a third time, she gazed at him:
“Meng Shaoqing.”
Meng Xizhao nodded: “I am at your service.”
“Have you already thought of a way to get me out of this?”
Meng Xizhao blinked: “Your Highness, what do you mean?”
The Princess became more and more certain it was just as she thought. She suddenly stood up and knelt directly before him.
Meng Xizhao realized he had overplayed his bravado, startling the princess into such a reaction.
He quickly rose, looking even more shocked than she was. “Your Highness, please stand! You’ll kill me with this!”
But she refused to rise. She looked at him like a drowning person clinging to a lifeline.
“Meng Shaoqing! I have nothing left. As long as you can save my life, from now on, my life belongs to you! What is a princess? A princess is worth less than grass! I beg you, save me! I will not reveal this to anyone. If you don’t believe me, I will prove it to you now!”
She then attempted to strip her clothes.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Stop!
Otherwise, my romantic obsession aftereffects are about to kick in!
The princess struggled to remove her clothing—this was the only way she could prove herself. If another man saw her, it would be like her entire life was in his hands. As a neglected princess, she could not betray him.
Meng Xizhao tried desperately to clothe her again. Was he joking? He could not take advantage of this—he simply couldn’t, or he’d collapse and foam at the mouth.
After a chaotic struggle, both were utterly exhausted.
The princess was panting, while Meng Xizhao had taken three steps back, staring at her as if she were a ghost.
“Please…don’t remove any more clothes.”
The Princess of Chu: “…”
Admittedly, her pride had been slightly wounded.
After all, she had inherited her mother’s beauty. How could this supposed playboy, who couldn’t move when seeing a beautiful woman, treat her as a terrifying monster instead?
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Meng Xizhao finally understood just how far the Princess of Chu was willing to go to avoid marrying the Chanyu.
He paused, then said: “To be honest, I also want to save you, Princess.”
Her eyes lit up with hope.
He continued: “But I cannot guarantee that it will succeed.”
The Princess of Chu: “…”
She asked, “Then how likely is it?”
Meng Xizhao thought for a moment, giving a cautious estimate: “Sixty percent.”
Sixty percent. That meant survival. The remaining forty percent—death.
The Princess of Chu bit her lip. “Very well. Even sixty percent is better than certain death. Meng Shaoqing, what do you need me to do?”
Meng Xizhao looked at her with a hint of admiration. He had expected her to hesitate, but instead, she agreed so readily.
“I need you to hold the wedding with the Chanyu.”
The Princess of Chu: “…………”
If she had any strength left, she would have torn Meng Xizhao’s heart out.
Yu Fulan had been waiting outside for nearly an hour before the Princess of Chu finally emerged.
He turned, about to speak, but froze in shock: the princess’s hair was slightly disheveled.
Then, his gaze fell on Meng Xizhao, and his thoughts began to wander in increasingly bizarre directions.
Y-you’re not… wait, no…
The Princess of Chu walked silently to one side, her maid immediately following her. Meng Xizhao lightly patted Yu Fulan, who had been stuck in a loop of shock and disbelief. Yu Fulan shivered and finally regained his wits.
“The princess has been gone so long, they must have noticed by now. No reaction means they’re just testing to see if we know anything. When you escort her back secretly, be extra cautious, act like you don’t want to be seen at all.”
Yu Fulan blinked in surprise. “And then?”
“Then,” Meng Xizhao said calmly, “we repeat the same thing tomorrow night.”
Yu Fulan: “……”
Though he didn’t understand why it had to be done this way, he was used to following Meng Xizhao’s instructions, so he turned and obeyed.
From the second floor, Meng Xizhao watched the Princess of Chu silently put on her hat and leave with Yu Fulan. He pressed his lips together and lowered his gaze.
The reason he had estimated only a sixty percent chance of success was the unpredictability of human hearts.
And the heart he meant was the Princess of Chu’s.
Even if she now appeared fearless, ready to kill one or ten people alike, Meng Xizhao could not be certain she would act exactly as she said.
If she hesitated even slightly, the plan would fail.
Of course, Meng Xizhao had his Plan B. No matter what, he would return to Great Qi with merit from this mission.
Yet he sincerely hoped the Princess of Chu would maintain the courage she had shown tonight—after all, the only one who could truly save her was herself.
Turning to head back to his room, Meng Xizhao froze as he saw Cui Ye leaning by the door.
Cui Ye said to him, “Your sleeve is wrinkled.”
Meng Xizhao instinctively looked down, and indeed, his sleeve was slightly creased.
Even though he had meticulously straightened it in the room, one small detail had slipped. And this small detail was corrected by the attentive Cui Ye.
For some reason, Meng Xizhao’s heart suddenly settled.
Looking up again, he smiled at Cui Ye. “Your Highness, I’m about to handle something important.”
Cui Ye wanted to ask why Meng Xizhao’s sleeve had wrinkled even though he only spoke with the Princess of Chu, but seeing the proud little expression on Meng Xizhao’s face, he decided not to.
With a light chuckle, he said, “Then handle it. If the sky falls, I’ll hold it up for you.”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together, smiling. He felt that tonight, he might finally get a good night’s sleep.
Meng Xizhao slept soundly, but the Right Xianwang did not rest all night.
Not only Yu Fulan, but also the Right Xianwang’s slave informants had been keeping watch at the new palace. They learned that the Princess of Chu had quietly left the palace with a maid. The Right Xianwang’s expression could only be described as ecstatic.
If anyone in the Xiongnu hated the idea of the Princess of Chu arriving, it was the Right Xianwang.
It was not just a matter of wasted effort; it would complicate the situation. The Crown Prince’s eldest consort was the Right Xianwang’s daughter. Though this princess had been married to the Chanyu, few on the steppe lived long. How many years would the Chanyu last? Eventually, this princess would pass to the Crown Prince.
Yes, he was certain—the Crown Prince would inherit.
And why? With his support, inheritance was assured.
The Right Xianwang was merely skilled at appearances, but his mindset was the same as other Xiongnu: they despised Great Qi yet coveted it. He had long been eyeing Shandong with envy. The current Chanyu was conservative; he did not want to disturb the balance. The neighbors around the Xiongnu were not trustworthy; better to leave things as they were.
That was why the Chanyu could remain in power for decades… even if muddled, he was still stronger than the Right Xianwang.
But the Right Xianwang thought differently. He believed the Chanyu was old and timid. He was eager for an ambitious Crown Prince to take over. His daughter had already been married off to him—he counted on the Crown Prince to lead the Xiongnu to a new height.
Yet if the princess of Great Qi passed to the Crown Prince, and if she were clever, she could charm people, like Princess Wencheng, blowing soft whispers into the right ears—what a nuisance that would be.
So if the princess fled the wedding, he would wholeheartedly support it.
Moreover, if she eloped, they would have a perfect excuse. The price of horses would soar—not just by half, but potentially double, and the Great Qi people would have no choice but to comply.
With such happy thoughts, the Right Xianwang grew excited for about an hour—then his subordinate reported that the princess had returned.
Right Xianwang: “…………”
The dream shattered too quickly.
The Great Qi princess had quietly left, clearly intending to flee the marriage. Why was she back? Had the Great Qi people discovered her and secretly returned her?
The Right Xianwang wanted to confront the Great Qi people immediately, but hesitated. No evidence. If he recklessly questioned them, especially Meng Xizhao, he could be turned against. Better to observe. If the princess still intended to elope, he would create a flaw, and she would surely try again.
So he waited. And before he could even set a trap, the next night, the princess quietly left again—and returned an hour later.
This time, the Right Xianwang sent someone to follow them and discovered that the princess had only gone to the Great Qi inn—she had no intention of fleeing at all.
…Such disappointment.
Along with the disappointment, he was puzzled. The princess sneaking out every night—what exactly was she up to?
After several days of observation with no clue, he finally decided to visit Meng Xizhao punctually.
The Princess of Chu had just stepped inside when he arrived, bearing gifts. Meng Xizhao, upon hearing of his arrival, immediately came out to greet him. “Right Xianwang, what brings you here at this hour?”
Right Xianwang thought: I want to ask why your princess always chooses this time to meet you—are you two scheming something?
But he did not bring up the matter immediately. Instead, he smiled at Meng Xizhao: “Busy with the wedding during the day, I finally have a few moments of leisure. I realized I never had the chance to drink with you, Young Minister, so I thought to intrude—hope I am not disturbing you.”
Meng Xizhao’s smile was even more sincere: “Not at all, please come in, let’s go to my room—this way we won’t disturb Her Highness.”
The Right Xianwang nodded. Passing by Cui Ye’s room, he glanced at the door, but with the inn fully lit, he couldn’t see anything. Once inside Meng Xizhao’s room, he asked, “Has the Crown Prince retired for the night?”
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “No, he’s still speaking with Her Highness the princess.”
Right Xianwang: “…Why not during the day?”
Meng Xizhao gave him a strange look. “During the day, our Crown Prince is busy with the wedding—dowry, attendants, all matters are personally handled by him. Our Crown Prince and the Princess of Chu are the closest of friends.”
Next door, the Princess of Chu sat on her chair, fidgeting nervously, glancing at her “closest friend,” the Crown Prince.
The Crown Prince closed his eyes, completely ignoring her presence.
The Princess of Chu: “……”
Ever since childhood, she had feared this brother. Sniff—
One mystery was thus resolved, though Right Xianwang felt somewhat uneasy.
He had other matters to attend to today. Between cups and toasts, he kept urging Meng Xizhao to drink, while casually trying to pry information about the “Shou/Lei” weapon. Meng Xizhao didn’t hide anything today and merely adopted a slightly embarrassed expression. “Not hiding anything from Your Highness, that item is called Shou/Lei. It’s produced by our Military Ordnance Department to counter the people of Nanzhao, and hasn’t been deployed to the battlefield yet.”
The Right Xianwang asked calmly, “Then how did it end up in your hands here? Did you think it could be useful in the Xiongnu lands as well?”
Meng Xizhao was startled and hurried to explain: “Oh, Your Highness, that’s a misunderstanding. We brought it along because our journey passed through wild, desolate lands, and the Crown Prince and the princess were with us. To protect them, we naturally took the utmost precautions. It had nothing to do with the Xiongnu.”
The Right Xianwang smiled. “Indeed… yet you still ended up using it on our territory.”
Meng Xizhao sipped his wine and smiled in return. “Alas, what could we do? Your guards really weren’t paying attention.”
Right Xianwang: “…I knew you were no ordinary young man. Polite on the surface, but among the Qi people, you’re the biggest troublemaker.”
He paused briefly, then resumed a courteous demeanor, asking in a pleasant tone, “How many of these weapons does Qi intend to deploy against Nanzhao?”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “I don’t know. I’m just a junior officer at the Ministry of Rites; I wouldn’t know military secrets. If Your Highness wants to know, perhaps you should ask General Ding. When we return to Great Qi, he will also be heading to the front.”
The Right Xianwang was momentarily startled. Having already lost once, now the Emperor of Qi sends them again—if the Qi Emperor is confident about this Shou/Lei weapon, then he must truly trust it.
Recalling the devastated palace gates and the even more pitiable guards, the Right Xianwang’s grip on his cup tightened.
In recent days, he had sent people multiple times to secretly check what the Qi people had brought, yet none of those items included the Shou/Lei. Did they store it personally?
But such a dangerous weapon—stored personally—wouldn’t they risk harming themselves?
Moreover, he had asked the guards who had escaped danger; the weapon was large, about the size of a man’s hand. Storing such a thing on one’s person would not be easy.
From the crater it left when detonated, and the residues collected, the Right Xianwang could tell it smelled of sulfur, with paper fragments like fireworks—but it was definitely not ordinary fireworks! What firework could blow open thick wooden doors and leave a crater in the ground?
Having led troops in battle before, he knew just how important this was. If Great Qi had it, the Xiongnu had to acquire it too!
Even if it meant a confrontation with Qi, he had to learn how it was made.
However… confrontation had to be handled carefully. If possible, it was better to keep appearances, so he leaned toward stealing one to study privately.
But he couldn’t find it…
The Right Xianwang had no choice but to continue prying from Meng Xizhao. In the end, he got a lot of useless information, and somehow the conversation shifted to the Left Xianwang. Meng Xizhao lavishly praised the Left Xianwang—so much that, if not for the official uniform, the Right Xianwang felt he might have sworn brotherhood with him.
After praising the Left Xianwang, Meng Xizhao began praising Captain Jin. Listening to praise for the Left Xianwang, the Right Xianwang could bear it. But when Meng Xizhao started on Captain Jin, he lost all interest and cut him off, steering the conversation elsewhere.
Meng Xizhao went along smoothly, while internally noting that Captain Jin’s position among the Xiongnu was awkward. Even with the Left Xianwang’s trust, the Xiongnu’s prejudice against Qi people could not be changed. With such a face, Captain Jin was destined to be marginalized.
This explained why he admired the Left Xianwang so much.
To put it bluntly, only the Left Xianwang could guarantee his status and interests.
The wine was finished, and the Right Xianwang still hadn’t extracted the information he wanted. Undeterred, he rose with ease. Just as Meng Xizhao was seeing him out, he suddenly turned and said coldly, “Young Minister Meng, if we wanted to purchase your Shou/Lei from Great Qi, would the Qi Emperor agree to sell?”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “I’m afraid not.”
“Why? Could it be that the crafting method is too simple, and you fear we might learn it?”
Meng Xizhao smiled. “Of course not. The Shou/Lei is intricately made; even if one wished to learn, it isn’t that easy. To put it plainly, the hundred-tempered steel has existed for hundreds of years. Aside from Great Qi, even the Yuezhi, who kidnapped artisans, haven’t been able to replicate the techniques just by observation, right?”
The Right Xianwang chuckled. “Indeed… I had taken it for granted.”
With that, he bid farewell to Meng Xizhao, who returned the gesture. Once outside the inn, the Right Xianwang’s smile immediately vanished.
Complex craftsmanship…
Heh, that boy Meng Xizhao probably hasn’t even realized he’s just revealed Great Qi’s secrets to me.
The Shou/Lei is a newly developed weapon, immensely powerful, and intricately crafted—ordinary people couldn’t handle it. To maintain their effectiveness and prevent accidental harm to the Qi Crown Prince and princess, these weapons must be tightly controlled by specialists.
Yet, from his recent reconnaissance, he hadn’t seen anyone guarding them. That meant another possibility: they brought along artisans to make the Shou/Lei, only bringing raw materials, producing them on the spot as needed.
Thinking this, the Right Xianwang could no longer stay put. He quickly mounted his horse, intent on heading to the palace. He had to inform the Crown Prince and discuss what to do.
Meanwhile, peeking through a door crack and seeing the Right Xianwang leave, Meng Xizhao’s lips curled downward.
Still trying to pry secrets from me? Hmph!
Let him find some work to keep busy. Perfect timing—it also keeps me occupied.
Turning around, Meng Xizhao hummed a tune and returned to his room to sleep.
That night, the Xiongnu lands were far from peaceful.
The Crown Prince, after hearing the Right Xianwang’s words, immediately felt the urge to detain the entire wedding convoy—but the Right Xianwang persuaded him to restrain himself. Following his advice, the Crown Prince began to recall who in the convoy seemed most suspicious.
The first to suspect were naturally those closest to the Crown Prince: Cui Ye and the Ministry of Rites junior officer, Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao’s entourage was minimal: two cooks and one physician, while he was particularly close to the commander named Zhan Buxiu.
At the thought of Zhan Buxiu, the Crown Prince felt a murderous impulse, but restrained himself. After careful consideration, he shook his head: this man was clearly a military leader, not an artisan.
If not Meng Xizhao’s men, then it must be someone from the Crown Prince’s own entourage.
The Crown Prince’s guards were many; he couldn’t be certain who. Then one person came to mind. He looked up sharply: “That guard Yu Fulan. He’s never apart from the Crown Prince, seems high-ranking, yet I’ve seen Meng Xizhao give him orders, and he obeys.”
The Right Xianwang was startled. “Why would a head guard obey Meng Xizhao?”
The Crown Prince’s eyes darkened. “Unless… he isn’t really the head guard, only masquerading as one.”
Then he asked the Right Xianwang: “What do you think we should do?”
The Right Xianwang pondered briefly. “Don’t alert them just yet. They’ll be here for some time, and these are only our suspicions, not facts. Better to observe a bit longer. When their people leave, I’ll have a few men pose as bandits to steal the artisans back.”
The Crown Prince grinned, exuding murderous intent. “Good. I’ll go myself. I’ll kill Meng Xizhao and Zhan Buxiu both.”
The Right Xianwang: “…You couldn’t handle a single sword strike, and you think you can kill them?”
Never mind. Bring along strong men, and even if lives are lost, the last breath of these people will be in Xiongnu hands.
The artisans—they must be seized. Anyone who insulted the Xiongnu must pay.
From that day onward, the Xiongnu’s covert activity increased. Not everyone was dull; many noticed more Xiongnu figures around, seemingly watching their every move.
Even the kitchen gained two Xiongnu slaves, who kept sneaking glances at the staff.
But the kitchen staff had no time to pay them any mind.
Especially the two Meng Xizhao brought: one worked shirtless at the hot stove, chopping the day’s lamb with rhythmic thuds; the other squatted expressionless on the floor, peeling scallions.
The lamb was gamey, and today’s scallions—he peeled double the usual amount.
The two slaves first admired the scrawny, chicken-like cook with arms full of muscle, then glanced at the one who had peeled a dozen scallions without shedding a single tear.
Truly professionals—without ten years of practice, this skill could not be honed.
Alas, if not them, they’d have to watch others.