By the time Meng Xizhao left the imperial palace, two hours had already passed.
The Double Ninth Festival had only recently ended. Autumn rains fell one after another, and Meng Xizhao had already started wearing two layers of clothing.
Sitting in the carriage with Meng Jiuyu, he lifted the curtain and looked out at the brightly decorated streets.
For the Longevity Festival, ruler and people celebrated together. Three days earlier, shops had already hung lanterns and colorful paper decorations. Many stores had even launched what could be called an ancient version of discount sales. Whether selling or buying, everyone looked delighted and festive.
Even though most of these people would never see what the emperor actually looked like in their entire lives, that did not stop them from celebrating the day as if it were the New Year.
No matter how muddle-headed or incompetent the Emperor Tian Shou might be, as long as he was the ruler, he remained the spiritual pillar of the people of Great Qi.
Meng Xizhao’s gaze passed over one smiling face after another. After a moment, he let the curtain fall.
Turning his head, he discovered that at some point his father had begun staring at him again with that bitter, resentful expression.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
“Father, do you have something to say?”
Meng Jiuyu replied in a sarcastic tone, “As if I’d dare lecture you.”
Meng Xizhao: “…What did I do this time? I haven’t caused any trouble lately.”
Meng Jiuyu shot him a look and snorted coldly, though inside he felt as if someone had tossed a bundle of dry straw onto a fire. The flames were licking high.
Precisely because his son was not causing trouble, Meng Jiuyu felt uneasy.
Second Son never did things according to common sense. In a few days he would leave Yingtian Prefecture. When Meng Jiuyu was watching him, the boy could already tear the roof off the house. If he was not there to keep an eye on him, wouldn’t he tear down the rafters too?
The more he thought about it, the tighter his chest felt. With a troubled face, he asked, “Second Son, tell your father the truth. Why do you want to go to the Xiongnu?”
Meng Xizhao sighed. “Naturally because I want a promotion. I am the Vice Minister of the Court of Diplomatic Reception. Escorting a princess for a political marriage counts as real merit. When I come back, with that achievement as my foundation, if you help smooth things over for me, Father, wouldn’t it be easy for me to rise a rank or two?”
Meng Jiuyu: “…Still trying to fool your father!”
He slapped the wooden carriage floor loudly.
“You want a promotion—fine. Then why are you dragging the Crown Prince along?! Don’t think I forgot. That day when you slipped up, you admitted that you were planning to get the Crown Prince to go with you!”
Meng Xizhao replied without the slightest change in expression. “The Crown Prince has stayed in the palace too long. He’s become depressed. Going out for a trip and getting some fresh air would be good for his health.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
At this point he had realized that his son was completely impervious. Soft methods did not work; hard methods did not work either. If the boy did not want to talk, even if Meng Jiuyu hung him up and whipped him, he still would not say a word.
Meng Jiuyu deflated instantly. Hunching his shoulders, he let out a long sigh.
“When a daughter grows up, she no longer listens to her mother. When a son grows up, he no longer listens to his father.”
“Forget it. Do whatever you want. At worst, the two of us will just keep each other company on the road to the Yellow Springs.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
Why are you always so pessimistic?
Meng Xizhao seriously suspected that his earlier attempt at reassurance had accomplished nothing. For all he knew, Meng Jiuyu had already hidden the travel money for fleeing to Bashu, just waiting for the day everything fell apart so he could hurry his wife and children out of the city.
Shaking his head, Meng Xizhao decided not to worry about it. He would treat it as something that gave his father peace of mind.
On the fifteenth day of the ninth month, the autumn rain still had not stopped.
Under the steady drizzle, the escort procession assembled at the East Splendor Gate of the imperial palace. Meng Xizhao stood at the very front, hands tucked into his sleeves, quietly waiting for the arrival of the princess and the Crown Prince.
The rain was not heavy, but the weather was gloomy and bone-chilling. Even so, the Bureau of Astronomy had spent several days observing the stars to choose this supposedly auspicious date.
After standing there for nearly half an hour, the palanquins of the Crown Prince and the princess finally appeared.
The Crown Prince came first. Beside him walked Yu Fulan, along with twelve guards.
The princess followed behind, accompanied by ten palace maids and ten eunuchs.
Ordinarily, officials would not come out to see off a princess alone. But since Emperor Tian Shou had suddenly decided to send the Crown Prince as well, Chancellor Yan brought several officials along to make a token appearance and escort them to the palace gate.
Then he clasped his hands, said a few auspicious phrases, and promptly stepped aside—absolutely refusing to have too much contact with the Crown Prince. Meng Xizhao found the sight somewhat amusing.
Once the two important figures boarded their respective carriages, Meng Xizhao and the others were finally allowed to climb into theirs as well.
As soon as he got inside, Meng Xizhao rubbed his hands vigorously, blowing warm air into them as he did.
So cold!
Standing out in the rain for so long in this weather—no wonder the casualty rate of these escort missions was always so high.
Ding Chun rode at the very front of the procession.
For this marriage escort, the entire convoy was under his command. He kept watch over the people behind him—some loading carts, others climbing into carriages. When everything was nearly ready, he cast a complicated glance toward Meng Xizhao’s carriage.
Even after everyone had finished preparing, the procession did not set out immediately. They were still waiting for the auspicious hour.
At last, the eunuch standing nearby raised his hand, signaling that the proper moment had arrived. Only then did Ding Chun let out a breath. Amid the eunuch’s loud proclamation, he flicked his whip.
And so, the road of escorting the bride finally began.
…
From Yingtian Prefecture to the Xiongnu royal court, the shortest route would actually be to travel to the seaport, take a ship, and follow the coastline north. In less than twenty days, they could reach Xiongnu territory.
Even if they were unfamiliar with sea travel, they could still go by water along the Grand Canal that Emperor Yang of Sui had excavated—the same route now used for grain transport. Passing through Shandong and Hebei, they could reach Youzhou and then switch to land travel. That way would also take about twenty days.
But unfortunately, every single Xiongnu in the group was a landlubber. They absolutely refused to travel by water. In their view, traveling by land was best—even if it meant setting up camp every night.
This decision made life miserable for the attendants.
Within Great Qi’s territory, they could still rely on relay stations along the route for lodging, which made things somewhat easier. But once they entered Xiongnu lands, there would be nothing but endless grasslands. Where would they find relay stations then? The attendants would have to work nonstop—pitching tents for the nobles and officials, then dismantling them again the next morning.
Unlike everyone else, Meng Xizhao actually breathed a sigh of relief when he learned they would travel entirely by land.
There was no helping it—he was still afraid of water. Who knew when he would finally get over that.
The procession was arranged like this:
At the very front were the Xiongnu representatives.
Behind them came a group of guards arranged by Ding Chun, along with his personal soldiers leading the way.
Next came Ding Chun himself, together with the Crown Prince’s guards.
The Crown Prince’s guards protected the carriage directly in front of the Crown Prince. Behind the Crown Prince was the princess’s carriage.
Only after the princess came the carriages of the officials—such as the Vice Director of the Ministry of Rites and Meng Xizhao.
Behind the officials’ carriages were the attendants. These people had no horses and had to walk the entire journey, which made their work extremely exhausting. They were also responsible for guarding the baggage and the princess’s dowry.
These heavy wagons moved the slowest, since they were burdened with cargo.
At the very end of the procession was another group of guards arranged by Ding Chun, along with some of the Imperial Guards he had brought with him.
A marriage alliance procession could not bring too many soldiers; otherwise it would appear hostile.
Even so, the long line of people stretched nearly two hundred meters as they moved along. In total there were almost four hundred and seventy people in the group. However, most of them were attendants who served others. The number who could actually provide protection was only about one hundred and twenty.
Among them were twelve of the Crown Prince’s personal guards, forty of the princess’s guards, another forty guards who would accompany the group back after the mission, and the remaining twenty-some men were Ding Chun’s own soldiers.
Such a small force—and even that had only been secured through Ding Chun’s persistent efforts.
According to the usual rules, he should not even have been allowed to bring those twenty men. He should have traveled alone, relying only on the escort guards assigned to the mission.
But after Emperor Tian Shou suddenly changed his mind and appointed him to lead the escort, Ding Chun had been puzzled as to why the task had fallen to him. Just as he was wondering about it, a maidservant from the Secretariat arrived at the gate of the Ding residence with a letter.
The letter was written by Meng Xizhao.
In it, Meng Xizhao advised him to bring as many of his own soldiers as possible. As for the reason, he claimed it was because they might encounter bandits along the road and would need more manpower.
Ding Chun: “…”
What bandit would be so bold as to rob a royal marriage escort? Even if the people of Great Qi did nothing, the Left Worthy King of the Xiongnu certainly would not stand by and watch.
Still, after thinking it over again and again, Ding Chun ultimately followed the advice.
First, he owed Meng Jiuyu a favor. Second, he also owed Meng Xizhao a favor.
Although escorting a marriage was considered a miserable assignment for most people, to Ding Chun—who had once commanded armies and campaigned in Nanzhao—it felt more like a sightseeing trip.
Moreover, because of a single remark from Meng Xizhao, the emperor had started using him again instead of abandoning him. No matter how one looked at it, Meng Xizhao had done him a favor.
And besides…
Ding Chun could not help glancing over his right shoulder.
Zhan Buxiu had replaced his old, listless horse with a new one—a spirited chestnut barely four years old. Wearing light armor, he followed closely behind Ding Chun with a serious expression.
Somehow, Meng Xizhao had pulled strings to transfer Zhan Buxiu into Ding Chun’s forces.
Although Ding Chun was no longer the main commander, he still held the title of General Who Pacifies the Huai. He had troops under his command. Even if Zhan Buxiu’s official rank remained that of a commandant, the treatment he received now was worlds apart from before.
Ding Chun could not understand why Meng Xizhao cared so much about Zhan Buxiu. But since the opportunity had been handed to him, he certainly would not refuse it. He immediately promoted Zhan Buxiu to commander of more than a thousand cavalrymen and planned to use this trip to the Xiongnu lands to train him and help him win the loyalty of the troops.
However, after learning about this arrangement, Zhan Buxiu personally came to see him and said that he also wanted to go to the Xiongnu.
Ding Chun: “…………”
At that moment he had been utterly baffled.
What kind of wonderful place was the Xiongnu territory that everyone seemed so eager to rush there?
In truth, Zhan Buxiu had wondered the same thing.
After learning that Meng Xizhao would be escorting the princess, Zhan Buxiu also received his transfer order. Sitting at home, he thought it over for a while and came to the conclusion that Meng Xizhao probably intended for him to go along as well.
Although he did not understand Meng Xizhao’s reasoning, he trusted him. Meng Xizhao was not someone who acted without purpose. That was why he had gone to Ding Chun and asked to join the mission.
In Ding Chun’s mind, Meng Xizhao and Zhan Buxiu carried very different weight.
If Meng Xizhao asked him to do something, he would hesitate.
But if Zhan Buxiu asked him, Ding Chun would agree immediately.
In the end, among the twenty-some men he brought, only ten were his own soldiers. The remaining dozen or so were chosen by Zhan Buxiu from among his former troops. If there had not already been too many people, he would have tried to add even more.
Riding along the flat imperial road, the more Ding Chun thought about it, the more something felt off.
Had he unknowingly boarded some kind of pirate ship?
…
On the first day of departure, Meng Xizhao stayed quietly inside his carriage. He spoke to no one, as if he did not exist in the entire procession.
That night they rested at a relay station.
Meng Xizhao did not trouble anyone. When the time came, he simply blew out the lamp and went to sleep.
This actually made everyone a little pleasantly surprised. It seemed that Vice Minister Meng was not as domineering as the rumors claimed.
However, on the second day—after Meng Xizhao had recovered from the bone-chilling cold of the autumn rain—he began causing trouble.
“What kind of food is this? You expect this official to eat such things?! Absurd! Take it away, take it away. I refuse to eat this!”
The attendant delivering the meal: “……”
Looking at Meng Xizhao, who seemed to have regained all his vigor overnight, the attendant said nervously, “Lord Meng… the other officials are eating the same food…”
Meng Xizhao raised an eyebrow and immediately turned to look at him.
The attendant met his gaze and instantly felt as if his life were about to end.
With a sudden motion, Meng Xizhao stood up.
“Are the other officials me? Do you know who my father is? Do you have any idea what kind of life I’ve lived since the day I was born? What tastes delicious to others is nothing but slop to me. Do you understand?”
The attendant: “…………”
Then what do you want?!
Cooking separately was not impossible, but he did not have the authority to decide that. Just as he was hesitating, Meng Xizhao shot him a disdainful look, waved his hand, and summoned two sturdy, honest-looking servants.
The attendant was a little surprised.
He had never seen servants this old.
The one on the left looked to be in his thirties, and the one on the right looked well into his forties. To still be serving someone personally at that age… how pitiful.
Meng Xizhao, however, felt no such sympathy. Waving his hand, he ordered them, “Go make me a basket of steamed buns.”
The two middle-aged servants obediently agreed and followed the attendant to the kitchen.
Only when he learned that the two of them could cook did the attendant feel somewhat relieved. Of course—there was no such thing as servants that old. They must be cooks from the Secretariat household whom Meng Xizhao had brought along in case he could not get used to the food on the road.
There was still some time before departure, so after guiding them to the kitchen, the attendant stayed behind out of curiosity. He wanted to see what kind of buns they would make—good enough that Meng Xizhao had even brought two cooks along on a diplomatic mission just to prepare them.
Unexpectedly, once the two men entered the kitchen, they did nothing.
They looked around and then turned to the attendant with innocent expressions.
“Where is the person who makes the buns?” they asked.
The attendant blinked. “Aren’t the two of you the ones?”
They looked even more innocent. “We are not responsible for making the buns. We only make the filling.”
The attendant: “…What?”
The man in his thirties scratched his head. “I’m responsible for chopping the filling.”
The one in his forties rubbed his face. “I’m responsible for peeling the scallions.”
Then the two of them said in unison, “Kneading the dough, rolling it out, and wrapping the buns are usually done by someone else.”
The attendant: “…………”
His face was full of shock.
“You only know how to do that?!”
The two men nodded.
The attendant looked as if he were about to collapse. “Then why didn’t you bring the person who actually knows how to wrap the buns?!”
The two men glanced at each other before answering, “Because Lord Meng is most particular about the filling. He is not very picky about the dough—so long as it is decent, it is fine. So… could you go find someone who knows how to wrap buns?”
The attendant: “……”
With the expression of someone wondering if he had woken up in the wrong world, the attendant went off to find a bun-wrapper.
In Yingtian Prefecture, even the smallest trivial matter could spread through the entire city. In this tiny marriage escort procession, there were even fewer secrets.
That morning Meng Xizhao ate a steaming basket of meat buns. Before noon, the news had already reached the ears of the Left Worthy King.
Commander Jin had gathered even more details.
Apparently, one of the men had been chopping meat filling for thirty years, while the other had been peeling scallions and garlic for nearly the same amount of time. In the kitchen, those were the only tasks they performed—nothing else. When Commander Jin went to see them out of curiosity, he discovered that the meat really was chopped remarkably well. In no time at all, it had been minced into paste.
The Left Worthy King’s face was filled with speechless disbelief.
He had long heard that the people of Yingtian Prefecture were extravagantly luxurious. A single household might have only a few masters but employ several hundred servants. Some noble families even kept more than a thousand.
The Left Worthy King himself owned several thousand slaves. He had once wondered: people in Yingtian Prefecture did not herd animals, did not farm, and did not even keep slaves. Those servants were all hired with money. So what exactly did they do all day in those households?
Now he knew the answer.
…Even making a bun could be divided into such precise roles. No wonder it took a thousand people to serve them.
After that, whenever mealtime approached, Meng Xizhao would send those two men to the rear of the convoy to stay with the supply wagons. Then he would order dishes in endlessly creative ways—meatballs, dumplings, meat pancakes, meat rolls, one after another.
Eventually, Meng Xizhao stopped letting them return at all. They simply stayed in the back and cooked for him there.
Since his personal servants had been sent to the rear, Meng Xizhao sat alone in his carriage for a while. After some time, he began to feel uncomfortable without anyone waiting on him.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked around at the nearby guards. At last, his gaze settled on the men wearing light armor—the ones clearly from the central Imperial Guard.
He pointed at one of them.
“You. Come here and attend me.”
Zhan Buxiu looked toward the Imperial Guard soldier whose face had frozen in shock. Then he turned his head and glanced at Meng Xizhao lounging in his carriage with a carefree, almost lazy posture.
After that, he turned back again.
That Imperial Guard soldier ended up having a miserable time.
He had to stand beside Meng Xizhao’s carriage, running errands constantly—fetching items for him one moment, then hurrying to the back to urge the cooks to hurry the dishes the next. If he was even slightly slow, he would be scolded.
Everyone nearby watched with deep sympathy.
These were all brave soldiers capable of fighting on the battlefield. Only a spoiled, arrogant official’s son like Meng Xizhao would treat them as servants and torment them so mercilessly.
By the end of the afternoon, the Imperial Guard soldier’s face had turned green with anger.
At dusk they reached the next relay station. People dismounted their horses or climbed down from their carriages.
Zhan Buxiu walked over to the soldier, whose face was stiff with suppressed fury, and patted him on the shoulder.
“Hard day.”
The soldier turned his head. Seeing who it was, he sighed.
“Thank you for your concern, Commander. Ah… I suppose I was simply unlucky.”
Zhan Buxiu said, “Here’s an idea. Tomorrow you go to the front of the line. If he tries to call for you again, I will take your place.”
The Imperial Guard was immediately alarmed. “How could that be allowed?! How can I let the Commander take the blame for me!”
Zhan Buxiu said, “Meng Xizhao is not an easy person to serve. You’re straightforward and quick to speak your mind. If he keeps his eye on you, one day you’ll offend him without even realizing it. If I go in your place, it’s to protect you.”
The Imperial Guard was deeply moved. “But Commander, your temper isn’t exactly good either. What if you offend him too?”
Zhan Buxiu tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It won’t happen. No matter how he torments me, I’ll endure it.”
Hearing this, the guard’s admiration for Zhan Buxiu rose to an even higher level.
The next day, the guard took Zhan Buxiu’s place and walked behind Ding Chun. He had been Ding Chun’s personal soldier for a long time, so he relayed the entire conversation between the two of them, finishing with a sigh of emotion.
“General, before, I never understood why you would let such a young fellow serve as Commander. Later, after seeing his martial skills, I thought you had simply taken a liking to his fighting ability. But now I finally understand—you valued his character!”
“To sacrifice himself for others like that… it truly makes me ashamed!”
Ding Chun: “…………”
You’re the kind of person who’d be sold off and still help count the money for the one who sold you.
But then, after another thought, he found it strange. Since when had Zhan Buxiu become the kind of person who lied so effortlessly, without even preparing beforehand?
Probably “those who stay near vermilion get stained red; those who stay near ink get stained black.”
Thinking of Meng Xizhao, Ding Chun’s mouth twitched. They had been on the road for several days already. Throughout the journey, he had only dealt with the Vice Minister of Rites and had not spoken a single word to Meng Xizhao.
Because he always felt that Meng Xizhao was a person of crooked intentions. Having dealings with him was unavoidable, but at least outwardly, it was best not to get too close.
Otherwise, he feared that one day he might be sold off as well—and still end up helping Meng Xizhao keep the accounts.
Meanwhile, Meng Xizhao used the excuse of leg pain to have Zhan Buxiu climb into the carriage and massage his legs.
Immediately, a large number of heartbroken gazes gathered around them.
This young commander was a strong and valiant man—how could he be made to do something like that?!
Outrageous. Absolutely outrageous!
The matter was later reported by Commander Jin to the Left Worthy King. After hearing it, the Left Worthy King also shook his head.
This Meng Xizhao was a textbook example of a Great Qi playboy. Even a man who stood tall and upright like Zhan Buxiu was not spared from humiliation. Truly arrogant.
Yet he had already become this arrogant, and still not a single person stepped forward to restrain him. Whether it was the higher-ranking Vice Minister of Rites, Ding Chun who commanded all the soldiers, or even the Crown Prince with his extremely lofty status—none of them said a word. They simply watched as Meng Xizhao strutted around the entourage like a tyrant.
Because of this, the Left Worthy King gained a much clearer understanding of Meng Xizhao’s status in Great Qi.
After several days of travel, they had already left Ying Tian Prefecture and arrived at Lu Prefecture. Because of the terrain, they could not travel directly to the Xiongnu royal court—that would require crossing mountains and rugged terrain, which was far too troublesome. So they had to pass through the Central Plains and take a longer route.
When Zhan Buxiu climbed into the carriage, he saw that Meng Xizhao had completely shed his earlier arrogant demeanor. Instead, he leaned weakly against the cushions, looking utterly dispirited, as if life itself had lost its meaning.
Zhan Buxiu paused. He had thought the leg pain was just an excuse, but now he was no longer so certain.
“Does your leg really hurt?”
Meng Xizhao frowned in confusion when he heard that. “No. That was just an excuse. I thought you understood.”
Then why do you look so lifeless?
Zhan Buxiu pressed his lips together but ultimately did not ask that question. Instead, he asked another.
“Was it really necessary to go this far?”
Meng Xizhao looked at him, his face clearly saying I don’t understand what you mean.
Zhan Buxiu said, “Deliberately acting arrogant and overbearing, making everyone think you’re a foolish man who walks around with his nose in the air—what benefit does that bring you?”
Meng Xizhao let out a short laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong. The benefits are plenty.”
Zhan Buxiu looked at him and simply said, “There are plenty of drawbacks too.”
Meng Xizhao lazily shifted his posture, leaning even more comfortably against the cushions.
“Those who accomplish great things don’t fuss over trifles. You can’t have both fish and bear’s paw. Besides, what you see as a drawback is nothing at all in my eyes. I have no expectations for my reputation—mainly because it’s not something I can afford to expect.”
“Alright, stop worrying about it. Sit here and rest for a bit. You ride a horse every day. You might not be tired, but just watching you makes me tired.”
After saying that, Meng Xizhao closed his eyes again, looking as if he intended to go back to sleep. Zhan Buxiu fell silent for a moment, then simply did as he said—sat down, rested, and conserved his energy.
At noon, the convoy stopped to prepare lunch. Zhan Buxiu stepped out of Meng Xizhao’s carriage. The moment he did, he was greeted by several sympathetic looks.
Zhan Buxiu: “……”
Meng Xizhao also crawled out of the carriage, pounding his waist as he did so, preparing to head toward the back to see what dishes he could order today.
Eating meat every day was, frankly speaking, getting a bit tiresome.
But before he could go over, Yu Fulan suddenly walked up.
He made a courteous gesture toward Meng Xizhao, the Vice Minister of Rites, and Zang He. “Gentlemen, His Highness the Crown Prince requests your presence.”
The three men looked at each other in confusion.
The Crown Prince’s carriage was the largest, spacious enough for two people to lie down inside. At the moment, he sat alone inside, upright and composed. In front of him was a small tea table with several kinds of pastries prepared by the Imperial Kitchen. Among the accompanying cooks there were imperial chefs, but they served only the Crown Prince and the Princess.
The three men entered the Crown Prince’s carriage in order of rank. Though it was far more spacious than an ordinary carriage, it was still somewhat awkward to perform a full bow. Fortunately, the Crown Prince waved a hand and excused them from the formalities.
Once they had all taken their seats, the Crown Prince smiled gently.
“You have all worked hard.”
The three hurriedly shook their heads. “Not at all, not at all.”
The Crown Prince continued, “All of you are pillars of Great Qi. This journey has been long and tiring, and along the way there are inevitably shortcomings in our arrangements. Such things cannot always be avoided. I only hope that if any of you feel troubled, you will not take it out on others.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He sat upright without moving.
Meanwhile, the two colleagues beside him instantly turned their eyes toward him.
Now that they knew today’s incident had been caused by Meng Xizhao, everyone had a clear understanding of the situation. Zang He still couldn’t quite see it, but the Vice Minister of Rites’ expression immediately relaxed a great deal.
The three of them assured the Crown Prince together that nothing like this would ever happen. After exchanging a few polite remarks, the Crown Prince said, “Vice Minister Lu, Assistant Director Zang, you may go out and have your meal first. Vice Minister Meng, would you stay and dine with me?”
The Vice Minister of Rites and Zang He both glanced at Meng Xizhao.
No need to ask—clearly the Crown Prince intended to keep Meng Xizhao behind for a bit of reprimanding. Still, the Crown Prince really did have a good temperament. He wouldn’t scold someone face-to-face, and he even preserved the dignity of officials who had made mistakes.
If not for his terrible relationship with Emperor Tianshou, perhaps he might really become a good emperor someday.
Just like the late emperor—valuing benevolence and virtue.
The moment that thought surfaced, the Vice Minister of Rites felt a chill run down his back.
If he really turned out like the late emperor… better not.
After the other two left, Yu Fulan stepped forward and closed the carriage door.
Well, that was why it was called a royal carriage. It was practically a small house on wheels—spacious, with doors, furniture, hidden compartments, and incredibly steady when moving, barely shaking at all.
Compared to it, Meng Xizhao’s own carriage looked practically like a prison cell.
Once the door was shut, the Crown Prince’s personal guards surrounded the outside, keeping everyone else away. Yet the atmosphere inside the carriage was anything but relaxed.
Meng Xizhao and Cui Ye had not seen each other for two months.
No meetings, no conversations. Even after joining the same bridal escort convoy, they had no chance to speak. Their positions in the procession were so far apart that they sometimes went several days without even seeing each other.
Now, sitting in the same space, Meng Xizhao even had the strange feeling that Cui Ye had become unfamiliar.
He pressed his lips together, raised his head, and met Cui Ye’s gaze—but said nothing.
Cui Ye quietly looked back at him as well, showing no intention of speaking.
The atmosphere seemed frozen.
Then Cui Ye reached out, opened a hidden compartment beneath the tea table, felt around inside for a moment, and extended his hand toward Meng Xizhao.
His long, strong palm faced upward. In the center of it lay a crisp sugar candy dusted with a bit of roasted soybean powder.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He thought to himself, Are you trying to coax me like a child?
But he sat stiffly there, staring at the candy for a moment. Finally, he leaned forward slowly and took the candy from Cui Ye’s hand.
He didn’t eat it. Instead, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his sleeve, wrapped the candy carefully in it, and tucked it into his chest.
Cui Ye asked, “Why aren’t you eating it?”
Meng Xizhao lowered his head, appearing to concentrate very seriously on folding the handkerchief, though in truth he was just avoiding Cui Ye’s gaze.
“I don’t feel like eating it right now. When we return, I’ll eat it slowly.”
Cui Ye looked at the top of his head. After a moment of silence, he called his name again.
“Meng Xizhao.”
Almost reflexively, Meng Xizhao lifted his head. There was even a hint of guardedness in his eyes that he himself didn’t notice.
“What does Your Highness need?”
Originally, Cui Ye had intended to ask if he was still angry. But seeing that reaction, he paused, then suddenly changed the question.
“Do you dislike it when I call your name?”
Meng Xizhao replied, “…It’s not really about liking or disliking.”
Cui Ye studied him thoughtfully. “Then that means you dislike it.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Why do you always try to do reading comprehension on my words?
That’s really not what I meant!
After a moment of silence, he said, “It’s not that I dislike it. It’s just… Your Highness has only called my name once before.”
And that one time had not been a pleasant experience.
Cui Ye filled in the unspoken part himself. He closed his mouth, his expression suddenly a little dark and unreadable.
At that moment, Meng Xizhao added, “Every time Your Highness changes the way you address me, it means I’ve made you angry again. For example, a long time ago, when you called me Second Young Master.”
Cui Ye was startled. That incident had happened so long ago that he had completely forgotten about it.
For some reason, hearing that Meng Xizhao still remembered something from so far back—and had even held onto it with such petty care—made Cui Ye feel a strange sense of delight.
…Did he have some kind of problem?
Even as he inwardly scolded himself, he still followed his instincts and smiled.
“It’s only a form of address.”
After saying that, he paused, pushed the tea table aside, then pressed down on the silk cushion beside him.
“Second Son, come sit over here.”
Hearing this, Meng Xizhao instinctively glanced toward the window.
Cui Ye said, “No one will see.”
Meng Xizhao hesitated, frowning in conflict. But after a moment of wavering, he still couldn’t resist moving over. And once he sat down, the corners of his eyes and brows curved slightly, beyond his control.
Turning his head, he looked at Cui Ye. Though he had nothing particular to say, he still called softly, “Your Highness.”
His voice carried a soft, almost sticky warmth, landing lightly against Cui Ye’s heart and making it soften as well.
Now that they were sitting close together, Cui Ye noticed that Meng Xizhao’s complexion didn’t look very good.
“Why do you look so pale?”
Meng Xizhao was startled. Touching his face, he asked, “Is it that obvious?”
Cui Ye nodded firmly. “Very obvious. What’s wrong? Could it be you’re not accustomed to the local conditions?”
Meng Xizhao gave a helpless smile. “No, my health is fine. The reason I look bad today is probably because I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Cui Ye looked at him in confusion, waiting for him to explain why.
“…I had a nightmare.”
Feeling a little embarrassed, Meng Xizhao spoke in a very quiet voice.
“I dreamed that I fell off the boat again.”
Cui Ye: “……”
Yesterday they had crossed a river. Local soldiers had already been waiting by the shore, and the large ferry was prepared in advance. Meng Xizhao didn’t even have to get out—his carriage and horses were simply loaded directly onto the boat.
Knowing that he was afraid, Meng Xizhao had stayed inside the carriage the entire time, refusing to look outside at what was happening.
Even so, he still had a nightmare.
Cui Ye had never understood why Meng Xizhao was so afraid of water. Perhaps it was some kind of childhood trauma.
Frowning slightly, he looked at Meng Xizhao’s somewhat embarrassed expression. After a long pause, he suddenly said, “Second Son, how about learning to swim in the future?”
Meng Xizhao froze.
Thinking he was unwilling, Cui Ye patiently tried to persuade him. “It’s only as a precaution. Relying on others is never as good as relying on yourself. Being this afraid of water has already become a kind of mental affliction. A sickness of the mind is hard to cure—but it cannot be left untreated.”
Meng Xizhao blinked.
Wow. Cui Ye actually thinks the same way I do.
Face the challenge head-on! That’s what a real man should do!
Meng Xizhao immediately agreed and even made a promise on the spot. “Within five years, I’ll definitely learn!”
Cui Ye: “…………”
After spending the entire noon in Cui Ye’s carriage, when the convoy set out again, Meng Xizhao returned to his own small carriage.
When he first got out earlier, he had looked utterly dejected. Everyone assumed he had been scolded and secretly took pleasure in it, thinking he would finally start behaving himself.
Who would have thought that he only “behaved” for about an hour before returning to his usual self, continuing to enjoy his special treatment.
…
Everyone thought Meng Xizhao had it easy, but in truth he was suffering both physically and mentally.
There were just too many rivers along this route!
They had barely crossed the Yangtze River, and only a few days later they had to cross the Yellow River.
While standing on the bank, Meng Xizhao even glanced at the Yellow River, which at this time was still fairly clear. But once it came time to actually cross, he shrank into himself like a turtle retreating into its shell, wanting nothing more than to hide inside and not come out.
Through the window, Cui Ye saw Meng Xizhao standing on the shore, staring blankly at the rushing river, and immediately knew he was afraid again. After a moment’s pause, he told Yu Fulan to invite him over once more.
This time there wasn’t any excuse, but Cui Ye didn’t care. When Meng Xizhao entered the carriage, he sat stiffly on the edge without moving.
Cui Ye looked at him. He looked back at Cui Ye.
After a brief silence during their wordless standoff, Meng Xizhao suddenly moved—using both hands and feet to scramble quickly over to Cui Ye’s side. The moment his body pressed against Cui Ye’s, he let out a long breath of relief.
In his previous life, he had drowned in the lotus pond on his university campus.
It was late July or early August. School was on break and everyone had gone home. Only Meng Xizhao remained on campus because he wanted to take a temporary job.
One rainy day, he was walking in a hurry. His foot slipped, and he fell straight into the lotus pond, which had no railing.
There was no one around, and the sound of the rain was loud. No one could hear his cries for help.
As he sank slowly, Meng Xizhao stretched his hand upward with all his strength.
But all he could feel was himself sinking.
What drowning actually felt like was blurry in his memory. Toward the end, he was probably already suffocating or had lost consciousness.
What he remembered most clearly was that no one helped him.
No one saw.
No one knew.
No one.
But sitting here pressed against Cui Ye, Meng Xizhao felt much safer.
Last time he had held Cui Ye’s hand. This time just leaning against him was enough.
He even managed to amuse himself a little despite the situation, thinking that at least it was an improvement.
Watching his flustered yet carefully disguised anxiety, Cui Ye slowly reached out. He separated the two tightly clenched hands Meng Xizhao held in front of himself, then firmly took one of them and let it rest over the overlapping folds of their robes.
Meng Xizhao was stunned. He looked at Cui Ye.
But Cui Ye had lowered his eyes, appearing to be resting with them closed.
Meng Xizhao blinked, then lowered his head as well—and did not pull his hand back.
Everyone had things they were afraid of. Although Meng Xizhao had already decided he would overcome this shadow someday…
Well, he hadn’t overcome it yet.
So if he indulged himself a little now, what was wrong with that?