When Meng Xizhao awoke again, he found his head hanging down, stomach churned from the jostling of the previous night.
He was being carried on the shoulders of the extremely strong Nanzhao men, transported all the way to another mountain.
He regained consciousness at a hidden supply station. The Nanzhao men were chattering and gesturing frantically; Meng Xizhao understood none of it. Suddenly, the world spun, and he was roughly thrown into a cargo wagon.
This was a different wagon, meant for hauling goods. Once they forced the four of them inside, the Nanzhao men piled straw over them, trying to conceal them.
One of the captors noticed Meng Xizhao awake, eyes wide in surprise. Narrowing his eyes, he stepped forward and struck him again.
With a sharp crack, Meng Xizhao was rendered unconscious.
This time, he remained out for longer. When he awoke, rubbing his sore neck, he found the straw-laden wagon gone. The Nanzhao men had swapped back into their distinct riding attire—cloud-patterned embroidery over deep blue with black highlights—though their hairstyles still reflected Qi traditions.
Someone ahead glanced back briefly at them, then looked away. No more blows were dealt—Meng Xizhao could not escape now.
By the time they had fled the mountains, they had left the territory of Longxing Mansion behind. Jizhou was still under Qi control, but the authorities there were strict about urban checkpoints and garrisoned soldiers heavily, wary of a Nanzhao incursion. Yet they paid no mind to a few hill villagers transporting straw.
Thus, they passed through Jizhou and entered Ganzhou—Nanzhao territory.
Upon crossing into Nanzhao lands, the group immediately changed appearance again. They dug out the four hidden Qi valuables, packed them neatly into a prisoner cart, and continued their journey.
Inside the cart, Meng Xizhao remained silent.
Xie Yuan, having awakened earlier, sat beside him with a worried expression. Their eyes met, but neither spoke. Meng Xizhao shook his head slightly; Xie Yuan understood and kept his composure, quietly sitting.
Gradually, Jia Renliang and Wang Sili awoke.
The two were not as calm as Meng Xizhao and Xie Yuan. Jia Renliang, upon waking, stared blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings and the moving prison-like cart, slowly recalling the events, and began trembling uncontrollably. The grown man curled into a ball, shivering so tightly he might have squeezed through the gaps in the wooden cart if it had been wider.
Muttering repeatedly, he whispered, “It’s over… it’s all over…”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
He wanted to comfort Jia Renliang, but with the Nanzhao men nearby, able to understand their speech, he had no courage. He remained silent, unsure what words would be safe.
The abduction had left all four of them in a perilous position.
Jia Renliang’s last year’s psychological trauma resurfaced fully, plunging him into a state of total withdrawal. Meng Xizhao had previously thought him weak, but seeing Wang Sili’s reaction upon waking, he realized Jia Renliang’s response was perhaps the more reasonable one.
Wang Sili opened his eyes, first noting the sharpened outlines of the sky, then abruptly sat upright, staring at Meng Xizhao and the others cramped inside the narrow cart.
He froze, then let out a tremendous scream: “Where is this place?! Let me out!! Let me out!!—”
The Nanzhao men turned at the noise. One of them shouted, “Quiet! Make another sound and you’ll die!”
Terrified, Wang Sili immediately shut his mouth.
Meng Xizhao’s hand was still raised, ready to cover his mouth. Seeing him obey, he relaxed slightly, but remained cautious, lowering his voice to whisper: “If you want to live, stay quiet.”
Wang Sili looked at him, eyes wider with fear than he did at the Nanzhao men themselves.
“Master Meng, you’re in the prisoner cart too! How come you’re not even scared?”
Of course Meng Xizhao was afraid, but showing fear would do nothing. They had already crossed into Nanzhao territory—one wrong move and their lives would be forfeit.
The captors continued driving the cart, and halfway along, a light rain began falling, which soon turned into a torrential downpour.
The four of them huddled together in the leaky cart: “…………”
This was the classic case of “when it rains, it pours.”
The Nanzhao men pressed on through the storm, while the four prisoners could only cling together. As the rain intensified, visibility dropped, and the risk of landslides grew. The leader gave the order to find shelter nearby, to wait out the rain before continuing.
Fortunately, it was heavy rain without lightning; otherwise, Meng Xizhao would have also had to worry about being struck.
They chose a stand of trees, and the cart was moved beneath the canopy. The Nanzhao men, clearly accustomed to living off the land in forests, immediately went about their tasks. Two went to harvest banana leaves, two found a dry spot to start a fire, while the rest hunted and cooked. Soon, the aroma of cooking reached Meng Xizhao and the others.
Thirsty, they drank rainwater straight from the sky; hungry, they ate rabbits caught in the forest. A small bed of banana leaves was laid on the ground for resting. Meng Xizhao observed them—both meticulous and efficient in their improvisation.
The cart’s position wasn’t ideal: half exposed to rain, half dry. Meng Xizhao, unlucky as ever, sat at the far end from the Nanzhao men, soaked through.
The Nanzhao obviously wouldn’t share their meal. Wang Sili, having gone nearly a full day without food, stared longingly at the greasy rabbit. Meng Xizhao lightly tapped him.
“Swap spots with me,” he gestured.
Wang Sili: “…………”
They were all prisoners—why should he listen?
But seeing Meng Xizhao’s slightly raised brow, Wang Sili’s resistance crumbled. He obediently moved to the dry side. Soaked to the bone, he thought this was the unluckiest moment of his life.
Even while resting, the Nanzhao remained alert. They noticed the movement in the cart, saw Meng Xizhao’s request, and watched him move to the dry spot, stretching his limbs. Wang Sili, cramped beside him, dared not make a sound. The Nanzhao men snorted in amusement and returned to their own conversation.
Meng Xizhao kept one leg stretched toward Wang Sili, leaning against the cart to eavesdrop.
Hmm… Nanzhao was a fascinating country.
It was officially bilingual. Almost everyone spoke at least two languages, sometimes more—one was Ailao, the other Chinese.
This made sense historically. Nanzhao had occupied former Han territories, originally inhabited by Han people, with only a small minority of other ethnic groups, most of whom had stayed in Dali rather than follow the Nanzhao royal court. Over centuries—from Qin conquests of the Baiyue to the Tang-era emergence of Mengshe Zhaos—the dominant population had shifted multiple times. Even the local Han had been assimilated, but the Chinese language persisted for practicality, compared to the limited expressive and complex-to-write Ailao language.
Additionally, before conflicts with Qi, the Nanzhao emperor had pursued friendly ties and soft diplomacy, never forbidding the study or use of Chinese. After all, language didn’t affect fighting.
Now, this worked to Meng Xizhao’s advantage.
He strained to listen as they chattered about the failed mission.
“Chief, do you think the princess will kill us when we return?”
The “chief” was the leader. Meng Xizhao knew almost nothing about Nanzhao, so he couldn’t tell if this was a title or a personal name.
The chief considered the question seriously, then tried to reassure his men: “The princess regards every Nanzhao subject as family. She shouldn’t do such a thing.”
Another soldier, still dejected, said, “But I heard the princess was furious this time. I don’t understand why she insists on capturing that Meng Xizhao.”
The chief admitted he didn’t know either but recalled a rumor: “Recently, many in Qi said the emperor intended to give the princess to a ruffian. She apparently believes Meng Xizhao spread this rumor, which made her so angry she insisted we capture him to punish him in person.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
The information was overwhelming. So he hadn’t been struck by random misfortune—there were multiple people to blame: not just Wang Sili, but also the late Sun Houquan.
Ahhh!
He almost vomited on the spot. Sun Houquan—dead and gone—what was he supposed to do now?
His head throbbed. Suddenly, another thought hit him.
They said the mission failed, meaning they had already been to the mansion. That made sense—they couldn’t find him while he was wandering in the mountains. But… could they have done something reckless inside the mansion in their frustration?
Meng Xizhao immediately looked at the “chief,” recalling that when they had leapt out last night, the blades were still dripping with blood. The thought made his chest tighten.
The rain was falling too hard for Wang Sili to catch the conversation clearly, but Xie Yuan and Jia Renliang had heard every word. Xie Yuan’s gaze toward Meng Xizhao grew even more anxious, while Jia Renliang, snapping out of his sheer terror, instinctively opened his mouth to say, “Ma—”
Meng Xizhao was still deep in thought, but he immediately kicked him.
“Don’t speak!”
In a low voice, he ordered, “No matter what happens next, listen to me. Act like you’re completely terrified—do not speak under any circumstances!”
Xie Yuan didn’t need reminding; this warning was mainly for Jia Renliang and Wang Sili.
Jia Renliang was already scared out of his mind—whatever Meng Xizhao said was law. Wang Sili, though inwardly reluctant, understood that in their current situation, defiance could hasten his death. He grudgingly nodded.
The rain continued, heavy as ever. The chief, noticing slight movements in the cart, had just finished eating and stood to walk over to face the prisoners. Inside, four pairs of eyes watched him tensely.
The chief paused, sensing something odd. “You’re awfully quiet… not afraid at all?”
Jia Renliang, hearing the tone laced with ill intent, shrank back in terror.
Meng Xizhao immediately plastered a flattering smile on his face. “Forgive us… they’re already too scared, please forgive their foolishness, good sir…”
The chief had been annoyed by this “good sir” title yesterday, and today it grated even more. “I’m not a bandit! Don’t call me that. I am the Zhìrén Officer of the Nanzhao Yuyi Army—you should address me as Your Excellency.”
Meng Xizhao blinked, immediately ratcheting up the obsequiousness. “Ah! Zhìrén Officer Your Excellency! Truly, my apologies, my apologies… um, may I ask where you intend to take us?”
The chief sneered suddenly. “I think your brain isn’t very sharp. At this point, do you really think you have the right to ask me questions?”
Meng Xizhao met his gaze for a moment, then closed his slightly parted lips, showing an embarrassed, timid smile. “Yes… my mistake, I overstepped.”
The chief wasn’t interested in him—he had come for Xie Yuan.
Drenched to the bone yet still exuding effortless beauty—good, he might be able to appease the princess. Following the principle of not making mistakes, the chief asked Xie Yuan, “What is your name?”
Xie Yuan, caught off guard, pressed his lips together and looked down, avoiding the officer’s gaze entirely.
Seeing this, the chief’s expression darkened. Meng Xizhao quickly intervened: “Please don’t be angry! He’s naturally not good at socializing and hardly ever speaks. Now, startled as he is, he can’t answer. I’ll tell you—he… um, his surname is Sun, and his name… Sun Dasheng!”
Xie Yuan: “……”
Was this inspiration drawn from Sun Houquan and Shi Dazhuang?
The chief found the name rustic, ill-fitting with Xie Yuan’s refined demeanor, and wasn’t pleased. Noticing Meng Xizhao had stammered, he grew suspicious and turned to Wang Sili. “And you? What’s your name?”
Wang Sili opened his mouth, then reflexively looked at Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao chuckled lightly, smoother than before: “He’s Zhu Bajie.”
Wang Sili: “…………”
It sounded like a normal name, but something felt off.
The chief immediately recognized it as a Buddhist name, his attitude toward Wang Sili worsened, and he scolded Meng Xizhao: “I asked him! Why are you interrupting?!”
Fuming, he turned to Jia Renliang. “And you? What’s your name?”
Jia Renliang, remembering the four dead constables from the previous night, lips trembling, rolled his eyes and fainted.
The chief: “…………”
At this moment, Meng Xizhao whispered from the side: “Sir, he’s Sha Lao San.”
The chief’s hand went to his sword in anger. Finally, he turned to Meng Xizhao: “Enough talk—what’s your name?!”
Meng Xizhao, staring at the gleaming blade, swallowed hard. “I… I am Jin Sanzang.”
The four “disciples” were all outwitted by Meng Xizhao, who had cleverly renamed them, then took the initiative. He lunged at the officer, grabbed the wooden panels of the cart, and yelled, heart-rendingly:
“Your Excellency! Don’t kill me! Spare my life! I’m a merchant from Youzhou. Our family is extremely wealthy! If you spare me, I’ll give you ten thousand taels of gold!”
The chief, prepared to execute him to set an example, froze at the mention of gold. “You have that much?”
Meng Xizhao hurriedly nodded. “Of course! Don’t judge us by the four of us here. I’m the wealthiest. Sha Lao San is from my family estate; Zhu Bajie is my second uncle—they serve me or follow me around. Sun Dasheng is my friend, but his fortune pales in comparison. My family has traded regularly with the Xiongnu. Do you know Crown Prince Huriqa? The cattle and sheep he raised were all sold to me! But since last year, for reasons unknown, he stopped trading with us, so I had to change my business. Hearing there’s profit in Longxing Mansion, I brought them along…”
Xie Yuan: “……”
He looked at Meng Xizhao in astonishment. Truly, the man could talk his way out of anything. Quickly, he memorized his own fake backstory to avoid slipping up.
“Your Excellency Meng, how come you’re in the same cart and not afraid at all?”
Meng Xizhao of course was afraid, but showing it now would be useless. No matter what, they were already in Nanzhao territory—one wrong step and their lives would be over.
The group had been traveling for some time when a light rain began, soon swelling into a torrential downpour.
The four of them huddled together in the leaky cart: “…………”
Talk about adding insult to injury. This was it.
The Nanzhao soldiers pressed on through the rain, while the prisoners in the drafty cart could only cling together. The downpour grew so heavy that visibility became nearly zero, and the leader finally ordered them to stop at the nearest shelter to wait out the storm.
Luckily, there was no thunder—otherwise Meng Xizhao would have had to worry about lightning as well.
They stopped under a cluster of trees. The Nanzhao soldiers, seemingly accustomed to this kind of improvisation, split duties: two gathered banana leaves, two started a fire in a dry patch, others hunted or cooked. Soon, the smell of food wafted over. The prisoners drank rainwater when thirsty, ate forest rabbits when hungry, and a small bed of banana leaves was spread for them to rest on. Meng Xizhao observed all this, thinking them meticulous yet casual at the same time.
The cart was positioned poorly—half in the rain, half dry. Meng Xizhao was unlucky enough to sit on the wet side, furthest from the soldiers.
The Nanzhao soldiers wouldn’t prepare separate food for them. Wang Sili, starving for nearly a day and night, stared blankly at a rabbit dripping with oil, until Meng Xizhao tapped him.
He nodded toward Meng Xizhao: “Switch places with me.”
Wang Sili: “…………”
They were prisoners—why should he obey?
But Meng Xizhao raised a brow, and Wang Sili, terrified of that expression, reluctantly moved to the dry side. Soaked to the bone, he felt his luck had truly run out.
The Nanzhao soldiers watched carefully but, seeing the prisoners settle quietly, ignored them and resumed chatting among themselves.
Meng Xizhao stretched a leg across Wang Sili’s lap, leaned against the cart, and pricked up his ears to listen.
Hmm… Nanzhao was a strange country.
It was bilingual. Nearly everyone spoke two or more languages—one was Ailao, the other was Chinese.
This was because Nanzhao had occupied former Han territories, originally populated mostly by Han people, with a small minority of other ethnic groups. Over time, these locals were assimilated, though Chinese culture persisted in language for practical reasons.
Moreover, before the wars with Qi, the Nanzhao emperor had pursued diplomacy, never banning the use of Chinese. Regardless of language, it didn’t affect fighting.
This worked in Meng Xizhao’s favor.
He listened intently, and the soldiers did not disappoint. They chatted about a failed mission.
“The officer, do you think the princess will kill us when we return?”
The “officer” was the leader. Meng Xizhao knew almost nothing about Nanzhao, unsure if this was a name or a title.
The officer felt the weight of the question but tried to reassure his subordinates: “The princess treats every Nanzhao citizen like family; she likely won’t.”
Another soldier remained dejected: “But I heard the princess was furious this time. I don’t even know what that Meng Xizhao did to anger her. Why must she have him captured?”
The officer didn’t know either, but had heard a rumor: “Recently, many in Qi said the emperor planned to marry off the princess to some ruffian. The princess believes Meng Xizhao spread this rumor, so she’s angry. She wants him brought here to confront him.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
That was a lot to process. Suddenly it clicked—not an accidental misfortune. The blame wasn’t only on Wang Sili, nor the already deceased Sun Houquan.
Ahhh! Just told him not to bring up marriage arrangements!
Meng Xizhao almost spat blood in frustration. Sun Houquan is dead, so what now?
His head was buzzing. Then he realized something else: if they had failed the mission, it meant they had already gone to the mansion. The failure was understandable—he had been wandering the mountains, impossible to find—but… had they done something rash in the mansion?
Wait… something’s off. If both of them were impotent, why would Meng Xizhao even bring along his second uncle?
From the tone Meng Xizhao just used, it seemed like the second uncle might have the same issue. The officer spun on him, eyes practically blazing with anger at Wang Sili: “Don’t tell me—you’re impotent too?”
Though Meng Xizhao had instructed him to stay silent, Wang Sili replied mechanically: “No… I just… since I’m older, I suffer from premature ejaculation.”
The officer: “…………”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Well… that worked, too.