Perhaps the woman realized her emotions had been too exposed. After a moment of silence, she gave Meng Xizhao a timid little smile—the kind ordinary people could so easily show.
“Sir, I am just a food vendor. Being from Qi and trying to make a living here in Nanzhao is not easy. I do not wish to cause trouble. If you wish to inquire about someone, you should ask someone else. Please, do not question me further.”
Her words made sense—she wanted to convey that she truly did not know Lady Su, and her earlier reaction was out of fear of being inadvertently implicated.
Unfortunately, Meng Xizhao did not believe her.
He looked at her and said, “Alright, I may have been forward. By the way, may I know your name?”
The woman didn’t want to answer, but withholding it entirely might have allowed him to interfere with her affairs. She remembered how yesterday he had been dragged into the palace, covered in dust, yet today he was lively and free—clearly not an ordinary person.
Pressing her lips together, she said, “My humble name is Gu Pingting.”
Meng Xizhao gave her a strange look.
A proper young lady would never refer to her own name as “humble.” Even commoners with some standing wouldn’t do so. Typically, only people of extremely low status—merchant girls, tea girls, singers—used such self-deprecation.
Gu Pingting was now selling breakfast at a stall; in that context, calling her name humble seemed plausible. Yet… her name, Pingting, came from Xin Yannian’s Yulin Lang, a text only literati would reference when naming a daughter.
The refinement of the literati is hard for later generations to imagine. Even if they bowed for five pecks of rice, they would not truly consider themselves lowly, nor adopt the behaviors of the underclass.
Unless she had experienced family misfortune at a young age and had been shaped by her environment.
But that didn’t fit either—her Yayan was flawless, tinged with the official tone. By all appearances, she was neither wild nor uneducated.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He couldn’t make sense of it.
There were countless incongruities about Gu Pingting. She was a stranger, unrelated to him, yet he kept probing and observing her, making himself look like a petty little pervert.
…Forget it, better move on.
From start to finish, Meng Xizhao never considered that she might actually be Lady Su.
The differences were just too great.
Lady Su was said to be a celestial beauty. Gu Pingting—well, he didn’t dare scrutinize her too closely, but a glance sufficed: she was merely above-average in appearance, her dark reddish skin the most striking feature. Facial features decent, but her base beauty moderate—at most, one could call her refined.
Besides, he still didn’t even know Lady Su’s personal name…
As he walked toward the palace, Meng Xizhao reflected on Lady Su.
Previously, he had hoped to find her and see if she was willing to cooperate. Now, that chance seemed extremely slim.
Not because he doubted their return, but because after so long in Nanzhao, the experience could not be erased.
The woman he sought needed to be someone who could enter the palace and, after some maneuvering, even attain a consort’s position. Lady Su, kidnapped by Nanzhao, was unlikely still in such a state.
Meng Xizhao himself might not care, but Emperor Tianshou would, as would those male-dominated officials. Lady Su, descended from a disgraced minister and now under Nanzhao custody, had stacked all the “debuffs.” Even if he went through great effort to get her into the palace, she might never rise beyond a minor role.
Ah well, if cooperation isn’t possible, so be it. He could always find someone else, though no one would have Lady Su’s innate advantages.
From now on, he would simply keep watch, hoping to encounter her and, if so, assist her back to Qi. If not… there was nothing he could do.
With this decided, Meng Xizhao stopped sighing and entered the Western Palace. He noticed the guard at the gate watching him but remaining still.
…Really? You don’t even enforce your communication protocol?
Though uneasy, he quietly proceeded inside.
Immediately, he heard voices arguing.
“Why are you blocking me?!”
A man’s voice. Then a pause, likely the response too soft for Meng Xizhao to hear.
Soon, the man’s voice rose again: “Hiding here will do nothing! Jizhou has been taken; Qi’s display of power is infuriating! You and the Emperor are the same—cowards! When they march into Ganzhou, don’t come looking for me!”
With that, the door slammed open. A man, dressed in elegant yet practical clothing, muscular and imposing, with a face full of wrath, stormed out.
He didn’t glance at Meng Xizhao, merely leaving in anger.
Lowering his head, Meng Xizhao waited until he departed, then raised his gaze to watch his retreating figure.
This was likely Nanzhao’s crown prince, Lomailong.
Luosahua’s appearances were few, but Lomailong had more focus in the story.
He was one of Nanzhao’s most formidable warriors, capable of trading blows evenly with Zhan Buxiu. Unlike the Xiongnu crown prince, who never faced Zhan Buxiu directly, Lomailong had fought on the same battlefield several times, each leading his own troops.
But only a handful of times—three or four battles at most—before, during a challenge, he was struck down by Zhan Buxiu.
The Crown Prince died. With Nanzhao left leaderless, the kingdom fell apart bit by bit. Even the Nanzhao emperor suffered a tremendous blow. From that day on, Nanzhao never won another battle, and eventually the entire nation was annexed by Zhan Buxiu.
With the Crown Prince dead, Zhen’an Luo could no longer defend his country. In despair, he ultimately took his own life. By all rights, Luosahua should have met a tragic end too, yet on the day the kingdom fell, she did not die for her country. Instead, she decisively fled south, crossed the sea to the Nanyang region, and was never heard from again.
Meng Xizhao thought, with such resolve and spirit, Luosahua would be able to thrive anywhere; her life would hardly be in danger.
The fall of Nanzhao was the final climax in the book. After that, the story concluded. Much like Emperor Tianshou, Zhan Buxiu relentlessly attacked Nanzhao, but he was even more formidable. Even if it took several years, he eventually subdued this obstinate land.
Over time, Zhan Buxiu dispatched three hundred thousand soldiers to Nanzhao and personally led multiple campaigns. After conquering the territory, to avenge the border populace and vent his own anger, he left no Nanzhao officer or soldier alive.
To put that into perspective: Nanzhao claimed to have 800,000 elite troops, though in reality, the entire country barely fielded 400,000 soldiers. On the day the kingdom fell, all forty thousand perished as victims of regime change.
Perhaps this is why Zhan Buxiu’s reputation later declined; these actions, however brutal, mirrored those of standard ancient emperors.
After a moment of silence, Meng Xizhao put away these thoughts and entered the palace ahead.
Luosahua was in a bad mood as well, but upon seeing Meng Xizhao enter, she altered her expression and offered him a polite smile. “Mr. Jin, when did you arrive?”
Meng Xizhao lowered his head, respectful and anxious. “Your Highness, I just arrived.”
Observing his demeanor, Luosahua could tell he had actually been there for a while.
Recalling her brother’s earlier behavior, Luosahua felt a bit annoyed but said to Meng Xizhao, “Please forgive him for causing you concern.”
Meng Xizhao shook his head repeatedly. “Not at all. The Crown Prince was merely anxious over the military situation, which caused him to speak impulsively. I’m sure Your Highness understands him well.”
Luosahua: “…………”
Understand him, my foot!
Her brother was fine in many ways, yet stubborn and overly aggressive, relying solely on brute force. Although the siblings had a good relationship, they often disagreed on how to handle Qi.
Today was not their first quarrel, nor would it be the last. Luosahua was the princess and of lower status than Lomailong, so she had to calm and persuade him. Yet human temperaments cannot be reined in indefinitely; after enduring so long, it was impossible for her heart not to harbor some resentment.
She didn’t understand why Meng Xizhao’s single remark made her even more irritated. Watching her nearly losing composure, Meng Xizhao quietly smiled to himself.
Never seen this before? This is what it’s like to “let someone be grand” in your place—many would get a cerebral hemorrhage over it.
Of course, Luosahua was still young; it wasn’t likely a mere remark would cause her to actually burst a vessel. Meng Xizhao just wanted to see whether she and Lomailong were truly inseparable.
Satisfied with the outcome, he thought it was good to have some discord. Even a single crack between them would give him the leverage to widen it gradually.
However, he had to be careful—not to rush or make his manipulations too obvious, lest he lose control and ensnare himself.
Meng Xizhao kept his head lowered, silent. Luosahua, initially annoyed by his awkwardness, saw his obedient posture and pursed her lips to calm herself.
After a moment, she shifted into a more alluring pose, suddenly intrigued, and asked, “Sir, do you understand warfare?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He shook his head decisively. “No.”
“Oh,” Luosahua said, then asked, “Then, do you think we should attack Jizhou City now?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
This was a trap.
No matter whether he said yes or no, Luosahua would reassess him—and that assessment would hardly be favorable.
Yet he couldn’t remain silent, lest she think him secretive and cunning, damaging her impression of him.
After a pause, he said, “Your Highness, I truly know nothing of military affairs. My expertise lies in commerce. Whether one should attack now, I cannot say. But I do know that everything in this world revolves around profit. If an endeavor promises gain, one invests more to maximize returns. But if the cost of investment exceeds the benefit, then it’s a losing venture. A losing enterprise must never be undertaken, for one misstep could ruin an entire fortune.”
Luosahua did not favor attacking immediately, but refraining now did not preclude action later. Hearing Meng Xizhao’s words, she applied them to the current situation and scowled. “Nanzhao would not lose everything merely from a single battle.”
Meng Xizhao hesitated for a moment. Slowly, it seemed he understood why she spoke thus. He glanced at Luosahua and whispered, “Many merchants thought the same at first.”
Luosahua looked at him.
He lowered his head and continued, “At first, they thought investing a small sum was harmless—if they lost, so be it. But once they suffered losses, they refused to accept it and kept investing, or tried other ventures to recover what was lost. In their haste, their judgment faltered, leading to even greater losses. Unable to raise funds, they resorted to underground lenders—but high-interest loans are never easy. Interest compounded daily, and in the end, they could no longer recall how much they owed.”
Luosahua fell silent.
In truth, what Meng Xizhao said wasn’t entirely about military strategy, yet just a few select lines were enough for Luosahua to ponder for a while.
Qi was wealthy; even after years of war, their people remained well-off. Nanzhao, however, was poor from the start, and now even poorer.
Zhen’an Luo had been a decent ruler, but he had his flaws: reckless militarism, spending the treasury on troops and defenses. There were grumblings among the people, but Zhen’an Luo’s reputation was good enough that they endured.
Yet, like Luosahua herself, one day’s patience can be managed—but could it last a lifetime?
Luosahua had long been thoughtful and wary of this very problem. Now, hearing Meng Xizhao speak of interest compounding endlessly, she grew even more concerned—if popular resentment accumulated over time, a major upheaval would be inevitable.
Her silence lasted a little longer this time. When she finally raised her head, she looked at Meng Xizhao and praised, “Sir, you are truly talented.”
Meng Xizhao was startled and humbled, bowing deeply. “Your Highness flatters me. In truth, many people know these business principles.”
Luosahua, however, saw through him. These “business lessons” were just a veil; he was subtly giving her advice while fearing trouble, hence the guise of commerce.
It was clear he still harbored some distrust toward Nanzhao—he could not fully place his trust in her.
Luosahua decided this wouldn’t do. Whether in the future or not, for now, this man was useful and motivated to survive. She could offer him some benefit to secure his cooperation.
She asked, her tone friendly, “Sir, how is your accommodation at the residence? Do you need anything?”
Meng Xizhao hesitated, eyes raised, wanting to speak but holding back.
“Don’t worry, sir. Speak freely,” Luosahua encouraged.
He finally spoke: “Your Highness… my parents are still waiting at home. Even if I cannot return myself, could my second uncle go back to send them word? At least let them know I am alive. Otherwise, I fear their grief might harm their health.”
Luosahua’s beautiful eyes fixed on him immediately.
Meng Xizhao wore a timid expression but did not retreat, showing how important this matter was to him.
Luosahua smiled. “That is indeed a concern, but your uncle is not young. Traveling alone is dangerous. Why not give me your family’s address? I will send someone to fetch your parents so you may be reunited.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He opened his mouth, then forced a bitter smile. “That… is not necessary. Your Highness doesn’t know—they are timid people. Over the years, I handled all business dealings with them and our servants. If they met strangers, I fear they might be frightened. I do have a household steward under thirty, healthy… perhaps he could go instead.”
Luosahua raised her tone, “I thought your household steward was the most timid of all on the journey, even fainting along the way.”
Meng Xizhao froze, looking at Luosahua. She met his startled gaze and smiled faintly.
Then, from a nearby carved cabinet, she opened a small drawer and slowly took something out.
It was Meng Xizhao’s jade pendant.
Seeing it, his expression froze. He pressed his lips together, then looked at Luosahua, no longer relaxed.
Luosahua held the pendant, examining it. As she did, she said, “I admire you, sir. You loved this pendant, yet when it was stolen, you remained calm and flattering. Had my people not been watching, you might have let it go unnoticed.”
Meng Xizhao lowered his eyes, silent.
Luosahua turned the pendant over, noticing a faintly carved character: 谢 (Xie). She asked, “This is an item from a consecrated temple, yet it bears a surname unrelated to you. Sir, is your surname really Jin?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He cursed under his breath—so astonished that even a rough expletive escaped.
He had thought his merchant persona secure, yet Luosahua still doubted, probing every detail, suspecting his true identity.
He could not let this doubt take root. Although his surname was not Xie, if she traced the clue and discovered inconsistencies, it would be disastrous.
After biting his lip and waiting a long while, he finally lowered his head in defeat. “I did not conceal my surname. This pendant… was not purchased from the temple. It was given to me by… my beloved.”
Luosahua, aware he might lie, naturally did not believe him. “So it’s a token of affection?”
Meng Xizhao nodded, looking somewhat disheartened.
“Then why not say so?” Luosahua asked.
This time, Meng Xizhao did not answer immediately. He stood still like a statue, and after a long while, he muttered, “Because… my beloved… is a man.”
Luosahua: “…………”
She was so shocked that she could only stare blankly.
“Really?”
Meng Xizhao nodded, reluctantly admitting it. He sighed and continued, “Before, when I said I was impotent, that was a lie. I am not impotent; I simply… have no interest in women. I am filial and dared not tell my parents. They, anxious, sent me out to seek doctors and even assigned my second uncle to watch over me. That kid from the Sun family claimed the same problem, sharing sympathy, though with their family resources, they could never truly be my ally. Helpless, I covered it up and traveled with them to conceal the truth.”
Luosahua still couldn’t tell whether he was telling the truth or not. At that moment, Meng Xizhao seemed to recall his heartache, and suddenly, with a bang, he dropped to his knees before her.
Luosahua looked on in shock, seeing him crying so hard that snot and tears streamed down his face, utterly pitiful.
“Your Highness! I beg you, please, let my second uncle return, to send word to my parents that I am alive! If they know I am safe, then my beloved will also be at ease. You don’t know… my beloved is a man with a cursed fate. His family fell into ruin when he was young, and he later ended up working in a tavern. Had I not rescued him at great cost, he might not even be alive! Even so, his health is fragile, and he is emotionally sensitive, prone to despair at the slightest sorrow. If this news isn’t sent to him, and he believes I am in danger… then he—he—!”
At this, Meng Xizhao collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
Luosahua: “…………”
She stared at him, utterly dumbfounded, unable to find her voice for a long time.
＊
An hour later, Meng Xizhao returned to the residence Luosahua had arranged for him.
As soon as he entered, Xie Yuan and the others crowded around, chattering, asking how things had gone at the Nanzhao palace, whether he had been mistreated.
Meng Xizhao first gulped down two cups of tea, wiped his mouth, then looked up at the concerned Xie Yuan. “Pack your things. Luosahua has agreed to send you back to Great Qi.”
Jia Renliang was stunned: “What?!?!”
Wang Sili quickly pushed Jia Renliang aside. “Just him? What about me, and Jia Zhushu, and my nephew?”
Meng Xizhao cast him a glance. “Naturally, the rest of us stay. The Nanzhao people would be lucky to let one return. Do you think they’d send everyone back?”
Wang Sili: “…………”
He hadn’t expected all of them to go, only cared that he himself wasn’t being sent. Feeling slightly vexed, he reminded himself that he was only sitting comfortably there thanks to Meng Xizhao—no need to dwell. Wang Sili wanted to ask how Meng Xizhao had persuaded Luosahua to let Xie Yuan leave, but Meng Xizhao had no time to explain. Instead, he pulled Xie Yuan aside and gave him strict instructions.
“This journey, someone may follow you. When you reach Jizhou, don’t try to lose them. Lead them straight into the city and capture them all. Rest assured, I told Luosahua you need to return to Youzhou. This round trip will take at least a month and a half. Then, quickly find General Ding Chun and General Zhan Buxiu stationed at Jizhou, and make sure to tell them one thing.”
“What thing?”
“Do not announce my disappearance. Even if they announce it, they can have someone pose as me. No matter what, under no circumstances can the Nanzhao people know that I am no longer in Longxing Mansion.”