After returning, Meng Xizhao relayed the news of the Crown Prince’s expedition to Wang Sili and Jia Renliang.
Both were visibly thrilled.
Wang Sili: “The Crown Prince is here?! That’s wonderful! We’re saved!”
Jia Renliang: “With the Crown Prince present, the Nanzhao people will no longer act so arrogantly!”
Wang Sili, seeing Jia Renliang so agreeable for the first time, nodded. “Looks like our fortunes are turning. Once Nanzhao falls, we can finally go home too!”
Meng Xizhao, sitting nearby, felt a tickle in his chest. He pursed his lips and could not resist correcting them: “You’ve got it wrong.”
Wang Sili looked at him, puzzled.
Holding his tea cup with a composed air, though his tail of excitement almost reached the sky, Meng Xizhao said, “The Crown Prince is here to escort us home—that is proper. Nanzhao’s defeat is merely a side effect.”
Wang Sili: “…………”
He could only stare at Meng Xizhao, speechless.
Even Meng Xizhao’s absolute fangirl, Jia Renliang, could not in good conscience argue, though he offered a caution: “Sir, you can say that privately for fun, but don’t mention it outside. If the Crown Prince hears, you’ll be in big trouble.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Considering that they were unaware of the full situation, he let it go and remained seated for a while, then earnestly explained: “You should know, I met the Crown Prince on the journey to escort the bride to the Xiongnu. We became friends. He must have heard of my disappearance and decided personally to lead troops on this expedition.”
Jia Renliang and Wang Sili exchanged glances.
Meng Xizhao looked back at them.
After two silent seconds, both burst into laughter.
Wang Sili shook his head, still smiling. “Nephew, I realize now that you truly are still a boy, not yet of age.”
Jia Renliang laughed and joined in: “Indeed, children speak without restraint.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Why are you laughing? I’m telling the truth!
He was not only friends with the Crown Prince—he had feelings for him!
Everyone had seen how terrifying a man in love could be. If the Tian Shou Emperor could openly take a mistress, what harm was there if his son got passionately infatuated?
Meng Xizhao glared at them, but he could not voice this. As Jia Renliang said, it was fine to vent privately. Everything else would have to remain suppressed until the proper time.
Even thinking of those four words chilled Meng Xizhao’s heart like a bucket of cold water.
A year ago, he had used these four words to caution himself—and he still used them now.
Truly, to rise from a commoner to Prefect in just a year was impressive, yet Meng Xizhao still felt it was too slow.
The life he desired seemed far away.
Leaving Wang Sili behind to continue engraving waist badges, Meng Xizhao scowled, telling Jia Renliang to stop laughing and to accompany him for a stroll.
Jia Renliang’s current role was essentially being part of Meng Xizhao’s household, so accompanying him outside was completely normal.
The surrounding Nanzhao people glanced at the two of them briefly, then looked away. Once they reached the main street, Meng Xizhao lowered his voice and quietly instructed Jia Renliang a couple of things.
Jia Renliang blinked in confusion but obeyed.
From then on, master and servant walked expressionless through the streets. Here, they were dressed in Nanzhao clothing. Jia Renliang no longer wore a servile demeanor; he straightened his back, looking convincingly the part.
They kept walking until they reached the city gate. Inside the gate were many small vendors. Meng Xizhao strode confidently past them, deliberately letting his West Palace-exclusive waist badge show, then casually approached the gate guard and whispered a few words in Ailao language to Jia Renliang behind him.
The Nanzhao guard glanced at him but paid no attention.
With his mission for the day complete, Meng Xizhao led Jia Renliang back.
Only after they were far from the crowds did Jia Renliang quietly ask, “Sir, what did you mean just now?”
Meng Xizhao replied, “I said, if you’re free tonight, summon two women for me. We’ll drink together.”
Jia Renliang: “…………”
He stared at Meng Xizhao, utterly at a loss. “Why would you say that?”
Meng Xizhao looked at him, wavering between explaining and staying silent, then decided to clarify—after all, in the Nanzhao capital, there were very few people he could rely on.
They stopped in an open area by the river, beneath a willow tree. Meng Xizhao pretended to admire the river view as he said to Jia Renliang, “I wanted the guards at the city gate to believe I am a Nanzhao citizen—and a trusted aide of the West Palace princess.”
Jia Renliang looked at him in surprise.
Meng Xizhao continued, “As for you, you are a trusted aide of my trusted aide.”
Jia Renliang: “…………”
He stammered, “I-I…”
Meng Xizhao leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I know you fear the Nanzhao people. They massacred the unarmed citizens of Longxing Prefecture and killed everyone in the old prefectural office, including your friends and family. Seeing their lifeless bodies must have broken your heart and terrified you. Yet some things, no matter how frightening, must still be done. Jia Renliang, you are a scholar. You haven’t even passed the provincial exams, but you can serve as Chief Clerk in the prefecture rather than teaching in a village. That proves you have talent.”
Jia Renliang pressed his lips together, feeling pleased at being recognized, yet still hesitant once he realized why Meng Xizhao acknowledged him.
He expected more praise, but instead Meng Xizhao’s next words struck differently: “But no matter how capable you are, reaching the position of Chief Clerk is already the limit.”
Jia Renliang: “……”
He lifted his head, asking, “Didn’t you say you would take me back to Yingtian Prefecture?”
Meng Xizhao replied without guilt, “I said that, yes, but Yingtian Prefecture has people of all sorts. I never said you would be promoted. Once you’re placed there, you might not even retain the Chief Clerk post. Yingtian Prefecture is full of talent; even the clerks are formally trained scholars.”
Whether he could return was uncertain. Hearing this, Jia Renliang grew anxious. Just as he was about to speak, Meng Xizhao raised a hand to stop him.
“Stop. I know what you’re going to say. Listen. Talented people are as numerous as rivers. People whose talents go unrecognized are everywhere. If you doubt me, try this: drop a stone anywhere—on a street in Qi or even Nanzhao—and most who are hit will think themselves exceptional, simply lacking an opportunity to prove it.”
Jia Renliang stared at him, unable to argue.
Because he knew Meng Xizhao was right: the world loves itself, and self-love often leads to misjudgment. Being called out so bluntly was humiliating.
Meng Xizhao looked into his eyes and continued, “Of course, I think they are correct.”
Jia Renliang: “…………”
Could you speak without such heavy breaths?
His mood oscillated, leaving him mentally exhausted, yet Meng Xizhao kept patting his shoulder, guiding his thoughts: “Believing in one’s talent is one thing. Having a chance to rise is another. Both are essential. Look at the land beneath your feet. Eleven years ago, had you come here, you wouldn’t have arrived in a prison cart—you would have walked freely. Overnight, Shaozhou fell, and that road of freedom became a grave for countless people of Qi. Eleven years ago in Shaozhou, one year ago in Hongzhou—it was the same.”
“Fear comes from witnessing similar suffering. Anger comes from Nanzhao’s casual decree, destroying your life. I believe your anger far outweighs your fear. Who wouldn’t want revenge? But one person’s power is like striking a stone with an egg. Without the right opportunity, that hatred must be buried deep, to vanish with one’s last breath.”
Jia Renliang bowed his head in silence. Meng Xizhao’s hand remained on his shoulder, feeling it tense under his grip.
He pressed on: “But now it’s different. The opportunity to rise, the chance for revenge—they’re here. Seize them, and you can leap to the top. From then on, day and night, you won’t taste hatred again. Chief Clerk Jia, don’t you want to spend the rest of your life freely and joyfully?”
As Meng Xizhao’s words fell, Jia Renliang clenched his fists tightly and lifted his head. His gaze toward Meng Xizhao was strikingly intense.
To provoke such a look from Jia Renliang, one could imagine the ruthlessness of the Nanzhao people previously.
Meng Xizhao had never witnessed war; he had barely seen anyone get seriously injured. The deaths of the four clerks before him had already left a deep psychological shadow.
Given that, Jia Renliang, who had lived through the fall of Longxing Prefecture, was naturally even more shaken.
Meng Xizhao never blamed him for being overly timid around the Nanzhao people. Even now, if there were any way to avoid it, he didn’t want Jia Renliang to be involved in anything dangerous.
After a brief glance at him, Meng Xizhao lowered his eyes, feeling guilty. He couldn’t look at Jia Renliang with righteous justification.
Jia Renliang, however, didn’t notice this detail. His mind was filled entirely with determination. Stepping slightly closer, he lowered his voice, serious: “Sir, tell me. What do you want me to do?”
“You’ve had Wang Sili carving waist badges all day—is it because you want to sneak into the Nanzhao emperor’s bedchamber, and then—kha—”
He mimed a beheading motion.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
You really dare to think that far!
He quickly shook his head. “No, no. Doing that would be pure suicide.”
There were only three of them, combined, not enough to take on a single palace guard. Attempting to assassinate the Nanzhao emperor with their skills? That was nothing short of certain death.
Jia Renliang hesitated, then asked, puzzled, “But didn’t the Xiongnu chanyu die right after you went?”
Meng Xizhao’s face remained expressionless.
After a moment, he finally said angrily, “That wasn’t me either!”
Jia Renliang: “……”
Meng Xizhao realized he might have pushed Jia Renliang too far, potentially inciting him to act recklessly. He quickly dismissed any such thoughts and gave Jia Renliang the task he actually wanted done.
A single blink later, Jia Renliang agreed without hesitation.
In truth, Jia Renliang was highly capable. Once his fear was set aside, he could execute Meng Xizhao’s orders easily.
With that handled, Meng Xizhao wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to Gu Pingting to continue learning the Nanzhao language.
Gu Pingting’s days were fully scheduled—selling at the market in the morning, preparing ingredients at noon, back at the market in the evening—leaving almost no free time. Yet she still managed to meet Meng Xizhao, meticulously planning each encounter without error.
Meng Xizhao suggested she stay at his residence, but she refused. Firstly, she didn’t fully trust him; secondly, with surveillance there, she found it more convenient to remain with the elderly woman.
Even after entrusting such important matters to Meng Xizhao, she never pressured him. Every meeting was strictly for teaching the language, and once finished, she left—her thoughtfulness deeply touching.
Meng Xizhao, who disliked owing anyone, naturally worked even harder to find assistance for her. He realized, while walking the corridors of the Nanzhao palace, that attempts at strategy could be countered with strategy—he was being “outplayed” by Gu Pingting.
But he didn’t mind. After all, if he were in her shoes, he would do anything as well.
Qi had already launched its attack on Ganzhou. The palace atmosphere worsened daily. Reports were sent thrice daily. Rosa Flower (Luo Sahua) almost immediately sought an audience with Emperor Zhen’an Luo, while Romailong (Luo Mailong) had already gone to Ganzhou to stabilize the situation. Rosa Flower consistently advised him against acting rashly, and Zhen’an Luo heeded her counsel, forbidding him from personally going into battle.
Meng Xizhao monitored the situation but was unhurried. With more free time now, he could interact more with people inside the Nanzhao court.
He didn’t immediately inquire about Su Niangzi. Instead, he gradually built rapport, steering the conversation toward Qi. Qi people in the palace were few and held low status. Over several days, through sincere eyes and words, he eventually earned the trust of a middle-aged woman born in Qi but living in Nanzhao for many years. They shared experiences of being far from home. If anyone had passed by then, they might have seen a dark cloud crackling above their heads.
Meng Xizhao followed her words for a while, then sighed: “Actually, we’ve been lucky. Those who captured me said that all the attractive people would be given to Nanzhao nobles. In the same transport as me was a very handsome young man. He was supposed to be presented to Princess Rosa Flower, but luckily he had some flaw, and so escaped that fate.”
The woman sighed as well. “Being offered to the princess is still, in a way, fortunate. She has high standards. Many cannot stay, and those who do are well-provided for. Once they lose their looks and the princess loses interest, the worst is being sent away—but they live.”
Meng Xizhao asked, “So, if one goes elsewhere, they might not even survive?”
The woman nodded vaguely, unwilling to elaborate.
Meng Xizhao quickly moved closer. “Auntie, who are you talking about? Could it be the Crown Prince?”
The woman waved her hand urgently. “Don’t say that! Enough, I must go. You shouldn’t repeat this to anyone.”
Meng Xizhao wouldn’t let her leave. Holding her in place, he lowered his voice, urgency in his tone: “Auntie, I’ll tell you the truth. Outside the palace, I met a particularly pitiful girl. Last year, her sister, because of her beauty, was sent to the Crown Prince. She and her sister depended on each other. Even after surviving, she refused to leave, staying outside the palace every day, waiting to reunite with her sister. As a man, hearing their story, I couldn’t bear it. Auntie, if you know her sister, could you pass a message to her?”
The woman paused, asking, “Her sister’s name?”
Meng Xizhao replied: “Su Ruozun. ‘Ruo’ as in fleeting, ‘Zun’ as in everlasting honor.”
The woman was startled. “Su Ruozun even has an elder sister?”
Meng Xizhao nodded subtly. “It seems you know her. Is she well now?”
The woman opened her mouth, hesitating, then said, “Su Ruozun… died last year.”
Meng Xizhao’s heart skipped a beat.
Even though he had braced himself, hearing those words—final, unchangeable—was still almost unbearable.
After a long moment, his voice came back, low and trembling: “…When?”
Recalling the young girl he had met only once, the woman’s expression darkened. “September… I don’t remember the exact day. It was around her third day at the Eastern Palace. Most of the girls who arrived there cried and wailed, barely able to listen to anyone. But she… she was quiet. She did as she was told, sat in her room with her head down, tracing the string on her pouch over and over. She seemed so obedient.”
She sighed, then continued. “Because I’m from Qi, calming the girls always fell to me. That day, I didn’t even speak to her—I only told the others to stop crying and left. The next day… she was dragged to the punishment chamber by the guards. They said she had somehow angered the Crown Prince.”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together. A very bad premonition gnawed at him, and for a moment, he wanted to stand and walk away, to hear no more.
Yet he remained seated, steady, and the woman, reluctant to prolong his suffering, spared the gruesome details. “In short, after she died, they were going to leave her at a common burial site. But the Crown Prince hated her so much that, knowing the customs of Qi, he ordered her body cremated. Her ashes were scattered in a well, and a great shaman performed a curse—so that even in death, she would never find her way home.”
Meng Xizhao listened in silence. He didn’t care for superstition, but the malice in this act was unmistakable.
The woman suddenly remembered something, lifting her head. “Her pouch… I stole it. I meant to keep it for myself, but you should take it back to her sister. Tell her that fate is not to be forced, and she should leave this cursed place. Qi people cannot survive here.”
Meng Xizhao opened his mouth but no words came.
He didn’t mention Gu Pingting. He simply said, “But auntie… you survived.”
The woman smiled bitterly. “Did I? I feel as if I’ve died. Being alive is worse than being dead.”
Meng Xizhao asked, quietly, “Did you have children before?”
She nodded. “A son and a daughter. I was from Shaozhou. After Nanzhao occupied it, my husband, my son, and my daughter were all killed. They left me alive… to bear children for Nanzhao men. I had one. Because I was clever with my hands, I was sent into the palace to serve as a maid.”
She looked at Meng Xizhao, eyes wide with fear. “You probably think I’m unworthy… my family dead, yet I live on, bowing before these enemies.”
Meng Xizhao gazed at her a long moment, then shook his head. “As long as the green mountains remain, there will be firewood. As long as you live, there is hope. Perhaps one day, you’ll return to Qi—and finally find peace.”
The woman fell silent. She felt she would never know peace again in her lifetime.
She said nothing further, stood, and retrieved Su Ruozun’s pouch. She handed it to Meng Xizhao. There was a heavy quiet as the two of them turned to leave, taking separate paths.
…
The pouch was old, its stitching crude, roughly at the skill level of his sister, Meng Jiaojiao.
But Meng Xizhao treated it as a priceless treasure, pressing it to his chest and patting it to ensure it wouldn’t fall before finally relaxing.
Every afternoon, before Gu Pingting set up her stall, they would meet to learn a few useful phrases in Nanzhao. Meng Xizhao always arrived early, standing silently, eyes fixed on the ground.
When Gu Pingting pushed her stall and saw him from afar, a premonition stirred in her heart.
Not good, not bad—just a premonition that, from this day forward, her life would be turned upside down.
＊
Bringing Gu Pingting back to his residence, Jia Renliang happened to be there. Seeing her, he froze, about to ask who she was, but Meng Xizhao ignored him, leading her inside and then slamming the door shut.
Inside, Meng Xizhao took the pouch from his chest and handed it to Gu Pingting.
Seeing it, her already tense expression stiffened. She didn’t reach for it immediately, instead staring at the pouch and asking, “My daughter…”
Meng Xizhao paused, then said softly, “This is all that’s left.”
A thunderous blow struck Gu Pingting’s heart.
The year-long weight she had carried finally fell, smashing her illusions and her fragile hope.
In an instant, tears streamed down her face.
She barely noticed herself crying, believing she remained composed, but Meng Xizhao, standing before her, could clearly see her body tremble.
Meng Xizhao was not one to comfort, and at this moment, no words could soothe her. So he simply handed the pouch to her, placing it in her lap.
Instinctively, she whispered thanks, “Thank you, sir… for finding my daughter’s—”
Remains.
The two words slammed a door shut on her voice.
Meng Xizhao looked at her and said, “Cry if you need to. If anyone asks, I’ll handle them. I am skilled at lying. Crying won’t draw danger.”
After that, Gu Pingting could no longer restrain herself. She clutched the pouch and collapsed to the floor, her anguished cries filling the room.
The sound was harsh and grating, not the delicate tears of a beauty that stirred pity, but a raw, hoarse, almost inhuman wail.
Even the hardest-hearted person, hearing it, would be compelled to shed tears alongside her.
Because Meng Xizhao had been closest, he quietly let himself cry for a while, and when he finally calmed down, he even felt a flicker of wanting to smile.
Of course, he couldn’t actually smile.
When Gu Pingting had cried herself out, Meng Xizhao helped her to her feet and then carefully recounted what the Qi woman had told him—when Su Ruozun had died, and what the Nanzhao people had done to her afterward.
He spoke slowly, mindful that the news might overwhelm Gu Pingting. But as she listened, her thoughts drifted back to that night a year ago.
By then, they had already been captured. In the days before, Su Ruozun had been constantly irritable, crying and lashing out, even at Gu Pingting. Yet when Gu Pingting fell ill from the cold, weak and feverish in the prison carriage, Su Ruozun stayed quietly by her side.
Su Ruozun was a great beauty; Gu Pingting was less so, though still fair-faced. Because of this, they were given a measure of privilege and allowed to share a carriage alone.
Because of Su Ruozun’s appearance, the captors decided on the spot to send her to the palace. Gu Pingting, by association, was to follow.
Lying in the carriage, Gu Pingting’s mind had been consumed with thoughts of surviving in the palace. Her throat was hoarse, her voice silent, while Su Ruozun, leaning against her, spoke constantly to herself.
“My father’s misfortune caused my mother to end her contract with you. You should have found your own way instead of following us and ending up in this situation. This is entirely your own doing.”
“I am a criminal, you are not. Any ordinary person would have left long ago. You refuse to leave, willingly demean yourself, and now… I cannot fathom what you were thinking.”
“My mother should never have given you that bowl of porridge. Had you starved there, I died on the exile road afterward—that would have been clean.”
“Does the fever hurt? You never say a word. Always endure it, biting your teeth, never a single complaint.”
“Pingting, I regret it. When my mother wanted to name you Bao Xing—‘Apricot and Fortune’—I should have listened. My whole life has been ruined by misfortune. Perhaps if you had been given that name, my curse would not have touched you.”
“But now… it’s too late to speak of it.”
“Pingting, have I ever told you where my name comes from? It is from the Dao De Jing: mian mian ruo cun, yong zhi bu qin. It means that all things in the world seem to exist, yet seem not to. And in that vagueness, people take endlessly and use endlessly.”
Her voice had grown so low that Gu Pingting had almost forgotten it—until now, when the memory returned.
“So, if one day I am gone, I am still with you. On the path ahead, on the walls you glance at, in the willow leaves where you pause and daydream—you may search for me freely, observe me, for in those moments, all things around you could be me. And my presence has never truly left.”
…
Gu Pingting kept her head lowered, clutching the pouch in a tight bundle. She remained silent, and Meng Xizhao could not tell what she was thinking. He chose his words carefully:
“Miss Gu, the dead cannot return. Since Lady Su has… passed, why not stay here with me? When the time comes, I will bring you back to Qi. My household has enough wealth to settle you somewhere safe. For the days to come, you will live alone—take care of yourself. This is also what Lady Su would have wished.”
Gu Pingting shook her head. “No need.”
After all, she was not truly alone—she still had family, even if she could not see them.
She stood to leave. Meng Xizhao stiffened. “You don’t want to return to Qi?”
Gu Pingting paused, then said calmly, “There is nothing in Qi worth returning for. Nanzhao is fine—I will remain here.”
Seeing her composed, tranquil face, with no trace of the tears she had just shed, Meng Xizhao’s scalp tingled. He sprang to his feet, blocking her path. “What are you planning? You don’t mean revenge, do you? The one who killed Lady Su was the Crown Prince of Nanzhao—you intend to retaliate?”
Gu Pingting glanced at him and replied flatly, “No.”
Meng Xizhao: “…You clearly do.”