While snow was falling in Yizhou City, the sunshine in Nanzhao remained bright.

The light streaming through the window cast shadows on the ground that made one dizzy if stared at too long. Because of this sunlight, even the dungeon lost some of its gloomy atmosphere. Ji Yingying moved the straw into the patch of light, spreading it beneath her as she sat, squinting at the window built into the ground.

The jingling of the jailer’s keys at his waist alerted Ji Yingying to someone’s approach. She hugged her knees, gazing toward the thick wooden bars. Would it be Du Yan or Zhao Xiuyuan? Or merely someone bringing prison food?

Du Yan stopped at the cell door, calmly observing Ji Yingying. The prison matron wore a fawning smile as she unhooked her keys to open the door. Du Yan waved his hand. The matron bowed and retreated.

“Lord Qingping.” Ji Yingying, disliking being looked down upon, stood up.

Seeing her casually brush the straw from her skirt with such ease, Du Yan smiled: “Are you unafraid of death, or do you fear a fate worse than death?”

Why would she fear a fate worse than death? Because he had ways to make her wish for death, that was all. Ji Yingying thought of Yang Jingyuan. He was like the sunlight streaming through the window. At least she had seen him once more.

This world has all kinds of fates, and many missed chances. If Yang Jingyuan hadn’t had urgent business that night and had stayed a moment longer, he would have watched the movements at Baiya Palace. Perhaps then it wouldn’t have been Chi Kuang waiting for her on the road.

What was the use of thinking about such things? Ji Yingying shook her head. To Du Yan’s eyes, this seemed like fear.

“I hear you tried to assassinate the White Prince. This official is quite pleased.”

Ji Yingying raised an eyebrow, only now realizing that besides Sheng Fengze and Chihu, even Aning thought she had stabbed Sheng Fengze. Du Yan was no exception. As long as she could live, she had no wish to die. Ji Yingying said helplessly, “His Highness the White Prince is a martial artist. Lord Qingping expects too much of me.”

Since she could be useful, Du Yan had no interest in killing Ji Yingying. He said gently, “Lady Ji, our agreement still stands. As long as you admit before the throne that the White Prince helped you escape, this official will ensure your safe return to the dye house… and Lord Zhao will no longer trouble you.”

To accuse Sheng Fengze of helping her—who knew how to weave Huanhua Brocade—escape would be to accuse him of disloyalty to the King and betrayal of Nanzhao. The price was to emerge unscathed, continuing life as a slave in the dye house and weaving workshop.

Ji Yingying blinked, showing interest: “Does Lord Qingping mean that the King will summon this humble one to confront His Highness the White Prince in the golden hall?”

Du Yan smiled: “Indeed. The palace carriage has already arrived to collect Lady Ji. What do you say?”

Better to leave this place first and see what happens. The worst case would be being sent back here. If she didn’t agree to Du Yan’s terms now, he might poison her with a bowl of medicine, making it appear as suicide from guilt. Strange, why hadn’t Du Yan thought to use her death to incriminate Sheng Fengze when there would be no one to testify otherwise?

Ji Yingying nodded in agreement: “Lord Qingping, remember your promise to me. Don’t let Zhao Xiuyuan nauseate me again.”

Du Yan smiled and called for the prison matron.

He waited at the door for Ji Yingying to emerge. The sunlight outside made her pause. After just half a day, the outside sunlight seemed more brilliant to her. She sighed.

Du Yan stood with his hands behind his back, speaking calmly: “If you change your mind before the throne, don’t expect the White Prince to protect you. Though I could kill you, having no witness to testify would equally allow Sheng Fengze to escape punishment. That would be the inferior strategy.”

The sunlight suddenly turned cold. Ji Yingying was frightened by Du Yan’s calculations. Coming to her senses, she curtseyed to Du Yan with a smile: “Lord Qingping plans for every contingency, yet allows this humble one to live. Thank you.”

Du Yan watched her board the ox cart and be escorted away by guards, sighing softly: “Even a mere Tang woman can laugh in the face of death. The tiger may be sick but its might remains—how can Nanzhao maintain its position?”

He was already worrying about how Nanzhao would handle Tang’s future revenge.

Han Fourth Uncle led Yang Jingyuan and the others into the city carrying firewood and game. Seeing a group of guards escorting an ox cart approaching, he led the three to the roadside to make way.

The ox cart had no curtains around it, and Ji Yingying sat quietly inside. Though there were no chains or cages to confine her, she hadn’t even considered the possibility of a Tang person escaping in Nanzhao’s capital.

The guards’ uniforms made it clear they were from the palace. Because she was to appear before the King, Du Yan had specifically instructed the prison matron to give her new clothes when she left. Ji Yingying wore the colorful flowered dress of Nanzhao women, her features lovely. This caused passersby to secretly speculate about her identity.

Her serene face and brightly flowered dress made Yang Jingyuan’s heart tremble. She was a fragile woman; she wanted to live. He understood. He didn’t want to blame her. But seeing Ji Yingying being escorted to the palace in such splendor, his heart felt like it was being carved with a knife.

She could choose to live. Because she had forgotten her mother and brother’s family, forced to death by Nanzhao. She had also forgotten him. Forgotten that she was already his wife.

Yang Jingyuan endured the pain, the veins on his forehead standing out prominently. His feet felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as he managed to step back half a pace.

Ji Yingying casually observed her surroundings. Taihe City was built in a regular pattern, mostly filled with low buildings. The streets weren’t as wide or even as Yizhou City’s. Only the distant palace rose higher, showing imposing grandeur. In this winter weather, many commoners went barefoot. Compared to the people near Baiya Palace, their clothes had fewer patches and were neater. She sighed inwardly. The capital of a country, yet it couldn’t compare to Yizhou Prefecture.

Meeting her gaze, men eagerly stared at her. Their sun-darkened faces showed a fierce spirit, their eyes sharp as eagles’. Ji Yingying thought again, that this was a militant nation. Even the waiters in Yizhou Prefecture were more refined.

Unexpectedly, Ji Yingying caught sight of Yang Jingyuan. She instinctively straightened up, gripping the railing, wanting to jump down and run to him. A guard beside the cart gave her a warning look. Ji Yingying slowly released the railing and sat back down. From afar, she saw his furious gaze, and fighting back the urge to cry, she shook her head at him, her lips moving silently to tell him, don’t come closer.

She watched Yang Jingyuan step back, hiding himself behind the high pile of firewood. The ox cart quickly left him behind, and Ji Yingying lowered her head, watching her tears fall one by one onto her flowered dress, slowly spreading into copper-coin-sized stains.

Yang Jingyuan leaned against the firewood, pressing and rubbing his face against it. The rough wood hurt his face, but he wished it would scrape his skin off. He had truly lost face. He couldn’t bear to look at her again. He feared he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from rushing to her, demanding to know where that left him. What man could endure such humiliation? Her eyes had been pleading. She had begged him not to appear and ruin her current life. Was she still Ji Yingying? Was she still the Ji Yingying who, when hung high by Nanzhao soldiers at the Dadu River to block his advance, had still called him “Third Brother”?

Niu Qiniang, who had been hiding behind Sang Shisi watching, couldn’t help but call out when she recognized Ji Yingying in the cart.

Sang Shisi quickly covered her mouth, glancing at Yang Jingyuan. Such fine dress, escorted by a large group of palace guards into the palace. Yang Jingyuan was right—Ji Yingying was indeed with Sheng Fengze.

After the procession passed, Sang Shisi released her, making up an excuse: “They’d know we’re outsiders by our accent. Pretend to be mute, don’t speak carelessly.”

This had been specifically instructed before they set out. Niu Qiniang pouted, and seeing the crowd disperse, whispered: “Brother Shisi, it looks like those guards were protecting Second Miss Ji. Wasn’t she captured and brought to Nanzhao?”

Sang Shisi, afraid Yang Jingyuan would hear, glared at her fiercely: “I told you to keep quiet and pretend to be mute. I’ll explain later.”

“Oh.” When Sang Shisi got angry, Niu Qiniang obediently complied.

Yang Jingyuan acted as if he hadn’t heard their conversation. He picked up the firewood, gesturing for Han Fourth Uncle to continue leading the way.