“My own!”

This exclamation was earth-shattering.

Meng Decheng’s gaze dropped downward and he was stunned.

Before he could react, the hand that had been resting on his shoulder suddenly swept downward. Somehow a blade thin as autumn leaves had appeared in that palm. Cold light flashed—swoosh!

Then grabbing the large dates used to stuff nostrils against odors beside the chamber pot, she stuffed them into Meng Decheng’s mouth.

With a flick of her fingers, the soft silk warmed by the brazier for cleaning flew up under her snow-white fingertips, breaking into two pieces. One piece plugged the spurting wound in his back to prevent blood from splashing onto the curtain and being discovered.

The other piece fell into her palm, wiping away several drops of fresh blood from her fingertips.

This series of actions was lightning-fast—only then did Meng Decheng begin his first convulsion.

The beauty pushed his head into the chamber pot, making him kneel before it, appearing exactly like someone vomiting from drunkenness.

Meng Decheng’s fingers clawed frantically at the ground, scratching it bloody. The beauty calmly kicked an object toward his hand, which Meng Decheng immediately grasped instinctively.

Wind sounds came from outside the carved window.

The beauty pursed her lips, also mimicking howling sounds that matched the weather.

Someone lightly tapped the window, saying: “Young Master, the back has been cleaned.”

Murong Yi hummed in acknowledgment, then lifted the curtain and walked out.

But at that moment, someone entered.

Murong Yi initially thought it was those two attendants and had already prepared countermeasures, but looking up, he saw eldest prince Murong Jun striding in.

Walking while saying: “Old Meng, Old Meng, drunk again?”

Through the half-open door crack, one could still see more attendants he had brought, standing outside the door.

The wind outside grew more urgent.

It was too late to retreat to the privy now. Murong Jun looked up and saw him, making a surprised “Eh?” sound.

But Murong Yi acted as if he hadn’t seen him, covering his face and rushing out with lowered head. Between his fingers leaked a faint sob as he crashed into Murong Jun’s embrace with a bang. Strange fragrance dispersed—seeming somewhat like rosemary, with faint hints of sandalwood and patchouli. Clear yet enchanting, delicate yet sensual, indescribably mysteriously charming. Murong Jun’s heart stirred, and he instinctively grasped the beauty’s shoulders.

This grasp revealed that the beauty’s collar was wide open. Looking down from the black hair, there was a line of snow-white, tight back extending into the clothing, with faint red marks visible, like plum blossoms fallen on snow.

Murong Jun’s throat tightened, and he ungracefully swallowed unconsciously.

The beauty’s vulnerable appearance was even more bewitching than the various charms he was accustomed to seeing.

Then he came to his senses, remembering rumors about Old Meng’s certain unsavory hobbies. He frowned and asked: “Where is Commander Meng?”

Murong Yi buried his head in his embrace, tremblingly pointing toward the privy behind him.

Seeing his terrified state, Murong Jun couldn’t help feeling pity. Through the gauze curtain, he vaguely saw Old Meng gripping the chamber pot and vomiting, shoulders jerking convulsively. He frowned, instinctively not wanting to face such filthy things, so he stepped back and said coldly: “Clean yourself up before coming to see me!”

Muffled sounds came from inside. As Murong Jun left, he didn’t forget to embrace Murong Yi.

After he withdrew, a figure emerged from the privy, pushing off the corpse on him, pulling a long face while pinching his nose. Looking outside, he stamped his feet: “Terrible, terrible, we’re done for!”

Meanwhile, Murong Jun, having left the room, still remembered propriety and wanted to push away the beauty in his arms. But the beauty clung to him desperately, shaking her lustrous hair into complete disarray, looking even more pitiful. Murong Jun felt reluctant to be harsh, so he said: “I’ll settle her first, then go to the front later.”

Everyone understood. The restaurant naturally had places for honored guests to rest. They opened an upper room, cleared all four sides, and Murong Jun lifted Murong Yi in his arms to enter the room.

Suddenly a cough echoed from afar. A figure appeared at the corridor’s end. Seeing this, Murong Jun’s expression changed dramatically. He hastily pushed Murong Yi into the room and shut the door behind him.

The newcomer walked quickly over. Murong Jun straightened and bowed: “Teacher.”

The newcomer stroked his long beard and returned the bow with full ceremony, though his tone was rather unfriendly: “Eldest Prince, the best way to nurture the heart is to have few desires. Indulging in wine and women leads one to dare commit violence. As the eldest son of the great king…”

Murong Jun said with a headache: “Jun understands, understands…”

Prince Da’an had always been strict with his valued sons. From adulthood, each had a chancellor assigned to guide, instruct, and supervise them, with special sealed reporting privileges. Therefore, princes with ambitions for the throne always found these male nannies troublesome.

Outside the room, the two argued all the way. Murong Jun didn’t dare look at that room’s door, fearing to attract his teacher’s attention. Vaguely hearing some movement inside, he paid no mind and was dragged away by his chancellor toward the front.

Once the door closed inside the room, silk scarves, gauze drapes, silk shirts, and delicate yellow cloud-embroidered emerald pleated skirts fell to the ground one by one. Accumulated gold hairpins, bright moon earrings, and jade bracelets jingled as they rolled across the deep red carpet. By the time the figure stood at the window, he had become a tall man in black clothes.

A young man followed behind him, quickly collecting and packing those ornaments and garments.

Wind rose again outside the window. Murong Yi looked back.

The night wind lifted a strand of hair by his cheek. Even his accustomed guard couldn’t help holding his breath.

In women’s clothing, his beauty was supremely radiant with naturally stunning coloring, not resembling a man at all. But in men’s clothing, he had refined bones and clear spirit, with dark hair and jade-like features. No one could imagine he could disguise himself as such a woman.

One only felt that men too could deserve the phrase “startlingly heavenly.”

The Liaodong painter Wu Yuandao excelled at painting beauties, but after seeing him, he threw down his brush and sealed his paintbox, sighing: “Immortal beauty stands before me unpaintable—I’ve wasted this life depicting fair faces.”

Murong Yi beckoned, and the two leaped from the rear window, disappearing into the night.

Two quarters of an hour later, Murong Yi brought his guard Zhao San, hurrying through courtyard after courtyard toward the most distant Xixin Pavilion in the prince’s residence.

On the new moon day, accompanying his mother concubine for dinner was the rule.

The courtyards they passed were initially brilliantly lit with maidservants and servants in brocade shuttling back and forth—these were residences of the principal wife and several favored side concubines. Further back, they became increasingly desolate, with sparse voices and few lights.

Murong Yi had keen hearing and faintly heard someone in the principal wife’s main courtyard instructing: “The princess consort said the eldest prince has a banquet tonight, so keep sobering soup warm in the kitchen at all times,” and from Golden Side Concubine’s courtyard: “Go tell Douxiang Residence outside to relight their fires and make some tasty snacks to comfort the second prince.”

Murong Yi silently curved his lips in the darkness.

Indeed, he should be comforted—after tonight, there would be fewer opportunities for comfort.

Looking up, he saw the moon gate with the dim plaque reading “Xixin Pavilion.”

Xixin Pavilion covered a large area, almost equivalent to the main courtyard, but was most remote and lacked maintenance, showing some decay that strangely echoed the circumstances of its master.

Murong Yi stopped and began checking himself all over. Zhao San also helped, using a sweat towel to wipe his neck again, washing away powder scents, then using prepared face clay to cover the slightly reddened ear holes from just wearing earrings.

After checking thoroughly with no oversights, Murong Yi was about to step forward when he moved his foot and stopped again. Zhao San looked down—he was still wearing embroidered shoes.

Shoes weren’t convenient to bring for changing, but entering like this wouldn’t work.

“Take them off!”

Zhao San obediently removed his shoes, making a long face anxiously: “This won’t work—my feet are bigger than yours. If this gets discovered…”

He was already dragged over by Murong Yi who switched them in moments.

Murong Yi also casually stuffed in two handkerchiefs. His feet were small, a result of early binding. Among his seventeen older brothers, Prince Da’an had many sons but desired a daughter, casually mentioning wanting a daughter. When Consort Baoxiang was pregnant, she prayed to countless gods and Buddhas for a princess, but still gave birth to one with male equipment.

Whether Consort Baoxiang had prayed too long and gone mad, or Murong Yi was too beautiful as an infant, she actually concealed his gender and told the eunuch Chang sent by the great king to await results that it was a daughter. Not only did she receive many rewards, but Consort Baoxiang’s title was also granted then. Prince Da’an rarely praised her: “Heaven-born precious countenance, noble and exquisite.” This made Consort Baoxiang, who had been unfavored since entering the prince’s residence, ecstatic with joy. Thinking she had made the right move, she devoted herself to raising her son as a daughter. At four or five years old, she even planned to bind his feet and actually ignored his crying, binding them for two days.

Two days later, something happened that made her vaguely realize that Prince Da’an’s so-called fondness for daughters might be merely a whimsical joke—in his heart, he still valued sons. The more sons, the more heirs the Murong family would have to continue military power. Only then did she put away those binding cloths, and Murong Yi avoided a crippling fate.

Though she put away the binding cloths, her hope for favor didn’t die. Consort Baoxiang had Murong Yi dress as a woman for several more years until age twelve when, tall and graceful, he attracted swarms of frivolous butterflies throughout the city. Even several brothers fixed their attention on this “sister,” causing Prince Da’an’s displeasure as he considered marrying off this attention-attracting “daughter” early. Only then did Consort Baoxiang panic. Without any transition, she directly revealed Murong Yi’s true gender at a banquet.

Murong Yi could never forget that night’s palace-wide gazes—from shock and amazement slowly turning to contempt, disdain, mockery, pity, and monster-like disgust that drowned him like a tide. Festival lanterns hung throughout the palace, spinning endlessly before his eyes like fire. He wished he could become a moth and plunge into them.

He had been looking down at his feet too long. Zhao San crouched down, studying his facial expression with concern. Murong Yi immediately smiled brightly, pursing his lips and leaning forward, frightening Zhao San into desperate retreat. The ill-fitting shoes caused him to tumble on the ground.

Murong Yi laughed heartily and entered the gate carrying this lingering smile.

Consort Baoxiang was indeed sitting properly at a table of dishes waiting for him. As Murong Yi stepped through the door, before his cheerful “Mother Concubine” could emerge, Consort Baoxiang’s gaze had already surveyed him from head to toe. Finding no suspicious signs, she only grunted, indicating he should sit.

Murong Yi happily picked up his chopsticks: “Mother, what delicious food is there tonight!”

“Forgotten the rules again?”

Murong Yi paused.

“Mother Concubine, tonight there’s—”

Consort Baoxiang’s gaze suddenly sharpened, then her eyebrows slowly rose. Murong Yi was looking down at the dishes and didn’t notice. Seeing his mother suddenly lift a dish of mutton soup with tofu, thinking she wanted to move this dish before him, he hurriedly reached out to help: “Mother Concubine, be careful—”

Consort Baoxiang jerked her hand back and violently hurled the plate at him!

Caught off guard, with his hand still extended above the table, Murong Yi heard a crash as the entire plate of scalding mutton soup struck his left shoulder and half his arm. Hot oil and mutton pieces instantly flowed down his collar.

The plate fell, striking his arm, then falling further to shatter with soup splashing across the table.

Murong Yi’s arm remained extended straight as he slowly raised his eyes to look at Consort Baoxiang.

For an instant, his eyes were extremely black.

Consort Baoxiang’s expression was even uglier than his. Pointing angrily, she cursed: “Did you go dress as a woman again?! You’ve finally escaped that female identity with such difficulty—why must you dress as a woman again?! Instead of showing filial piety before your father or seeking advancement before your brothers, you’re still engaging in these disgraceful activities. You’re truly a born shameless wretch!”