The next day was departure day. Having barely slept the night before, Ding Yi rose to prepare when it was nearly the fourth watch. She bundled her belongings, arranged her waist knife and tinderbox, and then stepped outside to check the sky, which was beginning to brighten at the horizon. She took two deep, satisfying breaths of the morning air, fragrant with soil and vegetation. The garden in the dawn light had a crisp, clean scent.
Everyone assembled outside the side gate, ready to depart at the fifth watch. She hurried over with her bundle on her back. The guard office was distributing saddlebags, and Liao Da Tou called out when he saw her, “Xiao Shu, come over! Here’s yours. We may not find places to eat along the way, so these contain water and dry rations. Keep them safe—lose them and you’ll go hungry.”
Few in the guard office were decent fellows. Seeing her small stature, and hearing Liao Da Tou’s fatherly tone, they began wildly teasing, “It’s several thousand li to Ningguta! No wet nurses along the way—what will you do when you get cravings?”
“Stop that nonsense! Mind your tongue. Would it sound good if it reached the prince’s ears?” The man at the front of the line, holding horse reins, turned to rebuke them.
Everyone chuckled, “This isn’t nonsense. Do you know the Dai family in Jinyuhu Alley? Dai Xing’an’s mother was a wet nurse for Prince Zheng’s household. Dai Xing’an was thirteen and still looking for his mother, asking neighbors, ‘Have you seen my mother? I need to drink her milk.’ That’s the truth! Master Shou, some people have this taste. The Beile of Dingfu Avenue drinks a bowl of human milk with white steamed buns every morning—have you heard of that?” His eyes swept over Ding Yi as he laughed, “This one is so fair-skinned, doesn’t look like a guard at all, more like a young master who drinks human milk.”
The talk grew increasingly inappropriate, and Shou Heng just shook his head. He was a formidable figure in the guard office, robust and righteous in appearance. But even the most imposing person, after spending time with these ruffians, would soften rather than lose face. They called him “Chief Shou” in front and behind his back, exploiting a quirk in Chinese characters. Surnames like Zhang or Li could be called “Zhang-tou” or “Li-tou” without any implication, but with him, it carried a half-joking connotation. Jokes exist everywhere. Beijingers were famously crude in their humor; if you expected them to be serious, they’d be miserable.
Ding Yi felt quite uncomfortable with their teasing. She had been with her master since she was around ten, and though her senior brother liked to cause trouble, he never mocked her this way. Officials in the yamen, out of respect for her master, never fooled around with her either. As for these guards, born to lower-class Banner families, they were naturally uncouth. Mixing with them would bring her much embarrassment.
Just then, the prince emerged, dressed in military attire, wearing a red-tasseled summer hat, with a precious sword at his waist—looking quite the part at first glance. He inspected left and right, checking the saddles and stirrups, and finding everything satisfactory, mounted his horse.
They left the city through Dongzhi Gate, connecting from De Nei Avenue, joining up with Prince Chun’s residence along the way. The Seventh Prince led his entourage to the north bank of the Back Lake, where the Twelfth Prince’s group was already assembled and ready to depart. Ding Yi, mingled among the mounted troops, looked ahead. The Twelfth Prince had two kui dragons coiling on the shoulders of his jacket, and his military attire was quite different from his usual appearance. Perhaps it was the royal bearing, but the two princes truly stood out from the crowd—they were the type who would shine in any gathering. She wasn’t sure if he had seen her, but his gaze seemed to sweep over her, his eyebrows slightly raised. Ding Yi felt he was greeting her. She smiled with closed lips, not deliberately, but naturally, feeling the prince must have noticed her.
The Twelfth Prince had spent his early years in Khalkha, and his horsemanship was exceptional—none of the awkwardness and delicacy of the capital’s nobility. He turned the reins and urged his horse forward with the whip, his movements flowing gracefully as he galloped toward the city gate in the blink of an eye.
Ding Yi followed the mounted troops out of the city, her mind completely blank. Only after they had traveled a considerable distance did she realize she had finally left the city. Looking back, the gradually receding city walls appeared somber and melancholic against the sky. She turned away and let out a long breath. Leaving meant a new beginning—here she was, embarking on a long journey, while Ru Liang and the others still had no idea. If she suddenly appeared before them, what a scene it would be for siblings reuniting after more than a decade.
Better not to think too much; the more she thought, the heavier the burden. She had lived in confusion without hope before, so why not now?
From Beijing to Shengjing stretched an imperial road, wide and spacious, exclusively for court officials and messengers, not for ordinary people. Without obstacles, they made good progress. With the steady beat of hooves and the wind whistling past their ears, they could no longer feel the heat as they passed through forests and open fields—it was exhilarating. But the initial excitement faded, gradually giving way to different sensations. Spending five or six hours daily in the saddle was not easy—sore waists, aching buttocks, and at dusk, when dismounting, legs that barely closed. Ding Yi found it embarrassing, limping along, still drawing laughter from the guards. Let them laugh—these rough men would know the difficulty soon enough. Sure enough, after three consecutive days of riding, even the prince’s guards couldn’t endure it anymore. The pampered Seventh Prince became everyone’s hope—if only he said, “I can’t go on, I’ll be left without descendants!” the Twelfth Prince would have no choice. They could rest by a riverbank and water the horses! Everyone wrung out their handkerchiefs to wash their faces and necks, discovering that all exposed skin had been damaged by the sun, turning red and swollen. After a few days, when it subsided, one could peel off strips of skin large enough to write two large characters with a brush.
Hot as it was, they had to continue the journey, though it was especially difficult for the Seventh Prince’s two beloved birds. Despite having a special small carriage, the bumpy ride left them restless in their cages, jumping up and down and panting from the heat. Ding Yi had to stop regularly, feeding and watering them four or five times a day.
Advancing through these ups and downs, they finally reached Yanzi River Township. The guide mentioned a post station ahead where everyone could rest properly, so they all eagerly anticipated it, though “ahead” turned out to be quite a vague term—they rode for nearly an hour before it came into view.
Nevertheless, it lived up to expectations—this was a relatively large post station along the route, with buildings in a swastika pattern, facing all four directions, letting visitors choose their preference.
Seeing such a large group arrive, the station chief hurried out to welcome them. Not knowing their identities, and with the leader’s face hidden behind a veil, he randomly made a respectful bow, “This humble one greets the officials. May I ask where the officials have come from? Do you have travel warrants?”
The so-called travel warrant was a credential issued by the court for officials to stay at post stations. The secretary handed over the documents, and the station chief opened and glanced at them, immediately becoming flustered. His Hengrun-accented official speech became even more unclear as he lowered his voice to instruct his subordinates, “What’s going on? Don’t just stand there! Prepare the main quarters for the princes… Wine? Meat?”
The minor, unranked station chief had never seen princes before. At most, he had encountered second or third-rank officials. A great Buddha visiting a small temple—this was extraordinary, and he bustled about in circles.
Everyone merely smiled at his behavior before dismounting to attend to the princes. The Seventh Prince couldn’t move his legs while seated on the horse, so two guards supported him down on either side. Standing on the ground, he gasped for breath, “Oh my, these legs no longer feel like mine. How much longer must we ride? If we continue bouncing to Ningguta, I’ll surely be left crippled.”
Hong Ce looked at him with a sense of helplessness. Originally, only Hong Tao had been assigned to Ningguta, but he had pleaded, saying he couldn’t go alone, begging for company. Unable to refuse, Hong Ce had agreed to share the burden. Now, with his brother complaining so much, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
What could one do with such a brother? He looked up at the sky—the sunset was like fire, promising another clear day tomorrow. He turned his head to instruct Yi Mian from the Ministry of War, “Enough. We’ve been traveling for ten days straight, and everyone is exhausted. We’ll stay here today, rest for a day, and set off early the day after tomorrow.”
Yi Mian quickly acknowledged, “Your servant sees that the Seventh Prince has suffered greatly. In any case, Lu Yuan is managing things at the destination, so arriving a day late won’t cause any harm.”
Hong Ce nodded and entered the building. After a few steps, he remembered something and turned back for a look. The setting sun had painted the courtyard walls red, with guards bustling about, fetching water and tending to the animals. And there was Mu Xiao Shu, carrying two birds from the stable. Despite the scorching sun, his complexion hadn’t darkened, though his cheekbones were slightly reddened. His bright eyes shone more brilliantly the more difficult things became. Seeing the prince, he smiled familiarly, bowing at the waist in greeting, then went to find quarters for the Seventh Prince’s birds.
Conditions at the post station were limited. With the princes’ guards and the Ministry of War escorts, there were about a hundred people. By nightfall, even the rooftops and dining hall were filled with people. Ding Yi knew everyone couldn’t have a private room. Without that option, being part of the Seventh Prince’s guard meant she had to squeeze in with Shou Heng and the others. The guards, undisciplined as always, were accustomed to casual behavior—rolling up their sleeves, telling vulgar jokes without restraint. They couldn’t be blamed; no one knew there was a woman among them. Men together weren’t fastidious about many things, which created constant awkwardness for Ding Yi.
After tending to the birds, and mindful that the Seventh Prince wanted the red one to wake him, she delivered them to his room. By the time she came out, it was almost dark. Smoke rose from the post station kitchens, with cooks working frantically. She stood outside for a while, then turned to see Liao Da Tou emerging with several others, their robes wide open exposing their chests, towels draped over their shoulders, calling loudly to her, “Xiao Shu, hey! There’s a pond outside. We’re going to bathe and catch clams. Come along!”
That was certainly impossible. Ding Yi smiled and shook her head, “I won’t go. I’m afraid of leeches. You all go ahead!”
“What kind of person are you?” Gao Sha Zi pinched his voice in a sneer, “So precious, afraid of leeches—are you a girl?”
Qian Chuan Zi let out an “Eh!” in agreement, “Come to think of it, we’ve never seen him undress the entire journey, no matter how hot it got. We don’t know what he looks like underneath. Come on, let’s go together and have a look. With that delicate skin, without girls around, we’re relying on you to satisfy our cravings.”
Ding Yi had never encountered such a situation. These big fools, once they started talking, meant what they said. She was terrified. Before, she hadn’t taken their verbal teasing seriously, but now they had become physical, pulling and dragging her to the pond. She naturally couldn’t comply and protested, “I’m not used to bathing outdoors. Besides, I can’t swim—I’d surely drown. Also, the prince’s two birds need to be fed soon. If I leave, the task will be neglected, and the prince will be angry.”
No one listened to her excuses. Only then did she realize how strong these men were—one hand could lift her. She became truly frightened, her voice changing. A grown woman treated this way—the innate weakness and fear of women emerged as she struggled, pale-faced. To them, it was like finding a plaything, like cats chasing mice, making them even more eager to tease her. Bystanders egged them on, “Just strip him and be done with it! Why so coy?”
Because of her non-cooperation, the men grew somewhat embarrassed and angry, shouting, “What’s wrong? Not accepting our goodwill? No one’s treating you like someone from a gentleman’s house. What are you afraid of? Afraid we’ll take advantage of you?”
Everyone burst into laughter. Ding Yi was both ashamed and anxious, having become everyone’s entertainment. This inescapable humiliation was indescribable. These men would do what they said—several hands roamed over her body, grabbing at her hips and pulling at her clothes. She felt this might be her predestined misfortune. Having removed her waist knife at the post station, she had nothing to defend herself with.
In the chaos, she couldn’t tell direction, only knew to protect her collar and hold onto her waistband. The more she resisted, the more determined they became to subdue her. She was no match for them. Just as she was about to lose the struggle, a clear, stern rebuke rang out: “What are you doing?”