Several days had passed since leaving the capital. The Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching, and the moon grew fuller each day. With too many people and the stifling heat indoors, they took advantage of the beautiful moonlight, moving tables and benches into the courtyard. Lanterns hung from the eaves on all four sides, creating an open-air feast. They could drink and admire the moon simultaneously—a small compensation for the rough journey of recent days.

The traveling entourage, all with military backgrounds and hardened by army life, were coarse men unconcerned with minor details. They pounded tables and tossed bowls, making a meal as chaotic as a battlefield. Ding Yi sat in a corner, focused only on filling her mouth. Once full, she planned to find a secluded spot to calm down. Today had been most unfortunate—being teased by those guards was bad enough, then borrowing someone else’s place to bathe, and finally almost revealing her secret… As a girl coming of age, certain parts of her body would naturally develop, and to disguise herself as a man, she bound herself so tightly every day that she could barely breathe. This was her secret, one she would die before revealing, but earlier she had been too distracted to remain vigilant. One end of her binding cloth had been in her hand, while the other end had somehow unraveled, and by the time she noticed, it had trailed far behind her on the ground…

How embarrassing! She wished she could bury her head in shame! Sha Tong probably hadn’t seen it, as he had been leading the way without looking back. As for the Twelfth Master in the main room… she looked mournfully at the sky. The moon was bright, but why did she feel a storm coming?

Looking back, she saw the hall brilliantly lit. The Prince and the imperial officials didn’t dine with them—high-ranking individuals were precious, with their circles that someone like her couldn’t enter. Unable to join them, she should stay in her place! She silently ate her cat ear-shaped buckwheat noodles. The postal station made good noodles; with vinegar and chili, they were appetizing and filling.

Being part of the Seventh Prince’s household, she ate with the guard unit. After the earlier incident, it was clear that no one particularly liked her. She had come to terms with it—if they didn’t like her, so be it. She didn’t feel she owed them anything. Their punishment was deserved. Following their logic, if someone was caught after committing murder, would they blame the victim for not being clever enough? She remained defiant, anger lodged in her throat, holding her neck even straighter. Why should she act as if she had done something wrong? If people looked down on her, they would only bully her more intensely.

The atmosphere at the table was awkward. Shou Heng, the squad leader, had lost face when his subordinates caused trouble. He hadn’t interacted much with this newcomer and wasn’t sure of his temperament. Officially assigned to the guard unit, the newcomer’s actual duty was tending birds. Gao and the others fooled around indiscriminately, acting inappropriately because they found him delicate-looking.

After taking a sip of wine, Shou Heng said, “We’ve been busy traveling these past few days, and I haven’t asked much about your joining the guard unit. I heard your master is Wu Changgeng?”

Ding Yi only then realized Shou Heng was speaking to her. She answered, “Yes, I’ve been with my master for six years, always assisting him with his knives. Does the squad leader know my master?”

“We’re mere acquaintances, not close friends. But your master is known for his righteousness, and I’ve always respected him. Had I known earlier you were his disciple, I would have looked after you.” As he spoke, he set down his bowl. “Earlier, when Liao Datou and the others went to request punishment from our master, I was present. Our master was lying down having his legs massaged. When he heard about it, he jumped up and kicked the man over. Though such matters are minor, when they reach superiors, they reflect poorly. Both are princes, you see—while others maintain good order, our household is in disarray, causing our master to lose face. Afterward, he issued an order: three months’ pay deducted, and tonight they’ll sleep in the stables. Xiao Shu, you’ve just arrived and aren’t familiar with them. Our guard unit consists of rough men who love to jest, often not knowing their strength. Don’t take it to heart. In the future, if you encounter any issues, never expose them outside. Tell me, and I’ll deal with those rascals. As servants, suffering small grievances is nothing—what matters is protecting our master’s reputation. I’ve heard you’re on good terms with the Twelfth Master, but now that you serve in the Xian Prince’s household, once you enter a temple, you must recognize its Buddha. The Seventh Prince is our true master, understand?”

There was still blame in his words, which naturally made her indignant. But being in a subordinate position, she would constantly encounter these people, and Shou Heng was the overseer—she couldn’t afford to offend him too. Swallowing her resentment, she bowed slightly and said, “I understand. What you say makes sense, but I must explain one thing, or I’d be wronged. I don’t consider myself to have any relationship with the Twelfth Master. He’s a prince, and I’m a mere ant. He could crush me to dust with a flick of his finger—I wouldn’t dare aspire to his level even with ten times my courage. Today’s incident escalated regrettably, but it wasn’t my fault. They were openly joking outside when the Twelfth Master happened to pass by and reprimanded them for their impropriety. It truly had nothing to do with me. I’m human too—everyone has boundaries. You can’t expect me to stand there and let them strip me—that’s something I simply cannot do. But I’ve remembered all you just said. You mean well, and I’ll be more cautious in the future. Please also convey my apology to Liao and the others. I’m sorry for today’s incident—it was entirely my fault for not letting them have their fun. I’ve wronged them.”

Her final words carried a hint of defiance, which Shou Heng and the others at the table detected. They exchanged glances, and as neutral parties, tried to mediate, “No one said it was your fault. It was their reckless behavior. In broad daylight, with masters in the courtyard, they carried on without restraint—inappropriate for anyone to witness. The squad leader means it shouldn’t be publicized, don’t misunderstand.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I just want to make my position clear. I come from a humble background with no relatives or friends. Alone, I sought refuge with my master and later entered the prince’s household because he saw something in me. I’m neither clever nor fond of roughhousing. Verbal jesting is ordinary, but physical contact is not. I’m thin-skinned, an inexperienced country child. Please be patient with me. I bow to Squad Leader Shou and everyone here.”

She stood and bowed deeply, making everyone uncomfortable. Ding Yi knew this behavior might seem stubborn, but it was necessary. Having started, she used this opportunity to clarify things, hoping to avoid future trouble. She also knew that Qian Chuanzi and the others wouldn’t let her off easily—though they wouldn’t dare challenge her openly, they would find ways to trip her up behind her back. For now, she had no other hope except to reach Changbai Mountain. With her brothers enslaved there, even if she had to build a hut in the valley to mend their clothes and cook for them, at least they were her own family, and she wouldn’t have to be constantly vigilant.

The meal was nearly finished. She didn’t drink alcohol, and after her bow, she took the opportunity to leave the table.

The full moon illuminated the world, spreading a gentle light across the land. She walked out of the postal station alone, looking left and right. Both the road behind and ahead seemed vast and endless. Standing on the yellow dirt road, she pondered for a while, recalling the map she had seen on the Seventh Prince’s table when delivering birds. It was covered with tiny characters marking ditches and mountains. She had spent a long time locating Changbai Mountain then.

The Great Qing’s territory was truly vast. After traveling from Beijing for over ten days, they had covered only about an inch on the map, with five or six times that distance still to go before reaching Changbai Mountain. Now it was August, and she estimated they would arrive there by mid-October. Reportedly, Changbai Mountain had poor weather, with heavy snow blocking the mountains by October. Processing ginseng was particularly arduous for the enslaved—washing, turning, and drying in ice and snow, cutting and grinding into powder day and night. The ginseng produced there supplied not only the Forbidden City but also the market. Those who suffered exile were barely considered human. During ginseng season, they were busy with their primary duties; in the off-season, they cleared land and farmed, working from cockcrow until lamplight without a moment’s rest.

People could endure any hardship, though blessings could never be fully exhausted. Fortunately, Ru Liang and her brothers were strong. From childhood, they had been forced to practice martial arts. In their teens, they would practice bare-chested in the courtyard, their torsos rippling with muscles like washboards when they exerted themselves. In the garden, there were wooden posts specifically for their routines and iron chains as thick as wrists for them to swing. They weren’t particularly interested in martial arts, but with Anda watching, they had no choice—practicing Tai Chi and Bagua daily. When their father came to inspect, they would put on a show, crying “Ha!” and “Ho!” as they practiced. Though they fell short of becoming martial arts champions, the exercises strengthened their bodies. Those three brothers had never even caught colds since childhood. With strong constitutions, they could survive even on Changbai Mountain.

She strolled along the official road. After nightfall, the wind carried a coolness. Thinking of the past, remembering the days with her parents and brothers, she felt content. As for later experiences, there were no major hardships—or if there were, she had forgotten them. For someone who had emerged from suffering, focusing entirely on looking back would be enough to kill them where they stood.

There was just that slight discomfort from the earlier incident. She stretched her arms wide and shouted at the sky, “It’s fine! Everything’s good!” She often did this—shouting once when unhappy, more effective than any medicine.

Walking further, she faintly saw a lake ahead. The moon shone upon it, creating rippling waves. This must be where Liao Datou and the others had planned to hunt for clams.

In such a vast expanse, discovering a delicate spot felt particularly delightful. Not daring to approach the lake too closely, she found a flat area and sat down. As a child, she loved playing in the water, absorbing many tales of water ghosts and water goddesses. As she grew older, her courage diminished because her imagination expanded. Fearing that night brought more yin energy, she stayed away from water to avoid becoming a substitute for a water ghost.

Picking up a stone to skip across the water, she tossed it, but her grip was poor, and the stone flew straight back. Assuming no one was around, she paid little attention, but suddenly a sharp intake of breath came from behind. Startled, her hair stood on end as she scrambled to her feet, placing her hands on her hips, she said, “Who’s playing ghost tricks there? I’ll kick you in the chest!”

A vague figure appeared, unclear at first, but as it approached, she recognized the Twelfth Master by his silhouette and attire.

She patted her chest in relief and exclaimed, “You scared me to death! I wondered who it was!” Remembering the stone she had thrown, she grew concerned and looked him up and down, asking, “Why have you come out? Did I hit you? Does it hurt?”

The Twelfth Master didn’t answer her questions, instead asking directly, “What are you doing out here alone?”

“Nothing special, I just felt stifled and came out for some air.” Seeing him now made her happy, and she forgot he was a high-ranking prince. In the darkness, having company was comforting. She smiled and asked, “Are you hot? I can fan you. There are many insects outdoors—don’t let them bite you.”

The moonlight was good enough that standing face to face, she could see his lip movements, but only if they stood close. From any distance, she had to guess. He chose a rock to sit on and pointed beside him, “Sit down.”

Ding Yi shook her head, “I’ll stand while answering. Did you come out specifically to find me?”

Hong Ce considered this. He hadn’t seen him since leaving the room and had spent dinnertime wondering why he kept a silk cord hidden. Could it be that, overwhelmed with grievances, he might hang himself?… Indeed, he was worried, so much so that he couldn’t eat properly. He had been searching, his heart in suspense, and only now, seeing him, did he feel somewhat relieved.

As for Ding Yi, after her initial happiness, she recalled her vulnerability, uncertain whether the Twelfth Master had seen anything. Feeling anxious, she dared not say much, just standing quietly. After a while, she tried to make small talk, squinting her eyes and saying, “The moonlight is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

He was gracious enough to agree. After contemplating for a while, he decided against direct consolation for fear of embarrassing him. Yet concealing his concern might not prevent a rash act. Finally, he chose an indirect approach, carefully saying, “I spoke with the Seventh Prince at the dinner table, asking him to discipline his men properly. I expect such incidents won’t happen again. Everyone faces difficulties in life—not just you, but even imperial relatives, and even the Emperor on his golden throne cannot have everything as he wishes. Rising stronger after setbacks is admirable, but contemplating suicide over minor troubles makes one beyond salvation. You’re intelligent, and intelligent people know how to adapt. When encountering obstacles ahead, taking a detour can overcome them—there’s no need to crash headlong into them… Do you understand my meaning?”

Ding Yi listened for a while, then replied, “Not really… I mean, I understand the principle, but what you’re saying doesn’t seem related to me.”

Hong Ce grew anxious, suspecting he truly harbored such thoughts and was feigning ignorance. Since he concealed and denied it, Hong Ce had to be direct. He pointed at his body and said, “You’re not a woman. Why do you carry a silk cord?”

She was dumbfounded—so he had seen it! What should she do? Momentarily confused and directionless, she tried to evade, saying, “What silk cord… There’s none, you’re mistaken. Why would I carry such an unlucky thing?”

His stammering evasion made Hong Ce unable to read his lips clearly, increasing his anxiety. He lit a fire stick and held it to his face. In the fire’s glow, he saw the pale complexion, the flickering blue flames highlighting crimson lips, creating a strange allure in the half-light, half-shadow.