“Won’t you come out?” He looked at the shoe tip protruding from the haystack and felt a pang in his heart. After waiting a moment with no movement from her, he guessed she hadn’t figured out how to face him. In truth, when people interact, it’s not always necessary to touch upon their most vulnerable points. Though his ears couldn’t hear, he possessed a sensitivity more acute than others. From the time they first met until now, she had never been forthright with him, yet his suspicions weren’t groundless. From her every word, action, and glance, he could deduce the general situation.
He had truly put his heart into caring for her, though he had been annoyed earlier, blaming her for keeping such important matters from him. But now, let alone seeing her, merely glimpsing her shoe tip dissolved all his resentment. Her circumstances were heartbreaking—so many hardships endured alone with gritted teeth. Originally full of hope, suddenly finding it empty—this feeling he could understand.
He sighed and crouched down before her, separated by a layer of dry grass. “When I was thirteen, I went to Khalkha. Upon first arriving, I couldn’t adapt and longed daily for the Great Empire to recall me. My royal father said that youthful travels were meant to temper one’s disposition, and each person’s aptitude determined the length of their external assignment. I always felt I was no worse than my other brothers, and I devoted myself wholeheartedly to my duties in Khalkha. Yet over ten years, the court dispatched imperial envoys six times for inspection, never bringing a summons for my return. I was filled with hope time and again, only to be disappointed each time. Even when my ears were deafened, no one thought of me. Later, I realized that to live well, I could only rely on myself. I didn’t need anyone’s pity—sympathy lasts but a moment, not a lifetime. I needed to prove myself, to make them look at me with new eyes, so I never considered retirement. Some people retire and gain a reputation for being indifferent to fame and fortune, but not me. I rush east and west not for promotion or nobility. As the Seventh Master says, having reached this position, no amount of additional merit would make me Emperor. I work so desperately because I don’t want people to call me a useless waste behind my back…” He gave a bitter smile, brushed the snow off her foot, and said softly, “Living in this world, how can everything be to one’s liking? There are always unexpected hardships and obstacles. If everyone were like you, running away when facing problems, hiding alone without seeing anyone, how would that work? No hurdle in the world can’t be overcome. What does ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’ mean? Gather your strength, jump over it in one leap, and looking back, what obstacles? They’re nothing at all.”
He mimicked her tone, speaking as lightly as possible, hoping she could see things more positively. But she remained the same; the grass covering her trembled visibly. He couldn’t hear if she was crying, and grew increasingly unsure. He brushed aside some of the grass and said urgently, “I don’t care about your background, even if you are from the Wen family. We who are alive can choose what to eat and drink, but we can’t choose which family we’re born into. Can hiding solve the problem? How long do you plan to hide? Without your family, you still have me…” He thought for a moment, feeling it might not be appropriate and fearing it would frighten her, so he added, “Just consider me as a brother. From now on, I’ll protect you; you won’t be all alone.”
After waiting a while with no response—she was so stubborn—if left to her own devices, she’d likely spend the night in the mountains. The snow continued to fall steadily. He went to take the handful of grass; she struggled slightly but then let go.
By the light of the lamp, he could see her lips had turned purple from the cold. Sobbing, she stammered, “Twelfth Master, I’ve wronged you…”
He said nothing, pulled her to her feet, brushed off some of the dripping snow, took off his great cloak, and wrapped it around her. “It’s all right, be good.”
His voice lingered above her head. In such circumstances, having him by her side could alleviate her suffering. After crying for so long, her head felt dizzy; she swayed and was drawn into his embrace. He patted her back gently and said, “It’s all in the past now; things will get better. If you could survive before, you certainly can in the future.”
The Twelfth Master’s embrace was very warm. She leaned against him, not thinking about propriety between men and women. His scent enveloped her, seemingly existing in the deepest recesses of her memory, both strange and familiar. She nuzzled closer, burying her face in his chest. Though they had never been this close before, she felt that this was where her home should be. It was inexplicable, like fate. She had her hopes, but someone as good as the Twelfth Master—if she got too close to him, she would only bring him trouble. A prince, condescending to accommodate her, was already her good fortune; how could she dare ask for more?
Attachment, but also contentment. The moment of closeness was fleeting; she pushed him away, stepped back, knelt, and bowed deeply, saying, “This slave has deceived you and the Seventh Master for so long due to selfish motives. Just now, the secretary checked the records and said my brothers are all gone, though I don’t know if it’s true or false…” Her voice choked with emotion, and she could hardly continue. After composing herself, she continued, “Later, I’ll confess to the Seventh Master. Whatever punishment he decides, I’ll accept it, even if it means death. Who can blame me for being insignificant? But before that, please grant me some leniency, Twelfth Master. Let me go to the Aha camp. I need to go look for myself, to ask those who were with them. What if there’s something hidden? What if my brothers escaped in the chaos? Perhaps Eunuch Tao was just making a perfunctory report to complete his task, but they aren’t dead. They might be alive somewhere.”
He naturally wanted to fulfill her wishes. Having come this far, if the matter remained unresolved, it would forever be a knot in her heart, gripping her for life, making it impossible to live well in the future. He pulled her up and tightened the cloak around her, saying, “The Seventh Master is still in the dark; don’t tell him unless necessary. The fewer people who know, the better. With your family gone, you still have your own life. Continuing under the name Mu Xiaoshu will be inconvenient in the future. I’ll think of a way, to stabilize the situation first, and transfer your household registration to my commercial banner. Once you have peace of mind, matters of marriage will be easier to address, without unexpected complications arising at the last moment.”
Mentioning marriage made Ding Yi a bit uncomfortable. She hadn’t considered these things, but thinking of her master, she felt that her disregard for life and death was very disrespectful to him. She had promised to take care of him in the future. Dying on Changbai Mountain would waste her master’s hopes and efforts—wouldn’t that make her an ungrateful wretch?
“Thank you, Twelfth Master,” she bowed. “Someone like me doesn’t dare think about the future. I just muddle along, taking one day at a time. I’m indebted to you, and no matter how well I plan, I may not be able to repay you, but I’ll know all my life that I owe you. That you came to find me today… how do I put it? Thank you for still thinking of me. Look at this snow and ice; I’ve troubled you again.”
She never forgot her place. Earlier, she had been in a state of panic, but now that her mind was clear, she knew how to exchange pleasantries and navigate social interactions without missing a beat.
Having traveled together for several months, Hong Ce knew her character well. He pitied her and wanted to tell her his thoughts, but the words stopped at his lips. She was grieving, and it seemed inappropriate to bring it up now. In her situation, regardless of his status as a prince, if she was unwilling in her heart, it would seem like he was using his position to pressure her, which wasn’t his intention. He was devoted to her; she wasn’t a dull person and would understand his goodwill.
He merely laughed at himself, recalling how he had anticipated this day during the family banquet at Changchun Garden, and now it had indeed come to pass. He had always thought he would follow the path of all royal clan members, never expecting to encounter such a strange fate. He could almost predict the obstacles they would face in the future, and he was prepared to pay any price once he had made up his mind. Even if they had to take a roundabout path, his initial intention wouldn’t change. He would be someone reliable emotionally. No matter how much she had suffered before, with him by her side now, bitterness should give way to sweetness.
He took her hand and said, “I’ll go with you to find out. Once you know, whether they’re still around or not, you’ll have peace of mind and can look at things more positively. Living isn’t for others; it’s for yourself. If you can’t find them, then you’re no longer Wen Lu’s daughter. I’ll arrange a new identity for you. In the future, when you marry and have children, consider the past as experiences from a previous life. Forget what should be forgotten!”
Ding Yi looked up at him. Under the lamplight, his features were composed, containing something she could read but dared not confirm. She felt somewhat flustered and quickly diverted her gaze, only tightly gripping his hand. The physical contact between them never seemed to cross boundaries; it was like a gentle spring breeze or water reaching its natural course. Placing her hand in his palm gave her a sense of security.
He held up the lamp and walked forward, taking a few steps before turning back to look at her, only feeling at ease when he saw she was fine. Each time he looked back, his heart stirred. The fox fur cloak framed her face, delicate and nimble. Now that he was certain she was a girl, there was a sense of matters being settled. He kept suspecting she had something to tell him, fearing he would miss it due to his hearing impairment, so he asked her every so often, “Did you call me?”
Ding Yi shook her head, and after numerous times, couldn’t help feeling shy. In this wild mountain forest, having him as a companion during the most difficult times—even years later, recalling it would still bring tears of gratitude!
She covered his hands with hers, “Are you cold? Let me give the cloak back to you; I’m afraid you’ll catch a chill.”
He said he wasn’t cold, “I’m a man; I won’t freeze. As long as you’re fine, that’s enough.”
She didn’t know how to thank him. After a moment of silence, she said, “Twelfth Master, Mu Xiaoshu is the name my wet nurse gave me. She said it wasn’t convenient for a girl to travel, so I had to be raised as a boy. I’m from the Chinese Bordered Banner, originally named Wen Ding Yi. My mother had no more children after me; I’m the youngest in the family.”
As he was reviewing Wen Lu’s case, he was familiar with the details of his children. Her honesty made him happy. He slightly raised the corner of his lips, “I know, ‘according to the time and following what is appropriate’—it’s a good name worthy of being recorded.”
Being “recorded” was a rather moderate way of putting it. In his mind, being recorded in the Jade Registers was his ultimate intention. He harbored a little secret, feeling fulfilled and quietly delighted, though she didn’t know it.
For two people who didn’t openly express themselves, these slight hints and attempts were already enough. The lack of overwhelming emotion was merely due to the timing not being right. First, plant the seed in the heart; by spring next year, it will flourish with branches and leaves. Looking at her under the lamplight, her stubbornness was gone, her red lips slightly pouted, with relaxed lines on her face. He asked her softly, “According to the sequence, you shouldn’t have this name, right?”
“That’s right.” She tilted her head with a wry smile. “I was a miscalculation by my parents. If I had been a boy, following ‘Wen Liang, Gong, Jian, Rang,’ I should have been named Wen Ru Rang. But seeing I was a girl, they couldn’t follow the sequence, so they called me Ding Yi, which was quite makeshift.”
He replied calmly, “An unintentional planting of a willow—it’s not bad at all. Being a girl preserved a root for the Wen family. If you had been a boy, you wouldn’t have survived until now.”
Having so many sons, only to be exiled to a barren land, with neither life nor death under one’s control. Fortunately, a daughter remained, living tenaciously, allowing him to meet her. As the common saying goes, “Heaven won’t starve a blind sparrow.” However, he sometimes lacked confidence; his hearing impairment, regardless of his high position, was still a disability, and he feared she would disdain him.
He paused, hesitantly asking her, “When you speak to me each time, do you find it tiresome?”
She looked at him. In his eyes, there was a flickering light and something that pained her when she saw it. She squeezed his hand and said, “How could I? Rather, I worry that you get tired. I fear I speak too quickly for you to see clearly, and you’re too polite to correct me, while I remain unaware, causing you trouble. Twelfth Master, if I don’t do well, you must tell me. Whether in speaking or doing things, if you find it displeasing, I can change. Before, pretending to be a man, always mixing with men—if anyone were to investigate, it would be a blemish for a young lady. Fortunately, you didn’t look down on me, and you even helped me when I encountered problems…”
He almost seemed to be pledging his loyalty, quickly saying, “This was unavoidable and can’t be considered a blemish. You are upright; whoever dares to gossip behind your back, I will split them alive.”
Women are most susceptible to such words from men, especially from an extraordinary man like him. When a person reaches a certain age, their thoughts differ from childhood. Meeting the right person, and falling in love—it’s human nature. She still had these thoughts; even if her three brothers were gone, the rise and fall in official careers, life and death were commonplace. She didn’t direct her anger at anyone, especially not at him.
As she listened, a smile gradually spread across her lips, “You are a gentleman; you wouldn’t split someone. With these words from you, I… haven’t lived in vain.”
Hong Ce, thinking back, also felt embarrassed. He had never been so impatient before; his words were perhaps too rough, but he didn’t regret saying them. They walked and talked along the way, requiring him to watch her lip movements, which slowed their pace. Late at night like this, walking in the wilderness, with his poor hearing, he feared he couldn’t protect her adequately. So he spoke no more, only saying, “Let’s walk faster; we might arrive by dawn.”
The torches flickered behind the trees, like stars in the sky, becoming dimmer and eventually invisible with distance.
Another group came along a nearby path. The Seventh Master, wrapped in a great cloak, cursed and complained, “Have we encountered a ghost wall? Not even a footprint to be seen! Did we take the wrong path? You’re all useless cowards! I’ll dock your salaries for half a year when we return—a bunch of freeloaders who bring me no honor. Look at Prince Chun’s mansion, then look at yourselves! That’s why they say a daughter-in-law is better at bearing sons than a mother-in-law. Our Prince Xian’s mansion is just a mother-in-law’s nest, raising a bunch of good-for-nothings waiting to die…”
The Seventh Master’s voice echoed through the forest; a single “Ah” could travel quite far. Then came his shout: “Tree, you can run away, but don’t encounter wolves. Your small frame isn’t sufficient for a meal—wolves would cry if they saw you…”