Back at the office, Yun Xi spotted Zhang Huailu from a distance, seeing off Minister Pei and Lord Luo as they emerged from the gate.
Knowing that Minister Pei likely had no wish to see her—his future daughter-in-law, not yet married into the family—she paused at the mouth of the alley for a moment.
She stopped, and Cheng Chang’s carriage stopped as well.
The two attendants driving the carriage, assuming some overly bold soul dared block their young lord’s path, rolled up their sleeves and went looking for trouble. Yun Xi couldn’t stop them in time.
Cheng Chang sat alone in the carriage, and hearing the commotion outside, put his head in his hands in weary resignation.
Yun Xi looked up and noticed a woman standing beside Lord Luo, dressed in a soft, pale pink silk gauze robe, her figure slender and graceful like a delicate pear blossom in spring. Yun Xi studied her for a moment before recognizing her as her distant cousin, Luo Shu.
Minister Pei and the others were conversing about something, and whatever it was, it drew hearty laughter from the group.
A blush rose on Luo Shu’s cheeks, and glancing casually toward the mouth of the alley, she seemed to spot Yun Xi and called out to her.
The others turned to look at the sound, and the smiles on their faces gradually faded.
As though her presence had somehow spoiled the mood.
Before long, Zhang Huailu hurriedly escorted Minister Pei and Lord Luo away. But Luo Shu didn’t leave with them—instead, she lifted her skirts and hurried over to Yun Xi, taking her hand affectionately and calling out, “A’Ting.”
A’Ting was Yun Xi’s childhood name.
Yun Xi asked, “What brings you to the Capital Prefecture Office?”
“Father is unwell. He forgot to take his medicine this morning, so I brought him his medicinal broth.” Luo Shu smiled softly, then asked, “A’Ting, did you know Brother Pei will be back in Jinling in just a few days?”
Yun Xi gave a small “Mm” in response.
Luo Shu said gently, “Ever since coming to Jinling, the three of us haven’t gathered together in years. Once Brother Pei returns, would you speak with him about picking a day for the three of us to meet again, like we used to?”
Hearing this, Yun Xi fell silent.
In her childhood, she had lived in the northern frontier, growing up alongside Pei Lan and Luo Shu as close childhood friends. Back then, Yun Xi’s father had been the Marquis of Zhongyong, guarding Jialiang Pass; Pei Lan’s father had been the local prefect; and Luo Shu’s father had served as a commander under the Marquis.
With their fathers close—whether through old friendship or family ties—the children had grown up together as a group.
Yun Xi and Pei Lan had been betrothed since before birth. She’d known from childhood that she would one day marry him, and had been raised to cultivate affection for him, though it was never romantic love so much as something like sibling bond.
In his youth, Pei Lan had truly been good to Yun Xi. Among the hundred or so half-grown boys in the military camp, whenever anyone bullied young Yun Xi, he would always seek justice on her behalf. On snowy winter days, when young Yun Xi wanted candied fruit, he would ride out through the night to the nearest town just to buy it for her. He was thoughtful, ambitious, handsome, and skilled with his hands—every year he would make her a new hand warmer for winter or a bamboo fan for summer, so much so that Luo Shu, upon seeing this, grew envious and once asked Pei Lan, “Brother Pei, could you make one for me too?”
Yun Xi, by nature deeply loyal and affectionate, always felt compelled to return kindness threefold, and any true generosity shown to her, she wished she could repay tenfold.
Later, when Pei Lan’s father was promoted to a position in the Ministry of Works and the family relocated to Jinling, young Yun Xi had ridden alone on horseback, following the departing carriage for thirty li to see them off.
Pei Ming entered the Ministry of Works, and within just three years, rose to the rank of Minister. He then recommended Luo Fuyou, Luo Shu’s father, a man of considerable literary talent, for a position at the Privy Council in the capital.
All of this had happened before the House of Zhongyong’s decline.
In truth, the House of Zhongyong’s fall from grace had taken place over the span of just two years. When barbarian forces invaded the Tage Steppe, Yun Xi’s father, Yun Shuguang, led troops to repel them and died in battle. When news reached the capital, someone accused him posthumously of reckless pursuit of glory, and opinions at court grew divided—inevitably, the Emperor’s judgment was swayed by one side or another.
By rights, the title of Marquis should have passed from father to son, but Emperor Zhaoyuan not only refused to grant the battle-hardened Yun Luo his father’s title, but sent him instead as a deputy general under General Zhaoyuan’s command.
The result was General Zhaoyuan’s betrayal, the crushing defeat at the Tage Steppe, and Pei Lan’s timely arrival with reinforcements to save the day.
The House of Zhongyong had once held a fief of a thousand households, but decades of poor harvests, alternating floods and droughts, had led Yun Xi’s grandfather’s generation to return the land and its stipends to the crown and the people—after all, the household was small, and the family could live comfortably enough on the court’s regular salary alone.
But now that Yun Luo too was gone, the stipend that should have gone toward the marquisate felt scalding hot to hold.
The day Yun Xi drove the cart alone, bringing Yun Luo’s coffin back from the northern frontier to the capital, a fine, drizzling rain fell over all of Jinling.
A hero returning home in death—and in the end, aside from Yun Xi’s sister-in-law, Fang Shi, Yun Luo’s widow, not a single soul came to receive him.
Halfway through the journey, the sound of galloping horses suddenly rang out down the main street. Yun Xi yanked at the reins, but there was no way to avoid it—her cart collided head-on with a speeding carriage.
The cart tipped over onto its side, and though she herself wasn’t badly hurt, the impact knocked the lid off Yun Luo’s coffin, exposing the body within.
The corpse was charred black, nothing left intact except for a section of one arm—after General Zhaoyuan’s betrayal, the barbarians had set fire to the Tage Steppe, and most of the Sui soldiers’ bodies had been burned beyond recognition. It was only by the birthmark on that remaining section of arm that Pei Lan had been able to identify Yun Luo at all.
A figure stepped down from the carriage opposite, and upon seeing the scene, immediately covered his nose with his sleeve in disgust. “What is that smell!”
Yun Xi looked up—it was Cheng Chang.
He’d apparently been drinking all night and was thoroughly drunk. He stared at Yun Luo’s corpse for a moment, then burst out laughing. “What kind of monstrosity is this—ugly enough to make this young lord sick!”
As he laughed, the attendants accompanying him joined in with mocking laughter of their own.
There were plenty of onlookers nearby, even court officials among them—but who would dare offend the Third Young Master of Prince Cong’s household?
What’s more, rumors had already been circulating at court that since General Zhaoyuan had betrayed the crown, who was to say whether Yun Luo, who had served under him, hadn’t also betrayed his post? The battle had gone poorly to begin with, some said, because the Marquis of Zhongyong had recklessly pursued glory—perhaps father and son were both scoundrels!
These rumors had reached the court itself, and not even old family friends like Pei Ming and Luo Fuyou had spoken a word in the Zhongyong family’s defense—likely fearing the trouble might fall on themselves.
Watching her brother’s corpse lying face-up in the rain, listening to Cheng Chang’s mocking laughter, Yun Xi’s heart burned with fury. She gripped the dagger at her waist, ready to step forward and settle the score with him, but Fang Shi pulled her back just in time.
Fang Shi’s eyes brimmed with tears as she slowly shook her head.
Yun Xi understood what she meant—they couldn’t afford to offend Prince Cong’s household. More importantly, if they did, they might not even be able to keep her brother’s body safe.
As Yun Xi moved Yun Luo’s body back into the coffin, inch by careful inch, she came to understand something clearly: nothing in this world could withstand the wearing passage of time—friendships, so-called glory, all of it would eventually be ground down by the endless rise and fall of fortune, reduced to a mere speck of dust in the winds of the past, gone with a single breath.
And in the end, the only thing she could truly rely on was her own two hands.
That year, rumors that Yun Luo too had betrayed the crown spread wildly through the court. Emperor Zhaoyuan had already decided to open an investigation, but it was Prince Cong who intervened, suggesting, “Regardless of the details, the court has already given the soldiers an explanation for Zhaoyuan’s betrayal. Yun Luo went to war without ever having inherited his father’s title in the first place—investigating him would inevitably lead back to the Marquis of Zhongyong as well, and the fighting at the Tage Steppe still isn’t finished. If this case grows too complicated, it could shake military morale. Better to let it go for now, and revisit it once General Pei returns victorious to the capital.”
Whether it was because Cheng Chang had overturned Yun Luo’s coffin or not, Prince Cong had extended some measure of goodwill toward the House of Zhongyong—and it was thanks to that single remark that Yun Luo was finally laid to rest in peace.
…
“A’Ting?” Seeing Yun Xi remain silent for so long, Luo Shu called out to her again.
Yun Xi snapped back to the present, having entirely forgotten what had just been asked. “What did you say?”
“Look at you,” Luo Shu said, covering her mouth with a small laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re so overjoyed at the news of Brother Pei’s return that you’ve gone completely dazed?” She studied Yun Xi intently and asked, “A’Ting, Father tells me that once Brother Pei returns, your marriage will be settled soon. Isn’t that right?”
Before Yun Xi could answer, the two attendants who had gone off looking for trouble returned, each dangling a sparrow upside down by the legs, presenting them to the carriage as though claiming credit. “Young lord, there was hardly anyone in this official alley—just a couple of noisy sparrows. Fearing they might disturb your rest, we caught the two ringleaders. Shall we execute them on the spot?”
Cheng Chang lifted the carriage curtain, his expression one of utter weariness with life. “Just let them go.”
“Yes!” The attendant answered at once, loosening the cord, and the two sparrows immediately flew off.
The attendants added, “Our young lord’s heart is as vast as a valley—truly, a man of great magnanimity!”
Throughout the journey, Cheng Chang had been contemplating his situation, and he’d come to a realization: this Cheng Chang whose body he now inhabited couldn’t simply be described as an ordinary spoiled young master. By the standards of modern civilization, he barely qualified as a decent human being at all. Every corner of Jinling bore traces of his misdeeds—extortion, provoking trouble, brawling in groups—all of it seemed to be routine for him. Who knew what other crimes he might have committed in the past—murder, arson, kidnapping women, for all he knew.
Cheng Chang felt like he was walking through a minefield with every step, both body and spirit having taken a severe beating.
The two attendants leaned in close again, speaking in hushed, mysterious tones. “Young lord, before we went to Zuixiang Restaurant, we already sent word back to the residence to have that thing brought over for you—thought it might help cleanse away the bad luck from falling in the water this morning.”
Cheng Chang felt he was on the verge of a breakdown. “What… thing?”
The attendants helped him down from the carriage, answering a question with no real answer at all: “It’s already waiting for you at the Capital Prefecture Office.”