Upon entering the prince's residence, she knew better than to look around and kept her eyes fixed on her toes, restraining herself as she followed the young eunuch at a quick pace. Passing through a narrow passage and over a small bridge, she was suddenly met with a wave of floral fragrance. Unable to resist, she glanced up—good heavens, such a vast expanse of Hosta flowers! Though their buds weren’t particularly vibrant, they stood tall and elegant, clustered in the flowerbeds, occupying nearly half the garden.
So this prince had a fondness for gardening. Despite their lofty status and power—being the emperor’s own brothers—princes were bound by many restrictions. Members of the Imperial Clan couldn’t leave the capital without imperial permission, their lives confined within the walls of their mansions, where they cultivated their hobbies. Behind closed doors, they could sing operas, raise dogs, or even stage mock funerals for amusement—no one could interfere. But outside, they had to maintain the dignity befitting their station, standing as noble representatives of Great Britain, embodying its decorum and prestige.
This was Dingyi’s first time in a prince’s residence, and even her childhood memories couldn’t compare to its grandeur. The censors oversaw architectural standards and ceremonial protocols, ensuring every detail adhered to rank—whether it was the colors of painted beams and eaves or the size of the Roof tiles on the ridges. Her father, a second-rank official back then, had only been permitted gray tiles, unlike here, where the main halls were covered in Green glazed tiles. Indeed, nobility could be measured by the tiles alone.
Walking through the gardens, she felt the weight of this phoenix’s nest, her tension mounting with every step. The deeper she went, the more apprehensive she became. Tongue-tied and unsure how to persuade the prince, with Xiazhi’s life hanging in the balance, she was caught between a rock and a hard place.
Passing through a connecting hall, she found Guan Zhaojing waiting ahead. She bowed slightly as the eunuch gestured forward. "The prince is in the Hall of Cultivating the Worthy. I’ve mentioned your case briefly, but the details are unclear to me—you’ll have to explain yourself. Remember, answer only what’s asked. No unnecessary words, and no deceit. The prince’s household has strict rules. Don’t end up losing yourself while trying to save your senior brother."
Dingyi acknowledged with a "Yes," then hesitantly asked, "How did the prince react when you spoke to him?"
Guan Zhaojing glanced at her, recalling their master—a man of deep, still waters, unlike Seventh Lord, who stirred waves without wind. He grunted, "If he weren’t willing, would he have summoned you? Listen carefully—there are a few things to note when addressing the prince. Speak directly to him, don’t lower your head, or he won’t see you. Speak slowly. If you rattle on like beans in a jar, only you’ll understand—that’s no use."
The implication was clear: the prince’s hearing had to be considered. Dingyi understood and bowed again. "I’ll remember. Thank you, Chief Steward, for your guidance."Guan Zhaojing waved his hand and led her toward the lake. On the opposite shore stood a two-story building with upturned eaves and a wide open space in front, already covered by a sunshade. The Manchus had a few well-known symbols of wealth—sunshades, fish tanks, and pomegranate trees; tutors, fat dogs, and plump maids. The first three were inanimate objects, yet essential. Every household, come May, would hire awning craftsmen to construct an arbor according to the courtyard’s dimensions, which would remain until summer’s end. The prince’s sunshade differed from those of common folk. While the latter extended like tongues to block wind and sun, the prince’s was shaped like a canopy over the building, supported by ramie cloth on all sides, with an opening in front that could be lifted for entry. When not in use, it was pressed down tightly, preventing even the smallest insect from entering.
As Dingyi approached, a eunuch assigned to lift the curtain granted her passage. Her mind preoccupied with Xiazhi, she had no time to marvel at the exquisite craftsmanship of the sunshade. Beneath it hung two glazed lamps, their brilliant light illuminating the figure standing before the blue and white porcelain fish tank. Unlike the imposing figure in official attire from their last encounter, he now wore a pale blue robe, a jade belt cinching his waist. His silhouette was elegant, his profile as flawless as jade.
Though the prince appeared indifferent, she dared not relax. Stepping forward, she respectfully swept her sleeves and performed a deep bow. “Your humble servant, Mu Xiaoshu, pays respects to Your Highness.”
The man feeding the fish placed the remaining fish food back into the box and glanced up. “Rise.”
This was the second time she had heard him speak. Without seeing him, just hearing his voice, it was hard to describe the sensation—like fingertips plucking a zither string, a resonant note that seemed to cleanse the soul.
Her hands trembled within her sleeves as she struggled to steady herself and rise. She opened her mouth, then recalled Guan Zhaojing’s warning and swallowed her words. One only answered when questioned; speaking out of turn was forbidden. Yet Prince Chun remained silent. She glanced awkwardly at Guan Zhaojing, but the eunuch’s face was expressionless. She could only hold her breath and wait.
Finally, the prince spoke. “Your senior brother offended Seventh Lord’s dog. Explain exactly how.”
The prince was straightforward, neither putting on airs nor questioning why they had sought his help. He seemed willing to assist. Dingyi took a breath, not daring to look at him, nor could she prevaricate. She chose a phrasing that sounded less shameful: “Your Highness, Seventh Lord’s dog was unleashed when we encountered it, so we took it home with us.”
One fact, two ways of phrasing it. This was certainly better than saying, “We stole Seventh Lord’s dog.” She thought she had explained it well, but the prince’s next words left her speechless: “Return the dog, and the matter is settled. There’s no knot that can’t be untied. Why come to me?”
The prince must already know the truth. Dingyi flushed awkwardly. The problem was, the dog’s appearance had been ruined, and after some mishandling, it had become dull-witted, no longer recognizing its former master. Returning it was impossible. Her face twisted into a grimace. “Well… if we return it, I fear Seventh Prince may not recognize it…”
Prince Chun remained composed. “What? Did you eat it?”“That’s not the case.” Dingyi was nervous, twisting her fingers as she said, “My senior brother had a momentary lapse in judgment and wanted it to help catch badgers, so he made some slight adjustments to it… clipped the tips of its ears and chopped off three inches of its tail. The dog is now a badger dog. If the Seventh Prince could take it… it would be quite good for catching badgers.”
Had he known it was like this, and that the dog hadn’t been ruined beyond recognition, Hongtao wouldn’t have been so furious. As a prince, he now found himself entangled in such trivial matters. Guan Zhaojing had come in to report, and upon hearing it, he had acted out of kindness. It was true that he had once interceded for a minor official at the execution grounds, but the matter had passed, and he hadn’t given it much thought. Now, the person had come knocking again with another request. Others might have grown impatient, seeing it as a nuisance, but he didn’t think so. Few were truly ignorant of human affairs; one would only plead repeatedly when desperate. Since he had done a good deed once, he didn’t mind doing it again. But upon closer inquiry, he found the root of the matter rather unsavory, and thus saw no need to involve himself further.
He clasped his hands behind his back and paced a couple of steps. “If he couldn’t control his own hands, it’s only right for others to hold him accountable. Coming to my residence won’t help. He’d be better off kowtowing a few more times before the Seventh Prince. Once his anger subsides, the matter will be over.”
Dingyi had prepared herself for rejection, but when reality hit her like a hammer, she found she had no recourse but tears. What could she do? She couldn’t think of a way out. They say cats and dogs each have their own paths. People in their line of work weren’t fortunate enough to rub shoulders with the high and mighty. Which of the big shots in the capital nowadays was easy to deal with? Prince Chun was their last hope, and now he refused to intervene. A sense of foreboding crept over her—Xiazhi’s life might very well be forfeited this time.
The prince’s stance was clear—it was a dismissal. Guan Zhaojing shot her a look, signaling that she should kneel and take her leave. But she stood there dumbly, eyes fixed and unmoving, as if lost in thought.
Hongce wasn’t overly concerned with formalities, nor was he lacking in people who kowtowed to him. Having made his position clear, he turned to return to his study. Unexpectedly, as he turned, he felt a tug on his robe. Looking back, he saw the young lad staring up at him with pleading eyes, brimming with tears. Earlier, he had been too focused on the boy’s speech to notice his appearance, but now he saw that this child was unlike most. Perhaps it was his youth—his delicate features hovered between boyish and girlish, making it hard to tell at a glance. In all his years, few had dared to cry openly before him, if only for the sake of propriety. He had seen palace maids weep behind their sleeves or soldiers wail on the battlefield, but none like this. Eyes blurred by tears, reddened nose, and a trembling mouth—the sight was utterly pitiful.
“My master isn’t home, and I have nowhere else to turn.” She sobbed uncontrollably, clinging to the prince’s robe—a grave offense—before letting go and dropping to her knees. Looking up, she pleaded, “If Your Highness won’t help, my senior brother’s life is over. He’s only twenty, he didn’t know any better. I beg you, give him a chance to live. If you’d just lend a hand, I’d repay you in any way I can, even as your servant…”
Guan Zhaojing was horrified. He hissed under his breath, “You little brat, what did I tell you before entering the garden? Have you forgotten everything? Daring to act so recklessly before the prince—do you have a death wish?”Dingyi ignored him. She knew this was her last chance—if she missed it, she would be expelled from the prince's residence, and there would be no way to return. So she had to swallow her pride and beg. Prince Chun had a reputation as a good man! Good-hearted people were soft; if she could persuade him, Xiazhi's life might be spared. With tears and snot streaming down her face, she rambled on, "I have no parents. When I was little, I sought refuge under my master's care, and it was my master and senior brother who raised me. Now my senior brother is in trouble, and if I can't save him, I won't be able to face my master. Your Highness is a great benefactor—there's no one in the capital who doesn't know of your kindness. Please, have mercy and intervene for this lowly one. I'll serve you faithfully, running errands before and after your horse. Common folk 'pledge their land to their lord,' but I have no land—only my life to offer. Though I may be insignificant, in critical moments, I can shield my master with my body. I beg Your Highness to take pity and save my senior brother!"
In these times, even blood brothers would secretly trip each other up. For fellow disciples to go to such lengths was truly moving. Hongce nodded. "The phrase 'pledge my life to my lord' is well said. I won't mince words—saving someone isn't difficult, but the reasons behind it are chilling to recount. That's why I told you to leave earlier. Now that you've spoken so earnestly, I can see your resolve. Given your sincerity, it's not impossible to plead for leniency, but remember: this is the first and last time. I don't want your life. Go back to your duties, keep an eye on your senior brother, and don't cause any more trouble."
Such a prince was rare in this world. Though he bore the same surname, Yuwen, the difference between good and bad was vast. Dingyi kowtowed repeatedly. "Your Highness's kindness leaves this lowly one at a loss for words! I will remember your instructions and henceforth uphold the law diligently, never troubling Your Highness again."
Prince Chun was considerate—he didn't delay until the next day, even though it was quite late. He had Guan Zhaojing fetch a coverall for him to change into. Dingyi stood respectfully to the side, hesitating before saying, "It's almost curfew... I wonder if the Seventh Prince has retired for the night..."
As he held out his hands for Zhaojing to fasten his belt, he replied calmly, "If you don't show up for duty tomorrow morning, your superiors won't be able to cover for you."
He had thought of everything—even the concerns she had hesitated to voice. When you asked someone for help and they agreed, you couldn't rush or pressure them; it had to be their own choice. If they were indifferent, you could only wait. But if you encountered someone with a crystal-clear heart, things became effortless. There was no need to grovel repeatedly—they would anticipate your needs without prompting.
Dingyi stole a glance at him. There was something indescribably good about this impeccably thorough man, an aura of righteousness emanating from his entire being. She had always assumed the Imperial Clan were experts in indulgence and seasoned in kicking others when they were down. Never had she imagined such virtue could be the model among princes. Whether he was truly benevolent or not didn't matter—as long as he acted now, in her eyes, he was undeniably a good man.
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