What’s there left to see? Everything’s been taken. Since the Seventh Prince had made his stance clear, the Twelfth Master wouldn’t make things difficult between brothers over someone as insignificant as her. This time, she could finally rest easy—truly, the Seventh Prince’s methods were superior. With just a flick of his finger, he had resolved the troubles that had plagued her for so long.
She handed the umbrella to Guan Zhaojing and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Steward, for conveying my gratitude to His Highness for his repeated kindness. As you can see, things have turned out like this…” She shook her head dejectedly. “No need to say more. I’ll take my leave now. The funeral rites aren’t finished yet, and it wouldn’t be right for me to abandon them halfway.”
Guan Zhaojing blinked. “Leaving already?”
She sighed. “No other choice. I’d better go back and serve my master properly!” With that, she saluted him. “No need to see me off. I’ll excuse myself now.”
Her heart ached, the tension draining all the way to her heels. Just as she straightened up to leave, Guan Zhaojing suddenly turned and ran off, his black boots thudding against the ground. Surprised, she looked up and saw someone approaching down the corridor—dressed in a plain dark blue robe, a belt of seven ornaments cinched at his waist. Though his pace didn’t seem hurried, he moved swiftly. What a coincidence—it was the Twelfth Prince.
Dingyi forgot to step aside. Watching him approach from afar, she wondered if he had learned of her arrival and was rushing to meet her. She grinned at her own presumption, but as he neared, she quickly moved to the side.
“You’re here?” The Prince actually stopped before her. “I was just heading to your office. Let’s go together.”
She hadn’t planned to seek an audience, yet now they were going the same way—what a stroke of luck! Dingyi responded with a respectful “Yes.” “Is Your Highness going to the Shuntian Prefecture on official business?”
He didn’t answer her, having already stepped out the gate, unable to see her lips moving. She hurried after him. The Prince boarded his sedan chair, while she stood solemnly to the side. Once the bearers lifted the chair, she followed at a measured distance. The sun scorched her face, yet suddenly, none of her troubles seemed so bad. She still felt quite happy.
Hongce sat in the shaded sedan, frowning, his fingers tapping slowly on his knee. After reporting to the Emperor, his departure date had been moved up by over half a month. Before leaving, he needed to review some case files again. Toiling under the sweltering heat without rest—who wouldn’t feel a simmering frustration? But imperial duties brooked no slack. People like them—flatteringly called imperial relatives, bluntly put, were high-ranking servants. Everyone saw them riding in eight-man sedan chairs, but who saw them waiting under the scorching sun outside the Xihua Gate for an audience?
Earlier, Hongtao had vented his anger at him, blaming him for reporting the whereabouts of Wen Lu’s son to the Emperor. Originally, they had planned to set off after the Mid-Autumn Festival—after all, the journey out of the capital was long, and baking on the dusty roads was hardly a life fit for the pampered Prince Xian. The plan had been sound, but Hongce had disrupted it, earning Hongtao’s ire. He accused him of being obsessed with duty, dragging him along to suffer the hardships.
Recalling this, Hongce gave a wry smile, the taste of it indescribable. Everyone had their own stance—not everyone could muddle through. To stand firm in the court, one needed backing. If Khalkha had remained peaceful, he would have been the most secure among the imperial princes. But now? He always felt like a man atoning for his sins. If he didn’t give his all, he might be exiled again—ten years, twenty years… How many decades could a person afford to waste? He was only twenty-three, yet he felt as though he had already weathered the vicissitudes of life. Such an experience was something Hongtao would likely never understand in his lifetime.Reprimanded, she smiled in agreement. No matter how stifled she felt inside, she had to remain humble and amiable on the surface. People must be polished; once polished and cast out, even the smallest platform—no larger than a bowl's base—would allow them to spin smoothly. These were words her master had spoken over a decade ago. Only now did she truly understand them, and looking back, the realization had come at a great cost.
Leaning against the wattle fence, she sighed, her tense limbs gradually relaxing. Turning her gaze outward, she noticed an additional attendant by the sedan chair—a plainly dressed figure in slightly faded but clean and neat homespun cloth. Bareheaded, with crescent-shaped eyes and a faint smile lingering on the cheeks. Though of lowly origins, the skin was surprisingly fine, the sheen of sweat like gold dust sprinkled on fine rice paper, translucent and pure under the sunlight. Hongce studied the face and figure for a moment, finding them mismatched with the reputation. Then again, everyone in this world struggled desperately to survive. A minor figure, scurrying about—somewhat laughable, but mostly pitiable.
He lifted the curtain and asked gently, "How long have you been here?"
Dingyi hurriedly replied, "I arrived a while ago, but I ran into Seventh Lord and had to wait for his instructions, which delayed me some."
He gave a hum. "Are you from Beijing?"
The Prince asked because his poor hearing made it difficult to discern accents. She thought her Beijing dialect was fairly standard. Though she'd been away for six years and picked up a bit of a Hebei twang, another six years back in the capital had nearly corrected it.
"No, my roots are in Shanxi. I moved around with my parents before settling in Langfang. I spent some of my childhood in Beijing, then moved away. It wasn't until I became my master's disciple that I returned to the capital."
Hongce nodded. "You came to Beijing alone? Any family left?"
Dingyi squinted against the sun, shielding her brow with a hand like an arbor, and answered slowly, "My parents passed early, leaving me with my foster mother. After she died, only my foster father remained. We didn't get along, so we rarely saw each other—except when he ran out of money and came to the city to find me. I'd give him most of my savings, and he'd leave as soon as he had the money."
"Giving him most of it—what about yourself? Don't you need to eat and live in the capital?"
How rare for a Prince to show such concern for the common folk! Seated behind the carved window, he tilted his head slightly, the two hollowed gold seals on his crown knocking against the ebony lattice with a dull, muffled sound. This was the fourth time she'd met him, and he had always been composed—well-mannered, cultivated, and pleasant to speak with. In the past, just hearing the name Yuwen would make her tremble in fear—once bitten, twice shy. But meeting this lord had changed that. Setting aside his lineage, he was truly exceptional. Among the imperial relatives in the capital, who else would deign to chat with the lower classes? He was different. Whether he looked down on them or not, at least he acknowledged them—and that was already more than enough.Dingyi smiled, "I've been with their family since I was very young. Now that I can earn a little, it's only right to show my gratitude to him. As for myself, with my master and senior brother looking after me, I won’t lack for anything, at least not a bite to eat. They’ve been so good to me, and when I make something of myself, I’ll repay them." She tilted her head sheepishly, "That’s why when my senior brother got into trouble last time, I couldn’t just stand by. I rushed recklessly to your mansion to plead for help, and now that I think about it, I’m utterly embarrassed. It was your kindness—I hadn’t dared to hope for much, but you were willing to help, relieving me of my pressing worries. My senior brother wanted to come to your residence to kowtow in thanks last time, but the guards at the gate stopped him. He’s been regretting it ever since, muttering about how to properly thank you."
Hongce didn’t dwell on such matters. People often said princes were noble, but their true nobility lay in their days as imperial sons. Once they established their own households and mingled daily in the common world, that air of superiority faded. After all, one couldn’t live detached from worldly affairs—even the Descendants of the Dragon ate the same grains as everyone else. Among the people outside, those deemed worthy could be friends, regardless of background. Like in his brothers’ households, opera singers and Western painters were welcomed as honored guests when they visited. In the end, the struggle for succession was like a battle with only one victor. For the rest, whether one truly had the makings of an emperor or was merely suited to be a peddler or laborer no longer mattered.
"As the saying goes, the more friends, the more paths," he said, slowly turning his ring and offering a faint smile. "What’s done is done—no need to dwell on it. I just thought it wasn’t worth risking a life over a dog."
"Your Highness is right," she replied with a bow. Thinking of the Seventh Prince soured her mood—he seemed to go out of his way to make things unpleasant. She wanted to share today’s encounter but reconsidered—after all, they were brothers, even if not by the same mother, and their bond was closer than hers with him. How could she say, "I don’t want to move flowerpots for the Seventh Prince; I want to be your guard"? That wouldn’t be appropriate.
She sighed deeply and glanced at the Twelfth Master again. He was a man of pristine character—there was no need to trouble him with such trivial matters. Adopting a lighter tone, she asked, "What fruits does Your Highness enjoy? I can’t afford anything expensive, just small treats. Today, before coming, I bought water chestnuts and horned melons by the lake, but I ran into the Seventh Lord, and he snatched them away..." Her expression turned mournful. "Though they weren’t worth much, they were meant for you. Now I’ve come empty-handed to return the umbrella—how embarrassing!"
The Seventh Prince stealing his fruits—it was amusing to hear it put that way. Hongce said, "You owe the Seventh Lord. Instead of him taking them, you should’ve bought some for him as a gesture. Lacking courtesy only breeds resentment. As for me, I don’t eat those often, so there’s no need to trouble yourself."
Dingyi nodded. "You’re right. I’ve mentioned making amends to the Seventh Lord to my senior brother—I’ll check if he’s done it yet. It was our rudeness first, and neglecting him isn’t good. But why don’t you like fruits? My senior brother, for instance, is always craving them—he eats whatever he finds in my room. Last time, I climbed a tree to pick a bowl of mulberries, washed them clean, and left them there. Just then, my master called me away. When I returned after the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the plate was empty!"Hongce murmured, "Mulberries... haven't had them in over a decade. I've always been stationed in Khalkha, where the climate isn't right for fruits. The thing I remember most is sea buckthorn—those little sour-sweet berries. When I first arrived, I thought they were delicious. I'd sit on a dirt slope with whole bunches of them and could finish a basketful in half a day. But after eating nothing but those for so long, I gradually grew tired of them."
Dingyi's eyes sparkled. "Do you like mulberries, then? I'll pick some for you. There's a big mulberry tree behind our courtyard," she gestured upward, "tall as anything, and the fruit tastes wonderful—ripe ones aren't sour at all."
When he was happy, his eyes held a warm light. When he smiled, they narrowed into crescents, revealing a golden shimmer.
"There are rules in the palace. Imperial sons begin their education at six and move from their foster mothers to the Prince's Residence. Back then, I lived in the South Three Compounds, near the Imperial Stables, where there was a small mulberry grove—said to be prepared for the Empress's silkworm ceremonies. I was young and didn't understand. After lessons, I'd follow my brothers to pick mulberries. I was short, so I could only gather what they left behind—unripe ones still tinged with red. I wouldn't even wash them, just blow off the dust and eat. So sour!" Remembering his childhood now brought a different flavor to the memory. Back then, he wasn't picky. Being with his brothers made even the sourest berries taste good. He had always valued kinship deeply, but "I offered my heart to the bright moon, yet the moon shines on the ditch." His sincerity wasn't necessarily trusted or relied upon by others. After his mother fell from favor, they no longer wanted to get too close to him. To his face, they called him by name; behind his back, they called him "the Tartar."
"So you haven't had them since? In your memory, mulberries are just sour?" Dingyi hadn't expected such small berries to stir so much emotion in him. She'd always assumed the Emperor's sons sat stiffly, ordering eunuchs and nurses, saying, "Here, feed me this, feed me that," then opening their mouths to be served.
Hongce shook his head regretfully. "Didn't get to pick them many times. The Fifth and Seventh Masters got into a fight, and when word reached the Emperor Emeritus, he ordered the grove fenced off."
"Then I'll bring you some when I can. The tree in our place is ancient—practically a spirit—and its fruit is especially sweet." She smiled. "When are you leaving? I heard Manager Guan say early next month?"
He hummed in agreement. "About ten days left."
Her expression dimmed, her lips drooping as she muttered, "So soon. I wanted to go with you, but now it's impossible."
He forgot that he could read lips. Even if she didn't speak aloud, he could see her words clearly. She was quite interesting, really. After a few conversations, she seemed different from the usual sycophants. Though she had her little schemes and mischief, there was an honesty in her nature. That was why he'd arranged a minor post for her by his side—to have someone to talk to during idle moments, to pass the time pleasantly.
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