The next day was the day of departure. Having barely slept the night before, Dingyi rose before dawn to make preparations. She packed her belongings, secured her waist knife and flint, then stepped outside to check the sky—the horizon was just beginning to lighten. She took deep breaths, savoring the earthy fragrance of soil and greenery, the crisp, clean scent of the garden at daybreak.
Everyone gathered outside the corner gate, ready to set off at the fifth watch. Carrying her bundle, she hurried over. The guards' station was distributing saddlebags, and Liao Datou spotted her, calling out, "Xiaoshu, come here! This is your share. There might not be places to eat along the way, so this has water and dry rations. Hold onto it—lose it, and you'll go hungry."
Few among the guards were decent folk. Seeing her small stature and hearing Liao Datou’s fatherly tone, they couldn’t resist teasing her. "It’s thousands of miles to Ningguta—no wet nurses on the road. What’ll you do when the craving hits?"
"Enough nonsense! Mind your tongues—do you want the Prince to hear this?" The man at the front of the group, holding his horse’s reins, turned and scolded.
The others chuckled. "It’s not nonsense! Ever heard of the Dai family in Jinyu Hutong? Dai Xing'an’s mother worked for Prince Zheng’s household. Dai Xing'an was thirteen and still looking for his mom, asking neighbors, ‘Seen my mom? I need a sip of milk.’ That’s the truth. Shoutou, some folks are into that. Ever heard of Fubeile on Dingfu Street? Starts his day with a bowl of breast milk and plain steamed buns." Their eyes slid toward Dingyi as they laughed. "This one’s so fair-skinned—doesn’t look like a guard, more like a young master raised on breast milk."
The jokes grew cruder, and Shouheng shook his head in disapproval. As the head of the guards, he was a formidable figure with an imposing, righteous demeanor. But even the toughest characters softened after too long among these roughnecks, losing their edge. They called him "Shoutou" behind his back—a play on words, since surnames like Zhang or Li could be prefixed with "Tou" harmlessly, but with him, it carried a teasing undertone. Teasing was inevitable, though. Beijingers were famously quick with a joke—ask them to be serious, and they’d die of boredom.
Dingyi felt awkward under their ribbing. She’d joined her master’s household in her teens, and while her senior brothers loved mischief, they never teased her like this. The yamen staff, out of respect for her master, also refrained from poking fun. But these guards, from lower-tier banner households, were an uncouth bunch. Mingling with them was bound to bring her discomfort.
Just then, the Prince emerged, dressed in martial attire, a red-tasseled hat atop his head, and a divine sword at his waist. At a glance, he cut an impressive figure. He inspected the group, checked the saddles and stirrups, and, satisfied, mounted his horse.
They left the city through Dongzhimen Gate, looping around De’nei Avenue to rendezvous at Prince Chun’s residence—a convenient route. The Seventh Prince led the group to the northern bank of Houhai, where the Twelfth Master’s contingent was already assembled and ready. Dingyi, blending into the mounted procession, looked ahead. The Twelfth Master’s mandarin jacket bore two coiled dragons on the shoulders, his martial attire a stark contrast to his usual appearance. Royal bearing, perhaps—those two truly stood out like cranes among chickens, the kind who seemed to glow in a crowd. She couldn’t tell if he’d noticed her, but when his gaze drifted vaguely her way, his brow lifting slightly, she felt as though he’d acknowledged her. She smiled faintly—not deliberately, but instinctively—certain the Prince had taken note.The Twelfth Master had spent his early years in Khalkha and was exceptionally skilled in horsemanship, lacking the finicky and delicate tendencies of the capital's nobility. With a swift tug of the reins and a crack of the whip, his movements flowed effortlessly, and in the blink of an eye, he was galloping toward the city gates.
Dingyi followed the cavalry out of the city, her mind blank the entire way. Only after traveling a considerable distance did she realize she had finally left the city behind. Turning back for a final glance, the receding city walls appeared dark and somber beneath the sky. She exhaled deeply and looked ahead—leaving meant a new beginning. Here she was, embarking on a long journey, while Ruliang and the others remained unaware. If she suddenly appeared before them, reuniting with siblings after more than a decade apart, she couldn’t imagine what that scene would be like.
Best not to dwell on it. The more she thought, the heavier the burden. She had muddled through life before without any hope, let alone now.
There was an official road from Beijing to Shengjing, wide and reserved for imperial officials and couriers, not frequented by commoners. With no obstacles along the way, the ride was exhilarating. The steady clatter of hooves and the wind roaring past her ears made the heat barely noticeable. Passing through forests and open fields, the journey felt thrilling and unrestrained. But as the initial excitement faded, a different reality set in. Spending five or six hours a day on horseback was no easy feat—her back ached, her bottom was sore, and by evening, her legs could barely close properly. Dingyi found it embarrassing, limping around and drawing laughter from the guards. Let them laugh—those rough men would soon learn their lesson. Sure enough, after three days of relentless riding, even the Prince’s guards couldn’t take it anymore. Thus, the pampered Seventh Prince became everyone’s last hope—if he cried, "I can’t take it anymore, my descendants will be doomed!" the Twelfth Master would have no choice but to relent. They’d find a riverbank to rest, water the horses, and wipe their faces and necks with damp cloths, only to discover that every exposed patch of skin was sunburned, red and peeling. A few days later, when the skin peeled off, they could have written two large characters with a brush using the shed layers.
Hot as it was, the journey had to continue—though it was hard on the Seventh Prince’s beloved birds. Though they had a special cart, the jostling made their cages uneasy, and they hopped about, panting from the heat. Dingyi made sure to stop frequently, feeding them four or five times a day.
Progress was slow and fraught with setbacks, but they finally reached Swallow River Village. Their guide mentioned an inn ahead where they could rest properly, and everyone craned their necks in anticipation. But "ahead" turned out to be a vague estimate—it took nearly an hour of riding before the inn came into view.
Still, it didn’t disappoint. This was one of the larger inns along the route, built in the shape of a swastika, with rooms facing all four directions for guests to choose from.
The innkeeper, seeing such a large group arrive, hurried out to greet them. Uncertain of their status and unable to see the leader’s face behind the curtained hat, he hastily swept his sleeves and kowtowed. "This humble one greets Your Excellency. May I ask where you’ve come from? Do you have your travel permit?"
The travel permit was an official document issued by the court for lodging at imperial inns. The Clerk handed over the paperwork, and when the innkeeper opened it, he immediately flustered, his thick Fengrun accent becoming even more garbled as he hissed at his subordinates, "What’s the matter with you? Don’t just stand there—prepare the best rooms for His Highness the Prince! What about wine? And meat?"The humble post station master, an unranked official, had only ever dealt with visiting officials of the second or third rank at most. A prince of this stature was something he'd never encountered since birth. A great bodhisattva descending upon a small temple—this was truly extraordinary, leaving him flustered and spinning in circles.
The others merely chuckled at his state as they dismounted to attend to the Prince. Seventh Lord sat stiffly on his horse, unable to move his legs, until two guards supported him down on either side. Standing on the ground, he gasped for breath, "Aiyo, these legs aren't mine anymore. How much longer must we travel? If we keep jolting like this all the way to Ningguta, I'll be crippled for sure."
Hongce looked at him with a sense of helplessness. Originally, only Hongtao had been assigned to Ningguta, but he had pleaded earnestly, saying he couldn't manage alone and begging Hongce to find a way to accompany him. Unable to refuse, Hongce had agreed, sharing his burden. Now, seeing him complain like this was both exasperating and amusing.
What could one do with such a brother? Hongce raised his eyes to the sky, where the sunset blazed like fire, promising another clear day tomorrow. Turning his head, he instructed the Ministry of War's Dingyi, "Enough. We've been traveling nonstop for over ten days, and everyone is exhausted. We'll rest here today and set out again the morning after."
Dingyi hurriedly acknowledged the order, "This servant observes that Seventh Lord has suffered greatly this time. In any case, Lu Yuan is managing things over there, so arriving a day late won't cause any trouble."
Hongce nodded and entered the building, but after a few steps, he remembered something and turned back. The setting sun painted the courtyard walls red, and guards bustled about fetching water and tending to the horses. Mu Xiaoshu emerged from the stables, carrying two birdcages. Despite the scorching sun these past days, his complexion remained unchanged—only his cheekbones bore a slight flush, and his bright eyes seemed to shine even more brilliantly in adversity. Spotting Hongce, he grinned familiarly, bowed slightly, and went off to find a room for Seventh Lord's birds.
The post station's accommodations were limited. Between the Prince's personal guards and the Ministry of War's retinue, there were nearly a hundred men. By nightfall, even the rooftops and the dining hall were packed with people. There was no chance Dingyi could have a room to herself. As a guard under Seventh Prince, she had no choice but to squeeze in with Shouheng and the others. The guards, unruly by nature and accustomed to informality, rolled up their sleeves and traded bawdy jokes without restraint. She couldn't blame them—no one knew a woman had slipped into their midst. Among men, such behavior was natural, but for Dingyi, it meant constant discomfort.
After tending to the birds—since Seventh Lord relied on the red bird to wake him—she delivered them to his room. By the time she stepped out, dusk was falling, and cooking smoke rose from the post station as the cooks and attendants scurried about in disarray. She lingered outside briefly before Liao Datou and a few others emerged, robes thrown open to reveal their chests, towels slung over their shoulders. They called out boisterously, "Hey, Xiaoshu! There's a pond out here. We're going to bathe and look for clams. Come with us!"
That wouldn't do. Dingyi smiled and shook her head, "I'll pass. I'm afraid of leeches. You go ahead."
"What kind of man are you?" Gao Shazi sneered in a high-pitched voice. "So delicate, scared of leeches—are you a girl or something?"
Qian Chuanzi chimed in, "Now that you mention it, no matter how hot it got on the road, we've never seen him take off his clothes. Who knows what's underneath? Come on, join us and give us a look. With skin that tender and no women around, we'll have to make do with you for entertainment."Dingyi had never encountered such a situation before—a few burly fools actually showed up as threatened. She was terrified. In the past, she hadn’t taken their verbal teasing seriously, but now they had escalated to physical harassment, tugging and pulling, determined to drag her to the pond. Of course, she couldn’t comply. Pushing back, she argued, “I don’t make a habit of bathing outdoors, and besides, I can’t swim. If I go in, I’ll drown. Not to mention, the Prince’s two birds still need to be fed soon. If I leave now, the work will be left undone, and the Prince will surely reprimand me.”
No one listened to her protests. Only then did she realize how strong these men were—one hand was enough to lift her off the ground. Genuinely frightened, her voice trembled. Being treated this way as a young woman, her innate vulnerability and fear surfaced. Pale-faced, she struggled desperately. But to them, she was just a plaything, like a cat toying with a mouse—the more she resisted, the more they delighted in tormenting her. The onlookers egged them on, jeering, “Just strip her already! What’s with all the fuss?”
Her defiance only fueled their anger. One of them barked, “What’s the matter? Not giving us face? Nobody’s treating you like one of those male brothel boys—what are you so scared of? Afraid we’ll take advantage of you?”
The crowd erupted in laughter. Humiliated and frantic, Dingyi had become everyone’s entertainment. The inescapable shame was indescribable. These men meant what they said—several hands groped her body, reaching between her legs and tearing at her clothes. She felt this might truly be her fate, her doom. Even the dagger she usually carried had been left behind at the post station—she had nothing to defend herself with.
Amid the chaos, she could barely tell which way was up, only managing to clutch her collar and waistband. The more she resisted, the more brutally they manhandled her. She was no match for them. Just as she was about to lose the fight, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the noise: “What is going on here?”
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