His heart skipped a beat for a moment before calming down again. He simply said, "There's no need to hide anything from me. If you have something on your mind, just tell me. We get along well enough, and there’s some history between us too. If you can’t trust others, you should at least trust me. My foster mother often said one thing—being born is hard enough, so live each day well while you can. Take her, for example—after entering the palace, she never gained imperial favor and spent decades in the emperor’s presence without much warmth or attention. Yet she took it in stride and knew how to care for herself." He thought for a moment, then added, "Or take me—the suffering I endured in Khalkha is beyond words, but now it’s all in the past. The obstacles you face are just trivial matters of daily life, while mine often involved life and death, my very future. If I were as narrow-minded as you, I’d have died ten times over by now."
Dingyi realized he had misunderstood—he had mistaken the sash she used to bind her chest for a noose meant for hanging herself. And really, how many cases of women disguising themselves as men had there been throughout history? Was just anyone capable of being like Mulan? It wasn’t easy for a woman to live among men. At the mention of a young lady, the nobles would first imagine a graceful figure embroidering or playing the zither by a moonlit window. Then look at her—covered in mud and water, nothing like those refined maidens.
That he had mistaken her for suicidal was unexpected. She had been racking her brains trying to figure out how to deceive him, only for him to unwittingly provide her with an excuse. But she couldn’t go along with it—if he later demanded she hand over the "suicide tool," she’d be in trouble, since it was wrapped around her body and couldn’t be removed.
The glare from the fire starter made her eyes water. She turned slightly away, scrambling for a plausible explanation. "It’s not what you think—I wasn’t trying to kill myself! Are you talking about the sash that fell to the ground before I entered the side room today? That was just a bandage I prepared before leaving to wrap around my legs. You know how long the journey to Ningguta is—I’ve hardly traveled far before, and riding horseback day after day has chafed my legs raw against the saddle. The fabric rubbing against them is excruciating, so I wrapped them with the bandage—it helps cushion them a bit." She squinted at him with effort. "Twelfth Master, you’re too concerned about me. You came all this way just for such a small matter and even got hit by my stone… I’m truly sorry. Let’s not talk about the bandage anymore, alright? I just want to see where I hit you—are you hurt?"
Only then did Hongce remember the dull ache in his shoulder. But the pain was nothing compared to the embarrassment—he had assumed she was contemplating suicide, only to learn she was merely tending to her leg wounds. What did that make him? Overly worried, to the point of absurdity. Still, the way the bandage was wrapped… His brows furrowed as he studied her face. From the first time he’d seen her, she had struck him as different from most—too delicate, too refined… Perhaps he was overthinking it. Looking like a woman didn’t necessarily mean she was one. He recalled Hongtao mentioning once that she had a twin sister—since they were fraternal twins, it made sense for the boy to have slightly feminine features.
He rubbed his shoulder and glanced back. The lanterns hanging over the post station’s gate glowed faintly in the darkness, distant and ethereal. Turning back, he asked, "Shall we head back?"The glare from the fire starter made her uncomfortable, so she blew it out with a puff and took the other half of the small bamboo tube from him to cover it, smiling as she said, "It's rare to be so far away from them. Let's sit a while longer. Are you in a hurry to go back? If you are, I'll accompany you back."
Looking out at the wilderness, the Yanshan Mountains undulated under the moonlight, their towering ridges faintly veiled in a misty haze. The cool breeze sweeping across the lake carried a refreshing dampness, unlike the stifling heat trapped within the walls and roofs of the post station. It was indeed much cooler here.
It was still early, and there was nothing to do back at the station besides reading or sleeping. He shifted slightly and said, "Then let's sit a while longer."
Dingyi was delighted. She rolled down her horse-hoof sleeves to fan him. "It's pitch black here. Can you see me when I talk like this?"
She exaggerated her lip movements to make it easier for him to understand. He replied, "Just don't mumble." Then he pointed beside him. "Face the moonlight. I can't see you if you're backlit."
She gave an acknowledging sound and sat down beside him, resting her hands on her knees. But she couldn't sit still for long, hesitating before saying, "By rights, there shouldn't be a place for me beside you. I'm just a servant—this isn't proper."
He, however, didn't seem to mind. "There's no one else here. If we had to follow all the rules, you shouldn't have come to me in the first place."
This Prince was truly a kind and approachable man. After a few interactions, she no longer felt like an outsider. Dingyi pursed her lips in a smile. "That's true. If you had a harder heart or your residence were stricter, I wouldn't even have been able to get through the gates, let alone meet you! Twelfth Master, how much longer do you think it'll take to reach Changbai Mountain? By the time we get there, it'll be cold, won't it? Have you brought enough winter clothes? The further north we go, the colder it gets—we can't just camp anywhere. We'll have to plan our route carefully, sticking to post stations, right?"
He gave a noncommittal hum. "I reckon we'll arrive around October. By then, it should already be snowing. The northern post stations all have heated kang beds, so we won't freeze at night."
She tilted her head to look at his face. Even in the moonlight, his noble bearing was striking. The Prince had gentle, serene features, yet there was an air of quiet authority about him, as if the world lay effortlessly within his grasp. After a moment's hesitation, she ventured cautiously, "Is this trip to Changbai Mountain to summon the three sons of the Wen family? In your opinion, is there any injustice in Wen Lu's case? Or was Wen Lu framed, used as a scapegoat, and then silenced?"
Of course, Dingyi hoped it was a wrongful conviction. She didn't know much about her father's conduct as an official, but what child would want their father's legacy tarnished? A high-ranking official of the second grade, with a grand household—everything had collapsed so suddenly. Even now, the thought filled her with sorrow.
Hongce never acted without certainty or spoke without basis. He shook his head. "It's too early to say for now. If he were truly blameless, he wouldn't have ended up in prison. The officialdom is a vat of dye—men enter with noble intentions, but once steeped in power, their resolve wavers. Over time, the poison seeps into their bones. The Three Judicial Offices sentenced him to 'Awaiting execution after review,' yet he hanged himself the very next day. That defies logic."
So the period before and after sentencing was critical. If he died before sentencing, there must have been foul play. If after, the verdict was already set—someone merely gave him a push to hasten the case's conclusion and prevent any complications.
Dingyi sighed deeply. "The official world is anything but simple—it's a life-and-death struggle. Sometimes, it's better to be an ordinary commoner."He gave a faint smile. "Everyone has their own aspirations. Some endure years of hardship studying just to pass the imperial exams, becoming officials to bring honor to their ancestors—their whole family serves them like masters, pinning generations of hopes on this one chance. Passing the palace examination is like a carp leaping over the dragon gate; even the poorest families can gradually improve their circumstances. But if they fail? They go back to study for another three years, with no guarantee of success." He turned to glance at him. "If everyone were like you, joining the guards just to see the world, the court would soon run out of officials."
Why bring her up out of the blue? He didn’t know the full story. She had her own ambitions too, though she couldn’t reveal them.
"If there are doubts about Wen Lu’s case, can his three sons be retried?"
He had been watching her closely, needing to read her lips. After Dingyi finished speaking, she grew uneasy under his gaze. The Twelfth Master wasn’t someone easily fooled. If he noticed how intently she was inquiring, what then? Quickly, she laughed it off and changed the subject. "You mentioned scholars taking the exams—it reminded me of someone. Back when I’d just become my master’s apprentice and lived in Flat Pole Alley, there was a neighbor, a scholar who shared our courtyard. Every night, he’d recite texts. My master would sit eating by the wall in summer and mutter, ‘Here we go again,’ hearing him drone on, memorizing by rote. ‘He’ll never pass,’ my master said. And he was right—the man failed twice. Finally, in frustration, he stuffed all his Confucian classics into the stove and burned them. His family was poor, with no means to eat, so he came to my master for help. My master pointed him to a job—unloading grain at Xiangzha Wharf. When the barges arrived, workers had to sack the grain. To prevent theft, they were stripped naked, allowed only a cloth around the waist and a pair of shoes. Then they’d haul the sacks. That man, though he hadn’t been diligent in his studies, was frugal and hardworking in life. No clothes? No problem—he had big shoes. Each trip into the hold, he’d fill them with grain. Hauling sack after sack to the dam, he’d then empty his shoes and stash the grain, collecting it at night. That’s how he fed himself. Later, he even joked, ‘Books hold houses of gold.’ After a decade of study, he never found that gold, but manual labor kept his belly full."
Hongce enjoyed these tales of common folk. Everyone’s experiences and perspectives were shaped by their circumstances, each with their own limits. As a prince, his world was filled with stories of this or that noble house running short on funds, borrowing from the Imperial Household Department. The Imperial Clan was lazy and obsessed with face—no matter how poor, they’d never stoop to menial work, preferring to sell family heirlooms rather than seek honest labor. But the common people, when pushed to the brink, got creative. Though their methods might be unsavory, their resourcefulness made for interesting listening.
"But wouldn’t the grain hurt his feet?" he asked. "I’m particular about nothing else, but shoes matter. Too big or too small, and your feet suffer. How could anyone walk with something grating underneath?"Dingyi waved her hand and said, "At that time, there was no time to worry about it. Knowing the rations were right underfoot, you just had to endure the hardship! Look at the beggars on the street—aren’t they suffering too? When the weather’s nice, they strip off their cotton jackets to pick off lice, and at mealtime, they go to the porridge kitchens to get their tokens. That’s no way to live a proper life. Later, when this scholar tried to get married, it almost fell through several times. In the end, it was my master who stepped in to mediate."
The Twelfth Master caught the drift, listening eagerly like it was a storyteller’s tale, and asked, "Why? Did they think he was useless and poor?"
She shook her head. "The girl wasn’t from a wealthy family—if she wanted gold and silver, she wouldn’t have looked his way." She clicked her tongue. "But this man, he was stingy. When the matchmaker brought the girl’s relatives to visit, he served them malt sugar candies. You know how those candies come in whole pieces? Well, he cut them up and arranged them on a plate to make it look like more. Cutting them in half would’ve been bad enough, but he quartered them—each piece was the size of a fingernail. People took one piece and were too embarrassed to take another. That’s the kind of man he was."
He chuckled. "So he made them look down on him before anything was even settled. Seems he didn’t really want a wife."
"That’s why everyone called him ‘Porcelain Crane’!" she laughed. "Have you heard that rhyme—‘Iron Rooster, Porcelain Crane, Glass Rat, Glazed Cat’? It’s about people like him, so tight-fisted they won’t spare a single hair."
Xiaoshu told the story vividly… or at least, it must have been vivid. Hongce watched quietly. Under the moonlight, his demeanor was as serene as a chrysanthemum—though such a description might not quite fit a man, especially one as lively as him. "Serene" didn’t quite capture it. Yet the word popped into his mind, absurd as it was, and he couldn’t shake it off.
"So in the end, your master forced them together?"
She nodded. "Exactly. After getting rejected, he came crying to my master, saying how hard his life had been—his father died when he was four, his mother at nine, and with no one to care for him, he survived on wild clover and such. My master took pity on him and asked the matchmaker to put in a good word. Coincidentally, the girl’s uncle worked in the same office as us, so there was some influence there. They talked him up, praising his frugality and diligence, saying he’d make a good household head. And that’s how they ended up together."
Hongce said, "That’s not so bad. But if he couldn’t even afford food, how did he manage to study for so many years?"
"Supposedly, some distant relative took pity on him and gave him a little support each month." Dingyi shrugged. "Who knows? After carrying grain sacks, he wasn’t the same anymore. Maybe he resigned himself to fate, lost all his ambition, and just started spouting nonsense. Even after marrying, life didn’t go well—the couple fought constantly. The man threw away his books, forgot all his scholarly airs, and started spouting things like ‘a real man deserves nine wives.’ His wife would flare up at that—‘You can’t even fill your own belly, and you want nine wives?’—and beat him with a broom handle, leaving his face bruised black and blue. People say life’s a mix of laughter and tears. Some live richly, others might as well be chewing bitter herbs…" She thought of her own situation and shook her head with a bitter smile.
They sat side by side, close together. Hongce tilted his head slightly and saw Xiaoshu staring blankly at the moon. The crescent reflected in his clear eyes, shimmering and elusive.
Trying to break the quiet, he smiled and said, "How old are you, to have so many reflections on life?"She turned her face away, her brows gradually knitting together. "I'm just like that scholar—I lost both my parents too. None of my relatives are poor, but none were willing to lend me a hand, all watching me drift alone outside. Luckily, I met my master. He truly cares for me. Having no children of his own, he only wishes the best for me and my senior brother. This time, I climbed to a higher branch and left him behind in that crowded courtyard. When I left, my heart ached terribly..."
Her eyes welled up with tears as she spoke. Knowing he was a Prince, she didn't hold him in too high regard when they were alone. Instead, she treated him like a friend she could confide in.
A girl is still a girl—when faced with hardship, she longs for her master. If she were by his side, she would never have encountered such things. Now adrift outside, bullied by those people, subjected to their groping hands, she couldn’t even cry freely. The more she thought about it, the more agitated she became. Unable to hold back, she covered her face with her hands, tears seeping through her fingers and trickling into her sleeves.
The Prince, seeing her like this, said nothing more but reached out to pat her shoulder. Dingyi, still crying, had to explain, "I miss my master... I just miss him, that's all."
Whether there was more to it, he knew. If she wanted to cry, she should cry—afterward, her heart would feel lighter. He said, "On the ninth, we’ll likely still be on the road. Once we reach Changbai Mountain, I’ll make up for your birthday. You said you wanted to make a Kongming lantern—I’ll make one for you. Write your thoughts on it and let them fly high, and then you won’t miss your master anymore."
Dingyi, still childlike at heart, looked up at his words. Through her tearful haze, she sobbed and asked, "You’ll really make one for me? You’re not lying?"
He slowly curved his lips and nodded. "I’m not lying. I keep my word."
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