There were only two people in the wilderness, sitting opposite each other under the moonlight, talking about topics beyond each other's usual reach.
Dingyi was initially in a bad mood, puffing her cheeks and on the verge of tears. Later, the Twelfth Master tried to console her by sharing stories from his childhood—how he was often overlooked and bullied. It was a competition of sorts, comparing who had suffered more, using his misfortunes to comfort her. Dingyi thought to herself, How could your suffering compare to mine? My parents are gone, while yours might as well not exist, but at least you can still see them. You grew up in luxury, while I tasted the bitterness of life at six, never having enough to eat but plenty of scorn. How can the two even compare?
Still, she was grateful to him. Such a thoughtful man, a noble Prince, sitting on a rock to comfort her—it was truly heartwarming.
Deep down, Dingyi wasn’t the stubborn type. She knew right from wrong. Just because her father had gotten into trouble and fallen into the hands of the Yuwen family didn’t mean she had to hate every Yuwen she met with gritted teeth. No. Though she didn’t know the full story, the grandeur of their household spoke volumes. Three years as a clean prefect, a hundred thousand taels of Snowflake silver —she understood that saying well. If her father hadn’t taken advantage of his position or embezzled even a little, he couldn’t have amassed such wealth. A second-rank official’s annual salary was 155 taels of silver and 155 hu of grain, plus an allowance for honest service—at most, 700 taels a year. Could 700 taels buy a grand mansion in the capital? Could it support hundreds of servants? So it was better not to dig too deep; everyone turned a blind eye. If the court didn’t press the matter, fine. But if they ever investigated, more than half the capital’s officials would be in trouble. Her father was just unlucky, singled out at some point to take the fall. If she wanted to hate, she lacked the moral high ground. If he had been truly innocent and wronged, she could’ve hated the Yuwen family enough to burn a hole through them.
So now she maintained a neutral mindset. Whether it was the Twelfth Master or the Seventh Lord, she felt neither love nor hatred. She just focused on doing her job well, guarding her secret carefully, and waiting until they reached Changbai Mountain to honestly reveal her identity. Because she wanted to be with her brother, she’d have to beg the two Princes for forgiveness and leniency.
She said, “Twelfth Master, could you do me a favor on the day we make up for my birthday? I feel bad asking again, but it is my birthday—the birthday person gets to be a little spoiled, right?”
Hongce’s lips curved slightly. He’d forgotten they shared the same birthday, but it didn’t matter. His affairs were trivial; agreeing wouldn’t hurt. “As long as it doesn’t break the law, I’ll do what I can,” he said.
Cross-dressing wasn’t illegal, was it? Though deception would surely anger them, the Princes could show mercy with just a glance. She smiled. “I’m a decent person—I never do anything outrageous.”
He raised an eyebrow, studying her. “Really?”
His tone reminded her of the time she’d followed Xiazhi to steal a dog, and she flushed with embarrassment. Luckily, it was too dark for the Prince to see her guilty blush. Sheepishly, she said, “Why add ‘really’? Who can swear they’ve never done anything questionable? As long as you stay principled in the big things, that’s enough. Don’t take life too seriously—it’s exhausting. Don’t you think?”
This time, he agreed. “You’re right. Obsessing over details makes every waking moment exhausting. I used to be like that, striving for perfection in everything, only to end up wasting effort and gaining nothing in return.”She looked up at him and said, "Going to Ningguta is a tough assignment, and who knows how long you'll have to stay there. Do you think the court will send you back to Khalkha again? I know that place is bad, and you don’t like it."
A layer of confusion floated across Hongce's face. "If Khalkha doesn’t cause any more trouble, I should be able to live peacefully in the capital. But if there’s even the slightest disturbance, I’ll be the first to be sent out."
Only after getting closer to him did Dingyi realize that even a prince had so many worries. She didn’t understand—his ears were already ruined, so why were they still targeting him? Indignant, she said, "You’re just as much the Emperor Emeritus’s son as the others. What’s the difference? The unrest in Khalkha wasn’t stirred up by you, so why pin the blame on you?"
Because his mother was closely tied to Khalkha. When his mother was in power, he basked in her glory. Now that she had fallen from grace, the sins naturally fell on him to bear alone.
He found it amusing to see her clenching her fists in fury. "It’s nothing. That’s just how it is in the imperial family—whether you’re favored or not depends entirely on the power behind you. All the brothers share the Emperor Emeritus’s bloodline, but who stands out depends on their maternal family’s influence."
The Twelfth Master’s hair was loosely tied with a beaded ribbon. As the evening breeze blew, a few strands brushed against his face. He hooked them away with his little finger—a light, effortless gesture that left Dingyi staring in awe.
She chuckled awkwardly. "Your hands… they’re really beautiful…"
He seemed surprised. "What?"
She startled herself too—had she accidentally spoken her thoughts aloud? He probably had never been complimented like this before! Hurriedly, she tried to cover it up: "Ah, I mean, your hands are so well cared for, not like ours from rough work. Compared to yours, mine look like lumps of wood."
He lowered his gaze and stretched out his hands to examine them, finding nothing particularly remarkable. Dingyi couldn’t stand it any longer—her heart itched with an inexplicable restlessness. She quickly turned her face away and glanced at the sky, murmuring, "I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten. Let’s head back!"
In her nervousness, she forgot to face him properly while speaking, so the Prince didn’t catch her words. He asked instead, "That time you read my palm—were you actually skilled at it, or were you just fooling me?"
She stammered, caught off guard. "I—of course I know how! Didn’t you see how convincingly I explained it? I’d never fool you—you’re my benefactor!"
He gave a faint smile, tinged with skepticism, though his meaning was unclear.
She couldn’t stay any longer—the more time they spent together, the more likely she was to slip up. Dingyi quickly added, "It’s late, and I’m afraid my master might be looking for me. Let’s go back!"
So they headed back. The Twelfth Master stood up, and the hem of his robe brushed against the back of her hand, sending a shiver through her heart and stirring an inexplicable melancholy.
By the time they returned to the post station, most people had already gone to bed. A few stragglers could be seen wandering about, towels draped over their shoulders and fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans, shuffling lazily in their slippers under the eaves—probably thirsty and looking for water.
She bid farewell to the Twelfth Master, saying, "You should rest now. A whole day on horseback must have left your bones aching. Go to bed early, and I’ll come pay my respects tomorrow."Twelfth Master's attendant, Sha Tong, was already waiting at the gate. Since this was a long journey, Guan Zhaojing, as the steward of the estate, had to remain in the capital to manage household affairs. The Prince was accompanied by several trusted long-term servants. This Sha Tong was a eunuch and also a martial artist, having served his master since childhood. He could both attend to daily needs and protect his master, proving more useful than ordinary guards. As soon as the Prince returned, Sha Tong stepped forward to welcome him inside.
Dingyi stood under the corridor for a moment in a daze before heading back to his quarters. Qian Chuanzi and the others had been punished to sleep in the stables, but there were still four or five men in the room, making it rather inconvenient. Glancing around, he thought, why not go up to the roof? He could pick an empty ridge and make do for the night.
Just as he was considering this, the door to the main room opened. Seventh Lord stood in the diamond-shaped patch of light outside the threshold, hands on his hips, and said, "Where have you been off enjoying yourself? The bird is so thirsty it's gaping, and here you are, neglecting your duties. What do you think you're doing?"
Seventh Prince's expression was far from friendly, and Dingyi felt a chill run down his spine. He hurried forward and kowtowed. "This servant ate too much and went for a walk to aid digestion. I walked a bit too far and only just returned. Please punish me, Master."
"Aid digestion? Went with Twelfth Master, didn't you?" Seventh Prince glanced in that direction and snorted. "Haven't you figured out who your real master is yet? Are you stupid?" With that, he turned and walked away. After a few steps, noticing Dingyi hadn't followed, he clicked his tongue. "Still standing there? Waiting for me to carry you?"
Dingyi's heart pounded with fear, and he quickly hunched his shoulders and followed. Inside the room, he saw the bird food container and water container on the table. Without waiting for orders, he opened the cage and began refilling the food and water. He pulled out the drawer under the warbler cage and replaced it with a clean one, then turned and said, "Master, tomorrow I'll go to the river to fetch sand. With all the traveling these days, the sand in the lark cage hasn't been changed for several days. It's been too hard on the bird."
Seventh Prince, legs crossed, toyed with his snuff bottle and gave him a sidelong glance. "At least you remember to tend to the birds. I thought you only had eyes for Twelfth Master now, leaving my two treasures behind to go off and enjoy yourself." He pointed at the lark cage. "Take off the cover and let it greet the lamplight. This bird is quite amusing—it gets excited when it sees the light."
Dingyi responded with a respectful "Aye." "You might not know, but these past couple of days, it's learned to mimic a whip crack." Smiling, he lifted the cover and called into the cage, "Hey, Fenger, give the Prince a good loud crack, will you?"
The bird was incredibly clever—it understood human speech. At Dingyi's command, it spread its wings and mustered its energy, producing a series of sounds that mimicked both the wind and the crack of a whip, instantly delighting Seventh Prince.
"This Little Trickster is too amusing," Seventh Prince said, setting down the snuff bottle and approaching the cage like a weasel eyeing a chicken coop. "If you weren't a bird, if you were a person, I'd reward you handsomely."
Dingyi raised a hand. "Prince, I am a person."
The implication was clear—he was angling for a reward. Seventh Prince folded his arms and gave him a look. "You? You're lucky I'm not punishing you. What are you even thinking?" He turned back to the lark. "You gave it a name? Fenger? Could you be any more common? At least call it Danzhu or something. Fenger sounds like some washerwoman who goes door to door doing laundry."
So picky. Dingyi said, "Where I'm from, washerwomen are all called Hua'er or Cao'er—none are called Fenger. Since it's a Crested lark, Fenger suits it just fine."Seventh Lord shot her another glare. "Fine, Fenger it is then. And what about this red bird, what's its name?"
Dingyi coughed lightly. "Yingying."
"Oh dear!" Seventh Prince covered his eyes and dragged his hand down his face. "Yingying? Might as well call it Zhang Sheng next! You've been reading too many opera scripts, haven't you?"
She blinked her large eyes innocently. "This servant hasn't read many books and can't come up with profound names. I just wanted something that rolls off the tongue easily. If you don't like it, we can change it—how about Little Date?"
Seventh Lord chuckled at her simple-mindedness. "Alright, Yingying it is. It's already used to the name, changing it now might confuse the poor thing." He paced a few steps before collapsing back into his armchair, eyeing Mu Xiaoshu up and down. "So, Mu Xiaoshu, today Twelfth Master came to complain to me about undisciplined guards causing trouble. Liao Datou also came to apologize and explained the whole incident. You..."
He probably meant to scold her too, accuse her of making a mountain out of a molehill. Just thinking about it made her chest tighten with anger. Even if she were a man, such humiliation was unacceptable. She knelt but stubbornly raised her chin. "This servant deserves punishment."
Seeing his defiant attitude, Seventh Lord realized he wasn't the least bit remorseful. He hadn't intended to reprimand him anyway—so who was this attitude directed at? It irritated him. "Did I provoke you? Giving me that sour face? You've got some nerve! Roughhousing among men is common—you carrying on like some chaste widow just makes people laugh! Tell me, how do you expect to get along with others if you're so uptight? Duty is duty, but brothers should still interact normally, right..."
His lecture trailed off as he noticed Mu Xiaoshu was crying—great, heaving sobs that caught him completely off guard.
"What's this... 'A man sheds no tears lightly'—what are you bawling for?" Seventh Lord leaned forward in his chair, half-threatening as he barked, "Stop that this instant!"
Everyone blamed her—only Twelfth Master truly cared. She was truly cursed to end up like this. The more she thought about it, the more miserable she felt. Between sniffles, she said, "This servant was wrong. These are tears of regret—please pretend you didn't see them!"
Seventh Lord sensed something deeper in his words. Regret? Regret coming to his estate as a bird keeper?
"You've got quite the temper. They were crude, laying hands on you, while Twelfth Master was so kind, accompanying you to walk off your meal." He frowned suspiciously. "Tell me, is there something between you and Twelfth Master? How does he always know the moment anything happens to you? When he rescued you, what was I doing..." He scratched his head. "Ah yes, I was having my legs massaged! Tell me—between him and me, who's your master?"
If her master wouldn't lift a finger, was she supposed to refuse others' help? Dingyi said, "You are my master. Twelfth Master only helped because I'm your servant—please don't take it to heart."
"That's exactly why I think there's something fishy going on." Seventh Lord looked scandalized, as if uncovering a major revelation. "Your Twelfth Master likes men, doesn't he? The two of you... eh?"
This was completely off track. Dingyi hurriedly denied it. "Twelfth Master is simply kind-hearted. He'd do the same for a stray cat or dog—he'd still worry afterward. He's a benevolent gentleman. This servant wouldn't dare tarnish his reputation. Master, you may scold or beat me, but please don't cast aspersions on Twelfth Master."Damn it, what did they take him for? Was he the kind of person who would throw mud? Seventh Lord stood up and paced around the room in agitation, his temper flaring. The more he looked at this brat, the more he detested him. He barked viciously, "No respect for rank, no sense of propriety in your words—slap yourself!"
So not everyone with the surname Yuwen was easy to deal with. Gritting her teeth, Dingyi responded with firm resolve, "Yes, my lord," and immediately began slapping her own face left and right. Frustrated and feeling utterly ridiculous, she struck herself with extra force. After a few slaps, her face burned fiercely and quickly swelled up.
Seventh Prince was startled to see her actually going through with it and hurriedly called a halt. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me? Planning to hurt yourself and then go whine to Twelfth Master?" He stomped his foot furiously. "You'll kneel here tonight! Don’t you dare move without my order!" The stomp was so forceful it jolted his bones, making him suck in a sharp breath. Limping, he retreated into the inner chamber.
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