Dingyi looked at him as if he were a Yaksa, trembling as she said, "You're perfect in every way, except for one thing—you never ask for others' opinions. That's a flaw. Matters like proposing marriage or wedding arrangements can't be decided by you alone. Even though I have no family left, I still have my master. Marriage must be discussed with him first, to show respect."
Seventh Lord was taken aback. "What do you mean by that? You're unwilling, aren't you?"
She admitted, "We don’t know each other well enough. Talking about marriage is too soon."
"How is it too soon? What don’t I know? I know you’re Wu Changgeng’s disciple, that your family is gone, and you had no choice but to join the Headsman’s trade. Isn’t that enough? What else is missing?"
His so-called understanding was all superficial—none of it could be considered truly knowing someone inside out. Dingyi slowly shook her head. "Understanding isn’t just about background or character. It’s about observing each other, seeing if we can get along, if our temperaments match. It’s not just about throwing a man and a woman together and calling it a life."
Seventh Lord thought she was being too particular. "Plenty of people marry blindly and live just fine. As for getting along, I think we hit it off well—we always have plenty to talk about. And about temperaments, I may be harsh with outsiders, but I’m very considerate to those close to me. Ask my Secondary Wife—she’ll tell you I’m a good man."
This topic was becoming tiresome. Dingyi smiled. "I know you’re a good man, but not every good man is suited to be a husband. I need to find someone I’m willing to entrust my life to, someone I can live happily with. You promised not to force me—let me choose, alright? It’s not necessarily a choice between you and Twelfth Master. Maybe I’ll meet a Guard, a Peasant household, or an Orchardist household. If I feel he treats me well and we’re well-matched, I’ll marry him."
"You must be out of your mind—marrying a peasant or orchardist? Haven’t you had enough hardship? If it comes to that, I’d rather you marry Twelfth Master. At least he’s a Prince—you’d never want for food or clothing..."
"How kind of you, my lord! With those words, my heart is at ease." Before Seventh Lord could finish, she cut him off, cheerfully dipping into a curtsy. "You must be busy—don’t forget to wear your Cape when you go out, and don’t catch a chill. The weather’s too cold, and a cold is hard to cure." Rambling on about this and that, she darted off before he could react.
Seventh Lord was still processing her sudden departure, scratching his head in confusion. "What did I even say to make her so happy?"
Najin, arms tucked in his sleeves, remarked dryly, "You love her too much, my lord. Since you can’t have her, you’d rather she marry Twelfth Master than suffer with some peasant—exactly what she wanted. And she didn’t even thank you. Heaven won’t allow such ingratitude."
Seventh Lord blinked, realizing his mistake a bit too late. After a moment’s thought, he said, "I was just saying it—I didn’t mean it. Where would she even find a peasant to marry? No matter where she turns, she’ll still be in my grasp."
Najin had nothing more to add, so he asked, "Are you still hosting the banquet, my lord? If she refuses to come, what’s the point of setting a table?"
Seventh Lord insisted, "Set it anyway. If I have to, I’ll drag her there. My original plan stands—I’ll take her as my concubine in Ningguta. If I let a dish already on my plate fly away, I’d be a disgrace as a Banner Lord. Hongce keeps needling me—if only to spite him, I must take Mu Xiaoshu."Sometimes Seventh Lord was just like this—when he loved, he loved deeply, with all his heart and soul; when he didn’t, it wasn’t too intense either. He was still immature, utterly natural in his ways. Things that others fought over, even if they were rotten vegetables, seemed good to him. Even if it had nothing to do with him, he’d jump right in. If he lost, he’d sigh and lament; if he won, he’d make others envious. That was just his nature.
Najin saw it clearly—he was still the same as before. After a round of fighting, though defeated, he still held his head high. If one were to truly consider what was best, Xiaoshu would undoubtedly be better off with Twelfth Master. Having observed coldly for so long, Najin could tell that Twelfth Master was a solemn and steadfast man, unlike Seventh Lord, who was unreliable—lifting you to the heavens when he fancied you, then tossing you aside the moment he lost interest. Eunuchs were physically closest to men but psychologically closest to women. To lay bare the heart of the matter, Twelfth Master’s affection was like a gentle rain nourishing all things silently. There were no towering waves—perhaps the most intense moment had been limited to that one shout at Seventh Lord. But the more composed he was, the more it proved he was a good man to entrust one’s life to. Living day by day, peace and simplicity were enough. It wasn’t like performing on stage, where one had to play the fierce role—exhausting oneself with grand gestures.
Najin understood, and of course Dingyi understood as well. She paid no mind to Seventh Lord’s banquet and had already arranged a time with Twelfth Master. Before dawn, she was up and about. After tidying the room and feeding the birds, fearing they might go uncared for in her absence, she entrusted them to Sha Tong, asking him to look after them. As for Seventh Lord, she ought to have sent word, but she was afraid news might leak and she wouldn’t be able to escape. Besides, the mention of marriage the previous day had sent shivers down her spine. This departure was an escape from trouble. Once the storm passed and Seventh Lord’s temper cooled, she could return without delay.
Moving stealthily along the corridor in the dark, she peeked toward Seventh Lord’s quarters. The wind lantern at his door hung still, with no movement except for the two guards standing watch. Hunched over, she slipped out, her boots crunching softly on the icy ground. Her heart was light, and the biting wind against her face didn’t feel cold—instead, it was bracing, clearing her mind.
In Twelfth Master’s courtyard, only a single Ox-tendon Lantern flickered, casting faint shadows of moving figures. As she drew closer, she saw they were all wrapped in thick black sheepskin cloaks. No one spoke when she arrived. Instead, someone tossed a cloak toward her from a distance. The lantern was lifted, guiding the way to the stables at the back, where others were already waiting. Taking the reins, they mounted their horses and rode out of the inn in a steady line.
In Ningguta at year’s end, the days were short and the nights long, making travel in the dark particularly arduous. It wasn’t until near dawn that a faint light began to glow on the horizon. Dingyi lifted her gaze to the distance. Near the horizon, the sky was tinged with Madder Red, gradually blending upward into Lilac. She had never seen such layered hues before—perhaps it was a phenomenon unique to the northern lands, mysterious and impossible to predict.
The distance from Ningguta to the Suifen River wasn’t actually far, but the bitter cold and thick snow made the journey difficult. A small caravan advanced slowly under the morning sun, silent out of deference to their master—not a word spoken, not even a cough to be heard. Dingyi turned her head and saw Twelfth Master riding beside her. The fox fur of his collar framed half his face, revealing only his eyes, which, unlike their usual gentleness, now seemed sharp and unfamiliar, almost like a stranger’s. She felt a strange sense of dissonance, wondering for a moment if she had mistaken his identity. But upon closer inspection, in the sunlight, his eyes shimmered with a myriad of reflections. After a brief pause, his gaze shifted and met hers directly.Her heart skipped a beat as she awkwardly averted her gaze, but he called out to ask if she was cold. She replied, "It's bearable. This place really requires sheepskin coats—no wonder the market price is so high."
"Fur isn't the most expensive. Books are the most valuable. The Koreans revere Central Plains culture—one copy of Thatched Hall Correspondence can be traded for an ox. You won't find such rates in the capital." He looked up at the sky. "We'll arrive in half an hour. The market opens at mid-morning, and we'll get there just in time. Find a place to settle in first, and I'll come for you after finishing my business."
She frowned. "I came to help. What's the point of just waiting in a teahouse? I want to go with you."
He chuckled. "Be good. The crowd will be full of rough hunters and farmers reeking of mutton—do you really want that? Besides, we don't know their backgrounds. If there's any trouble, you won't be able to defend yourself. Just wait somewhere safe. After checking the morning market, we can't return immediately. We'll stay a couple more days to observe. Tomorrow's New Year's Eve—I'll take you shopping for new clothes so we can celebrate properly."
His tender words, filled with affection and comfort, made Dingyi flush with embarrassment. She glanced around—the guards acted as if they hadn't heard, but her cheeks burned crimson, radiant as the morning clouds.
His smile deepened. "Why are you blushing? I didn't say anything improper."
The more he teased, the more flustered she became. With outsiders nearby, such intimate talk was mortifying. The Twelfth Master was meticulous in military discipline, and his guards were impeccably trained—their expressions and actions always measured. Afraid of being laughed at, she found them instead like open sacks, silently accommodating without judgment.
Still, she was too shy. She shot him a reproachful look and pouted. "You didn't say anything, so why would I blush?"
"Then I must have been mistaken." He smirked, one corner of his lips quirking up with a roguish charm.
Hastily changing the subject, she asked, "Did you leave word with the Seventh Lord before coming to Suifen? He is the Imperial Envoy too—if we act behind his back, he'll complain again."
He hummed. "That graveyard we visited earlier isn't a paupers' pit. The Imperial Manor buries its dead there every year, each grave marked for records. Finding someone is easier than in Changbai Mountain. Yesterday, I suggested summoning Lu Yuan to lead soldiers in a thorough search—no need for him to lift a finger, just listen to reports on-site. But he refused, ranting about superstitions. Fine—I dropped it. After finishing here in Suifen, I'll handle it myself. He's always been a Prince of leisure—suddenly assigning him duties is unfair. It's easier to bypass him altogether."
Truthfully, the Emperor had assigned the Seventh Lord this mission to establish merit. After ascending the throne, the Emperor had ennobled his brothers, but not all became Imperial Princes—many with military achievements remained mere Princes of the Commandery. The Seventh Lord idly occupied his title without contribution—what would others think? The Emperor, shrewd, didn't explicitly demand support. The discussion during the Changchun Garden banquet had been deliberate—naming the Seventh Lord was merely ceremonial, a reluctant gesture given his decade-long posting in Khalkha.Dingyi only knew he worked too hard, handling everything personally, yet when it came to rewarding merits upon returning to the capital, Seventh Lord would inevitably take his share. She sighed, "The able bear the most burdens. Sometimes, suffering a loss brings blessings."
He nodded with a smile, "Isn't that so? This time, the blessings run deep. Even if all the credit goes to Seventh Lord, I won’t complain. As a Prince of the First Rank, he’s already above the highest rank, with so many estates under his name, living off land and property—his life is more than comfortable. There was only one thing lacking before, but now even that is fulfilled. What more could I ask for?"
The man, confident in the loyalty of his close aides, spoke without mincing words. Dingyi, embarrassed, chose to ignore him. She pulled up her hood to cover her face, leaving only her eyes darting about, lively as the glimmering light on glazed tiles.
On and on they traveled, timing it just right to arrive in Suifen at the opening of the market. People from all directions gathered—merchants from north and south, along with traders from neighboring tributary states. The collision and fusion of various cultures made this marketplace far more bustling than Ningguta.
He settled her in a tavern near the slave market, finding a seat facing east and ordering tea and snacks, leaving a guard to look after her. Dingyi leaned forward to look—the spot offered a clear view of the slave market, just as she remembered: a high platform built from broken planks, a dozen slaves strung together with straw ropes, driven onto the stage with whips, stumbling along, disheveled and grimy, their features indistinct. First, they were picked over by buyers; those unwanted were driven off, and another batch brought up. Typically, twenty or thirty people would be processed in a single morning.
"Why are there women too?" she muttered, her lips downturned. "Unless they’re born into servitude, it’s suspicious. Labor requires strong workers—are these girls being trafficked from Korea?"
"Not necessarily," he said. "Those with looks are prized everywhere, fetching higher prices than strong laborers. Some even fight over a pretty girl—this place has rough customs, so be careful when outside." He shot a glance at the guard. "Keep her safe. If anything goes wrong, you’ll answer for it." Then, through his heavy sheepskin coat, he pressed her wrist lightly. "Stay here and wait for me."
Dingyi watched him leave before turning back to observe the distant platform. The girls there looked young, in their teens or early twenties. Pitiful things, shivering from cold and fear, while buyers inspected them like livestock—checking teeth, flipping eyelids, euphemistically calling it "assessing condition." They groped their chests, squeezed arms and legs at will. The girls couldn’t resist; resistance meant a beating. Dingyi’s nose stung with sympathy, inevitably drawing parallels to her own past. She’d been luckier—back then, a nursemaid had protected her. Otherwise, falling into a Slave Trader’s hands, her fate might have been worse than theirs.
The tavern had two floors, offering a commanding view from above. When Twelfth Master led his men over, it was like a clear stream cutting through muddy waters—even amid the diverse crowd, he stood out unmistakably.
The market buzzed with noise, hawkers’ cries ringing in her ears. After watching for a while, she turned to pour tea for the remaining guard. Though they hadn’t been part of the same household before, she was sociable and knew almost everyone inside and out. Later, when she transformed overnight from a man to a woman and became entangled with Twelfth Master, the guards grew awkward around her, unsure how to treat her. She felt the discomfort too—whenever someone glanced her way, she’d grin foolishly, leaving them disgruntled.Bored from waiting, her gaze followed the Twelfth Master as he pushed through the crowd to the spot closest to the stage. On the platform, the auctioneer was still calling out bids, dragging a girl forward and gesturing from head to toe. "Pretty face, long legs, slender waist, ample hips—perfect for childbearing. Works swiftly with her hands, and warming the bed is her specialty... Come now, trade with cattle if you have them, or twenty taels of silver if you don't..." At this moment, people were mere objects, sold to the highest bidder regardless of their intended use.
The crowd below jeered and teased, asking if she was a virgin and how big she was. A buyer stepped up, circling her like a fly. When he stood directly in front of her, he grabbed the front of her clothes and tore them open with a loud rip, immediately burying his face in her chest and sniffing her armpits. As the girl screamed, the crowd grew even more excited, and the buyer, now in high spirits, exclaimed, "This one suits my taste—she’s fragrant. I’ll take her. Come to my estate later to fetch the cattle."
With one deal done, it was time for the next. Hongce, whose hearing was poor, worried he might miss something in the cacophony, so he sent his subordinates to gather information. Hands clasped behind his back, he surveyed the vast marketplace, where only the "merchandise" was on display. Both buyers and sellers remained tight-lipped about the slaves' origins, making it difficult to uncover their source with just a few questions. To get answers, he’d need to strike a deal—a big one—and negotiate privately with the ringleader here. After all, men would die for wealth, and money was a powerful tool—no mouth could stay shut if the price was right.
He pushed through the crowd toward the back of the stage, where a set of steps led up, guarded by several burly men with broadswords herding the slaves. Pausing briefly, he called out, "Who’s in charge here?"
Everyone turned to look. A pockmarked man craned his neck and asked, "What business do you have with our boss, sir?"
Hongce replied succinctly, "To discuss a price and take someone away."
From a shack behind them emerged a man with sharp eyebrows and striking eyes, about Hongce’s age, draped in a wolf-fur coverall, his hair neatly tied back. Though his skin was dark, the arrogance in his gaze was unmistakable. Hongce sized him up—this man was intriguing, with refined Central Plains features and a demeanor that stood out starkly from his surroundings. Clearly, he was no ordinary opponent.
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