073 Taking Full Responsibility

In the end, Yun Heng allowed me to return. I refused his offer to see me off and headed straight for my chambers in the rear courtyard of the Golden Jade Pavilion, having lost all interest in tending to business.

I needed to sit and think things through; this choice was simply too momentous. It struck me how, after living as a princess for fifteen years, I found myself incapable of making even such a decision. Upon reflection, I could not help but find it laughable.

Setting aside matters of love, if I were to refuse Yun Heng, I would be forced to flee. Whether imprisoned or slain, either path led to ruin. No one truly knew the depths of Yun Heng’s martial prowess; even his handful of subordinates were formidable. It would be a perilous gamble.

If I accepted his proposal and agreed to serve him, I would inevitably be drawn into the civil strife of Yuehua. At this time, if there were anything worth fighting for in Yuehua, it could only be the throne.

The emperor of Yuehua was already old, the crown prince no longer young. The princes in court had all grown up, each with covetous eyes fixed on the crown. Judging by this, Yun Heng must have already made his choice among the crown prince and his brothers.

What reason had driven Yun Heng to decide so early, I could not guess. Yet since time immemorial, the contest for the throne was always inevitable; whether fierce or subdued, change in the court was certain as a new sovereign ascended.

Yun Heng would be the first to draw fire. As Grand Marshal, he stood above all others, bearing the title of War God—an unsurpassed honor. Yet that very existence, should any rift arise with the new emperor, would mark him as a formidable threat. History was filled with generals stripped of command, executed on the flimsiest of pretexts. To dispel a sovereign’s suspicion after wielding great military power was a near-impossible feat.

If Consort Lan of Lingyun had not had her brother, talk of usurping the throne would have been mere fantasy.

I truly did not know what to do. Before she died, my mother bade me live on, to let go of hatred—the best way was to join my brother on that distant isle and never set foot in these lands again. But who could guarantee that island would never be discovered? Should that day come, how would its people escape? And even if we managed to flee, where else could we find such a haven?

I could not imagine how long such fragile peace might last. I no longer dared to wager on it.

Perhaps it would be better to agree to Yun Heng’s terms.

Even if my mother wished me to forget vengeance, I needed to know the truth behind our kingdom’s fall. So many innocents of Lingyun—so many loyal subjects—perished in that palace coup. Ministers who died rather than surrender were not few, yet in the end, all were branded traitors, executed, families torn asunder, children burying their parents.

Treason—the justification was so righteous and grand. Yet who was truly the traitor, and who the loyalist? They would call a stag a horse if it suited their aims.

I understood my mother’s wish for me to live safely, quietly—I did wish for that, too. But as the eldest princess of Lingyun, how could I merely cling to life in such a wretched manner?

Besides, I truly wanted to know—who in Yuehua so coveted me, Huangfu Ziyun? And what had really become of the “dead” Huangfu Ziyun in the palace of Lingyun, of whom no word had ever reached the outside world?

Steeling my resolve, I made my decision.

That decision would indeed change the course of my life.

I felt as though my brow could never smooth itself again; as if, having fled one cage, I had turned back only to lock myself in another.

Donning a dark man’s attire, I pushed open the door once more.

In the private room of the teahouse, I sat and waited, strangely untouched by the tea before me. Though I loved tea, I did not touch it.

Li Yexuan did not appear, but instead, the messenger returned again, saying the porter at the prince’s residence had reported Li Yexuan had gone out, likely to the money house.

I could only make my way there. At last, I found Li Yexuan in the rear courtyard. He seemed surprised to see me, but soon waved everyone else away, leaving only me in his company.

“What brings you to me?” Li Yexuan gestured for me to sit. I did not know when it began, but there was now a casual ease between us—he no longer addressed himself as “this prince” before me, which was why I sought his help.

“Mufan has a favor to ask of you, Your Highness.”

“Speak.”

“The General has discovered my true identity.”

I clearly saw Li Yexuan’s eyes darken for a moment. Was he worried I might implicate him? That did not seem his way—surely he was only concerned for me.

“You have met already?”

I nodded.

“Did you promise him anything? Otherwise, why did he not seize you? Last time he said he’d drag you back if he found you.”

Li Yexuan was indeed astute; with just a word, he had discerned everything. How was I supposed to survive with someone so perceptive?

“I escaped, made myself a proprietor—why would I go back to being a helpless maid? Do you take me for a fool?”

“You’re not a fool. So, what help do you need?”

“I want some custom-made weapons for self-defense. As you know, I have little skill in martial arts—I need some protection. Do you know any skilled craftsmen?”

“Why must it be an expert?”

“Does Your Highness have pen and ink?”

With a wave, Li Yexuan summoned someone to bring brush and ink.

Relying on memory, I stood at the table and began to sketch.

At first, Li Yexuan sat drinking tea, but soon he rose, came to my side, and even leaned in to watch. Only when I cleared my throat did he realize his impropriety.

Half an hour later, I handed him the completed blueprints.

“No wonder the Golden Jade Pavilion’s jewelry is so exquisite—you are truly gifted.”

“Your Highness flatters me. I only hope someone can actually craft these.”

“I know just the person. Come with me.”

Li Yexuan led me out the back gate and had two horses brought over.

I lingered, not mounting.

“You don’t know how to ride?” He looked at me as though puzzled.

“Who says so?”

My movements were not especially practiced, but I managed to mount safely enough. Li Yexuan, seeing this, swung up onto his own horse with far more grace than I could muster.

One ahead, one behind, I followed him on.

How could a royal not ride? Every year there was the autumn hunt, with Father leading the officials to the hunting grounds. From the time I was twelve, I joined him there.

For most princesses, horsemanship was not an essential skill—girls were not expected to master it. But I was different; I had clung to my father, begging to learn, eager to go hunting and gain experience. Truthfully, it was to avoid the maids Mother sent to drag me off for needlework. Father finally relented and arranged female instructors for me; I attended three hunts in all. Riding—I could manage.

Whenever memories of the past surfaced, I would drift away in thought.

A sudden warning—“Careful!”—startled me. I saw Li Yexuan, now some distance away, turning his horse back. Only then did I realize how far apart our horses had become.

Careful? Careful of what?

Only then did I see, directly ahead, a half-grown child in the path of my horse.

I pulled with all my strength; the horse finally stopped, but unable to check my forward momentum, I was thrown.

Li Yexuan, having ridden close, leapt from his horse and caught me midair, landing steadily on the ground with me in his arms.

I had lost count of how many times Li Yexuan had saved me.

The child’s wailing broke out loudly. I hurried over to him; his small body knelt in the dust, tears streaming down his face—clearly terrified.

“There, there,” I soothed, lifting him and brushing the dust from his clothes.

Soon a woman came, apologizing as she led the child away. We were already outside the city, in a sparsely populated area—likely a child from a nearby village.

“The danger is past, the child’s gone. Do you realize how perilous that was?” Li Yexuan stood beside me, speaking up.

“I didn’t think—just didn’t want the child to die. Thank you, for saving me yet again.” I deliberately omitted his title; it felt too distant.

“You like children?”

I shook my head and moved toward my horse. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s just… he reminded me too much of someone.”

“Reminded you of what?”

“My younger brother, lost since childhood. He was just that small—would cry, would laugh, would follow me calling ‘Sister.’”

“I never knew—you had a brother.”

“It’s a sorrowful thing. If I must bear it, better to do so alone, rather than burden you. You are, after all, my savior.”

“Do you remember what he looked like? I can help you.”

“So many years have passed—how could I remember? I don’t even know if he’s still alive. If fate still binds us, we’ll meet again someday. As I am now, finding him would only drag him into trouble. Better he live his own life.”

I had no choice but to lie. Would my brother blame me if he knew? I truly could not say, though I was sure he would seize the chance to extort a few jars of red wine from me. When it came to rare red wine, my brother was ever resourceful.

“That may be for the best.” After a long silence, Li Yexuan finally managed those words.

I was about to approach my horse when suddenly it lashed out a hoof at me. Li Yexuan seized my hand, pulling me out of harm’s way.

“Seems he doesn’t care for me much.”

No sooner were the words out than Li Yexuan swept me up into his arms.

“What are you doing? Li Yexuan, put me down!”

In a daze, I found myself on his horse, with him seated behind me, his arms reaching around to grasp the reins.

“Since I brought you out here, I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll see it through to the end.”

His words sounded beside my ear, and oddly, I felt my cheeks flush.

Glancing back, I saw the other horse left behind.

From the saddle, the wind was cool and pleasant, my hair lifting in the breeze. Fortunately, it was tied back and did not tangle.

Suddenly, a wave of drowsiness swept over me. Half-conscious, I seemed to lean against something warm, and drifted off to sleep…