Qi Xiao led Yaoji into the southern neighbor's territory. No sooner had they crossed the city gates than he spotted the Second Prince, Ye, standing not far off. He vaulted from his horse and bowed deeply, voice steady and respectful. “Qi Xiao pays respects to Your Highness. The princess has been returned safely to the court.”
He drew back the carriage curtain. Inside, the woman was bound thickly in rope. She babbled when she saw the men outside, but her jaw had been dislocated; the words were slurred into unintelligible noises.
Prince Ye did not look at her. His gaze swept past the carriage toward the road behind it — but there was only Qi Xiao. The escort he had sent out had dwindled to a single man.
Where was the man from Eastern Sheng? the prince thought, and his voice was cool when he asked, “Where is the person who traveled with you from Eastern Sheng?”
Qi Xiao scratched his head, as if only then remembering. “Your Highness, you mean Lian Cheng? He rode back to report.”
Ye’s frown deepened. So Helian Qi had thought this through — leaving no one behind to risk complications, not even entering the city gates. A small, humorless smile flickered across his face. He turned to leave.
Qi Xiao hurried after him. He frowned and began to recount what had happened on the road — how the party had been set upon, how the attackers had clearly been aiming for Princess Yaoji.
Yaoji, still trapped in the carriage, let out a short, derisive laugh at Qi Xiao’s account. Did he not realize the obvious? Those assassins had almost certainly been sent by the man standing there now.
Ye’s profile never betrayed him. He turned his head just enough to lift an eyebrow and toss back, “How unfortunate. But if the princess is back, that is what matters.”
Then he walked on, not looking back.
Qi Xiao stood there, baffled by the prince’s indifference toward his own sister, and called out, “Where will the princess be taken now?”
Ye didn’t answer. Instead he raised a hand, and a clear, boyish voice replied from his side. “General, please follow me.”
The speaker was a boy of perhaps eleven or twelve, dressed in green. His crown was carved in the shape of a lotus; his face was round and pink, almost cherubic, but his expression carried a gravity far beyond his years.
“Ah…very well,” Qi Xiao replied, surprised. He had been so preoccupied he had barely noticed the child. Seeing that the boy was in the prince’s retinue, Qi Xiao obediently followed him. They set off with the carriage toward Shuntian Prefecture.
“Little one,” Qi Xiao asked as they walked, “where are we headed?”
The boy’s answer was cold and composed. “You may call me Zhu Qing. We are taking the princess to Shuntian to wash away her sins and the dust of the road.”
Zhu Qing’s face was unreadable. Qi Xiao had never met such an old-souled child. The name — like bamboo green — struck him as odd, almost serpentine; the boy’s manner only confirmed the comparison. They rode in silence the rest of the way.
At Shuntian, palace physicians were waiting to take Yaoji in. Qi Xiao’s orders had been simple: bring the princess back to the court. With that done, he bowed to the small attendant at the door and left.
Zhu Qing gave him no sign of favor. He had concluded that Qi Xiao had spoiled his lord’s plan on the road and bore him no kindness.
Once the physicians had set Yaoji’s jaw, she could speak plainly. The moment she was coherent she demanded, “Where is Ye?”
She no longer wanted to die. Dying in her own country would achieve nothing — it would leave her memory to be buried in contempt. Better to survive, nursing the flames of hate, waiting for the day she could strike back. She needed Ye. He was the only prince left in this southern court; once his father, the king, passed, Ye would be the ruler. If she could attach herself to him, she might salvage power and seize her revenge.
Zhu Qing’s face was blank at her question. “Princess,” he said, “it is improper to call His Highness by name. Please do not forget the customs of this court.”
Yaoji bristled, then forced a smile. “Then tell me where His Highness is.”
“He has returned to the palace. Rest and recover; His Highness says you will meet again soon.” Zhu Qing’s tone was cool. He bowed and left.
“You…” Yaoji’s lips trembled; the single syllable carried everything she could not yet say aloud.
Palace maids came in to wash and dress her. She looked down into the basin and saw herself: a long, ugly scar running from the corner of her left eye down to her mouth. The left side of her face was ruined. She barely recognized the woman in the water.
How enraged must she have been, back then, for someone to do this to her? Her beauty, the tool that had once made her useful in the eyes of men, had been stolen. But she still bore the mantle of the saint and the trust of the people. She would not waste herself. One day she would return to Eastern Sheng and make Dongfang Yi kneel before her. If beauty was gone, then let vengeance be her face. From this day on she would live not for herself, but for hatred.
Outside, Zhu Qing returned to the prince and reported, “Master, Princess Yaoji has arrived at Shuntian Prefecture. She will be returned to the palace shortly — and she wishes to see you.”
Prince Ye’s expression remained unreadable. He had expected as much: she would cling to him now that she was disfigured. Even if the assassins on the road had been his doing, what could a ruined beauty accomplish? She could no longer stir the waves she once might have.
A smile — small and satisfied — tugged at his lips. Let Helian Qi and Eastern Sheng survive a few more days, he thought. A little patience would make the coming upheaval all the sweeter.