“Ah!”
Yunxi hadn’t expected it. She scrambled off the carriage and immediately pressed herself behind Prince Qi, too shy to let anyone see her face.
After a long moment of silence she peeked out like a thief, eyes darting around. To her surprise, there was no one else in sight—only the carriage and them—and it had stopped at the back gate of the Chancellor’s residence.
“My apologies. I misread the situation,” she mumbled, cheeks hot with embarrassment. She felt petty for jumping to conclusions.
She’d never have guessed that the prince who loved teasing her could be so considerate. Yunxi tried to pull her wrist free, intending to slip inside before anyone noticed, but her hand wouldn’t come loose.
She looked at him, helpless and almost in tears. Qi remained expressionless. “You think that’s all?”
Yunxi blinked. “You want me to kowtow?”
Ridiculous—after all the trouble she’d gone through, he still remembered that banquet? If only she hadn’t been so greedy she wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. She’d tried to snatch a few feathers from a tiger’s mane and nearly lost her own head for it.
Qi flicked her on the forehead. “Who said kowtow?”
Her embroidered head felt the sting. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes; she could only whisper, and her watery gaze flashed up at him in anger.
Then Qi’s mouth twitched into a smile and he released her wrist. Just as she bolted for the door, he planted one hand against the wooden gate and loomed over her, his tall frame casting a shadow.
“Remember this,” he said quietly. “You owe me a favor. When I think of it, you’ll repay me.”
Yunxi’s nose prickled with sweat. Trapped within his arm’s span, she could smell the faint scent of pine on him. Desperate to get away, she nodded frantically. “I know! If you don’t let me go now, I’ll renege on the debt!”
They said great favors need no thanks and that one shouldn’t expect repayment—but he’d seized the opportunity to squeeze it out of her. If there were a textbook for petty extortion, this was the chapter on shamelessness.
Qi let go. Yunxi fumbled through the door so fast she nearly caught a finger in it. Seeing her clumsy retreat, Qi bent slightly, hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh; his shoulders shook once, twice.
The guards’ mouths fell open. Was this the same stoic prince they always bowed to? Everyone knew that when Prince Qi smiled, someone somewhere was about to be in trouble. They tensed, holding their breath. Yet today his smile came so easily—especially when Yunxi was around—that even the most anxious among them felt an odd, calming familiarity in the prince’s manners.
“Master, there’s an old woman spying nearby. Shall we deal with her?” one guard reported, nodding toward a furtive figure a short distance away.
“No.” Qi’s smile faded. He made a soft, dismissive sound.
Chancellor Yun, a brilliant strategist and orator in court, was notoriously poor at managing domestic affairs. That his legitimate daughter had been set up by a concubine was an embarrassment he would never want to admit. Still, Yunxi herself surprised him; where most girls would brood and brood, she had been oddly carefree—eating, drinking, and going about her day as if nothing had happened. Whether by temperament or because her wounds hadn’t been struck deep, she simply hadn’t learned caution. A little setback might do her good.
Qi glanced back once at the closed gate, then climbed into his carriage. After the prince’s carriage left, the shadowy figure that had been watching slipped out from hiding and hurried through the chancellor’s gate toward Madam Jiang’s courtyard.
“Madam, someone’s returned,” Liu Mama whispered, coming in to report to Madam Jiang, who was bent over account books.
Madam Jiang’s brows shot up. She slammed the ledger shut. “Useless.” She spat the word like a curse. “Spent so much silver, and not even two maids can be trusted. How could I ever use him again?”
Since her cousin had visited that day, Madam Jiang had pinned the blame for Jiang Qing’s death squarely on Yunxi. Initially, Jiang Qing’s father, Jiang Hua, had threatened to make a scene at the chancellor’s residence, but Madam Jiang had dangled a dozen leased houses before him and quietly urged him to act in secret. She had promised to help. That was how the plan to ambush Yunxi had been hatched: Madam Jiang funding it, Jiang Hua hiring men, with someone to send a signal when the deed was done.
But they had waited in vain; the signal never came. Instead, Yuzhu had returned alone, her clothes in tatters and her face clouded with fear. When asked about Yunxi, she had stammered and evaded. Madam Jiang assumed Yuzhu was the sole survivor and silenced the girl out of fear. She had planted Liu Mama to wait at the gate for any news, ready to fan out at the first report.
Instead, they’d heard the worst possible thing—Yunxi was fine.
Madam Jiang’s expression darkened. Something didn’t add up. She leaned in toward Liu Mama. “Who did that little wretch come back with?”
“Prince Xian,” Liu Mama whispered, drawing a breath. She hadn’t forgotten the icy glare the prince had shot her; it had chilled her to the bone and made her legs go weak. He’d stood still as a statue, but she’d felt as if he were about to strike her down. The memory still made her sweat.
“Prince Xian—Qi Rong?” Madam Jiang’s voice had a chill to it. She’d seen the prince’s ruthlessness before during the hunt; it was no secret that Jiang Qing had died by his hand. She’d assumed he held the chancellor’s household in contempt and had therefore engineered Yunxi’s public humiliation. Yet now it seemed as though he’d intervened for the girl—had protected her.
If Yunxi had Prince Xian’s protection, her own schemes would count for nothing. The thought soured Madam Jiang’s face further. She flicked her eyes and motioned Liu Mama closer.
“I have several tasks for you. Don’t mess this up.” Her look was sharp enough to sting.
Liu Mama flinched, then bowed. “Yes, madam. I’ll see to it right away.”
Yunxi and Yuzhu had survived what should have been a disaster, and for a moment it seemed as though life would settle back into its usual calm. But the next morning made clear that calm had been only an illusion.
Early that morning, as Yuzhu carried a food box from the kitchen back to the servant’s quarters, she passed a group of coarse maidservants sitting by the well, whispering.
“Did you hear?” one hissed.
“Last night when Yuzhu returned she was in tatters and wouldn’t speak straight about Miss. Then someone else saw Miss Yun coming back in a man’s carriage. They said she lingered with him, all flirtatious-like, before sneaking in through the back gate.”
The rumors swirled like smoke—small things becoming dangerous fires in a household built on reputation.