They had barely cleared the magistrate’s district when Yunxi planned to stop first at the embroidery shop, then go on to pay a visit to the Zhen household. The carriage was rolling along smoothly, the pace slow and measured, when a red sedan chair suddenly shot out from a side alley and cut across their path.
The coachman lashed at the reins and tried to turn, but it was too late. The carriage’s shaft slammed into the sedan; the chair toppled, and the occupants were flung out onto the ground.
The jolt threw Yunxi against the iron bar inside the carriage. She grabbed on to steady herself, heart pounding, then barely before she could step out she heard a woman’s voice shrill with fury from outside.
“Who’s so blind as to run into our lord’s sedan? If our miss is hurt, the prince will have your skins flayed!”
Yunxi and Yuzhu exchanged a look and immediately understood: their carriage had hit someone — and not just anyone, but a lady from a princely household.
Once the coach steadied, they climbed down. The crimson sedan lay on its side; a woman was being helped out, one hand pressed to a bleeding palm. Yunxi’s face tightened. She hurried forward.
“My lady, I am so sorry. Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?” she asked, voice contrite and eyes full of apology.
The other woman’s maid, however, was loud and accusatory, stirring a crowd. Yunxi’s apology was sincere; she felt no anger at the woman herself. If anyone was injured, the proper course was to make amends, not to argue.
“Do you think a single apology fixes this? Look at my lady’s hand—she plays the zither; that’s precious!” the maid snapped. “If the prince hears of this, he’ll—”
Yuzhu’s temper flared. They had been moving at a gentle pace; it was the other sedan that had barreled out of the alley. Why should all the blame rest on them?
“We’ve already apologized and offered to take you to a physician,” Yunxi said calmly. Yuzhu, unable to keep quiet, shot back, “What more would you have of us? Kneel and beg forgiveness?”
The insult hit the maid the wrong way. “Fine. Kneel before our miss and apologize properly—only then are we satisfied.”
Enraged, Yuzhu lifted her hand as if to slap the maid. Yunxi caught her arm just in time.
From inside the Jadeite House a stir grew louder. Two groups of men swept out and flanked the injured woman and her attendants like a protective ring, eyes hard and watchful on Yunxi and Yuzhu.
“Miss, are you all right? Who did this to you?” a man who looked to be the proprietor hurried forward, concerned and deferential.
The woman dabbed at the blood on her hand and pressed at the wound, then shook her head gently. “Wu, I’m fine.”
When she raised her face, Yunxi felt a sudden jolt of recognition. The woman’s beauty wasn’t as luminous as Yunxi’s own pale, river-like looks, but there was a cultivated, dangerous charm to it—something that lingered like a scent. Yunxi’s gaze paused.
A voice from the crowd said, loudly admiring, “That’s the Unmatched Wushuang from Prince Xian’s household, isn’t it? She really is extraordinary—pretty, and a voice like melted silver.”
The praise, meant to flatter, carried contempt when it left his mouth. At the name “Prince Xian,” Yunxi felt her head swim and memories rush back.
She had seen this woman once before, at the royal hunt after her rebirth. At the archery contest, Qi Rong had tried to win her favor in a brutal way—he’d used her as a target, firing two arrows into the flower basket over her head. The memory of the fear and the sharp crack of the bows had haunted Yunxi ever since.
And two days earlier—though they hadn’t met—Yunxi had worn this woman’s clothes. The scent that came off the lady now matched the image that had lodged in Yunxi’s mind. The recognition was sudden and unmistakable. This was the woman whose name had stirred all those tangled threads in Yunxi’s life.
“Wushuang used to be the top courtesan of the Zhaixing Pavilion,” someone in the crowd was saying. “First she was redeemed by Prince Huai, then Prince Xian stole her away. He’s doted on her—bought the pavilion for her, even bought the Jadeite House so she’d have a place of her own.”
“They say even Prince Xian can’t help but keep her close. She has a way with men, that’s for sure,” another man added, envy and lechery in his tone.
Yuzhu’s face went hot and then pale as she listened, worry flashing through her. She glanced at Yunxi, anxious, but Yunxi’s face remained composed—unruffled to anyone watching. Yuzhu remembered, though, the words Yunxi had whispered in the prison: and a bad feeling rose in her chest.
“Lady, we should go,” Yuzhu whispered, tugging at Yunxi’s sleeve. The scene had turned ugly; it was no time for more confrontation.
“Not until she kneels and confesses,” the maid Qiao’er snapped, stepping in front of Yunxi. She even motioned to a few others to block their path.
Yuzhu reached into a pouch and flung some silver at Qiao’er’s feet. “This money will cover your miss’s medical fees. Stop blocking our commandery princess, or you’ll regret it.”
The insinuation that a nighthouse girl could lord it over a commandery princess was preposterous. Yuzhu’s fury flared at the thought—how dare someone from a den like that demand humility from their lady? Let them ask for submission now; it was madness.
Yunxi had been outwardly calm the whole time, revealing nothing of the whirl of feeling inside. Yuzhu, who knew the tangled history between Yunxi and Qi Rong better than anyone, felt an ache of sympathy and helplessness. They had not been formally betrothed, but their affection had been plain to see; the two seemed destined for each other. Yet Qi Rong had already kept concubines under his roof before marriage—a betrayal that would torpedo the hopes of any woman.