From Yunxi’s account, Qi Rong felt as if the man had been broken and yet denied the mercy of death — tortured without end. Whatever the crime, it had earned him the wrath of that old hag in Kunning Palace, who seemed determined to make him suffer rather than finish him quickly.
Qi Rong had placed many eyes in the palace over the years, but the Empress Dowager’s constant vigilance had made those watchers of little use in Kunning. Any agent he slipped into Kunning Palace risked being exposed; even the fire that had raged there last time had been months in the planning before he dared set it in motion. He had not minded losing some information — he could usually pick up what he needed from other places — but now that Yunxi was involved, he wanted the matter handled personally.
“You don’t need to trouble yourself,” Yunxi said lightly. “You have a thousand things to do. I only mentioned it in passing. Don’t make it a burden.”
A month from now Qi Rong would take the field. The list of preparations lengthened by the day: weapons to choose, strategies to refine, men to organize. Yunxi insisted the shop be left in the hands of Jing Yao and Zhao Chunsheng while she quietly stocked supplies. There was an old saying — before the troops march, provisions must be ready — and Yunxi meant to ensure they would not be caught unprepared. It wasn’t only grain; there were horses, caravans, all the small things a campaign swallowed. She wanted to help in whatever way she could.
Qi Rong smiled and pinched her cheek, the teasing in his voice chasing off her caution. “Why be so polite with me, Your Highness? I’m your husband. It’s my duty to ease your worries.”
Then he bent and brushed her lips with his. His black eyes glittered like a constellated sky, bright and possessive.
Yunxi’s face went a warm, helpless red. She pressed a hand to her mouth, glancing at him with a bashful scowl. “Don’t call me Your Highness,” she muttered. “Stop saying nonsense.”
Since they had spoken plainly to one another, Yunxi had shed a great many misunderstandings. She no longer wanted to run, but Qi Rong’s casual intimacy still made her cheeks betray her.
He watched her shyness with a slanted look, amusement lifting his brow. He caught her wrist and held it, mischievous and serious all at once. “I leave in a month. Once I’m gone, you won’t see me for a long while. Don’t you want to get close while you can?”
The warning was teasing, but the thought of the upcoming separation tugged at her. She swallowed her embarrassment, lifted one finger in a small, reluctant accord, and whispered, “Then… one more kiss.”
The sight of her, cheeks flushed and delicate as a blossom, struck something urgent in him. He cupped the back of her neck and drew her up as if he could carve her into himself. It was a greedy, claiming kiss — the kind that seemed to promise a man could keep another’s warmth against long distances.
After the Emperor permitted Qi Rong to take command of the campaign, the days blurred into work. Qi Rong threw himself into every decision. Yunxi, meanwhile, moved through her own preparations like a quiet storm: delegating the shops, arranging supplies, answering a hundred small questions that would matter when the first drumbeat of war came.
Then, at the worst possible time, she was summoned back to the palace — not by the Empress, but by the Dowager herself.
Yunxi’s skin went cold. The Dowager had defended Yuan Zhen in the contest with Kekexin and had eyed Qi Rong with suspicion from the start. If the pieces of recent misfortunes were put together, Yunxi had a chilling suspicion of her own: the person who had tried to poison Qi Rong. If the Dowager was already so eager to remove him from power once, she would not hesitate to strike again. Yunxi steeled herself. This was no time to be careless.
Qi Rong had told her before: refuse any summons from the palace if you could. But to spurn the Dowager wasn’t merely defiance — it would feed whatever plot was already afoot. Yunxi slipped into the capital in the hour he had ridden out, and she kept it from him. Better he feared for her than that he be given another pretext.
She had just alighted from her carriage when she saw her. The Eighth Princess stood ahead, hands on her hips, all sharp angles and insolent stare.
Yunxi felt the familiar sourness in her throat and thought, with private amusement, How small the world is for enemies to keep meeting. She had not expected the thought to leave her lips in the Princess’s voice instead of her own.
“True enough — we keep running into one another,” the Princess snapped, radiating contempt. Yunxi inclined her head with a polite smile and attempted to pass.
“Stand where you are! Who said you could go?” the Princess barked, striding forward and blocking her path like a hen ruffled for a fight.
Yunxi raised both hands in a placating enough gesture. She had no wish to be tripped into a scene. “Princess, if we so dislike each other, why force the matter? We’d both save time and trouble by going our separate ways.”
The Princess’s face flushed red. Yunxi felt, for a moment, that she was watching someone on a string, performing fury as theater. If she were Yunxi, she thought dryly, she would go to any lengths to avoid the Princess — keep to the other side of the street, change carriages if she had to. Why then did the Princess insist on this? Yunxi decided she must simply be overeaten and overbold.
“She has a nerve!” the Princess retorted, eyes blazing. “How dare you say you hate me?”
Yunxi rolled her eyes — another small, private rebellion — and tried to keep the conversation airy. “Do you prefer flattery, Princess? I’m sorry, I’m pressed for time. Please allow me through.”
Yunxi walked past as if she hadn’t heard. The Princess, predictably, was not done. She clutched at Yunxi’s arm — and of all the places, her grip fell where Yunxi’s old injury still ached.
“Let go!” Yunxi’s voice clipped; the breath left her for an instant and her face paled.
The Princess watched the color drain and sneered. “So you’re not only a pretty face but also a schemer, eh? Playing men, playing at courtly tricks, reaching into the inner palace to stir trouble — what is your purpose, really?”
Each accusation landed like a poke. The arm throbbed and anger hissed along Yunxi’s spine. There was a choice to be made between pitiful retort and a sharp, clean answer.
“Princess,” Yunxi said slowly, drawing herself up even as her teeth clenched. “The wind in the capital is strong today — take care you don’t catch your tongue out in it. If you want trouble, be my guest; but I will not accept those baseless charges tossed at me. I refuse them.”
Her voice was clear, iron-laced. The three words hung in the air as much a declaration as a shield: I do not accept.
She did not wait for the Princess’s face to fall apart around that. She slipped past, keeping her dignity where the Princess had tried to seize her arm. The palace corridors swallowed her up, and behind her the rustle of silk and the stifled gasp of offended pride followed like thunder.