Only then did Mu Fengqie properly notice the man before her. He had that insolent, devil-may-care air about him—an attitude she had never seen in anyone in her life. Had he been the one hiding behind the curtain?
“Your Highness must be joking,” she replied with measured politeness. “I’m already married. I’m not worthy of such an honor.”
She had no liking for the Empress or the prince; both of them had shown her nothing but a casual disregard, as if she weren’t even a person with a choice. Didn’t anyone think to ask whether she wanted this?
But the young prince’s interest had been kindled the moment he saw her. He had hunted for a woman who pleased him for longer than she could imagine, and at last he had found one who caught his eye. A woman’s marital status meant nothing to him—if he desired her, he intended to take her. Mu Fengqie was no exception.
“Whether you’re worthy is for me to say,” the prince declared smoothly. “If I say you’re worthy, then you are. I can’t promise you the position of primary wife, that I cannot give—but name anything else, and I will provide it. Wealth, privilege, comforts you could only dream of. You would never want for anything again.”
The Empress listened. Her mind began to turn and weigh possibilities. Her brother was the pride of the realm; could she allow a woman who was already married to become a secondary consort in the prince’s household?
“Yang’er, perhaps we should let this go,” she said at last, striving for firmness. “There are plenty of good girls in the world. If she refuses, I cannot force her.”
Mu Fengqie felt the contempt coiled in that gentle refusal and bristled inwardly. So that was it—she was being politely dismissed. To think these two would come into a brothel to pick a consort; what kind of judgment brought them here? Only those desperate or shameless would be found in such a place.
But the young prince would not be turned. From the moment he had seen her—poised at the lute, like some breath-stealing vision—he had been struck. He had seen a thousand faces, known every kind of woman, and yet none had stopped him the way she had. He wanted her in his house and would have his way.
“Succeed in giving me an heir—give me a little princess—and I will have her ennobled at once,” the Empress found herself agreeing. She laughed lightly, as if settling a trivial matter.
To Mu Fengqie, the Empress’s acquiescence sounded like a verdict. Her hopes, the faint relief she had dared to feel, drained away. There were others waiting for her outside; she could not afford to linger. The longer she stayed in idle politicking here, the more likely someone would notice and trouble would follow.
“Your Majesties,” she said calmly, bowing, “I do not belong to Nanqing. I came on personal business. If I have offended you, I beg you, in light of the treaty between Qian and Nanqing, to spare my life.”
She spoke the name of Qian deliberately. Treaties and obligations were still observed; she trusted that invoking her homeland would give her a measure of protection. The Empress’s expression changed instantly—she had not expected the woman to be from Qian. The name seemed to pull at some long-dormant memory.
“Very well.” The Empress closed her eyes, and her voice grew quieter. “I will not force you. Go.”
She would not let herself be dragged into recollections—too long had it taken to stitch her emotions back together. She did not want to be swept into that whirlpool again.
Mu Fengqie was about to perform the ritual bow of farewell when the door burst open. Jing Xunche stormed in with Yuan Yuhan and Aru following close behind. They had waited outside for a long time; there had been no sound from within and no sign that she was alive. Fear had driven them to one decision: if she did not come out, they would force their way in.
Jing’s shoulders loosened when his eyes fell on Mu Fengqie, but then his gaze snagged on the Empress—and froze.
The Empress had assumed she would never see him again. He was alive. The knowledge struck through her like lightning; her heart, which had been asleep for so long, seemed suddenly to come back to life. She hurried—unsteady, breathless—to his side and gripped his hands as if she might never let go.
“You’re alive—thank the heavens,” she choked. “Zhan Zhi, do you know how I have suffered all this time? You’re—oh, you’re alive!”
Jing Xunche yanked his hand away as if burned. “Your Majesty, show some restraint.”
He spoke through clenched teeth, every syllable a measured blade. Mu Fengqie watched him closely and saw, clear as day in his eyes, the black, sharpened edge of hatred.
What surprised her most was how utterly familiar they seemed to one another—too intimate for mere political acquaintance. The Empress’s tears and effusive relief suggested a history more tangled than duty alone could explain. Mu Fengqie had never once heard Jing mention the Empress in all the time they had traveled together. Why had he never spoken of her? Even now, in Nanqing itself, he had kept silent about the sovereign.
“You must not be so distant with me,” the Empress pleaded, tears falling freely now. “I know I have done wrong—I was forced. It wasn’t my choice. I had no way out.”
She had waited so long for this reunion; when the moment arrived, words failed her. She could only plead that he stop hating her. The image of him looking at her from the prison cart—those bitter, pleading eyes—haunted her still. For the sake of Nanqing she had made impossible choices; for that, she owed him a debt she could not erase.
Mu Fengqie listened, each line of their conversation folding into her earlier suspicions until her certainty hardened: these two shared a past. How deep that past ran, and why Jing had never spoken of it, she could only guess.