The Return to Yingzhong

After days of relentless travel, we finally reached Yingzhong two mornings later.

The streets were jammed tighter than a sardine tin, especially around the inn —
so crowded that even a fly would’ve had to queue to pass.

At first glance, I thought some celebrity had arrived.
Then I realized the mob in front of the inn wasn’t ordinary townsfolk —
they were eunuchs, dozens of them, all in embroidered robes,
their eyes glistening with tears as they stared at Gu Yi like abandoned children spotting their long-lost mother.

When they saw him, their mouths trembled. Some even made faint sobbing noises.

Gu Yi ignored them entirely and strode forward without a flicker of emotion.

Shi Shu, his personal attendant, looked just as overwhelmed.
He seemed ready to throw himself at Gu Yi’s feet,
but the moment he spotted me standing behind His Highness, he froze mid-lunge and awkwardly switched it to a bow.

Gu Yi only nodded.
General Lan barked orders, cutting a path through the crowd so we could reach the inn.

Shi Shu trailed after us, breathlessly recounting what had happened during Gu Yi’s absence.

It turned out those eunuchs had been camping at the inn’s doorstep for over ten days.
That very morning, they’d been issued an ultimatum:

“If His Highness doesn’t return to the palace today, don’t bother returning at all.”

No wonder they looked half-crazed with desperation.

And then, the rest of the story clicked into place — every piece of it was Gu Yi’s own scheme.

Days ago, Zhuo Yuan had humiliated him at court.
Outwardly, Gu Yi had smiled and bowed in defeat,
but inwardly, he’d written the entire incident down in his little black ledger of vengeance.

All his recent scandals — the brawls, the gambling den fiascos, the womanizing rumors —
hadn’t been random at all.
They were bait.

He’d deliberately made a spectacle at Liu Jun Courtyard,
parading that woman Hong Ling — the very one Zhuo Yuan had once desired —
under the public eye.
It was a calculated insult:
“Look, I have what you crave most.”

And sure enough, Zhuo Yuan couldn’t resist.
He sent word inviting Gu Yi back into the palace.

Gu Yi, however, replied politely that the palace was “under renovation” and declined the invitation.
That, apparently, was the final flourish of his plan.

We followed him upstairs to a private suite.

No sooner had he sat down than the talk turned serious —
discussions of court politics, security breaches, strategy.
The sort of thing that could cure insomnia better than any lullaby.

I tried to stay awake, failed miserably, and was halfway to dreamland when a tray appeared in front of me —
a neat array of snacks, freshly bought.

Gu Yi had personally ordered them for me.
Well, that was… unexpectedly thoughtful.

I accepted without shame.
Even Abao, the little furball, crawled out from Gu Yi’s sleeve to share the feast.

Just as we licked the last crumbs clean, more subordinates entered,
this time reporting about the ambush incident.

Their voices droned on — “assailants… motives… political implications…” —
and before long, my eyelids drooped again.

Then, just as I was about to meet the god of dreams, Gu Yi’s voice shifted tone.

“What about Chen Rui? Has he made any more trouble?”

Ah, gossip.
My left ear perked up immediately.

General Lan’s face darkened.

“Rest assured, Your Highness, I’ve searched this entire area — three layers inside, three out. That pervert won’t dare come near.”

Gu Yi’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

Then Shi Shu, poor naïve soul, timidly raised a hand.

“Um… Your Highness, General… there’s something I must report.
Yesterday, when I went to pay the innkeeper, he refused the money.
Said we could stay as long as we liked, all free of charge.
I asked why, and—well—apparently, this inn was bought by Chen Rui the day before yesterday.
He told the owner to tell you: if His Highness wishes, not only the inn, but even my body and soul are yours to command.”

Gu Yi’s face darkened halfway through the report.
By the end, the other half joined in.

Shi Shu wisely stopped talking.
He shuffled backward like a crab and slipped out the door, trembling.
Lan stormed after him, sword drawn.

The silence left behind was deafening.

Gu Yi poured himself tea — his hands shook.
The cup rattled, spilling hot water over the table.

Feigning a yawn, I stretched.

“Mmm, slept well. Where did everyone go?”

Through clenched teeth, he said,

“Dead.”

“Ah. I see.”

I pretended not to notice his murderous aura and changed the subject,
because I had been pondering a serious philosophical question.

“Tell me, Your Highness — what do you think humans live for?”

He blinked.

“What?”

I nodded sagely.

“Think about it. You humans only get a few decades — blink of an eye, really.
Eat, drink, breed, repeat.
In my village, there was this old man — notorious flirt in his youth. Broke hearts everywhere he went.
His poor wife, though, stayed home, pure and faithful.
Then one day, he came back and found her pregnant.
From that day on, he changed — became the model husband.”

Gu Yi frowned.

“That child probably wasn’t—”

“Details, details,” I waved dismissively. “Not the point.
My point is — family is the only true destination in life.”

I grabbed his hand with heartfelt sincerity.

“You, Your Highness, are also a famous philanderer — perhaps even more accomplished than that old man.
But the time has come to settle down.
Maybe you don’t care about the mother of the child — er, father, in this case —
but you must at least take responsibility for your offspring!”

His face froze.

“What… exactly are you implying?”

“Why, everyone knows that Chen Rui is carrying your child!”

He spasmed violently.

Poor man — probably in shock.
Time to reassure him.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed,” I said earnestly. “It’s a miracle!
A man bearing a child — that’s rarer than phoenix feathers!
The only precedent was the god Zhaolu, who bore the son of the Sea God of Xuya.
From the dawn of creation till now, that’s the only recorded case!
And now you, too, have accomplished it. Remarkable!”

That did it.

“Pffft—!”

Tea exploded from his nose.

He coughed and wheezed until his face turned crimson.
Then, eyes gleaming wickedly, he leaned forward and seized my hand.

“Whether men can bear children, I can’t say,” he whispered darkly,
“but making you pregnant… that, I can test right now.”

And just like that, he pulled me into his arms.

Chaos.

Abao squealed in horror, dove headfirst into a plate of sunflower seeds.

I struggled; he held tighter.
We were pressed so close I could feel his heartbeat.

His breath brushed my ear.

“I’ve always wondered… if a little wild creature like you had a baby,
would it be… a little wild thing too?”

“Heh…” I managed, smiling stiffly. Then I grabbed the nearest plate of spiced chicken feet and slammed it down on his head.

I bolted for the door.

As I slammed it shut behind me, I heard his furious roar from inside:

“You’ll never open that black iron chain — not in this lifetime!”

The afternoon sun was golden and gentle.
I found a quiet corner under the eaves and sat there, clutching my pounding heart.

Thank heavens — and thank that plate of chicken feet.
It had saved my virtue.

Technically, he was the one who tried to seduce me,
but really, wasn’t I the one restraining my own instincts?

Because in that moment —
just for a heartbeat —
I’d actually found his infuriatingly pretty face… charming.

With his pale skin and mischievous eyes,
our children would probably be adorable.

I slapped myself.
Good grief — was I falling for him?

What about Little Green back home?
Would he forgive me for this emotional betrayal?

I sat there all afternoon, agonizing over the question of divided affections.

By sunset, I finally trudged back toward the inn.

I remembered hearing earlier that Gu Yi was due at the palace by Shen hour —
and once he entered, he wouldn’t be out for three to five days.

So I deliberately dawdled until Xu hour.

Sure enough, the inn was deserted.
No guards, no servants — only silence.

At the stairs, the innkeeper intercepted me and handed me a bamboo basket.

“The young lord left this for you,” he said.

Inside was a folded set of deep purple men’s clothing,
a human-skin mask, and a small pouch of silver.

That was it.

“Wait, that’s it?”

No key.

I searched the basket twice, thrice, even shook it upside down.
Nothing.

“He wasn’t bluffing, was he…”

My blood boiled.

I paced the room for a stick of incense’s time,
telling myself to stay calm.

Didn’t work.

With a sharp crack, I slammed my palm on the table — splitting it neatly in two.

The teacup on the floor trembled and began to roll away.

I pinned it with my foot, smiling coldly.

“Abao,” I said sweetly,
“your master played me today, and I’m very, very angry.
Unless you’d like to be deep-fried and served as a snack,
you’d better have a satisfactory explanation.”

After a long, mournful squeak, Abao dragged out a letter.

I unfolded it under the fading light.

Gu Yi’s handwriting was atrocious —
jagged, uneven, completely unworthy of his elegant face.

Still, I managed to make out the contents.

He’d sent men to search for me after I stormed out,
but when I didn’t return by Shen hour, he’d had no choice but to leave.
The eunuchs had been waiting for hours.

As for the key —
there was only one in existence.
If it were lost, the black iron chain could never be undone.
He couldn’t risk sending it with a messenger.

And, fearing I might think he’d gone back on his word,
he’d left me his dearest treasure — Abao —
as a token of trust.

“As long as you have Abao,”
the letter read,
“I will find you again.
When I leave the palace, I will personally return and free you.”

By the time I finished reading,
my face burned hotter than the setting sun outside.

So… I’d misunderstood him.