Chapter 23
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Chapter 23: The fearsome little Du girl continued to rummage through Jiang Wu’s prison clothes…
Ten miles from Fushan County, a melon-eating man lay on the riverbank, lucky to hit a rare patch of sand, leaving only a small stone mark on his elbow.
In the courtyard of the Loyal and Brave General’s residence in the Capital, a half-empty wine jug fell onto the blue brick floor, shattering with a clang as its contents splashed everywhere.
Xue Menghua covered her nose and pushed open the door to the martial hall, the strong smell of alcohol making her stumble.
"Did you start drinking this morning, or have you been drinking since last night?" Xue Menghua hadn’t expected that after one night at her parents’ home, her husband, who had promised to quit drinking, was in this state again. She grabbed and twisted the red ear of the man slumped over the table. "I’m talking to you, Fan Zaizhi!"
"Wife… wife… waaah…" Fan Zaizhi, eyes bleary and drunk, hugged Xue Menghua’s waist and began to wail, "I feel awful, wife, waaah… I’m really a bad man, waaah…"
The former martial arts champion, the Loyal and Brave General who had won great battles in Liangzhou and crushed the Western Desert, now cried like a two-hundred-pound child.
Xue Menghua, her anger fading, slowly released his ear, rubbed it gently, and sighed, "Enough. After all these days, can’t you see who’s truly to blame?"
"It’s her! It’s them!" Fan Zaizhi jerked his head up, pointing north and then west.
Though it seemed like drunken flailing, Xue Menghua knew he pointed right.
To the north lay the imperial city, where the deposed Empress had deceived the world by posing as a prince for eighteen years, causing the princess’s exile, palace staff to be beaten to death, and linked officials to be demoted.
To the west was the Ministry of Justice prison. Ten days after the palace turmoil, the deposed Crown Prince, renamed Jiang Wu, was locked up there. Her foolish husband, recently promoted to Third-ranked Guider General and demoted back to Loyal and Brave General, had tried to send supplies inside but was refused. The guards to the west were bad, but so were others.
Xue Menghua slapped away Fan Zaizhi’s hand as he reached for the wine jug.
Five days ago, they had prepared goods and money to send off the deposed Crown Prince and former Qin Taifu. But before they neared the prison gates, they were stopped.
Not just them; several others were blocked too.
Earlier attempts to deliver items had failed, and they weren’t alone. Xue Menghua recognized attendants from families of Qin Taifu’s former students, all turned away with heavy bundles.
Yet some from unknown places smoothly approached the exile convoy with packages.
As the convoy passed in the distance, it was clear who got gifts and who got nothing.
The corrupt Kong family even received two donkey carts…
Xue Menghua held Fan Zaizhi back, stopping him from fighting those who blocked them or the Kong family and guards.
How could he fight when the blockers were…
No fight happened, but the anger stayed.
Fan Zaizhi wasn’t like Qin Chongli; his bond with the deposed Crown Prince came from one day—no formal rites, just playing with a six-year-old, showing skills, telling stories. If not for gathering relief funds during the Fengzhou floods, Fan Zaizhi wouldn’t have been in such pain.
Painful, yes.
A casual folk tale from over ten years ago became a rule, practiced diligently for years.
On the exile road, he argued daily about which families deserved calligraphy, often leaving the prince speechless.
He was truly terrible.
Yet, despite his flaws, at He Township, the Crown Prince stayed humble and hardworking, sharing meals, digging people from mud, carrying heavy supplies on paths too rough for animals…
Fan Zaizhi, initially upset by the prince taking shady merchant donations, had to admire how the prince treated people with dignity once they reached He Township.
The Crown Prince would have made a good Emperor—one who drove out evil and nurtured good.
Before the palace banquet, Fan Zaizhi had been thinking this way. Then, everything collapsed overnight. What troubled Fan Zaizhi most wasn’t the Deposed Crown Prince being a woman, but the Emperor’s reaction.
Seated neither too close nor too far at the banquet, Fan Zaizhi clearly witnessed the Emperor’s rage. It was pure anger—no conflict, no sorrow, not even panic.
What happened to the promise of seven sons and five daughters, with the Emperor’s heart set on the Crown Prince? What of the famed fatherly devotion?
A son becoming a daughter was absurd, yet she remained his own flesh and blood.
Fan Zaizhi, who treasured his only daughter and adored his wife, couldn’t fathom it. The Ministry of Justice prison, the blocked exile—all deepened his confusion.
Sent to the northern lands empty-handed? Was she meant to die on the road?
Though Xue Menghua suggested it might not be the Emperor’s doing, the involvement of palace eunuchs proved his awareness. This was deliberate tolerance. Like at the banquet, where the Emperor let the Second Prince expose and punish the Crown Prince. He approved the exile and even accepted the Second Prince’s ludicrous words: "Liu Xitong, Yong’an Bo’s daughter and former Crown Princess, merits reward, not exile. As the Crown Prince lost one consort, grant him another. Let her go north bearing her guilt."
The gleeful Second Prince seemed mad—and so did the Emperor who agreed.
The Emperor steers a nation’s course. These days, the court echoed with condemnation for the Deposed Crown Prince.
Even former tutors, attendants, and lecturers—those closest to her—joined the chorus.
All forgot how she’d turned the tide in Fengzhou last year.
Fan Zaizhi agonized. Beyond gender, he cared whether people were treated as human. At court, he felt like a duck in a chicken coop—utterly out of place, hiding his webbed feet and beak.
His sworn Emperor was heartless. His favored successor was a woman. His peers fixated on alien concerns.
Compared to this, his demotion from Third to Fourth Rank meant nothing.
He felt lost.
Xue Menghua’s strictness limited him—this was only his second time drowning sorrows in wine.
"Wife, you’re back too soon," Fan Zaizhi sighed, groping for the table. Xue Menghua swept the remaining jugs to the floor. Amidst the shattering, Fan Zaizhi looked up, dazed.
"If facing those court officials pains you, let’s resign and go home," she said, smoothing his tangled hair. "We can’t change this place—so we’ll leave."
Leaving when change fails—a sound choice.
But some have choices; others… temporarily don’t.
At noon, guards herded the convoy into a riverside grove to rest.
Du Yinsui, her heightened smell detecting nothing unusual, stopped the little one from leaping at a tree.
"No eggs here," she murmured, patting its head. Turning, she spotted something good.
Though confined to the cart, she could command many "hands and feet."
During the brief break, mobile members made several trips to gather springy brown cloud ears from a rotting log nearby.
Here, "cloud ears" meant what Du Yinsui knew as wood ears.
Du Yinsui looked at the handfuls of fresh cloud ears and couldn’t resist picking one up to pop into her mouth. Though cloud ears were naturally bland with little flavor, Du Yinsui found the safe-to-eat, crunchy texture delightful.
"Didn’t you say not to eat them directly?" Qin Haoyang asked, puzzled. Why warn them against eating the cloud ears right after picking, only to eat one herself now?
Qin Chongli patted his foolish grandson’s head. She ate moldy mung bean cake, spoiled eggs, wild grass, and raw fish without concern—what were a few cloud ears to her?
Du Yinsui chewed twice, swallowed the cloud ears with satisfaction, and addressed the child seriously: "How could I be the same as you? I’ve eaten piles of moldy mung bean cake without issue, yet you and your grandfather suffered terrible diarrhea. This is no different—eating these raw would poison you, understand? But after sun-drying for two or three days, they’ll be safe."
She shifted position, spreading the cloud ears evenly across the wooden plank, and warned solemnly: "No sneaking bites before they’re completely dry. Understood?"
Her gaze drifted from the two earnest youngsters to Qin Chongli and Chu Xiulan seated nearby.
Chu Xiulan nodded immediately, but Qin Chongli bristled: "Do I look that starved?"
"Not being that desperate lets us all keep some dignity," Du Yinsui chuckled.
Qin Chongli: "…"
"I won’t sneak any either." Jiang Wu’s voice came from the other side, unacknowledged by her gaze.
Du Yinsui turned and frowned. "You’d better try. Didn’t I tell you to finish your morning bun? Were you pretending not to hear? Come here—I’ll feed you!"
Jiang Wu: "…"
One lunged toward the cart’s edge; the other dodged yet feared she might fall. They grappled until their garments tangled…
Qin Chongli looked away, unable to watch, then noticed Chu Xiulan’s wide-eyed stare.
"I never realized you were so…" Qin Chongli lowered his voice. "Didn’t your last fall teach you anything?"
"Father, we’re on level ground," Chu Xiulan whispered, patting the earth beside her. Covering her mouth, she added: "I think they’re sweet together. Don’t you agree?"
"What do you mean?" Qin Chongli followed her subtle nod toward the cart. There, Jiang Wu was half-dragged onto the planks while that… that formidable little Du girl rummaged through his prison robes, fishing out half a bun.
"See? It’s good this way," Chu Xiulan murmured contentedly. "Even in the Northern lands, Jiang Wu’s status bars marriage. So does Du girl’s. If they can accept the arranged marriage without resentment and build a life together—isn’t that best?"
Qin Chongli nearly forgot propriety, wanting to shake sense into his daughter-in-law. This was the Second Prince’s mockery! The Emperor’s humiliation! Not some domestic bliss!
Yet second thoughts gave him pause.
His brow furrowed deeply, but he remained silent.
Nearby, having finally shoved the bun into Jiang Wu’s mouth, Du Yinsui dusted her hands—apparently oblivious to the murmured conversation.
She wouldn’t argue. If she did, Jiang Wu might again fear she resented their marriage enough to seek death…
The future meant nothing.
When there’s food today, eat today. When there’s a cart today, pull today.
Still… as Du Yinsui smoothed the cloud ears disturbed during their tussle, she worried: would the guards confiscate them? After all, they sold even daily food rations.
She scanned their surroundings, then beckoned to Chu Xiulan: "Sister Chu…"
