Chapter 26 Even newlyweds…
Last night, she hadn’t been completely unconscious—just too exhausted to move, craving both sleep and desire. Little Mute was somewhat considerate, not rigid enough to watch her suffer from the heat toxin without intervening. The open wilderness was a poor environment, dirty and chaotic, yet doing it there held a unique flavor. Zhao Rongzhang didn’t resist at all; in fact, she quite enjoyed it, reveling in the experience even in her dreams. It was only when Little Mute helped her put on her undergarments that she felt a pang of regret and emptiness. Perhaps human nature harbors some fragmented quirks—like growing accustomed to the pristine, dust-free celestial palace, only to find stimulation in filthy places. She was willing to experience things she hadn’t before, and now her thoughts on the matter leaned more toward experimentation.
However, now that daylight had finally arrived, spending precious daytime hours on such activities wasn’t very cost-effective. Zhao Rongzhang instructed the cat to figure out exactly where they were, how far the nearest prefectural city or town was, and whether there was any chance of pursuers tracking them here. More importantly, could they ascertain the current situation of the marriage alliance procession and whether there was an opportunity to rescue Ming Luo and the others?
The cat possessed an extraordinary sensitivity and perception when it came to direction. After using his energy to clear away the grass and debris on the ground, he picked up a charred stick from the fire and began sketching, outlining a simple map. Zhao Rongzhang bent over to look and was astonished to discover that this place was extremely remote—neither near villages nor towns, with complex terrain, bizarrely steep peaks, and dense forests and cliffs everywhere. It was quite a distance from both the capital and Xiguandao. Logically, the marriage alliance procession should have taken the most accessible official roads—how could they have strayed to such a place?
Zhao Rongzhang frowned in deep thought. The Grand Empress Dowager was truly a piece of old ginger with a lingering kick—she and Ming Luo had confirmed their route multiple times each day, yet they hadn’t noticed anything amiss. What kind of hidden master was concealed within the guard troops?
Just as she was pondering this, she noticed the cat marking a spot on the official road several mountains behind their current location—a four-wheeled carriage. Zhao Rongzhang stared silently for a moment before realizing something: “Is this the scene of the incident?”
The cat nodded.
Zhao Rongzhang bit her fingernails and glanced at him a couple of times. She remembered they had only run for a short while last night—how had they crossed several mountains? No wonder she had felt so dizzy; that explained it. So, the route hadn’t actually strayed that far—they were the ones who had run too far off course? Thankfully, she hadn’t truly followed Imperial Physician Yu’s advice to ruin his stamina—this gave him a significant advantage in terms of escape.
“Can we reach a city before nightfall today?”
The cat nodded again.
Zhao Rongzhang patted her butt and stood up, spreading her arms. “Then let’s go.”
First, they’d enter the city, take a comfortable bath, and change into clean clothes before thinking about the next steps. After all, plans couldn’t keep up with changes—thinking too much was useless.
The Princess had just been teasing him, mocking him, and now she wanted him to carry her. Guan Xuan felt a brief moment of awkwardness inside, then came over and lifted the Princess. Being carried by the Princess and carrying the Princess were completely different feelings. When she carried him, he felt very small; when he held her, he felt very useful. Guan Xuan liked being carried by the Princess, and he also liked carrying the Princess. The former allowed him to feel shy at ease, while the latter made his heart race with anxiety. Guan Xuan wrapped one arm around her waist and hips, the other around her shoulders, using his left hand to clear the way while his right hand constantly protected her head. He was so nervous that he wished she were a part of his own flesh, yet so insecure that he feared she might truly be tainted by his dust. He knew this wasn’t a real embrace, but he would greedily, quietly take advantage of it to act as the one who could hold the Princess and give her warmth.
Guan Xuan was already very careful, maintaining speed while controlling the height of his leaps, ensuring that rocks and trees didn’t tear the Princess’s dress, and preventing the center of gravity from jolting and swaying repeatedly. But the Princess still couldn’t hold on for long—less than half an hour—before she began pounding his back, saying she was about to vomit. Guan Xuan tightened his arms, unwilling to let go. But his desires, whether to hold on or not, were useless, meaningless. The Princess was so uncomfortable, and his heart ached just as much. Guan Xuan slowly turned and gently landed on the ground.
“You’re harder to sit on than a carriage, harder to ride than a horse,” Zhao Rongzhang patted her chest to catch her breath, shooting him a glare.
Guan Xuan bit his lip, guiltily digging his nails into his palm.
Zhao Rongzhang was thirsty again and ran to the stream to scoop up water to drink. Guan Xuan stopped her, anxiously pulling a bamboo tube from his chest, rinsing it inside and out three or five times, scooping water, wiping the droplets from the surface dry, and only then offering it to her hands. Zhao Rongzhang took it with a laugh—Little Weapon really knew how to serve people.
Zhao Rongzhang wasn’t a delicate princess. After drinking water, she was ready to continue walking. Guan Xuan followed closely at her heels, gesturing to her over and over, saying he could still carry her while walking—that way her feet wouldn’t hurt, the mountain path was rugged, full of stones, and her feet couldn’t take it. Zhao Rongzhang found him utterly annoying—what did it matter if her feet got blistered? If what the Grand Empress Dowager said was truly so reasonable, perhaps she would have many more hardships to endure in the future. Along this journey, she had seen so many refugees, countless without shoes, traversing thousands of mountains and rivers, from the winding stone paths of the southwest all the way to the capital, the calluses on their soles thicker than flesh—that was real suffering.
No one would willingly endure suffering, and Zhao Rongzhang was no exception. But at the same time, she believed this was an excellent opportunity to temper herself.
Walking for a while, flying for a while, by the afternoon when the sky darkened again, Zhao Rongzhang confirmed that her feet were starting to hurt and finally asked Little Mute to carry her. The journey was hot and painful, thirsty and craving, very uncomfortable, but the scenery was beautiful.
Zhao Rongzhang lay draped over Little Mute’s shoulder. Patches of light, scattered and dense, flowed over them like water through the gaps in the forest canopy, while the path behind grew ever more distant. Along the way were deep green leaves, grayish-brown tree trunks, lush wild grasses, and clusters of colorful flowers dotting the landscape left and right. A clear spring from the mountain rushed down into a small stream, where fallen leaves swirled on the surface under a light, dancing sunlight. When Little Mute stepped on the gravel path, occasional click-clack sounds echoed; when he trod on damp earth, one had to listen with bated breath, intently and carefully, to catch the faint sound of soil being pressed down. Beyond that, the world was rich with noise—just the calls of birds alone could be distinguished into over a dozen varieties within the time it took to drink a cup of tea, blending together into a pleasing chorus.
Zhao Rongzhang was in high spirits. Her gaze swayed with the rhythm of his steps, and she was nearly lulled to sleep against his shoulder when she caught the sound of breathing that seemed slightly off. She tilted her face to look at him, but he happened to turn his face away at the same moment, so she couldn’t see his eyes—only a teardrop sliding down to the corner of his lips, where it was pressed in and vanished. She had thought it was sweat, but Little Mute’s skin didn’t produce beads of sweat that large.
Was he crying?
Zhao Rongzhang noticed his eyes were indeed a bit red and inwardly clicked her tongue. Fragile little boy, what’s he crying about now? I really don’t get it.
She didn’t care. She was tired and wanted to sleep—just as long as he didn’t wake her with his crying.
Zhao Rongzhang woke to the sound of human voices. Finally, some human activity—being stuck with a mute for the past two days had nearly suffocated her. Zhao Rongzhang immediately opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings, only to realize that while her ears picked up voices, her eyes couldn’t spot a single person. The sky was pitch black, with dark clouds obscuring the moon and no stars in sight. This mute had taken some unknown path, and nothing was visible.
“Are we entering the city? Walk on the street, will you? Are you some stray cat?” Zhao Rongzhang pushed his shoulder in frustration.
The Princess had slept soundly in his arms the whole way, her posture shifting this way and that. So quiet, so trusting of him—more than once, Guan Xuan felt as if he were cradling a baby. He had already lost himself in the sensation of holding her, walking this path with its uneven footing, his thoughts numerous yet serene. He hadn’t expected her to wake and scold him like this. Guan Xuan was walking on rooftops, where making noise was most forbidden. He stopped, tightened his arms around her, unsure what to do. He couldn’t walk on the streets—he was a Shadow Guard. Being called a stray cat wasn’t entirely wrong, either.
The Princess paid him no mind, pushing at him irritably, wanting to get down. “Find an inn, quickly.”
Guan Xuan remained frozen, resisting the idea of staying anywhere with other people. More animal than human, appearing among crowds felt like a beast dressed in human clothes, constantly fearing exposure.
The Princess urged him again. She’d probably forgotten—he was a Shadow Guard, her only Shadow Guard, and couldn’t be seen. But Guan Xuan couldn’t disobey the Princess’s orders. No matter how uncomfortable he felt, he lightly tapped his toes and descended to the street.
The street wasn’t particularly lively, just a small night market. Yet their appearance drew many eyes in a short time. Guan Xuan stood rigidly in place, longing to hide, but there was nothing except the Princess in his arms. He almost wanted to bury himself in her, his arms tightening around her once more, unconsciously. The gazes of the people around only grew more intense.
Such intimate clinging and cuddling, even for newlyweds, was quite indecent and improper.
Having not touched the ground for a long time, her legs and feet were uncomfortable, so Zhao Rongzhang pushed him away and got down. She stopped a passerby to ask where an inn was, then strode off in the direction given. Even with a mask on, Guan Xuan still felt uneasy. He was too close to everyone here; if anyone wanted to kill him, it would be far too easy. He followed closely behind the Princess, both to protect her and to seek her protection. In the whole world, only the Princess would not turn into a ghost; only she made him feel safe.
Entering the inn, the Princess took out a travel permit. In recent days, she had often impulsively spurred her horse ahead, so for convenience, she carried this forged travel permit with her. Fortunately, she had brought it; otherwise, it would have been difficult even to enter the city for a meal. However, there was a risk: too many people knew about this fake identity now, and using it would likely expose their whereabouts in less than a day.
But on second thought, there were too many ways they could be exposed, and this was just one more. First, they had no money and could only melt down or pawn the gold and silver ornaments they wore. Once these items circulated, their identities would be exposed faster than lightning. Second, their appearances were very different from the locals, and Zhao Rongzhang’s accent was worlds apart. A few conversations would be enough for anyone with ill intentions to quickly pinpoint her identity.
In short, choosing to enter the city was equivalent to choosing exposure. Zhao Rongzhang chose exposure. She needed to create a new identity to facilitate their future movements. There was still a long road of escape ahead, and the later they were exposed, the greater the losses would be. So, it was better to take on a bit more risk now. Moreover, she needed to procure supplies for the journey ahead, find a clean place, and have a proper meal to quench her body’s thirst and exhaustion.
Zhao Rongzhang had already decided on the position. She wanted to test how different it would feel if she didn’t move at all and relied entirely on his efforts.