Before her unfolded a vivid scene of debauchery. Ye Jiao leaned against the carriage window, carefully lifting the corner of the curtain to peer inside. There could be no mistake — the noble son of the Prime Minister's residence, who had sworn just yesterday that he would marry no one but her, was now entangled in intimacy with another woman.
His broad figure blocked the view, obscuring the woman's face.
"Give it to me," coaxed Fu Mingzhu, his tone soft as silk.
"You're so bad," the woman replied, her voice coy and alluring. "Aren't you supposed to marry Ye Jiao? Why aren't you with her?"
At these words, Ye Jiao, eavesdropping outside the curtain, instinctively held her breath. Her fingers tightened involuntarily, crumpling the once-immaculate drapery embroidered with golden threads and silver filigree.
"What does she know?" Fu Mingzhu sneered. "She may possess a pretty face, but she's cold as ice — untouchable, unlike you, who can steal a man's soul with a glance."
The woman let out a delicate snort.
"Don't worry," he continued, "my family only forced the engagement because the Duke's household is in decline. But my heart belongs to you. Once she's through the door, I'll take you as my concubine. And when she's gone, you'll be my rightful wife."
"She's not so easy to get rid of. That woman seems perfectly healthy to me," the woman murmured, still hesitant.
"She'll be gone soon enough," Fu Mingzhu replied darkly. "I have a thousand ways to ensure she won't live to see the new year."
Inside the carriage, the depravity grew more unbearable.
Ye Jiao's face turned deathly pale, her body trembling. Her initial panic began to boil into rage.
Scoundrel! She never imagined he was such a vile creature!
How could she have known that the fiancé she'd been betrothed to since childhood — the one who always put on the air of a refined gentleman — was not only shameless but schemed to harm her?
A thousand thoughts surged in her mind. Their innocent first meeting in youth, the tacit understanding that had grown over the years, the promises he made, the sincerity in his proposal — were all those lies?
She wanted nothing more than to beat him senseless.
Ye Jiao let the curtain fall and turned sharply to find a tree branch.
In the forest, broken limbs littered the ground. She picked the thickest stick she could find, but hesitated.
This was the wilderness. She was alone — how could she hope to overpower two people? If Fu Mingzhu flew into a rage and killed her, she would die in vain.
Her gaze dropped to the edge of the carriage board. Two garments hung there — a blue round-collared robe and a crimson pomegranate skirt.
A sudden idea sparked.
Ye Jiao carefully pulled the clothes out of the carriage, then untied the reins from the horses and bolted.
By the roadside, her maid Shuiwen was anxiously waiting. Upon seeing Ye Jiao, she hurried over.
"My lady! Well? Was it truly Young Master Fu?"
"It was!" Ye Jiao leapt onto the carriage. "Let's go!"
Shuiwen, sobbing with rage, cried, "I want to weep at the Duke's grave! We're not even married yet, and they treat us like this? The Fu family has gone too far!"
"What's the point of crying?" Ye Jiao took the reins herself. "You think Grandfather will rise from the grave? Hurry up — I have my own plans."
Shuiwen fretted the entire way — afraid Ye Jiao might break off the engagement in anger, afraid her brother would fight the Fu family, afraid the madam would faint upon hearing the news.
Amid her nervous rambling, the carriage rolled through the city gates.
Chang'an bustled with carriages and crowds. The city was as vibrant as ever.
Shuiwen noticed the carriage wasn't headed toward their residence.
"My lady, where are we going?"
They turned off from Zhuque Avenue into a broad side street, where a troupe of Hu performers was putting on a show — sword dancing, pole balancing, tightrope walking, sword swallowing, fire breathing, human towers.
A large crowd had gathered.
Ye Jiao jumped down and pushed her way through, tossing a few copper coins to the troupe leader in exchange for a gong.
"What's this about?" the crowd asked.
"Oh! Such a beautiful girl can do acrobatics too?"
Surprised gasps and applause rang out.
Ye Jiao leapt onto a large drum, struck the gong several times — "Bang! Bang! Bang!" — commanding everyone's attention, and then shouted at the top of her lungs.
"Uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters — today is our master's birthday, but alas, the wheel broke and the horse ran off! We're stuck in the woods past the third fork on the official road outside the city! Please lend a hand and help us lift the carriage. If you can get it to Imperial Street, everyone will be rewarded!"
The crowd buzzed with excitement.
"Really? How much reward?"
Ye Jiao threw a handful of copper coins into the air, scattering them everywhere.
"Once it's on Imperial Street, each person gets two taels of silver!" she promised.
People scrambled to collect the coins, still skeptical.
"Who is your master? Why bring the carriage to Imperial Street?"
Ye Jiao's eyes gleamed as she planted her hands on her hips.
"To be honest, my master is none other than His Highness, the Ninth Prince!"
"The Ninth Prince? No wonder she's so generous!"
No one doubted further — they surged out of the street en masse.
The acrobat troupe, now standing in an empty square, asked Ye Jiao, "Can we go too?"
"Of course!" she called out. "There's reward for everyone!"
With that done, Ye Jiao felt thoroughly refreshed. Her rage and humiliation had lifted by more than half.
But Shuiwen was confused. "My lady, why say it was the Ninth Prince? Aren't you afraid of offending him?"
"All the other princes are in the capital," Ye Jiao said, tossing aside the gong as she walked back to the carriage. "The Ninth Prince is said to be half-dead, a living ghost. We've nothing to fear from him."
As Ye Jiao's carriage rolled away, a young man holding a sugar figurine strolled into the alley.
He appeared to be around twenty, tall and graceful as a jade tree. His porcelain-white skin and peerlessly handsome features were tinged with a faint air of sickness.
In grand Tang Dynasty Chang'an, a city famed for its resplendent attire, he wore only a plain dark blue robe, unembellished and inky as night. At his waist hung a square white jade pendant, upon which a deer was exquisitely carved — lifelike, as if conjured by spirits.
Seeing the now-deserted street, he asked, puzzled, "No performance today?"
"Don't mention it!" the troupe leader groaned. "Everyone ran off to the outskirts to haul a carriage and earn a reward!"
"Oh?" The man tasted his sugar treat and turned to leave, then suddenly paused. "Whose carriage?"
"The Ninth Prince's!" the troupe leader replied. "His maid said if we help bring the carriage to Imperial Street, we each get two taels of silver!"
"The Ninth Prince?" A flicker of curiosity crossed the man's face. He glanced at the attendant behind him.
"Shall I investigate, Your Highness?" the servant asked, bowing low.
"No need," the young man said with amusement. "Don't you find this… rather interesting?"
He quickened his steps, as though eager to witness the spectacle.
Meanwhile, deep in the woods, Fu Mingzhu had finally succeeded in his conquest. He lay spent in the carriage, holding the woman in his arms, when a clamor of footsteps approached.
"Is that the one?"
"Must be — the horse is gone."
Startled, Fu Mingzhu sat bolt upright and peeked through the curtain. What he saw froze him with terror — dozens of people, young and old, male and female, rushing toward them.
He scrambled back, panic-stricken. "Where are the clothes? Hurry, get dressed!"
But not a scrap of clothing remained inside the carriage.
Just then, the carriage began to move.
"Don't worry, Ninth Prince! We'll carry you home!"
Fu Mingzhu stuck his head out. "Get away! I have a horse—"
His voice cut off. Cold sweat beaded on his brow.
Where was the horse?
Ye Jiao waited calmly by Imperial Street.
Before long, the people really arrived — twenty or so men carrying the carriage, surrounded by cheering women and children. The horse was gone. Inside the carriage, panicked shrieks rang out.
"Who are you people?"
"Put the carriage down! Put it down!"
The men doing the lifting tried to calm the hysterical Fu Mingzhu.
"Don't panic, Ninth Prince. We'll carry you safely."
Everyone in the capital believed the Ninth Prince lived in the royal tombs, a madman — and now he seemed to be living up to the rumors.
"What Ninth Prince? What's going on?" Fu Mingzhu bellowed, veins bulging.
The crowd shouted back with excitement, "A prince wouldn't lie! He's just hiding his identity!"
Fu Mingzhu was utterly bewildered, furious, and helpless — and the carriage had nearly reached Imperial Street…