Ji Heng arrived at the guest pavilion late into the evening, moonlight casting long shadows across the polished wooden corridors. Rui State’s servants, dressed plainly in muted green robes indicating their lower status, stood silently in neat rows, eyes respectfully downcast, awaiting instructions. Beside them, Ji Heng’s own Rong State attendants stood quietly alert, watchful and slightly disdainful of their Rui State counterparts.

  As Ji Heng passed, he observed a particular maid standing slightly apart from the others, a young woman with striking features and dark eyes reminiscent of Princess Hengxin. She blushed furiously under his brief scrutiny, cheeks turning an attractive shade of pink, her gaze holding his invitingly before dropping.

  Ji Heng paused, intrigued, his lips quirking into a faint, knowing smirk.

  “You there,” he addressed her softly, his tone casual but authoritative. “What is your name?”

  The maid trembled slightly before whispering, “This servant is called Yulan, Your Highness.”

  Ji Heng regarded her silently for a moment longer, enjoying her coquettish bashfulness before nodding dismissively and continuing onward, leaving her flushed and visibly flustered.

  The guest pavilion was lavishly appointed, reflecting Rui State’s famed artisanship. Intricate carvings adorned wooden screens, depicting scenes of serene mountains and winding rivers.

  Ji Heng entered the inner chamber, where Yunqi and Mingyu waited patiently. With a casual wave, he dismissed the Rui servants, their bowed heads retreating silently from view, leaving only his trusted companions.

  With a deep sigh, Ji Heng flopped inelegantly onto a cushioned low bed, shedding the composed mask he’d worn throughout the banquet.

  “I’m starving,” he complained petulantly, stretching out his legs and letting his head tilt back dramatically. “Why is it you both always eat better than me at these things?”

  Mingyu kept his expression neutral, though amusement glinted briefly in his eyes. Yunqi, ever straightforward, offered dryly, “The duck was particularly good.”

  Ji Heng rolled his eyes theatrically. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Mingyu!” he whined openly, allowing the petulance to seep fully into his tone. “Get the kitchen to make me something—not porridge! Something with meat. Before I die.”

  “Such a delicate prince,” Mingyu replied sarcastically, a small laugh escaping despite his attempt at seriousness. Still, he swiftly moved to obey, stepping outside to relay Ji Heng’s request to a waiting eunuch.

  Ji Heng’s expression sobered once more as he turned his attention to Yunqi. “You should rest,” he advised, his voice serious yet thoughtful. “Tomorrow we’ll be back on the road, and I suspect that’s when the trouble might start.”

  Yunqi’s eyes sharpened slightly, understanding immediately. Ji Heng’s father had deliberately sent a mixed retinue of loyalists and troublemakers, designed to undermine and provoke Ji Heng into making mistakes.

  Treason would be an easy pretext for his execution, especially given his Rui lineage through his mother—a cousin to the Rui King.

  “I am not far,” Yunqi assured quietly. “You and Mingyu be careful.”

  Yunqi bowed formally, hands clasped firmly in traditional salute. Ji Heng groaned irritably, “Stop that. I hate it when you do that.”

  Unfazed, Yunqi maintained the respectful posture, honoring protocol before stepping quietly from the room.

  Just then, Mingyu returned, expression questioning.

  “The kitchen will prepare some food for you. Do you want to take your bath while you wait?” Mingyu asked politely.

  Ji Heng’s dark eyes flickered, a slow, mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Later. First, fetch me that maid from before—the one named Yulan.”

  Mingyu raised an eyebrow but knew better than to question. With a slight nod, he turned to carry out the command, leaving Ji Heng alone to contemplate the evening ahead.

  ?───────?°???°?───────?

  The following day was one of solemn ceremony.

  Hengxin descended from the sedan at the palace gates, ceremonial robes heavy and constrictive, a reminder of her role. Her expression was carefully composed, though beneath the calm fa?ade, anxiety coiled tightly.

  The brief, solemn farewell ceremony had been a study in humiliation—her father’s distant coldness, her grandfather’s visible fury, and Ji Heng’s detached indifference. She had absorbed it all silently, but each slight had etched itself sharply into her consciousness.

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  As her carriage left the familiar palace grounds, Hengxin discreetly observed her maids.

  The Rong King had decreed that only two senior maids would accompany her—a clear insult hidden beneath diplomatic courtesy. Officially, this was because Rong State had already included servants in Ji Heng’s retinue, assigned explicitly to tend to Hengxin’s needs.

  The actual truth was that Rui State was powerless, and Hengxin’s comfort and dignity mattered little.

  One of her maids sat rigidly, her posture stiff and carefully guarded, revealing no hint of emotion. The other maid struggled visibly to contain her distress, sniffing softly, eyes bright with suppressed tears she fought desperately to hold back.

  Any silent sorrow was understandable; neither would have chosen this journey willingly. After the tragic fate of the last hostage sent to Rong—Ji Heng’s mother—no woman from Rui State felt safe in the presence of Rong men.

  Rumors had circulated through the palace, whispered anxiously among maids and eunuchs alike, detailing atrocities committed by Ji Heng’s soldiers during their journey to Rui. Barbaric and cruel, they had allegedly assaulted servants and even young women in villages along the way.

  Hengxin turned her face away and pulled the curtain back slightly, peering out.

  Ji Heng was entering his own carriage, his steps faltering slightly, face pale and fragile-looking. His servant swiftly caught and steadied him, a practiced gesture.

  Hengxin felt an involuntary surge of anger vividly recalling Ji Heng’s breach of decorum at the ceremony yesterday. Instinctively, her fingers brushed against the golden cuffs at her wrists, feeling the cool metal as a constant reminder of her humiliation.

  As if sensing her gaze, Ji Heng turned sharply towards her carriage. Hengxin quickly released the curtain, letting it fall back into place, heart racing irrationally.

  ?───────?°???°?───────?

  As the carriage moved beyond the familiar walls of the palace, a new world unfolded before Hengxin’s eyes. The initial anxiety that had gripped her slowly melted into a cautious curiosity, which soon gave way to quiet excitement. She had never ventured beyond the secluded confines of royal courts, and every sound, sight, and smell was new to her.

  The streets of Rui State buzzed with life. Merchants called energetically from their stalls, their voices mingling in a cheerful, chaotic chorus. Hengxin could smell something sweet in the air, wafting from a nearby stall. Bright sticks glistened there, intricately shaped into animals, flowers, and dragons, catching her attention. Another scent, fresh and vibrant, drifted from nearby shops where bolts of silk and linen spilled onto the streets, vibrant and soft, showcasing Rui’s famed craftsmanship.

  Common folk lining the streets moved aside respectfully as her carriage passed, but their curious gazes followed, whispers rippling through the crowd. Hengxin found herself drawn to their faces, so different from the guarded, often fearful expressions she knew from within the palace.

  Her eyes caught those of a little girl perched high on her father’s shoulders, straining eagerly for a glimpse. The child spotted Hengxin and pointed excitedly, eyes wide with wonder. Without thinking, Hengxin smiled warmly, and the little girl clapped her tiny hands in delight, causing a gentle stir of laughter from those nearby.

  Hengxin turned to her maids, Fang Lihua and Liu Suyin, eager to understand more about the world beyond the palace gates.

  “What are those?” Hengxin asked, pointing at the glistening sticks, genuinely intrigued.

  Fang Lihua, calm and gentle with an air of quiet dignity, smiled softly. “Those are sugar treats, Your Highness. Children adore them because they’re sweet and shaped like animals or flowers.”

  “And what about over there?” Hengxin indicated the colorful fabrics.

  Liu Suyin, younger with expressive eyes that carried a subtle anxiety, leaned forward eagerly. “Those are silk and linen fabrics, Your Highness. Rui is famous for textiles—the dyes never fade, no matter how often they are washed.”

  As they continued their journey, the excitement and bustle of the city gradually faded, and soon the party stopped beneath the shade of tall trees, the air cool and pleasant. Servants and soldiers stretched and chatted quietly, taking brief relief from their travel.

  Inside the carriage, the atmosphere gradually loosened, the silence softening into cautious conversation. Lihua sat upright, her posture strong and unyielding, though her fingers restlessly adjusted her sleeves, as if testing the fit of a garment not truly hers.

  “I wasn’t originally meant to come,” she remarked quietly, eyes fixed resolutely ahead. Her voice held a note of careful defiance, hinting at layers beneath the calm surface. “But circumstances changed.”

  Suyin opened her mouth as if to speak, then paused, hesitating. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap, a subtle tremor revealing more than her carefully chosen words. “My grandmother is still in Rui State,” she finally murmured softly, her voice threaded with quiet anxiety. “She’s alone. I wonder what she’ll do without me.”

  Hengxin watched both carefully, her eyes perceptive and guarded. She had long ago learned to read beneath the surface of her servants’ carefully chosen words—too often had quiet maids concealed quiet knives.

  Suyin seemed harmless but she had a clear weakness, and no doubt Hengxin’s father or grandfather would make full use of it.

  Meanwhile, Hengxin wasn’t sure what to make of Lihua just yet. She was far too guarded, which was also odd. Most of the spies around her had either been quick to ingratiate themselves with her, or at least been coldly detached. Lihua was neither.

  Hengxin tucked both observations neatly into the back of her mind, quietly assessing which of them would ultimately prove trustworthy—or dangerous.

  Later, Suyin left the carriage to fetch water during one the travel breaks. When Suyin returned, her face was pale, her hands trembling.

  Hengxin quickly leaned forward. “What’s wrong, Suyin?”

  The younger maid burst suddenly into tears, struggling to speak. “Some of the Rong soldiers…they said awful, lewd things as I passed by —one tried to grab me. I-I’ve never seen that happen before.”

  Lihua and Hengxin exchanged grim, tense glances. Hengxin considered carefully before turning to Lihua.

  “Find out from the Rui maids if they can identify which soldiers did this.”

  Suyin sniffled quietly, looking up at Hengxin with frightened eyes. “Will you tell the prince?”

  Hengxin looked away thoughtfully. “I don’t know. For all we know he might have even ordered it, hoping to intimidate us further.” Her voice softened at the maids’ horrified looks. “Either way, we must know who they are —it will at least allow us some control.”

  But deep inside, Hengxin felt an uncomfortable uncertainty. She knew she could only do so much to protect these young women. She barely knew how she would protect herself.