VBNWDW - Chapter 105
Chapter 105
In the thirteenth year of the Zhenghe era of Great Liang, Grand Princess Dening, by imperial command, led her troops back to the capital.
Morning mist filled the air. Green mountains overlapped in the distance, their tranquility broken only by the crisp song of a kingfisher, its echo rippling across the surface of a lake.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence on the dew-dampened stone steps. Though numerous, the steps were orderly, each one firm and steady—the tread of well-trained martial artists.
But the voices that carried on the air were anxious and frustrated, one after another.
"Your Highness! Say something! We fought so hard to conquer Yanzhou and occupy Yuzhou. We sent Great Chu running with their tails between their legs, waving the white flag and begging for mercy! And now…"
"Exactly, Your Highness. We paid for those cities with the lives of our brothers. But then His Majesty sends three edicts a day, forcing us all the way back here. He won't even grant you an audience, just sends some little eunuch to tell us to come to Xuanmiao Temple."
"He says he's afraid the 'aura of death' around us will offend him, so we should stay at the temple for a while. I think they're just deliberately…"
The man was cut off. A woman in green robes beside him grabbed his arm, and just as she silenced him, the silent woman leading them turned around sharply.
Her raven-black hair was tied high with a silk ribbon. She wore a crimson, round-collared robe embroidered with a python motif, her sleeves bound with silver-patterned arm guards. A Tang-style saber hung from a matching sash at her waist, and her entire being radiated a sharp, imposing presence.
Standing on a higher step, she towered over the others, her cold gaze sweeping across them from above.
The clamoring crowd fell silent at once. They lowered their heads, averting their eyes, not daring to meet her gaze.
The woman said nothing, her hand resting on the hilt of her saber. Her features were deep-set, beautiful and noble. Her phoenix eyes, tilted slightly upward, held an innate arrogance that had merged with the cold severity forged in mountains of blades and seas of blood, making her all the more intimidating and difficult to look at directly.
"Your Highness…" the woman in green robes began cautiously. She seemed to hold the highest rank among them and stood closest to her.
Only then did Zhong Jueyu's lips curl into a semblance of a smile. Her voice was as stiff and cold as if it had been rolled in a cavern of ice. "How could I not know what you speak of?"
"There are one thousand two hundred steps on Mount Xuanmiao. You've walked halfway up, complaining all the while. But which of these stone steps can speak for us to His Majesty?"
The morning light fell upon her face. As her eyes shifted, a flash of blue seemed to flicker within them, making it impossible to tell if it was the glint of moisture or the color of her irises.
Her words hung in the air, and only the sound of breathing remained.
That was right. In their anger, they had all forgotten that the person before them was not just their commander, their general. She was also Grand Princess Dening of Great Liang. The three edicts summoning her back had been hastily penned by the Father Emperor she so dutifully served. They had been personally handed to the imperial messenger by her own brother, the Crown Prince, who had run five good horses to death just to ensure she was recalled.
Zhong Jueyu pressed her lips together, her grip on her saber hilt not loosening, but her voice softened. "It has been a long time since you've been home. Go back and see your families."
Hearing this, the men below hesitated.
Zhong Jueyu waved a hand dismissively. "That little eunuch only mentioned me. What are you all crowding around for? Go home. When the envoys from Chu arrive to sue for peace, His Majesty will surely reward you for your merits."
With that, she turned and continued up the steps alone. In a moment, all they could see was her slender back, as straight and solitary as a bamboo stalk.
The burly, dark-faced man from before started to move forward but was held back by the woman in green.
"Her Highness has her own plans," she advised. "We should just do as she says and not bother her."
The man tried to pull his wrist free, but to no avail. He grumbled, "Someone should stay by Her Highness's side. What if…"
The woman in green immediately cut in, "Shigui and I will remain with Her Highness."
A woman standing half a step behind her nodded in agreement.
The others watched this exchange, hesitating for a long moment. Only when the figure ahead had completely vanished from sight did they sigh, stomp their feet, and reluctantly turn to descend the mountain.
As the sun rose higher, the white mist dissipated, leaving only the quiet forest leaves behind.
Beside the Daoist temple, century-old Michelia trees formed a dense grove, encircling the buildings. From amidst the dark green leaves, moon-white petals released a delicate fragrance, elegant and subtle.
This was one of the famous sights of Xuanmiao Temple. It was said that the first temple master had found the saplings by chance during his travels and planted them around the temple. Over a hundred years, they had grown into a forest. Scholars and poets often made a special trip here just to ask for a Michelia flower to wear on their lapel, which would remain fresh for half a month without wilting.
Her black boots crunched over fallen leaves and petals. Zhong Jueyu, her heart heavy with frustration, did not enter the temple immediately. Instead, she turned into the Michelia grove.
Before she could compose herself, she heard a rustling in the leaves above. Zhong Jueyu's expression hardened. Her hand went to her saber hilt as her cold gaze shot upward.
"Who's there?"
Before she got an answer, a figure in a Daoist robe let out a cry and tumbled from a branch, heading straight for Zhong Jueyu's head. A shower of green leaves and white petals rained down.
Zhong Jueyu immediately took a step back. She didn't even raise a hand. She could tell this person was no assassin, but she had no intention of helping either.
But the figure in mid-air was surprisingly quick-witted, suddenly reaching a hand out toward her as if to grab on.
In a flash, faced with the threat of having her clothes torn, Zhong Jueyu shot her hand forward. Her fingers clamped around the person's outstretched wrist, and she gave a slight tug.
This, of course, wasn't enough to save the person. Zhong Jueyu was skilled, but she didn't possess brute strength. However, the tug did provide some buffer, preventing a nasty fall and stopping the person from tearing her clothes in a panicked grab.
What Zhong Jueyu didn't expect was for this person to press their advantage and fall right into her.
Moon-white petals landed in her hair as the rich scent of wine washed over her.
Caught off guard, Zhong Jueyu could only raise her arms to catch the person. Her hand wrapped around a slender waist, and she stumbled back two steps before steadying herself. The next second, she tightened her grip on the person's wrist and snapped coldly, "What are you doing!"
She may not have had brute strength, but she was more than capable of dislocating a joint in an instant. The only reason she hadn't kicked the person away was…
The soft feeling still lingered in the palm of her hand from where she'd caught the person's waist. The scent of wine couldn't completely mask the sandalwood fragrance that clung to someone who lived in a temple. This person was likely a young Daoist from this very temple, who, for some reason, had skipped morning scripture to sneak into a tree and drink.
In a split second, Zhong Jueyu had pieced most of it together and looked down at the person in her arms.
But the person was slow to react. A moment later, she came to her senses and tried to step back, only to find her wrist held fast, rendering her immobile.
A moment ago, she had been the one throwing herself into an embrace; now, it was Zhong Jueyu who wouldn't let her go.
"What are you doing?" The person looked up, bewildered. Her almond eyes were veiled in a watery mist. Drunk and weak, she tried to struggle free but only ended up stumbling back into the embrace.
"Why did you do that?" Pretending to be drunk was different from being truly drunk, and Zhong Jueyu could tell the difference. Her guard lowered slightly as she spoke.
"You're the one holding me."
"You were the one who threw yourself at me," Zhong Jueyu frowned, finding the drunkard troublesome. It was best to deal with this quickly.
She asked again, "Are you from Xuanmiao Temple? Skipping morning scripture to sneak out and drink?"
Her fingers tightened around the wrist, leaving a distinct red mark on the pale skin.
She wanted to just leave the drunkard be, but this place was often visited. What if someone with ill intentions came by…
Zhong Jueyu's gaze swept over the person's lovely face. She looked like the daughter of an official, blessed with fine features.
Drunkards don't listen to reason. Not only did she not answer, but she deliberately struggled, and when she couldn't break free, she simply lowered her head and rammed it into Zhong Jueyu's chest.
Even the greatest martial artist fears a drunkard. Zhong Jueyu hastily retreated, but she didn't know where this person got such strength from.
Zhong Jueyu's foot slipped. The hem of her robe billowed in the wind as she was knocked to the ground.
"Hmph…"
A pained grunt escaped her lips. Her crimson robe was now stained with dirt, and fallen leaves clung to her, creating a rather pathetic sight.
But the little Daoist in her arms was perfectly fine. The culprit herself hadn't felt a thing, sprawled comfortably in the Grand Princess's embrace. If the people of the capital knew of this, the entire mountain would be covered in drunkards.
"Get up," Zhong Jueyu's voice was low and hoarse with pain. Her earlier frustration had been replaced by pure annoyance.
Fortunately for the drunkard, she wasn't a cruel person by nature, or she would have buried this nuisance right here.
"Get up," she repeated, more insistently.
The drunkard heard her, but only half-listened. Propping herself up on her arms on either side of Zhong Jueyu, she forced her heavy eyelids open and studied her blearily. "You look a little familiar…"
Her Daoist robe was loose, and after all the struggling, the collar had fallen wide open. Her disheveled hair fell across her shoulders, but even through the strands, one could glimpse a bit of spring scenery. A faint blush colored the skin around her straight collarbones—it was hard to tell if it was from the wine or the coarse fabric.
Zhong Jueyu turned her head away. A moon-white petal drifted down into her open palm.
"Move," she repeated, but her voice had inexplicably softened, a little gentler than before.
But the drunkard only grew bolder. She suddenly leaned closer and said woozily, "I've definitely seen you somewhere before."
She broke into a sudden smile, deep dimples appearing beside her lips. The wine, rather than diminishing her ethereal, youthful face, added a roguish sort of charm.
She enunciated each word carefully, "A beauty this stunning, I could never forget."
They say a drunk person's words are a sober person's thoughts. It was hard to tell if this was the truth or just the sudden survival instinct of a certain little Daoist nun.
Zhong Jueyu's furrowed brow relaxed. She suddenly asked, "What is your name?"
For once, the person listened. She raised an eyebrow and declared proudly, "My Daoist name is Qingyue. Call me Master Qingyue."
"Master Qingyue…" Zhong Jueyu repeated the name with a half-smile.
"Yes!" The person seemed extremely pleased with this title and answered immediately, her eyes curving into happy crescents.
But Zhong Jueyu, lying beneath her, was thinking: which family in the capital had a daughter named Qingyue? She never once considered that the girl was actually a disciple of the temple, assuming the drunkard was just spouting nonsense.
The reason was that there were rules for taking a Daoist name. Xuanmiao Temple, for instance, assigned names based on a generation poem of twenty-six characters, starting with 'Shou, Dao, Ming, Ren, De…' Neither 'Qing' nor 'Yue' was among them. It was clearly made up.
As she was pondering this, the person leaned in again, as if trying hard to recognize her.
Her wine-scented breath washed over Zhong Jueyu's face, so close she could almost see the fine hairs on her cheeks.
Zhong Jueyu immediately raised a hand and covered her face, pushing her away as much as possible. "Move," she said in a low voice.
The person on top of her began to speak, her lips brushing against Zhong Jueyu's palm with each word, producing a muffled sound.
Zhong Jueyu snatched her hand back as if shocked by electricity. She subconsciously wiped it on her clothes, trying to rub away the strange, tingling sensation. Her tone was less composed than before. "What did you say?"
The drunkard tilted her head, smiling. "You have to say, 'Master Qingyue, please rise.'"
She emphasized, "You must respect this Daoist Master!"
Even the head of Xuanmiao Temple would have to bow to her. Her status was second only to the Emperor and the Crown Prince. The most esteemed Grand Princess Dening of Great Liang was speechless: "…"
Of course, she did not say it. It was the woman in green and her companion, who had finally caught up, who hauled the drunkard off her.
Finally on her feet, Zhong Jueyu's gaze was dark. In the end, she only said, "Take her back with you."
As for herself, she had already delayed for too long. She hastily brushed the dirt from her robes and went to find the temple master, who had been waiting at the entrance for some time.
After the requisite pleasantries, the temple master led the Grand Princess inside, pointing out various features along the way, to which Zhong Jueyu nodded politely.
It wasn't until they reached a quiet area that she suddenly asked, "Is there a Master Qingyue in the temple?"
The white-haired old man started, then tried to prevaricate. "There is indeed such a person," he said.
"Oh? Then why wasn't her name chosen according to Xuanmiao Temple's generation characters?"
"She has not yet been accepted as a formal disciple…" the old man explained weakly.
"She can take a Daoist name without being a disciple?" Zhong Jueyu raised an eyebrow.
Of course not.
The temple master could only say vaguely, "She is the daughter of a dear friend of mine. She has been interested in Daoist teachings since she was a child, but my old friend cannot bear to part with his youngest daughter and will only allow her to stay here, not to be ordained. The child made up a name for herself as a small comfort."
Those who were close with the head of Xuanmiao Temple were mostly from the noble families of the capital. And those he would call a dear friend were few and far between.
Zhong Jueyu thought for a moment. She recalled that before she left the capital, His Majesty had issued a decree to betroth the youngest daughter of the Luo Family to the Crown Prince. But in the two years she had been away, she had heard no news of a wedding.
If the engagement still stood, then she was…
"My imperial sister-in-law?" she murmured, the emotion in her eyes growing obscure. The next second, as the temple master looked over, her eyelids fluttered, and she returned to her usual self.
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