Thousand Miles of Bright Moonlight - Chapter 158.1

Night fell, and heavy snow swirled down.

With several thunderous booms, the market gates closed. Yuanjue escorted Yaoying downstairs and helped her into an unremarkable felt-covered carriage, its plain appearance contradicting its precious cargo.

Merchants began leaving the market in twos and threes, the crowd thick with jostling figures.

After the carriage had travelled halfway down the street, Xie Chong said in a low voice, “Princess, we’re being followed.”

A slender hand, nails painted a vivid red, lifted a corner of the felt curtain. Yaoying’s voice was calm but alert, “Circle around a few times before heading back. Send someone to see who it is that’s tailing us.”

Xie Chong nodded and signaled to the caravan’s two servants. They were men who’d spent years dealing with Hu merchants and knew every twist and turn of the capital city.

The porters pulled the brims of their Hu hats low and soon melted into the bustling throng.

The driver deliberately steered the carriage into narrow alleys, turning seven or eight times, going several li out of the way, shaking off more than a few pursuers.

Yuanjue, ever alert with his sharp senses, kept watch on their surroundings. Sweeping his gaze around, he lowered his voice. “We’ve lost the others, but there’s still a Han man on our tail.”

A slender, pale jade-like hand, its nails tinted a vivid red with koudan, gathered up the felt. Yaoying seemed intrigued by the Han man following them. Leaning slightly to peer outside, her bright eyes sparkled. “Can you make out who it is?”

Yuanjue’s mouth opened, but he suddenly faltered.

Yaoying had received several groups of visitors that day.

He couldn’t understand Han language, nor did he know what was said, but after entering, each group of Han people would stare at her in stunned silence for a moment before their expressions turned fervent with excitement, some trembled all over, some wept as if in grief, and a few even sobbed aloud.

Yaoying treated them courteously, rising to return their bows, poised and dignified yet warm. Once everyone had settled into their seats, they would talk, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, venting out their grievances, and reminiscing. In the end, Yaoying would say a few words, and everyone would immediately rise, turn toward the east, and bow deeply, their expressions solemn and grave.

After each group left, Yaoying would refresh her makeup. The last visitors had left just as the market was closing, leaving her no time to wash off her cosmetics. She had only hastily removed her hairpins, tasseled ornaments, and jeweled headdress, changed out of her delicate gauze gown into a more practical, warm round-collared robe embroidered with magpies carrying auspicious herbs, but her face remained heavily adorned.

Earlier in the day, even from a distance, Yuanjue had thought her beauty dazzling, almost too bright to look upon. Now, that exquisitely made-up face was right before him, smiling playfully, radiant beyond compare, and utterly breathtaking. His heartbeat quickened sharply, and he quickly lowered his head, silently chanting the Buddha’s name.

In that moment, he felt genuine admiration for the Buddha’s Son. To sit so close to such temptation and remain utterly unmoved, he truly was worthy to be their king.

Yaoying, thinking that Yuanjue had not heard clearly, asked again, “Can you tell who it is?”

Her voice was hoarse and low from a day of speaking, often having to raise it in a solemn, authoritative tone to intimidate the great clans, so unlike her usual soft, lilting manner.

Heat flushed across Yuanjue’s face. He kept his head down and handed a waterskin of animal hide into the carriage. “Princess, have some warm goat’s milk to soothe your throat.”

Yaoying smiled and thanked him, taking the waterskin. After an entire day of impassioned speeches, her throat truly ached.

Yuanjue coughed a few times, steadying himself, “The Han man following us is very tall. You met him today, Princess.”

Yaoying’s eyes lit up. “Is it the young man with the sword at his waist?” she asked softly.

Surprise flickered across Yuanjue’s face. “How did you know it was him?”

Most of the great clan members Yaoying met that day were older men, some with snow-white hair. Upon seeing the books and other items she had brought from the Central Plains, they had broken down in tears. Clearly, they were descendants of Hexi people who had been forced to migrate west to Gaochang in their youths.  There had been a few middle-aged men, but only a handful of youths. That was why Yuanjue remembered the young man so clearly, especially since the sword at his hip marked him out. He carried himself with a swagger, a defiant look on his face. When it came time to bow, he refused to remove his sword and even shouted at the older men.

To Yuanjue, the young man had seemed openly provocative. If not for Yaoying signalling him to stand down, he would already have drawn his blade.

Could it be that the young man was following them with ill intent?

Yuanjue’s fists clenched instinctively.

Yaoying took a sip of the goat’s milk, it was indeed warm. “I knew he’d follow us. Don’t worry, he means no harm.”

Yuanjue answered in the affirmative, loosening his stance.

Yaoying lowered her head in thought.

The carriage rolled down the main street, its wheels crunching through the thick snow with a long, creaking sound. The night grew denser, and the curfew hour was drawing near.

She calculated the time, then set the waterskin aside and whispered to Yuanjue, “Lead that young man into an alley. I want a word with him.”

Yuanjue murmured to the driver, who cracked the whip and drove the carriage into a remote, narrow lane. The young man, unsuspecting, continued to follow. When he stepped into the alley, Xie Chong broke away from the group, leapt swiftly onto a snow-covered wall, and dropped down behind the young man in a few quick bounds.

The carriage came to a halt.

The young man froze, then immediately spun around to flee, only for Xie Chong to step out from the shadows, his long blade sweeping sideways to block the alley’s exit.

The young man’s expression shifted slightly.

Yaoying lifted the curtain and stepped down from the carriage with graceful composure.

The young man turned to look at her, chin raised high, his gaze full of arrogance. One hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his waist as he said coldly, “What does the Princess intend to do?”

It was fluent Hexi official speech.

Yaoying let out a sudden pfft of laughter.

The young man froze, his expression stiffening. After a long pause, anger rose to his face, and he barked, “What is the Princess laughing at?”

Yaoying allowed the laughter to fade, though amusement still lingered in her brows and eyes. Her gaze roamed over him, smiling as she studied him carefully.

The young man had thick brows and large eyes, a tall, well-proportioned frame, and broad shoulders. Not an ounce of excess flesh clung to him. Like the sons of the noble families of Gaochang, his braided hair hung down his back, but instead of the golden flower crown usually worn on the head, his hair was wrapped in a headscarf. He wore rich brocade, an ornate jewelled belt, and at his waist hung a long sword inlaid with gemstones. From head to toe, he glittered in an incongruous mixture of warrior and noble attire.

She kept staring at him until the handsome young man’s face flushed red. His eyes were wary, his tone impatient. “Why are you looking at me like that?!”

Yaoying smiled, then gave him a solemn bow. “I admire Young Master Yang’s noble spirit.”

The young man’s surname was Yang, given name Qian. At her words, a look of bewilderment flickered in his eyes. Stiff-necked, he replied, “I don’t understand what the Princess is talking about.”

Yaoying only smiled.