Thousand Miles of Bright Moonlight - Chapter 159.1

The night was heavy and deep. From within the courtyards, warm lamplight swayed, casting a soft golden halo over the thick white snow. The sound of the wind echoed endlessly through the boundless winter night.

Yang Qian came back to his senses and asked, “How does the Princess tell which people are the treacherous ones?”

Yaoying did not answer him immediately. She turned, stepped into the carriage, sat down inside, and raised the felt curtain with her slender, pale hand, gesturing for him to follow.

Before Yang Qian could react, Yuanjue’s expression had already changed.

Holding the curtain, Yaoying looked at Yang Qian. Her brows and eyes curved slightly as she smiled and asked, “Young Master Yang, are you afraid I might be tricking you?”

Yang Qian swept his gaze ahead and behind, only to realise he was already surrounded. He gave a short, cold snort, straightened his chest, and strode towards the carriage.

The Princess Wen Zhao was merely a weak woman; he was a man of the Yang family. If he shrank back out of fear, would that not be utterly spineless?

The wheels rolled over the snow, carrying them deeper into narrow, shadowy alleyways.

In the darkness, footsteps kept catching up to the carriage. Several personal guards, cloaked in white, came running from different directions, delivering sealed letters and scrolls made of sheepskin.

Yuanjue accepted them and passed them into the carriage.

Inside, a lantern hung from the wall. Yaoying opened a sheepskin scroll and examined it carefully in the lamplight before handing it to Yang Qian, who sat opposite her.

Yang Qian, looking thoroughly impatient, shifted his arms and long legs. The carriage was not cramped, it could seat four people with ease, but he was tall and broad-shouldered. Mindful of propriety between man and woman, he dared not sit too close to Yaoying. As such, he could not sit upright, and instead had to hunch his shoulders and draw in his legs, pressing himself against the carriage door.

The awkward posture robbed him of any imposing air. When Yaoying passed him the sheepskin scroll, he let out another cold snort before taking it for a look.

He had only read halfway when his face began to darken to an angry blue. By the time he had finished all the scrolls, his complexion had turned purple, his teeth clenched so hard they ground audibly, and his hands curled into fists. He roared, “These cowards who’re afraid of deaths!”

The more he thought about it, the more furious he became, as if he might tear the sheepskin to shreds.

All the letters Yaoying had handed him were denunciations, every single one reporting to the authorities that the Princess of Great Wei was currently in Gaochang.

“To think the Princess placed such trust in them, risking herself to come to Gaochang in secret to meet them, yet they truly went and betrayed you!”

Yang Qian ground the words out between his teeth.

…

Some time earlier, a rumour had spread through the royal court: that a certain Princess Wen Zhao from the Central Plains had fallen for the Buddha’s Son at first sight, and would marry no other. The Buddha’s Son was an enlightened monk, untouched by worldly dust, and naturally would not take a wife. The Princess, undeterred in her infatuation, swore an oath to follow the example of Mordenga Maiden, cultivating the Buddhist path in hopes of earning his favour.

At first, no one paid the rumour much heed.

The Buddha’s Son was not only accomplished in the Dharma, compassionate, and a protector of his people, but extended his kindness equally to the citizens of other nations, regardless of status or wealth. Along the Northern Route of the Western Regions, merchants facing bandit ambushes needed only to raise the Buddha’s Son’s banner to pass unimpeded. As such, he was revered across nations, a divine figure in the eyes of the common people.

He was of noble birth, his face as pure and bright as the full moon, his eyes like blue lotuses, exquisitely handsome, unmatched in all the world. It was nothing unusual for women to admire him.

However, a few months later, the Royal Court suddenly issued an edict formally announcing to all kingdoms and city-states north and south of the Pamir Mountains that Princess Wen Zhao had entered the Royal Temple to take vows for cultivation under the King’s guidance.

The news reached Gaochang like a clap of thunder.

Over the years, men and women who admired the Buddha’s Son were as countless as the sands of the Ganges; some princesses of other states had even offered their entire countries in marriage, hoping to win his affection. He had never paid any of them the slightest heed. He had long since transcended the mundane world, how could he care for the worldly affairs?

But this time, the almighty Buddha’s Son had made an exception for a Han woman!

By allowing Princess Wen Zhao to reside in the temple, was he not simply announcing to the world that she was under his protection?

The matter quickly became the talk of every tongue, with wild speculation and endless gossip.

At that time, some royal merchants happened to arrive in Gaochang to purchase grape wine. Locals pressed them eagerly for news.

The merchants said, “It’s true. Princess Wen Zhao is living in the temple now. We heard she listens to the Buddha’s Son lecture on the Dharma every day, and even takes her meals with him.”

The listeners were stunned.

A wine merchant chuckled and added, “Not only does the Princess see the Buddha’s Son daily, he delivers his teachings to her alone! The temple even asked our caravan for a cartload of grain from the Central Plains. It must surely be meant for the Princess!”

The crowd, unable to contain their curiosity, pressed for more.

The merchants went on, “My aunt often goes to the royal temple to hear the Buddha’s Son preach. She said the monks told her the Princess is allowed into the Buddha’s Son’s meditation chamber. She doesn’t understand Sanskrit, so the Buddha’s Son personally teaches it to her.”

People exchanged glances, finding in each other’s eyes the same shock and excitement.

Seeing the crowd’s enthusiasm, someone else chimed in, “Yes! The Buddha’s Son and the Princess share the same desk every day, reading the same scripture together! A young trainee monk saw it with his own eyes!”

Another merchant, smiling broadly, confided to the eager audience, “I’ve met Princess Wen Zhao myself. She likes coloured glassware and bright moon shaped pearls. I’ve dealt with her servants before, everything she uses was bought from me! The Princess even praised my gems as the most beautiful and rarest in the Royal Court!”

“The princess’s face powder, gold leaf decorations, floral forehead ornaments, and eyebrow liner were all sold through me. The princess, beautiful as a goddess and skilled in adornment, has become the model all the women in the Royal Court now imitate.”

“Whatever Princess Wenzhao wears, whatever hairstyle she adopts, in no more than five days, from the wife of the Prime Minister in the Royal Court to the dancing girls in the market streets, everyone would change their looks to follow her example.”

At first, the crowd had been sceptical, but when the Hu merchants spoke one after another, swearing it was true and explaining in detail, that scepticism quickly faded, replaced by an eager and swelling curiosity.

Now, when the women of Gaochang discussed the Buddha’s Son and Princess Wenzhao over tea, it was no longer to mock the princess for wishful thinking, as they had before. Instead, they wondered what sort of unmatched grace and charm she must possess to make the Buddha’s Son, whose heart was as calm as still water, break precedent for her.

Especially after the news spread across the Western Regions that “Prince Haidu Aling of the Northern Rong declared in public that Princess Wenzhao would sooner or later be his woman,” and the people of Gaochang became even more excited about the topic:

It turns out, the Buddha’s Son’s proclamation to all the kingdoms had been to warn the Northern Rong prince!

One was the pure and aloof Buddha’s Son of the Royal Court, and the other was the iron-blooded and battle-hardened prince of the Northern Rong. In the end, whose woman would Princess Wenzhao become?

When her year of spiritual cultivation was complete, would the Buddha’s Son truly marry her?