Thousand Miles of Bright Moonlight - Chapter 161.2

That afternoon, Yaoying changed into the attire of a Gaochang noblewoman and left the courtyard together with Sultan Gu, heading to the place where they had agreed to meet Yang Qian.

Yang Qian was tall, dressed in a small-sleeved brocade robe. His head was wrapped in a turban, his feet in embroidered boots. Standing by the roadside among the bustling crowd, he looked like a Crane among chickensty.",
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Yaoying’s face was covered by a veil. She lifted the felt curtain and signalled to him across the crowd.

Yang Qian did not recognise her and kept craning his neck to search among the people. Only when the carriage drew right before him did he realise. Looking into the carriage, he saw Yaoying with her hair braided, dressed in a small-sleeved long robe of yellow patterned with round medallions of trees and eagles, its lapels turned outward in the Hu style. He smiled, showing a row of white teeth.

“Princess’s attire is perfect. I had prepared clothing for you and thought to remind you to change, but it seems my efforts were unnecessary.”

Yaoying also smiled. Lady Ina hosted banquets every evening in the palace, and the nobles who attended all wore lavish dresses and masks. She had inquired beforehand and prepared even a mask for herself.

Yang Qian’s gaze swept over Sultan Gu, who wore a mask and carried a chilling aura. He quickly sensed that this man’s identity was no simple one, and that he must certainly possess martial skill. For a moment, Yang Qian felt the urge to test himself against him, and could not help but look a few more times.

Yaoying did not want him to discover Sultan Gu’s identity. She stepped forward to stand in front of him, signalling that they could depart.

Yang Qian drew back his gaze, nodded, and said, “Once inside the palace, Princess should say you are my cousin. I have more than ten cousins, several around the Princess’s age. The people in the palace will not be able to tell the difference.”

Yaoying nodded to remember it, put on her mask, and then turned to look at Sultan Gu.

The mask covered her face, leaving only a pair of eyes shaped like crescent moons.

From her eyes alone, one could see she must be smiling. Her bright eyes rippled with light, brimming with laughter, as though shattered sunlight had fallen into a deep pool, scattering in glittering fragments.

Sultan Gu looked at her in silence.

Yaoying pointed at the mask on her own face.

The mask she wore was a fearsome Yaksha one, half green, half red, exactly the same as the one he usually wore

Sultan Gu lowered his gaze slightly and stared at the mask on her face for a moment, then stepped away.

Yaoying gave a soft laugh, spread her hands, and followed him with a smile.

…

At dusk, hundreds of candles had been lit in the Grand Hall of the palace. The tall candlestands blazed as though in full flame, the brilliance of the candlelight turning night into day.

Curtains were hung high in the hall. A troupe of musicians sat cross-legged beneath them, playing the pipa, Konghou, bili, Qiang flute, Dongxiao, small drums, bronze clappers, and Sheng in succession. Waves of music rose. In the courtyard, carpets were spread. Slender dancers stepped to the song, their waists supple and graceful. Serving maids in thin gauze gowns came and went, their figures flitting like shadows.

Before the hall, low tables and couches were arranged. A long table spread with red felt groaned under delicacies and wine cups piled mountain-high. Guests, resplendent in formal wear and masks, lounged or sat enjoying performances, toasting with gilded silver cups, laughing and mingling. From corners, bursts of laughter erupted periodically.

Yaoying followed Yang Qian into the Grand Hall.

As Yang Qian walked through the palace, greeted by a scene of music and revelry, joy and laughter everywhere, disappointment and fury surged in him, nearly making him tear off his mask.

The crown prince and his sister had been sent as hostages to the Northern Rong, yet Lady Ina sought to dull the nobles’ senses with fine wine, sumptuous feasts, and alluring dances. That these men succumbed so easily, drowning in pleasures and forgetting themselves, how could he not rage at such weakness?

Fearing he might, in his anger, overturn the banquet tables, Yaoying whispered to remind him, “Young Master Yang, where is the King Yuchi?”

Yang Qian recalled the task at hand, tempered his fury, and led Yaoying through the noisy hall. He dismissed a few sturdy servants, passed along a quiet passage, and arrived before a felt tent screened with draped curtains.

Yaoying waited outside while he entered. Voices soon carried from within.

A moment later, a dishevelled Hu woman emerged, her hair undone and clothes askew. As she passed Yaoying, she made no effort to cover her chest, pale as snow with faint red blotches blooming across it, and shot her a vicious glare.

The corner of Yaoying’s mouth twitched slightly. Clearly, the woman thought she was Yang Qian’s offering, a new concubine for Yuchi Damo.

She glanced back at the hall across the corridor.

Dancers swayed in rhythm to the music, while guests’ faces glowed with wine. After Yang Qian brought her into the palace, Sultan Gu had melted into the shadows, now hidden in some unseen corner. Even so, though she stood alone in this foreign palace, Yaoying felt no fear, knowing he would be guarding somewhere nearby.

Yang Qian lifted the curtain flap, peering out to beckon her inside.

She stepped in.

The tent was unlit, shrouded in gloom. A thick carpet covered the ground. Upon a couch reclined a man with fiery red hair and brown eyes, his beard unkempt. He wore only a loose robe with wide sleeves, its sash barely knotted, the gaping front exposing his gaunt, pale chest at a glance.

Anger still lingered in Yang Qian’s eyes. He snatched up a cloak discarded on the ground and flung it over the man, saying, “Damo, this is Princess Wenzhao.”

Yuchi Damo slowly raised his lids. His narrow eyes swept over Yaoying with a cold smile. “The Princess Wenzhao that Prince Haidu Aling is so determined to possess?”

Yang Qian stiffened.

Yuchi Damo suddenly cast off the cloak and sat upright, fiery hair spilling loose, his eyes tilted sharply at the corners, his face dark with shadow.

“I was just troubled about how to answer Haidu Aling, and here Princess Wenzhao walks straight into my hands. Truly, what one seeks comes effortlessly.”

No sooner had his words fallen than footsteps thudded outside the felt tent. Several guards burst from the corners and rushed inside.

Yang Qian was caught off guard, then flew into a rage. He drew his sword and stood before Yaoying, its tip levelled at Damo as he roared, “Damo, you betrayed us to Haidu Aling?!”

Yuchi Damo lifted his head, his face pale. “Fourth Young Master, do you think I had a choice?”

Yang Qian sneered. “You are a king! Even if shackled by others, you ought to hold a king’s dignity. Has a single Lady Ina frightened you witless? To cower and grovel is one thing, but why betray Princess Wenzhao?”

Yuchi Damo closed his eyes briefly, unable to reply.

In the corners, the guards crept nearer, blades gleaming coldly.

As tension thickened, Yaoying suddenly pressed her palms together and laughed lightly.

“The sons of the Yuchi clan are worthy of their name.”

Yang Qian faltered, turning to look at her.

Damo lifted his head, eyes narrowing, pupils contracting.