Volume One, Chapter Nine: Little Imperial Uncle, May I Ride in Your Carriage?

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Chang Le felt puzzled as she followed Xu Jin into the alley beside the Elegant Garden. A large carriage was parked there, but it bore no insignia, leaving the identity of its occupant unknown.

“The prince is inside the carriage, miss,” Xu Jin said with a bow before stepping back to guard the alley entrance.

Chang Le approached slowly, her fingers clasped lightly before her, nervously twisting. To be honest, she was quite afraid of this Prince Xuan. In Shendu, few were not intimidated by this powerful figure—renowned for his ruthless methods and nicknamed the cold-faced Yama King.

Many tales surrounded him. He was the youngest son of the late emperor, showing remarkable precocity from the age of two. By three, he had begun his studies; by five, he was composing poetry that earned acclaim from literary masters.

Not only was he gifted in letters, but his martial prowess was exceptional. At thirteen, he requested to be sent to the frontier, and the following year led elite troops to capture an enemy general’s head. He endured the harsh border conditions for ten years, only returning to Shendu when the late emperor fell gravely ill.

Rumor had it the late emperor intended to name him heir, even drafting the imperial decree, but he had no interest in the throne, which led to the current sovereign’s ascension.

The reigning emperor and Prince Xuan shared a deep brotherly bond; as children, the emperor had cared for him like an elder brother. Now, with the emperor’s health failing, Prince Xuan was entrusted with managing state affairs, wielding unquestioned authority and earning immense trust.

Some whispered the emperor’s delay in appointing a crown prince was because he wished to restore the throne to Prince Xuan.

Chang Le stopped before the carriage, not rushing to enter but kneeling to bow and softly calling, “Little Imperial Uncle.”

Having grown up alongside Wei Shuye, often running about the palace together, it was natural for her to address Prince Xuan thus.

A corner of the carriage curtain was lifted, revealing a slender, jade-like hand extended outward. “Happy birthday,” came his voice, clear and resonant as a bell but tinged with coldness.

Chang Le was momentarily stunned. She hadn’t expected Prince Xuan to remember her birthday or to have prepared a gift.

After a pause, when she hadn’t yet taken the gift, Wei Chengxuan asked, “Don’t you like it?”

Snapping back to reality, Chang Le quickly accepted the small box from his hand. Her throat felt dry, and she swallowed hard before replying, “I do. Thank you, Little Imperial Uncle.”

“Open it,” he commanded.

Obediently, she opened the long brocade box, revealing a dagger inside.

The dagger was sheathed, with a thumb-sized ruby, shaped like a tear, clasped onto the scabbard—a clearly exquisite gift.

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“Draw it out and see.”

Chang Le had been about to close the box and thank him but hesitated at his words, wondering if Prince Xuan enjoyed watching people admire his gifts in person.

Curious, she removed the dagger, placing the brocade box on the ground temporarily as she grasped the sheath and drew out the blade.

As the dagger left its sheath, it emitted a sharp whistle like a long sword being unsheathed.

Trained in martial arts, Chang Le could discern the quality of weapons. This dagger was forged from pure refined Xuan iron, a metal capable of slicing through steel effortlessly.

According to the laws of the Great Jin, pure refined Xuan iron was reserved solely for the military, mostly for the Xuan Iron Camp under Prince Xuan’s command. Private ownership or smelting of this metal was a grave crime punishable by death and confiscation.

Prince Xuan had gifted her a dagger made of pure refined Xuan iron!

Chang Le was shocked, turning the dagger over in her hands until her gaze fixed on two characters inscribed on the hilt.

“Chang Le.”

This dagger was custom-made for her!

But why?

Was it merely because she had once happened to save his life?

Her heart moved deeply. After a moment, she found her voice again. “Thank you, Little Imperial Uncle. I really like the dagger.”

Wei Chengxuan said nothing but lowered the carriage curtain and withdrew his hand.

“Xu Jin, escort Miss Hua back.”

Xu Jin stepped forward, and Chang Le knew the prince was about to leave. She hurriedly said, “Little Imperial Uncle, I have a favor to ask. May I ride in the carriage to speak with you?”

“You are an unmarried lady. Being alone with a man in a carriage would damage your reputation.”

Chang Le grew anxious, thinking this was a polite refusal.

She understood well enough that a man like Prince Xuan wouldn’t concern himself with such trivial matters.

But she wanted to break off her engagement, and if Wei Shuye refused, she had no choice but to seek Prince Xuan’s help.

Now that Prince Xuan held sway over the court, his word was law—neither Wei Shuye nor Noble Consort Rong could defy him.

Resolving herself, she lifted her skirt, preparing to step into the carriage regardless.

Just as she moved, the carriage curtain was pulled aside.

First, the edge of a robe appeared, then Wei Chengxuan bowed slightly and stepped out.

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He was tall and imposing, standing atop the carriage with an aura of commanding authority that seemed to rule all beneath the heavens.

Chang Le looked up at him, momentarily breathless under such regal presence.

He stepped down carefully from the footstool, the hem of his robe brushing its edge.

Today, he wore a jade crown binding his hair and a long, wide-sleeved robe of unintentional green, which only enhanced his boundless, elegant complexion.

Chang Le stared in awe, finally understanding why Prince Xuan always wore a ghost mask in the military.

His natural appearance was extraordinarily striking.

He stopped a couple of paces away and said, “Speak. What is it?”

Chang Le hesitated briefly before responding, “Little Imperial Uncle, you know about my engagement to the Third Prince.”

“The last time Noble Consort Rong and the Third Prince wanted to break off the engagement, I pleaded with many, but it was only after you intervened that the betrothal was preserved.”

“I know I shouldn’t trouble you again, but I am desperate, and having no better solution, I’ve come to beg you once more. I hope you will help me again.”

Wei Chengxuan lifted his eyelids lazily. “Noble Consort Rong has the Third Prince seek to end the engagement with you again?”

“No,” Chang Le shook her head. “This time I want to break the engagement. I beg your help once more.”

She lowered her head and knelt, lowering herself in supplication.

The last time she sought Prince Xuan’s aid, he made her wait in the rain for a whole day and night; this time, it would likely be even harder to gain his consent.

But whatever he asked in return, she would comply.

She had to end this engagement.

Perhaps Prince Xuan found her persistent behavior foolish.

She had once begged humbly to preserve the engagement, hoping to win back Wei Shuye, even at the cost of her dignity.

Now she wished to dissolve the very betrothal she had fought to save—it was laughable and shameful.

But Chang Le no longer cared.

Her skin was thick; she wasn’t afraid of losing face.

Her head bowed low, trembling fingers clutching the dagger tightly, her pale face marked with two vivid palm prints on either cheek.

Wei Chengxuan’s eyes, deep and fathomless, fixated on the swollen marks, darkness pooling at their depths.