Chapter Ten: Old Memories Like a Passing Dream

Inside the Pavilion of Snow

Ming Rou and Princess Jiang were sipping tea when Lü Shang hurried in. “Madam, I just saw Leader Wu Xuan, Fifth Miss, Third Young Master, and Steward Li heading to the Prince’s study together.”

Princess Jiang paused for a moment, then smiled with quiet understanding. “What must come will always arrive. Lü Shang, you may go.”

“Mother, what do you mean by that?” Ming Rou asked, puzzled.

“Ming Rou, you’re grown now. This matter has weighed on my heart for many years, and today I’ll unburden myself.”

Ming Rou nodded, her phoenix eyes earnest and a little anxious. She was impatient by nature, while her mother was always so slow and deliberate.

“Do you really think Ming Chu’s mother was nothing more than a songstress?”

“Huh?”

Princess Jiang took a sip of tea. “It all began long ago, during the Chengxuan era of the previous dynasty. Your father was not yet a prince, just a minor officer. Our families had always been close.”

“In the fifth year of Chengxuan, your father came to propose marriage. He was only twenty then, knowing nothing but leading troops, completely oblivious to matters of the heart. I had just come of age myself. A year after our wedding, I gave birth to Zhen Ning, and the Prince was overjoyed, staying home with me for several days.”

“He was a man of few words, but his presence always brought me comfort. He was often away on the frontier, rarely had time to come home, but every return was accompanied by curious trinkets intended to amuse me.”

Ming Rou propped her face in her hands, listening with delight.

Princess Jiang smiled gently. “When he practiced swordplay in the courtyard, I used to sit nearby with Zhen Ning. The sword would send petals fluttering, and Zhen Ning would laugh gleefully. I think those were the happiest days of my life.”

Her gaze fell, and her eyes grew dim. “In the seventh year of Chengxuan, you and Yuan’er were born, and the Prince’s rank increased. He became ever more occupied—wars, border duties. Then came two years later.”

Ming Rou raised an eyebrow, urging her on. “What happened two years later? Mother, hurry, you’re driving me mad with suspense.”

---

She looked outside, where verdant willow branches swayed in the breeze. Her gaze was distant, lonely, as if she were seeing both present and past.

Prince Jiang was cradling a scroll, studying the woman depicted in it—a bold beauty in a red dress. The study was filled with people, some restless, others confused.

“The grudges of the past—I never wished to speak of them,” Prince Jiang said, rolling up the scroll. “But since you are all here, I must revisit old wounds.”

Wu Xuan’s impatience was clear. Ming Chu bit her lip, standing beside her nurse; Yue Wu waited outside; Jiang Zhen Yuan craned his neck with curiosity; Steward Li stood by the door.

“In the seventh year of Chengxuan, I was twenty-two, newly promoted to general after military success. There were no major wars at the border then, only sporadic raids by small tribes. The Yue people were powerful, and the Jie Hu had submitted. The chief of the Yue, Wu Zhuo, was a man of great honor—brave, wise, and loved his people dearly. He had no desire for war, and our dealings were frequent. I admired him greatly.”

Wu Xuan interrupted, frowning. “Enough. Get to the point, will you?”

“One night, a band of Jie raiders attacked. Many villagers outside the city were slain. I dispatched troops, and we pursued them deep into the grasslands. Night fell, and we lost our way. Suddenly, many pairs of green eyes appeared in the darkness.”

“I knew then we’d encountered fierce grassland wolves. They were savage, killing many of my men, leaving only me to resist. One wolf lunged for my throat. At that moment, I saw her.”

A gentle smile curled Prince Jiang’s lips, his memory fixed on that night.

She wore a red dress; bells on her body chimed sweetly; a delicate fragrance filled the air. Her eyes were so clear, so beautiful.

With a soft call, she made the wolf release me. She left without lingering, the pack trailing behind her.

The moon hung high as the girl in red walked away, treading its light. I staggered back, hearing a haunting song that would weave itself into my dreams every night.

A fleeting moment, etched for a lifetime. How laughable that I, who prided myself on my stoicism, should be so moved.

“It was Dan Ruo. Dan Ruo saved you!” Wu Zhuo exclaimed.

“Yes,” Prince Jiang smiled again, and Ming Chu felt that smile radiate from his heart.

“Later, I discovered she was Wu Zhuo’s daughter, the Yue princess, and a sacred maiden of the grasslands. After that, whenever I was idle, I’d lean on the city wall, sometimes catching glimpses of her and her brothers galloping, laughing as they rode away. I’d watch long after she’d gone.” Prince Jiang reminisced.

---

“Every night, I’d listen for her song. If the wind blew, it carried the melodies of the grasslands.”

Prince Jiang smiled, recalling how, in conversations with Wu Zhuo, he’d deliberately mention Dan Ruo. Wu Zhuo would boast and jest about marrying his daughter off to me. Even knowing it was a joke, I couldn’t suppress my excitement.

Jiang Zhen Yuan shook his head in disbelief, thinking, “Who would have thought Father was such a romantic?”

Ming Chu was nearly enraptured by her father’s tale, wholly attuned to his mood. Yue Wu watched Ming Chu's profile and smiled—Miss’s mother must have been as beautiful as she is.

Prince Jiang’s smile slowly faded. He paused, then continued, “In the autumn of the ninth year of Chengxuan, the tea-horse market proceeded as usual. Wu Zhuo personally led his delegation. I was delighted to see him again. If only I’d known what would come, I’d have wished never to see him at all.”

“Isn’t it that the Jie colluded with Zhao Mengliang to kill him?” Wu Xuan shouted.

Prince Jiang forced a bitter smile. “You know only half the truth. It was I who killed Wu Zhuo with my own hands.”

A gasp ran through the room.

“I attended the banquet. Halfway through, soldiers burst in, slaughtering the unsuspecting Yue. I shouted for them to stop, but Zhao Mengliang insisted it was the emperor’s order—anyone who defied him would be executed.”

Prince Jiang’s gaze dimmed. “Zhao Mengliang was the highest authority at the border; I couldn’t disobey. Wu Zhuo was gravely wounded, and I stood at the door, sword in hand, unmoving. Wu Zhuo, bloodied and spent, looked at me, clutching his wounds as he lay on the ground. I never expected him to rush at me, impaling himself on my sword.”

Wu Xuan’s expression was overcome with grief.

“That Jie man, called Ye Tu, emerged from behind the house. He looked at Wu Zhuo and said he’d plotted this for a long time. When all was done, Wu Zhuo clutched my sleeve, pulling from his blood-soaked body a dress—a wide-sleeved, wedding gown. He said it was Dan Ruo’s birthday gift, and begged me to deliver it to her.”

Ming Chu clenched her fists. A wide-sleeved wedding gown? She frowned.