Chapter 2: The Regent Prince Xie Linyuan

Footsteps came from outside the room, and Jiang Chuyue’s hand froze over the portrait she was flipping through.

She recognized them instantly—these were Xiao Ji’s footsteps.

In the Xiao household of more than a hundred people, she could always pick out his steps from the rest.

The beaded curtain was lifted, and Xiao Ji’s deep, pleasant voice came: “Little Yue.”

Jiang Chuyue turned her head and saw him, clad in armor. The young, promising general who commanded three thousand Xuanwu troops—handsome, valiant, and commanding.

She rose and greeted him respectfully: “Elder Brother.”

Xiao Ji studied her face, his brows drawing together at the sight of the dark circles under her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Jiang Chuyue said softly, “I slept well.”

Xiao Ji didn’t question further. He told her, “Ten days from now, when Xie Linyuan returns from his southern inspection, there will be a welcome banquet at East Lake. If you’re free, come with me.”

Jiang Chuyue barely registered the first half of his sentence.

What she cared about was the latter.

Xiao Ji was always busy—sometimes she didn’t see him for an entire month. Going with him to a banquet meant she could spend a whole day at his side, hear his voice for hours, and steal glances at him for just as long.

She answered with joy, “Alright.”

A spring breeze drifted in through the small open window, lifting the portraits from the table. Xiao Ji casually picked one up and saw the face of a young man drawn on it.

His thick brows arched. “And this?”

Jiang Chuyue replied, “Grandmother sent me portraits to choose a suitable husband.”

His expression chilled.

“You’re still young—you should stay home a few more years. Grandmother’s being too hasty.”

Xiao Ji tossed all the portraits into the gilt bronze brazier.

The flames licked them quickly, reducing them to black ash. Jiang Chuyue stared at the incense burner, and it felt as though her long-dead heart had suddenly begun to beat again.

Xiao Ji left.

She murmured quietly, “Ten days from now, I’ll go to the banquet with him.”

Ten whole days—it would feel like years.

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Ten days later, Jiang Chuyue rose early to dress and prepare. She was going with Xiao Ji to the welcome banquet for the Regent Prince Xie Linyuan.

Since spring began, banquets among the noble families of the capital had been endless. Xiao Ji, used to the sword and spear, detested such tedious social affairs.

But this banquet was different—it was for the Regent Prince himself. Xiao Ji and Xie Linyuan had once fought side-by-side on the battlefield, brothers in life and death. Naturally, he was happy to attend.

“Miss, will you wear the peony bi-xia dress today?” Baozhu brought out a bright scarlet gown.

Jiang Chuyue stroked the vivid red fabric, then regretfully shook her head. “No, bring me the green lotus dress instead.”

Baozhu pouted, “Miss, you look best in red. But every time you go out, you insist on green.”

Jiang Chuyue also felt a pang of regret.

In truth, she loved bright colors and lively styles, and even liked swordplay. But Xiao Ji preferred subdued hues and genteel ladies skilled in the arts.

So Jiang Chuyue worked hard to mold herself into the elegant noblewoman of the capital—proficient in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, wine, and tea.

She changed into the plain green lotus dress, with understated hair ornaments and a clean, fresh face.

The early spring sun was warm and bright. At the gate of the Xiao residence, the ebony carriage of the general’s estate was already waiting.

Jiang Chuyue happily lifted the curtain. “I’m late—”

But as she looked inside, she froze.

In the carriage sat Xiao Ji—and Ninth Concubine, perched on his lap, her pale arm wrapped around his neck, her red lips panting softly.

A vision of seductive intimacy.

Jiang Chuyue’s smile froze; her mind went blank.

Flustered, she dropped the curtain, her heart aching as if cut by a knife.

How could she have walked in on this?

She stood awkwardly beside the carriage for a while, until the curtain lifted again. Xiao Ji had straightened his clothes, though his breath was still uneven. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Get in.”

Jiang Chuyue climbed aboard.

The carriage swayed toward East Lake. Inside, spacious though it was, she sat quietly in a corner.

Xiao Ji was absorbed in military documents. Ninth Concubine leaned against him, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed.

With mock shyness, she said to Jiang Chuyue, “I was playing the pipa in the carriage, and the general suddenly… Well, Second Miss, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Since her arrival ten days ago, the concubine’s pipa had sounded in Xiao Ji’s chambers every night without fail.

A woman steeped in love and favor was like a peach blossom in spring—her beauty impossible to hide.

Jiang Chuyue hid her bitterness and said evenly, “I interrupted you two. Next time, I’ll take another carriage so I won’t disturb you.”

Xiao Ji paused in his reading and looked up at her. The girl’s face was pure and composed, her expression betraying nothing.

He lowered his gaze and resumed reading.

Along the way, Ninth Concubine fussed over him—wiping his sweat, speaking tenderly, full of affection.

Jiang Chuyue remained in her corner. In that small carriage, it felt as if an unbridgeable chasm lay between her and Xiao Ji.

They soon arrived at East Lake.

The spring scenery was radiant, and many dignitaries had already gathered. The carriage stopped, and Jiang Chuyue almost fled as she lifted the curtain—desperate to escape the stifling space.

But outside, she found herself staring into a pair of chilling, ghostly eyes.

The Regent Prince, Xie Linyuan.

Jiang Chuyue’s face went pale, as if she’d seen the King of Hell in broad daylight.

Xie Linyuan was the heaviest, darkest cloud looming over the capital. He had once buried eighty thousand rebel soldiers alive, slaughtered half the court officials, and the number of people who had died by his hand was beyond count.

Among the people, he was secretly called the “Ghost Yama.” His face was demonically handsome, but his methods rivaled the cruelty of the underworld.

Jiang Chuyue hurried to step down from the carriage—only to misstep, her body pitching straight toward Xie Linyuan.

Her maid Baozhu gasped, “Miss!”

She was about to fall into the Regent Prince’s arms.

Panic surged in her chest. She had heard that Xie Linyuan did not tolerate women near him—once, the prime minister’s daughter had deliberately thrown herself into his arms, and he had cut off both of hers in return.

How could she dare fall against him?

She bit her lip and wrenched her body to the side, hitting the grass with a soft thud instead.

The spring ground was carpeted with tender grass, like a green velvet rug—it didn’t hurt. Her vision swayed, and out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the tall, cold Regent Prince, his arms slightly extended.

As if he’d been about to catch her.

But when she looked more closely, his expression was as grim and shadowed as ever, his arms unmoving.

It must have been her imagination—how could the Regent Prince possibly reach for her?

Xiao Ji was already off the carriage, striding over to lift her up. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, concern in his voice.

His large, strong left hand clasped her wrist firmly. The spring air was thin and her sleeves were light—his warmth seeped through the fabric, heating her skin.

They stood close—so close that she could catch the faint scent of sandalwood on him.

Her heart trembled; her cheeks flushed.

She lowered her gaze, pressing down the wild beating in her chest. “I’m fine.”

Xiao Ji shot Xie Linyuan a glare. “Well done, Xie Linyuan—you saw my Little Yue fall from the carriage and didn’t even help her up!”

Xie Linyuan’s eyes flicked lazily toward Jiang Chuyue’s wrist. His lips curved faintly as he said something ambiguous: “She wasn’t hoping for me to help.”