Chapter 1

In Qiandi, summer rain comes without warning—dark clouds blot out the sun as a wild gust of wind howls past. The towering trees on the mountain are buffeted by fierce winds, causing their branches and leaves to sway wildly, trembling in the rapid pitter-patter of raindrops. Torrential rain pours down, but it brings little relief to the land; instead, it adds an indescribable oppressiveness and murkiness to the atmosphere.

Amidst the precipitous mountains runs a winding loess road, along which, in the distance, a group of people struggles to advance. In Qiandi—where locals are few—this road is reserved for military convoys to frontier towns and is rarely even trodden by merchant travelers. So when such a group suddenly appears, it is clear they are no ordinary civilians.

A squad of government enforcers clad in dark robes is escorting about thirty to forty exiled convicts—each dressed in coarse, shabby clothes—along the road. Out of the blue, a deluge comes crashing down; the rain’s staccato pitter-patter stings the skin. In an instant, both the enforcers and the convicts scramble to take shelter in the roadside pavilions.

There are two such pavilions: the enforcers have monopolized the larger one, while the exiled convicts have, almost by instinct, retreated to the smaller shelter. Amid the roaring sound of the heavy rain and the incessant murmur of complaints in the large pavilion, the occupants of the small pavilion sit expressionlessly. Even as the wind-driven rain splatters into the shelter, hardly anyone stirs.

Shao Qing lifts her hand to shield her face and frowns as she glances at the bleak scene. Through the misty curtain of rain, she sees an endless expanse of deep, dark green mountains stretching uniformly in every direction, with no discernible difference from one to the next. Then she steals another glance at the larger pavilion beside her, her brow furrowing even deeper. She knows she cannot endure this state much longer—if she doesn’t find a way to escape soon, it may be too late.

Shao Qing convinces herself that no one could be more unlucky than she is. People transmigrate, and so did she, but, of all fates, she ended up in the body of an exiled convict woman!

She never wished for the pampered life of being adored by the nobility or an upgraded fate as a cherished legitimate daughter or favored concubine. At the very least, couldn’t she have been born as a simple farm girl or peasant wife destined to till the fields? How on earth did it come to be like this?!

And this isn’t even the fate of an ordinary exiled convict woman. In her previous life, the original Shao had neither committed murder nor set fires—she had done nothing wrong at all. Yet she was ensnared by the misfortune of her husband—a man she had barely met who had disastrously failed in his bid for the throne—dropping, overnight, from her exalted status as a Princess Consort to nothing but dust.

A Princess Consort, of all things! To transmigrate as a Princess Consort meant not luxuriating in a life of sumptuous feasting and indulgence but instead being miserably driven along a barren path stretching two thousand li toward the remote southwest. The struggle for succession—an ordeal with no hope of reprieve for a lifetime!

When Shao Qing first regained consciousness just two days ago, she couldn’t help but gather a handful of bitter, heartbreaking tears. It was no wonder that in her original life, she had lost the will to live—wandering in a feverish haze for days until she finally perished. Although her former self could not bear such a drastic downfall, Shao Qing finds that she can still endure, for it is better to cling to life in misery than to die, for once dead, there is nothing left, yet being alive still offers a chance.

She cherishes this hard-won new life. Even though it has only been two days, and she is still suffering from the lingering weakness in her limbs after a high fever, she has mustered the strength to observe her surroundings carefully. The narrow, twisting path—ensconced within a vast sea of trees—is scarcely trodden; after two days of travel, she has encountered no one else besides her own group.

She cherished the hard-won new life she had been given. Although it had only been two days—and despite being constantly tormented by the lingering effects of her high fever, which left her limbs weak—she still mustered her spirit and made every effort to observe her surroundings.

The winding, narrow path—hemmed in by an endless forest—was scarcely trodden. After two days of travel, apart from her own group, she had not encountered another soul.

The escort was unmistakably one of the finest among his peers. He managed to cover fifty li in a single day from the capital up to this point without showing much fatigue. In all, there were exactly eleven large patrol groups—slightly more in number than the fugitive convicts—organized into shifts that maintained vigilant, round-the-clock surveillance.

Meanwhile, the companions around Shao Qing were mostly women, children, and the elderly—official dependents who, like her, had been caught up in the brutal struggle for succession. The male members of their families had long been executed, leaving only a group of feeble, aged women and children who were all condemned to travel on foot for two thousand li in the southwest.

The circumstances were exceptionally harsh, and yet she possessed nothing more than the delicate, frail constitution of a pampered young lady. Escaping on her own was out of the question.

Group cooperation had a somewhat higher theoretical chance of success; however, its practical feasibility proved even lower than attempting a solo escape. Not to mention the enormous difficulty in persuading everyone to flee, she could not even pinpoint the proper moment to incite action.

For example, even now—despite the torrential downpour and the lofty discussions taking place in the pavilion—some of the escorts were still keeping a tight, knife-in-hand watch on this side.

Shao Qing touched her still-warm forehead and sighed silently. Maintaining her composure, she glanced toward the center of the pavilion, about three feet to her left and forward.

There, a tall figure sat cross-legged. He was the only adult male in the pavilion and the sole one shackled with both handcuffs and leg irons. Heavy cuffs restricted his limb movement, and a finely forged iron chain—about as thick as a little finger—was threaded through his collarbones on both sides, with a specially crafted key securing each end to his cuffs. Strapped with the pipa bone, his martial prowess was completely neutralized.

There was no alternative—this man was none other than Wei Jing, the late emperor’s fifth prince, known as the “War God” and enfeoffed as Prince Qi. His command on the battlefield was unshakable, and his personal combat skills were extraordinary. Had he not been so thoroughly restrained, the new emperor on the Dragon Throne would never have been at ease.

Hmm, this fellow is also Shao Qing’s bargain husband. Mentioning him, she could only sigh—indeed, there were those far worse off than herself.

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Wei Jing was the second legitimate son of the Empress; his elder full-brother—the late emperor’s first son—had just passed away, having been posthumously honored as Crown Prince. According to the memories Shao Qing received, the late emperor and the former Empress shared a deep, devoted love. Although he had been forced to take several concubines to balance the affairs of the previous regime, he strictly scheduled his time to spend more than half of each month resting in Empress Fu’s palace. For over twenty years, day in and day out—in an era overflowing with concubines—such deep affection was exceedingly rare. Empress Fu must have been very pleased and deeply moved, for the noblewomen in the capital (including her former self) were extremely envious.

Wei Jing and his elder brother grew up in an environment filled with fatherly kindness and maternal love. Respectful and harmonious as brothers—and both exceedingly talented—the Crown Prince excelled in civil governance, while the fifth prince, Wei Jing, was unmatched in martial skill. After the Crown Prince entered the court and helped his father govern and pacify the people, he achieved much. Wei Jing, however, was even more remarkable.

Over the past decade or so, the Tartars, ever watchful like tigers, repeatedly led vast armies to invade the northern frontier, and the Great Chu army suffered defeat after defeat. On the worst occasion, they were forced to cede territory, pay indemnities, and send a princess in marriage. Naturally gifted with an acute military instinct, the Fifth Prince, at the age of fifteen, rushed to the northern border, issued military orders, trained elite soldiers, and led his army into three successive battles against the Tartar cavalry—winning decisively each time. In the final battle, he even shot the Tartar Khagan, who was personally leading the campaign, right at the front. He routed the Tartar force of half a million men into utter disarray, forcing them to retreat hundreds of li, rendering them incapable of invading for the next twenty years. That battle was truly one for the history books.

Unfortunately, Wei Jing did not receive the recognition he merited. Just as he had secured a great victory in his final battle, he suddenly received an urgent imperial edict from the capital, 800 li away. His imperial father suddenly suffered a cerebral stroke and was on the brink of death.

Wei Jing was utterly terrified. He quickly gave a few hurried instructions, mounted his horse, and raced back to the capital day and night at breakneck speed. He had never imagined that what awaited him was an inescapable trap—a vast net. It was designed by his own father.

According to what Shao Qing knew, on the day the emperor suffered his stroke, the crown prince was “exposed” for having poisoned the emperor with the intent to usurp the throne. After being imprisoned, he “committed suicide.” With the news suppressed, Wei Jing hastened back to the capital, only to be arrested in his father’s sleeping palace on charges of treason.

Clinging to his last breath, the emperor denounced the crimes of his two legitimate sons and, in the end, declared the second prince born of Consort Li as the new crown prince.

When the new emperor ascended the throne because Wei Jing had just achieved unprecedented feats—and many upright ministers argued on his behalf—the new emperor could only completely shackle him, consigning him to remain two thousand li away in the southwest.

…

Shao Qing couldn’t help but sigh. What a sensational, monumental scam it was!

Empress Fu hailed from the Marquis Pinghai’s household; the illustrious Fu clan had been prominent for nearly decades. In stark contrast, Consort Li was an extremely humble lady-in-waiting who had served the emperor since childhood.

The late emperor, a scion of the royal clan, came to power only after the legitimate imperial lineage had been severed. Several factions vied for control before he was finally chosen to ascend the great throne.

Such an emperor “cherished” Empress Fu for more than twenty years, with the Empress monopolizing all the attention in the harem. In the previous dynasty, he had relied on the Fu clan to eliminate all treacherous ministers and, through countless hardships, firmly grasped power in his hands. Yet fate took a cruel turn when he suddenly suffered a stroke and was on the brink of death—his life was cut short a bit. Otherwise, things surely would not have turned out so disastrously.

And it had even implicated her. Shao Qing sighed deeply; otherwise, even if she had been cast as the widow of Prince Qi, she would have been completely content.

After her sigh, Shao Qing continued to face reality.

Indeed, after much thought and deliberation, she eventually concluded that only by placing her hope in Wei Jing could her chances of successfully extricating herself be somewhat improved.

Imperial family members are not subject to the harshest corporal punishments or permanently destructive and debilitating sentences. Thus, ordinary offenders “wear” the pipa bone punishment by having their scapulae pierced and then bound with iron chains. In Wei Jing’s case, however, a refined iron chain—about as thick as a pinky finger—is looped around both his collarbones and then secured to his handcuffs.

Both methods share the effect of completely nullifying any combat prowess. However, the former inflicts permanent, irreparable damage, while the latter—if the chains are removed—allow at least fifty to sixty percent of one’s strength to be immediately restored; with proper healing, a full recovery is not impossible.

Shao Qing turned her head subtly, her gaze penetrating through the lashing rain to fall upon an escort in the large pavilion opposite—a man marked by a mole on his left cheek.

This man was called “Chief Chen” by the escorts; he was the leader of all the escorts. He carried a pouch at his waist that held a set of keys, and Shao Qing had nearly seen him, day after day, carefully checking to ensure the keys remained secure.

It was clear that these keys belonged to the shackles on Wei Jing.

Moreover, based on Shao Qing’s careful eavesdropping over the past two days, she learned that this group of escorts was not associated with the new emperor’s faction—they had been arranged by outspoken, principled ministers. Renowned for their upright and no-nonsense nature, they had not made a single mistake in escorting prisoners in over a decade. Their sole objective was to swiftly drive the prisoner to the military garrison at the border, complete the task, and dispose of the hot potato. Yet this place was still roughly ten days’ travel away from the designated military station. There was still some time.

Shao Qing exhaled a quiet sigh.

However, before seizing the opportunity to obtain the keys, she had another rather important matter to attend to—establishing some rapport with her “bargain husband” so that he would trust her and, at the very least, cooperate with her when the time came.

Indeed, though by title, she was Wei Jing’s wife, they were not well acquainted; in fact, the few times they had met were all before their grand wedding. She had been chosen as the consort of Prince Qi at the age of fourteen while Wei Jing was eighteen. When she reached the age for her coming-of-age ceremony, their wedding was planned to take place in half a year. But just one month before the wedding, a crisis erupted on the northern frontier, and the fiercest battle against the Tartars broke out, prompting Wei Jing to rush off to the north naturally. Yet the wedding was not postponed.

The fifth prince had nearly perished from a severe childhood illness until a learned man happened upon the imperial edict and arranged for his rescue. That same man even prophesied that he must marry before turning twenty—or he would face another mortal danger.

In any event, royal weddings were traditionally managed by officials such as those in the Tai Chang (ceremonial office), with no need for the prince to receive the bride personally. She was escorted into Prince Qi’s residence and, the following day, formally received by the Empress—a process that settled her position as the undisputed Prince Qi’s consort.

Other customary wedding rituals, like the formal hall ceremony, could be replaced later when Wei Jing returned. Who would have thought that waiting would stretch to being stranded at the border?

Shao Qing then took out the cold steamed bun she had deliberately set aside that morning and retrieved a battered bowl from her small bundle. Using rainwater to wash it clean, she filled it with more than half a bowl of water and, head bowed, slowly advanced toward the center of the pavilion.

Food was always delivered by the escorts in complete packages, and this “War God” Prince Qi never contested for it.

From her observations, over the past two days, he had hardly eaten anything. Encouraging him to eat was a safe bet, wasn’t it? Not only would it help her build a connection with him, but it would also allow the main force planning the escape to gather some strength.