The Prisoner of Beauty - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Return of the Lord

After Xiao Qiao’s departure, the Governor’s manor—which only moments before had been a cacophony of grand music and shouting crowds—gradually fell into a profound silence. The guests dispersed. Seeing his younger brother standing by the main gates, staring endlessly into the distance where the bridal train had vanished, Qiao Yue stepped forward to urge him inside.

 

"Second Brother, Manman is already far gone," Qiao Yue said. "You saw the grand spectacle in the city just now. Our people are overjoyed. Frankly, I am deeply comforted."

 

Qiao Ping turned slowly to face his older brother. "Brother, there is something I must ask. It has troubled my mind for a decade, and I believe today is the time to ask it. Ten years ago, when Father mobilized our forces to join the campaign against Li Su, he held our troops back at the critical moment, directly causing the deaths of Wei Jing and his eldest son. That act birthed the blood feud between our families. Tell me... did Father truly send an envoy to warn Wei Jing before the disaster? You campaign with Father; you must know the truth."

 

Qiao Yue froze. A flash of displeasure crossed his face, and he dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "That is ancient history. Why bring it up now? Whatever our late father decided to do in the field, he had his reasons. It is not our place as sons to question him."

 

Seeing his brother's evasive reaction, Qiao Ping’s worst fears were confirmed.

 

Ten years ago, following the tragedy at Chen County, the Wei family held a massive funeral. Qiao Ping had been dispatched by his father, Qiao Guai, to offer condolences in Yuyang. Inside the ancestral mourning hall, the Wei family’s generals had drawn their swords, their eyes burning with hatred as they surrounded Qiao Ping. They cursed Qiao Guai as a treacherous, aging fox who broke his oath of alliance, sitting safely on the mountaintop to watch the tigers tear each other apart. They insisted no warning envoy had ever arrived.

 

Terrified, Qiao Ping believed he would never leave Yuyang alive. It was Lady Xu—Wei Shao’s grandmother—who had stepped forward. She fiercely rebuked her own generals in front of him, then offered Qiao Ping calm, dignified hospitality.

 

When Qiao Ping miraculously returned to Yanzhou, he recounted the entire ordeal to his father. He still remembered the long, heavy silence that followed. Finally, Qiao Guai had let out a dark sigh: “For the Wei family to possess such a matriarch... I fear she will be the ruin of our Qiao clan in the days to come.”

 

For the past ten years, Qiao Ping had suspected his father had deliberately withheld the warning. Qiao Guai was a master of political realpolitik, a man of soaring ambition. At the time, the Wei family's influence was confined to the northern borderlands of Yan and You, posing no threat to Yanzhou. However, Wei Jing governed with absolute discipline, held an illustrious title from his military triumphs against the Xiongnu, and possessed a flawless reputation for virtue. Scholars and strategists from all over the realm were flocking to his banner. He was rapidly emerging as a grand hegemon.

 

To halt the rise of a future rival, Qiao Guai had simply adjusted his sails to the wind, using the rebel Li Su to eliminate a long-term threat.

 

"Second Brother," Qiao Yue broke the silence, his tone defensive. "This marriage dissolves that old animosity and saves Yanzhou from immediate destruction. What is wrong with that? Stop torturing yourself with the past."

 

Qiao Ping managed a bitter smile. "Brother, Manman has married into that house as you wished, and our borders are temporarily secure. From this day forward, I pray you will govern with absolute diligence to restore the strength of the Qiao name. If our clan grows powerful, Manman will at least have a backing to rely on in the north."

 

Faced with his brother's earnest plea, Qiao Yue looked momentarily ashamed. He forced a loud laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. "Naturally, naturally! Rest assured, Second Brother."

 

General Wei Liang led a contingent of elite northern cavalry to escort Xiao Qiao on her journey north. They traveled by day and rested by night.

 

Initially, the journey was entirely uneventful. However, as they neared the borders of Jizhou, twilight was falling on a desolate, winding stretch of road when Wei Liang detected signs of a tail. He immediately ordered his scouts to wheel back and investigate, but they returned reporting nothing unusual.

 

Though Wei Liang appeared coarse and brutish on the surface, he possessed a mind as sharp as a needle. He made no public scene, but that night at the relay station, he personally stood guard outside Xiao Qiao’s chambers with his hand resting on his saber. From the next morning onward, he heightened their security parameters and dramatically accelerated their pace. Finally, just before the turn of the lunar year, the vanguard successfully escorted Xiao Qiao into Xindu, the capital of Jizhou.

 

The former Imperial Inspector of Jizhou, Gao Tang, had recently launched a grand rebellion. Citing the corruption of the court and the execution of loyal officials, he declared the Han Dynasty dead and proclaimed himself Emperor, executing anyone who refused to swear allegiance. The imperial court had dispatched multiple armies to crush him, but Gao Tang had spent decades fortifying his position. Blessed with Jizhou's rich resources and defensible terrain, he successfully repelled every imperial force.

 

In desperation, the court ordered Wei Shao to intervene. Last autumn, the young Marquis personally led his northern legions into Jizhou.

 

When the previous imperial armies had arrived to fight the rebels, they had stripped the Jizhou populace bare. Some imperial commanders had even surrounded peaceful local marketplaces, slaughtered the villagers, and cut off their heads, tying them to their saddles to present to the court as "rebel casualties" for military promotions. The people had been drowning in misery.

 

When rumors spread that the northern tiger, Wei Shao, was marching south, the terrified locals abandoned their unharvested wheat and fled into the mountains. In many districts, entire villages became ghost towns overnight.

 

Yet, when Wei Shao's legions arrived, they maintained flawless discipline. Seeing the golden wheat rotting in the fields with no one to claim it, the northern soldiers stripped off their armor, grabbed scythes, and spent days harvesting the crops. They neatly stacked the grains at the entrances of the empty villages and marched away without taking a single kernel. Furthermore, they aggressively hunted down the bands of deserters and bandits who used the chaos to pillage the countryside.

 

As word of this miraculous behavior spread from mouth to mouth, the refugees poured back into their homes. Young, able-bodied men voluntarily flocked to join Wei Shao's ranks. The local populations reversed their hostility, greeting the northern vanguard with drums and gongs as they advanced deep into Jizhou.

 

With the hearts of the people secured, Wei Shao was unstoppable. Within a few engagements, Gao Tang lost several key strongholds and was forced to retreat behind the massive walls of Xindu. Wei Shao didn't launch a reckless siege; he simply encircled the capital for months. When winter fell and the city was exhausted, he launched a single, coordinated assault. Xindu fell in a day, and Gao Tang, facing total ruin, committed suicide.

 

Upon hearing the news of the tyrant's death, the elders of Jizhou wept with joy. They drafted a grand petition signed by thousands, begging Wei Shao to stay and govern them. Wei Shao sent a formal memorial to the imperial court, stating that while Gao Tang was dead, numerous remnant rebel factions were still terrorizing the countryside; thus, to satisfy the desires of the populace, he would maintain his military presence to sweep the remaining territory clean.

 

The court, deeply threatened by his rapid expansion, initially refused and ordered him to withdraw his forces to Youzhou immediately. Wei Shao obeyed, ordering his troops to pack up. However, the successive Governors the court sent to replace him were physically blocked at the city gates by thousands of furious citizens. The protests grew so intense that no imperial official dared to accept the post. With their authority stretched too thin to enforce the decree, the court was forced to capitulate, appointing Wei Shao to provisionally govern Jizhou.

 

He had now ruled the province for nearly a year, establishing his main headquarters right here in Xindu. Because Xindu was significantly closer to Yanzhou than his ancestral seat of Yuyang, the wedding location had been fixed here.

 

The ancient city of Xindu was not particularly sprawling, but its history was legendary.

 

During the Warring States period, the kingdoms of Zhao and Wei fought bitterly over the region. When Zhao lost its capital of Handan for three years, they established Xindu as their provisional capital, constructing the magnificent Xin Palace (信宫). Inside the palace grounds stood a legendary structure called Tantai (檀台), a multi-story tower built entirely from century-old precious sandalwood. Standing dozens of chang tall, one could ascend to its highest platform and view every street and alley in the city. Though centuries had passed, the tower survived, heavily restored over the generations. When Wei Shao took the city, the "Palace" designation was dropped, and the estate became the Governor's official residence.

 

When Wei Shao was in Xindu, he resided within the walls of this ancient palace.

 

Xiao Qiao's bridal carriage rolled slowly through the massive city gates. Looking through the silk curtains of her window, she noted the calm, unrippled waters of the moat. The main thoroughfare was paved with massive, smooth blue stones, wide enough for ten horses to ride abreast. The local architecture featured heavy, sweeping eaves—starkly different from the softer lines of her native Dongjun. The austere, martial spirit of the ancient northern kingdoms of Yan and Zhao was palpable in every stone.

 

As the carriage passed, men, women, and children paused by the roadside to look, their faces filled with curiosity rather than celebration. It was as if the general populace had no idea that their lord was about to take a wife.

 

Under the collective gaze of the curious city, the carriage finally came to a halt before the towering gates of the Xin Palace. Armored sentries stood like iron statues, recognizing General Wei Liang and throwing the gates open to let the procession enter.

 

Xiao Qiao was assisted down from the carriage. Grateful to finally escape the cramped, bone-rattling journey of the past several weeks, she entered the interior palace grounds accompanied by Nurse Chun and her personal maids.

 

During the long journey, Nurse Chun had spent hours imagining the grand, festive reception that would await them at the groom’s estate.

 

The reality was a stark disappointment. Though the Xin Palace was immense and its halls magnificent, the estate felt utterly desolate and cold. There were no scarlet wedding lanterns, no festive silks, and practically no people. After a long wait, a middle-aged woman finally emerged to greet them. She appeared to be in her early forties, dressed with immaculate precision, her features set in a stern, unyielding expression that bordered on severe. Followed by a small retinue of senior maids, she introduced herself as Matron Zhong, sent by command to receive the bride of the Qiao family. Though her language was formally correct, her eyes held a distinct, icy detachment.

 

Recognizing that this woman, despite being a servant, held significant authority within the household, Xiao Qiao addressed her respectfully as "Zhong Liang" (an honorific for a senior female manager).

 

"I dare not accept such an honor," Matron Zhong replied coldly. "This servant is merely a subordinate fulfilling an order. The Lady may simply call me Zhong Ao (Old Matron Zhong)."

 

Zhong Ao escorted Xiao Qiao to her assigned quarters, a grand pavilion named Yuyang (羽阳). It was situated on the western side of the complex facing south, ensuring excellent natural light.

 

Leaving two local maids behind to assist, Zhong Ao informed Xiao Qiao that she could send for her if any necessities arose. Then, with a curt bow, she turned and departed.

 

The moment the woman was out of earshot, Nurse Chun’s face fell. Heartbroken for her young mistress, she dismissed the two local servants and began frantically setting up the room with her own maids, laying out cushions and setting up the bed. "Is the Marquis even in the city?" Nurse Chun muttered under her breath, her voice thick with worry. "When is the actual ceremony supposed to take place? This feels all wrong!"

 

If Nurse Chun was bewildered, Xiao Qiao was equally in the dark. She gently massaged her calves, which were stiff from weeks of travel, and walked over to the grand window, pushing it open to look outside.

 

The courtyard was sweeping and sparse. Directly adjacent to her Yuyang Pavilion, the ancient sandalwood tower of Tantai rose majestically into the sky. A stray beam of late afternoon winter sun pierced through the gaps in the intricately carved flying eaves, casting a brilliant, dancing ring of light across the stone courtyard.

 

In the days that followed, the material provisions were flawless. Hot meals and steaming baths were delivered precisely on schedule, yet Xiao Qiao quickly realized she was effectively confined to the palace grounds. Furthermore, she seemed to have been entirely forgotten.

 

Zhong Ao never showed her face again. As for her husband—if he could even be called that—the man named Wei Shao remained an absolute ghost.

 

In the blink of an eye, the end of the lunar year arrived. Nurse Chun grew increasingly frantic, corners the two local maids a hundred times to pry for information. But the servants seemed to have been trained by Zhong Ao herself; no matter what was asked, they simply shook their heads in silence. When Nurse Chun pressed too hard, they would drop to their knees and frantically knock their heads against the floor to beg for mercy. Frustrated to the point of tears, Nurse Chun prepared to storm out to find Zhong Ao, but Xiao Qiao gently held her back.

 

“Take things as they come,” Xiao Qiao thought. This was only the beginning. If he was not in a hurry, she was in even less of a hurry.

 

The Spring Festival of the seventh year of the Dingkang era was fast approaching. On clear days, Xiao Qiao would ascend the ancient Tantai tower. From that vantage point, she could watch the citizens in the surrounding districts frantically sweeping their roofs, washing clothes, and hanging out bedding to prepare for the new year.

 

It was only after arriving in the north that Xiao Qiao truly understood the ancient nature of this holiday. Unlike her previous life in the modern world, where the Spring Festival was universally celebrated as a joyful time of family reunion, the ancient perspective was far more solemn. The word "Festival" (节 - Jie) shared its root with the knots in a piece of bamboo. A bamboo stalk grew smooth and straight, interrupted only by these rough, stubborn knots. To the ancients, a "Jie" was a dangerous bottleneck in time, and the Spring Festival was viewed as the most inauspicious, spiritually hazardous day of the early spring. It was precisely to ward off evil omens and pray for safety that people gathered to clean their homes and unite with family. The atmosphere was one of tense vigilance, lacking the pure revelry of later centuries.

 

Xiao Qiao could not leave the palace gates, and she had no desire to do so. However, no one stopped her from climbing the ancient sandalwood tower next to her pavilion to gaze into the distance.

 

Tantai was extraordinarily tall, easily clearing the height of the outer city walls. Standing on the highest observation deck, she could see past the stone ramparts, her gaze stretching out into the vast, wild northern plains beyond.

 

A few days before the end of the year, a heavy snow fell over Xindu.

 

By noon the following day, the snowfall stopped, and a brilliant, blinding winter sun emerged, casting a pristine glare over the landscape. Xiao Qiao spent the afternoon dozing by the brazier in her room, and as twilight began to color the sky, she climbed the stairs of Tantai once more.

 

Over the past few days, she had developed a habit of ascending the tower at this exact hour to watch the sunset.

 

Beyond the city walls lay an infinite, silent expanse of white. Watching the sun sink into the furthest edge of the plains, bleeding its final crimson light before being swallowed by the horizon, she thought that if she were a poet, she might have composed a grand ballad to mark the twilight.

 

This evening appeared no different from the others, save for the thick blanket of snow covering the tiled roofs like tufts of cotton. The streets below presented a checkered mosaic of black and white—the pristine white of untouched snow contrasting sharply with the dark, muddy tracks where thousands of pedestrians had trampled the slush. As the final light faded, the citizens hurried to finish their daily errands: merchants balancing shoulder poles, laborers pushing wooden carts, and pedestrians quickening their pace. A group of children laughed merrily as they packed snow in an alley corner, their voices drifting faintly up to her lofty perch.

 

"The sun is down, My Lady! It’s far too dry and cold up here; the wind feels like a literal knife against the skin!" Nurse Chun, who was carrying a bit of extra winter weight, panted heavily as she cleared the final steps of the grand staircase. She hurried over to wrap a thick, luxurious fox-fur cloak around Xiao Qiao's shoulders.

 

Having spent her entire life in the temperate, humid climate of Dongjun, Nurse Chun was utterly miserable in the brutal northern winter. She preferred to stay huddled beside the charcoal brazier from morning until night.

 

The wind atop Tantai was indeed fierce. Xiao Qiao cupped her hands together, blowing a breath of warm air into her palms, and pressed her fingertips against her freezing cheeks. She turned to follow Nurse Chun back down the stairs when suddenly, from the distant horizon where the sun had just set, a low, trembling vibration rippled through the air.

 

The sound was faint at first, a muffled, rhythmic thudding that Xiao Qiao initially dismissed as an illusion. But within seconds, the noise swelled with terrifying speed, echoing across the plains like a rolling wave of ground-shaking thunder.

 

Xiao Qiao froze, turning back to look out over the plains.

 

The vast, frozen wilderness beyond the city walls, which had seemed entirely asleep under its shroud of white, suddenly roared to life. At the furthest edge of her vision, a colossal plume of snow dust was violently kicked into the air, swirling like a localized blizzard that blotted out the remaining afterglow of the sun. Through the white mist, the sharp tips of military lances and the dark silk of battle standards began to cut through the horizon.

 

"What on earth is that?" Nurse Chun asked, her eyes widening as she followed her mistress's gaze, her voice laced with sudden panic.

 

Xiao Qiao didn't answer, her eyes locked on the horizon.

 

The thunderous roar of thousands of hooves was now deafening, vibrating through the solid timber of the sandalwood tower. She could finally make out the formation: a massive vanguard of heavy cavalry, numbering in the thousands, charging at breakneck speed toward the city gates.

 

"The Lord returns—!"

 

"The Lord returns—!"

 

Amidst the rhythmic, earth-shaking pounding of the hooves, a tremendous roar erupted from the sentries atop the city walls. The shout was carried by the freezing wind, echoing across the rooftops of Xindu and striking Xiao Qiao's ears with absolute clarity.

 

Down on the streets below, the busy citizens froze in their tracks. After a brief moment of stunned silence, the entire populace unceremoniously dropped what they were doing and sprinted toward the main gates.

 

"The Lord is back! The Lord is back!"

 

The ancient city erupted into a frenzy of motion. More and more people poured out of their homes, shouting the news to their neighbors as they ran to welcome the army.

 

After spending half a month forgotten in the quiet desolation of the Xin Palace, Xiao Qiao watched from her lonely tower as the snow-dusted twilight broke apart. The Marquis of Youzhou, Wei Shao, had finally returned from his campaign in Boling.