Love in Red Dust - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

His heart skipped a beat, but in an instant, he calmed himself. He simply said, "You don't need to hide anything from me; if you have something on your mind, just tell me. We get along quite well, and there’s a history of sorts between us—if you can’t trust others, you should at least be able to trust me. My foster mother used to say that it’s hard to be reborn as a human; if you can live for one day, you should enjoy that day well. Take her, for instance: after entering the palace, she never received the Emperor’s favor. She spent decades in front of the Old Master without being hot or cold toward things, but she was open-minded and knew how to take care of her own health." He thought for a moment and added, "Or take me. The hardships I endured in Khalkha are too numerous to recount, but hasn't it all passed now? The obstacles you face are merely trivialities like firewood, rice, oil, and salt, whereas mine are always matters of life and death and one’s future. If I were as narrow-minded as you, I would have died ten or eight times over already."

Dingyi knew he had misunderstood, mistaking the binding ribbon she used for her chest as a length of silk for hanging oneself. And it was true—throughout history, how many women had actually dressed as men? Was just anyone capable of being a Hua Mulan? It wasn't easy for a woman to make her way among a crowd of men; when the princes and nobles thought of a "young lady," they thought only of a graceful silhouette embroidering or playing the zither behind moon-shaped windows. Look at her—she was always covered in mud and water; she couldn't compare to those sheltered young ladies.

The fact that he thought she was seeking death was beyond her expectations. She had been pondering how to deceive him, and she hadn't expected him to provide her with a way out before she even spoke. But she couldn't just agree; if he demanded she hand over her "tool for suicide," she was wearing it, and she couldn't take it off.

The fire-starter dazzled her, so she turned her head away slightly, racking her brains for a good excuse. "It’s not what you think; I don't want to die! You mean the ribbon that fell to the ground before I went into the side room, right? That was something I prepared before leaving the capital to wrap my legs. You know, the road to Ningguta is long and arduous. I haven't traveled far much, and after being jolted on horseback every day, my legs were chafed raw by the saddle. The fabric of my clothes was like a knife against my skin, and it was agonizing. So I used that ribbon to wrap my legs; it added a layer of padding, and it’s been much better." As she spoke, she squinted hard at him. "Twelfth Prince, you are too concerned for me. You ran out here just for such a small matter and even took a stone to the head from me... I am so sorry. Can we not talk about that ribbon? I just want to see where I hit you and if you’re injured."

Hongce only then remembered the dull ache in his shoulder, but the pain was nothing compared to the embarrassment. He had been convinced the boy wanted to end his life, yet it turned out to be nothing more than padding for leg injuries. What did that make him? He had worried too much and made a fool of himself. But the way the ribbon was bound... he furrowed his brows and studied his face. Ever since they first met, he had felt there was something different about him—too delicate, too refined... Perhaps he was overthinking things; looking like a woman didn't necessarily mean he was a woman. He had heard Hongtao discuss a story about someone who once had a twin sister; since they were fraternal twins, it stood to reason the boy might be a bit effeminate.

He rubbed his shoulder and looked back. The lanterns hanging on the gate of the post station cast a distant, ethereal glow into the night. He turned to him and asked, "Shall we head back?"

She was uncomfortable from the fire-starter, so she blew it out with a puff and capped the bamboo tube before handing it back to him. She smiled and said, "It’s rare to be this far away from them, let’s sit a bit longer. Are you in a hurry to return? If you are, I’ll accompany you."

Surveying the wild landscape, the Yan Mountains rose and fell under the moonlight. The high, arching ridges looked as if they were veiled in a layer of thin gauze. The cool wind from the wild swept across the lake, carrying a crisp, damp chill. Unlike the inn’s walls and roofs, which held the day's heat, it was much cooler here.

It was still early, and there was nothing to do back inside but read or sleep. He shifted his body slightly. "Then let’s sit for a while longer."

Dingyi was quite happy. She loosened her horse-hoof cuffs to fan him. "It’s pitch dark—can you see what I’m saying?"

She deliberately exaggerated her lip movements to make it easier for him to understand. He replied, "As long as you don't mumble, it’s fine." He pointed to the side. "Sit facing the moon; with your back to the light, I can’t see you."

She gave a soft acknowledgement and sat down on her knees beside him, though she felt a bit restless. She hesitated, "Technically, there shouldn't be a seat for me beside you. I am a servant, and this is against the rules."

He, however, disagreed. "There are no outsiders here. If you wanted so many formalities, you shouldn't have come to find me in the first place."

This Prince was truly a kind and approachable man; after interacting a few times, she no longer felt like an outsider. Dingyi pursed her lips and smiled. "That’s true. If your heart were harder, or if your mansion were more strict, I wouldn't have even been able to get through the door, let alone meet you! Twelfth Prince, how much longer until we reach the Changbai Mountains? It should be cold by the time we arrive, right? Did you bring enough warm clothes? As we go further north, it will get colder, so we won't be able to camp in the open anymore. We have to plan our journey carefully and stick to the post stations, right?"

He gave an "hm." "I estimate we’ll reach it around the tenth month. It should be snowing by then. The northern post stations all have heated kang beds, so you won't freeze when sleeping at night."

She tilted her head to look at his face. His noble features remained dazzling in the moonlight. The Prince had a calm, gentle expression, yet he carried the aura of someone who held the world in his hands without effort. She calculated her words carefully and asked cautiously, "Are you going to the Changbai Mountains this time to summon the three sons of the Wen family? In your opinion, is there any injustice in the case of Wen Lu? Or could it be that Wen Lu was truly framed, and someone used him as a scapegoat before murdering him to silence him?"

Of course, Dingyi hoped it was a miscarriage of justice. Although she didn't know much about how her father served as an official, what child would want their father’s legacy to be full of reproach? He was a second-rank official with a large estate, yet it all collapsed in an instant; even now, she felt a pang of sorrow thinking about it.

Hongce never did anything he wasn't certain of, and he never spoke without foundation. He shook his head. "It’s hard to draw a conclusion just yet. Even a man who is truly innocent wouldn't necessarily avoid prison. The officialdom is a dyeing vat. Before entering office, one might be determined to be a good official, but once immersed in power, if one’s spirit isn't firm, the poison seeps into the bone over the years. The trial by the three judicial offices sentenced him to death by waiting, but then he hanged himself the very next day—it goes against reason."

Therefore, the time before and after the verdict was the turning point. If he died before the verdict, there had to be something fishy. If he died after the verdict, the crime was already set; all it took was a push to expedite the case and prevent any complications.

Dingyi sighed deeply. "The official world is so complicated, a place of life and death—it’s not as good as being a commoner!"

He gave a faint smile. "Everyone has their own ambitions. Some study in the cold for years just to be on the golden list, hoping to become an official and bring honor to their ancestors; their whole family serves them like a young master, pinning the hopes of several generations on that one goal. After passing the palace examination, one leaps over the dragon gate, and even the poorest family can gradually improve. If one fails, they go back and study for another three years, and there’s no telling how it will end." He turned his head to glance at him. "If everyone were like you, doing everything possible to become a Goshaha just to travel and broaden their horizons, the imperial court would soon face a shortage of officials."

Why was he talking about her again? He didn't know the inside story; she could be considered someone with ambitions, but she just couldn't reveal them.

"If there are doubts in Wen Lu’s case, can his three sons be retried?"

He had been watching her all along; he had to see her lips, after all. After Dingyi finished asking, she saw him looking at her, and she felt a bit panicked. The Twelfth Prince was not someone who was easily fooled. What if she asked too carefully and he saw through her? She hurriedly laughed it off and changed the subject. "Speaking of scholars taking the imperial exams, it reminds me of someone. When I first became my master’s disciple, we lived in Biandan Alley. There was a neighbor, a scholar who shared our hillside, and he would recite books every night. In the summer, my master would sit by the wall to eat, and upon hearing phrases like 'The most wise and the most foolish do not change,' he’d say, 'Here he goes again.' Buzz, buzz, buzz—dead rote memorization; he definitely wouldn't pass. My master was right; the man tried twice and failed both times. In a fit of rage, he stuffed all his Four Books and Five Classics into the stove and lit them on fire. His family was poor and had no way to make a living, so he came to my master. My master pointed him to a path: go to Xiangzha to unload grain. When the grain ships arrived, they needed people to fill the bags. Since they were afraid you’d steal the grain, they made you strip down to your bare skin, with only a piece of cloth around your waist and a pair of shoes on your feet—that was how you carried the sacks. That man might not have had his heart in his books, but he was diligent in making a living. It didn't matter that he couldn't wear clothes; he had big shoes. After a few trips in the ship’s hold, his shoes would be full. He’d carry them—heave, heave, heave—up to the dam, take off his shoes, knock out the grain, and hide it to retrieve at night. That was how he got his daily bread. Later, he even said, 'There are golden houses in books,' but after studying for ten years, he never saw a golden house—it was manual labor that actually filled his stomach."

Hongce loved listening to those folktales from the common people; everyone’s perspective and experience were limited by their environment. As a Prince, he was used to hearing about which Prince’s or Duke’s mansion was short on silver and taking out loans from the Imperial Household Department. The imperial clan members were lazy and cared too much about their pride; even if they were poor, they wouldn't sacrifice their status. They would rather sell their antique porcelain and paintings than lose face to find a way to earn a living. It was the common people at the bottom who became clever when the cooking pot was empty; even if their methods were not elegant, it was a sign of ingenuity, and it sounded quite interesting.

"Wasn't it painful for his feet, carrying grain like that?" he asked. "I don't mind anything else, but I’m particular about shoes; if they are too big or too small, it tortures the feet. How could he walk with something pressing into his soles?"

Dingyi waved her hand. "He couldn't worry about that at the time. Knowing the food was under his feet, he had to suffer through it! You see, the beggars on the street corners aren't suffering; when the weather is good, they take off their cotton coats to pick lice, and when it’s mealtime, they take tokens to get porridge—that’s no way to live a proper life. Later, when this scholar tried to get married, it almost fell through several times, and it was my master who stepped in to mediate."

The Twelfth Prince caught the scent of the story; like someone listening to a storyteller, he was eager to hear the next part. "Why? Was it because they thought he was useless and poor?"

She said no. "The girl wasn't from a wealthy family, but she didn't want him even if she couldn't wear gold or silver." She smacked her lips. "This man... he was stingy. He was so cheap; when the matchmaker brought the girl’s relatives to visit, he served them sugar-melons. You know how sugar-melons come in blocks, right? He cut them into pieces and arranged them on a plate to make it look like there was more. Cutting them in two was one thing, but he cut them into four—the pieces of candy were as small as a fingernail. People took one piece and were too embarrassed to take a second, and that was it."

He laughed. "Before anything was even settled, he’d already made people look down on him; it seems he didn't want a wife after all."

"That’s why everyone calls him the 'Porcelain Crane'!" she laughed. "Have you heard that jingle? 'The iron rooster, the porcelain crane, the glass rat, and the glazed cat.' It refers to people like him—not a single hair can be plucked from them."

Xiaoshu’s storytelling was vivid... or rather, it must have been vivid. Hongce watched him quietly. In the moonlight, he looked as gentle as a chrysanthemum—though that description didn't seem quite right for a man, especially someone with such a lively personality. He couldn't pinpoint it, yet the word popped into his mind. It was a bit laughable, but he couldn't suppress it.

"And later? Did your master really manage to set it up?"

She nodded. "Of course he did. After he was turned down, he came back to my master, crying about how hard his life was—his father died when he was four, his mother at nine, and with no one to look after him as a child, he had to eat wild alfalfa to survive. My master felt sorry for him and asked the matchmaker to speak more kindly of him. It just so happened that the girl’s uncle worked in the same office as us, so that helped. My master talked him up, praising his thrift and diligence, saying he was a good man to manage a household. That’s how they were brought together."

Hongce said, "That’s fortunate. But if he couldn't even afford to eat, how could he have studied for so many years?"

"They say a distant relative felt sorry for him and provided him with a little support every month." Dingyi shrugged. "Who knows? After he started carrying grain, he was different than before. Maybe he accepted his fate, lost all his drive, and just spent all his time blowing hot air. After they got married, they didn't live well either; the couple was always fighting. You see, when a man throws away his books and forgets his classical learning, all he talks about is how a 'great man deserves nine wives.' His wife would get fired up and shout, 'You can’t even fill your own stomach, and you want nine wives?' Then she’d beat him with a broomstick, leaving his face bruised and swollen. People, you know? You spend your whole life laughing and cursing. Some people live with great zest, and others live as if they’ve tasted yellow gentian..." Thinking of her own situation, she shook her head with a bitter smile.

They sat side by side, very close. Hongce turned his head slightly. Xiaoshu was staring blankly at the moon, its crescent reflection dancing in his clear, crystalline eyes—impossible to capture.

He tried to break the silence and smiled. "You’re only a young man; why do you have so many reflections on life?"

She turned her face, her brows knitting together. "Me? I’m just like that scholar; I’ve also lost both my parents. My relatives weren't poor, but no one was willing to give me a hand; they all watched me drift out into the world. Fortunately, I met my master. My master truly cherished me; he had no children of his own and hoped only for the best for me and my senior brother. This time, I climbed the social ladder and left him behind in that slum; I felt especially miserable when I left..."

Her eyes were brimming with tears as she spoke. She knew he was a Prince, but in their private moments, she didn't hold him in such high regard—he was more like a friend she could open her heart to.

A girl was just a girl; when she encountered unhappiness, she thought of her master. If she were by her master’s side, she would never have encountered these things. Now, drifting out here, being bullied by those people, handled by them, she couldn't even cry properly. The more she thought about it, the more agitated she felt. She couldn't help it; she covered her face with both hands, and the tears streamed through her fingers and into her sleeves.

The Prince, seeing her like this, stopped speaking and reached out to pat her shoulder. As Dingyi cried, she still had to explain, "I just miss my master... I just miss him, nothing else."

Whether there was anything else, he knew. If she wanted to cry, let her cry; she would feel better once it was out. He said, "I fear we’ll still be rushing on the road on the ninth day of the ninth month. Once we reach the Changbai Mountains, I’ll make it up to you and celebrate your birthday. You mentioned wanting to make a Kongming lantern; I will make one for you. You can write your innermost thoughts on it and let them fly high; then you won’t miss your master so much."

Dingyi still had a child’s temperament. Hearing his words, she looked up, sobbing through her tears, and asked, "Will you really make one for me? You’re not lying?"

He slowly curled the corners of his lips and nodded. "I am not lying. I keep my word.”