Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Even after settling into the carriage bound for the Yong Kingdom, Shengsheng Zhou had not quite grasped that she was leaving.
The reluctant faces of Xiaopingzi and Xiangxiang still floated before her eyes.
She drew a hairpin from her sleeve and ran her fingers over it.
A single small flower adorned the pin. The design looked lonely and plain, nothing like the ornate jewelry currently in fashion.
Truthfully, before Fusheng Duan gave it to her, Shengsheng had not known he owned anything so simple. He favored lavish, intricate objects and accepted only the finest.
In all her years serving him, she had never seen this pin.
“What an unusual piece. That flower is heather.”
Zhiyu Jiang, who had cried ever since they passed through the city gates, had finally stopped. She stared at the hairpin in surprise.
Although she was concubine-born, she had still been raised in a noble household. She knew far more about such things than Shengsheng, who had never cared for them.
“You recognize it?”
Zhiyu nodded.
“The person who gave it to you put real thought into the gift.”
Shengsheng arched a puzzled brow.
“Heather represents the wilderness,” Zhiyu explained. “It grows even in harsh, barren places, so some people say it also symbolizes courage. I think it carries a beautiful meaning.”
Courage.
Shengsheng turned the word over slowly.
Perhaps Fusheng simply hoped she would try her best to survive.
No matter. She would treat the journey to the Yong Kingdom as a vacation. After she reincarnated, who knew where she would live? She might even become a citizen of Yong. This was the perfect opportunity to scout the place in advance.
Her spirits restored, she turned a maternal gaze on Zhiyu, whose eyes were as red as a rabbit’s.
“Xiaoyu, do you need the privy?”
Zhiyu had forced that nickname upon her.
In the original novel, Zhiyu had not shared a carriage with Siran Ming. She had needed the privy, however, and gone to find him with swollen, tear-reddened eyes. Her face reminded him of the woman he had never forgotten.
That led directly to the assassination, the accidental fall from a cliff, and the two of them relying on one another until affection took root.
Now that Shengsheng mentioned it, Zhiyu did feel the urge.
She pressed her knees together and whispered, “Shengsheng, will you come with me?”
Who could refuse to walk arm in arm to the privy with a sister?
When both women made the request, the guard readily rode ahead to ask Siran.
It was time for a rest anyway. After traveling for hours, the entire party was tired.
The long procession came to a halt.
Shengsheng kept watch for Zhiyu, and the two walked back together.
They happened to meet Siran, who had stepped down from his carriage for air.
His face darkened the instant he saw Shengsheng.
His stomach still ached faintly.
“You certainly enjoy the company of this wretched slave.”
He spoke to Zhiyu, but his eyes remained on Shengsheng.
Zhiyu bristled. Before she could retort, Shengsheng tugged her back.
*Forget it, sweetheart. Your forward-thinking belief that all people are equal will never penetrate the puddle-deep brain of His Spray Majesty.*
Aloud, she said, “Your Majesty is correct. Miss Jiang, please do not quarrel with His Majesty over this servant.”
Siran–the aforementioned Spray Majesty–looked ready to explode.
He could not kill the woman, but they had left the Zhu Kingdom now. Who could object to the way he disciplined her, so long as he returned her whole to Fusheng?
He was about to order Rong Li to slap her when the air erupted.
Arrows tore toward them like driving rain.
Shouts, screams, and the clash of steel followed.
Siran Ming’s entire expression transformed.
He was a resting wolf suddenly baring its fangs, his bloodthirsty instincts awakened.
The three of them stood some distance from the main procession and escaped the first volley unharmed.
Shengsheng Zhou glanced at the terrified Zhiyu Jiang and the battle-crazed Siran, then decisively began edging away. She intended to find somewhere safe and wait out this dangerous part of the plot.
Later, she could join the crowd at the cliff and shout a few times. That should be the end of her responsibilities.
Perhaps she would not even need to shout.
Lost in her calculations, she heard a twig crack behind her.
Shengsheng spun around so abruptly that she startled the person following her.
She regarded Zhiyu with a complicated expression.
“Why are you following me? And Ming–Your Majesty? Where is he?”
Zhiyu pointed behind her, aggrieved.
“The moment he saw those men in black, he acted like a grandfather whose grandsons had finally come home after three hundred years. He completely forgot about me.”
Shengsheng had to admire the comparison.
But this was wrong.
Heaven, were you deliberately tormenting her?
A-Pang was equally confused. In the original, wasn’t Siran supposed to protect the heroine? Why had he abandoned her the moment he saw his grandsons–no, his enemies?
[Why don’t you take her back, Shengsheng? Maybe Siran Ming will remember what he is supposed to do when he sees her.]
Shengsheng hesitated.
As the heroine, Zhiyu could not die. Shengsheng’s own safety, however, came with no such guarantee.
In the end, she decided to escort Zhiyu back.
As cannon fodder, she had a duty to protect the heroine.
“Let’s return to the carriages. The walls are reinforced with iron, so in theory they should be safer.”
Even Shengsheng did not believe the lie.
Miraculously, Zhiyu did.
She earnestly insisted that Shengsheng walk ahead.
Shengsheng could have wept with gratitude. She loved sweet, foolish heroines! Never again would she allow anyone to insult them.
Was this the sacred bond forged by visiting the privy together? She swore she would accompany Zhiyu every day from now on, through wind and rain alike.
Perhaps the heroine’s halo protected them. The two crept toward the carriages in terror and nearly reached them without being noticed.
Bodies littered the ground. When Zhiyu saw a corpse with half its skull sliced away, she would have screamed if Shengsheng had not covered her mouth.
As a ghost, Shengsheng had witnessed sights far worse than these.
Zhiyu therefore discovered that her dependable companion could step over corpses without changing expression.
Even from a distance, Shengsheng could see Siran in the middle of the battle.
Calling it a battle was generous. It was a one-sided slaughter.
Three arrows protruded from his shoulder, yet he fought as if he felt nothing, growing fiercer with every kill.
At this rate, would he truly fall unconscious as the plot required after tumbling from the cliff?
Shengsheng turned to find Zhiyu.
Before she could move her head, cold metal touched her throat and raised gooseflesh across her skin.
A hoarse, unpleasant male voice sounded beside her ear.
“Don’t move.”
“They say the tyrant brought a woman back from the Zhu Kingdom who looks like a heavenly immortal. Now that I see you, you’re nothing special.”
Shengsheng went still.
She agreed that Siran was a tyrant, but…
“Brother, hear me out. Is there any chance–just possibly, maybe–that you kidnapped the wrong woman?”