Xie Jing could no longer remember when he last rode shoulder-to-shoulder with Lu Lingcong.
In the early years, they had explored almost every scenic spot and pavilion nearby, specifically going out when the former Emperor and Noble Consort Wu missed their grandson and invited Lu Shuqing to stay in the palace for a short time, stealing a day or two of leisure. Sometimes they were in Jinling, sometimes in surrounding towns. When tired, they would casually find an inn and tie up their horses. Lu Lingcong would borrow the inn’s kitchen to cook a few dishes and warm two pots of wine. They would sit by the window, talking aimlessly about trivial things, and when the drunkenness set in, they would fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Whether outsiders or his own father and brothers, all of them have once believed that being an emperor’s daughter-in-law inevitably involved many restraints and fetters and that following one’s heart’s desire was the hardest thing to achieve.
Xie Jing admitted this point, but it was undeniable that during those ten years in Prince Zhao’s Mansion, thanks to Lu Lingcong, he still had many, many moments of genuine freedom and happiness.
Even if he couldn’t definitively say he never regretted becoming Princess Consort Zhao, Xie Jing could state without hesitation that he never regretted marrying Lu Zifeng.
As the night deepened and the wilderness fell silent with only the wind howling in their ears, Xie Jing drifted into a brief reverie. When he saw Lu Lingcong, who was half a step ahead of him, rein in his horse, he tightened his own reins and came to a stop as well.
To prevent their conversation from being overheard by others, the distance between them was closer than a normal side-by-side ride, with only about a half-arm length gap between their calves.
But in truth, they hadn’t said anything that others couldn’t hear at all.
For nearly two hours their conversation had centered on this barren land, covering where to move construction materials for defense, the spring weather of Yongzhou, the frequency and patterns of northern border incursions, and the farming-military system established by He Gao that followed ancient models.
Xie Jing’s lips were somewhat dry, partly from talking a lot and partly from the wind and dust.
He pursed his lips and found it quite amusing. Three years ago, he had never heard of these things, and Lu Lingcong was also completely ignorant of them. Although they would not ask a foolish question like “Why don’t they eat meat porridge,” it was no exaggeration to say they were utterly unaware of the people suffering.
Those “trivial talks” they once had—to put it bluntly—were nothing more than pursuits of pleasure and leisure, conversations like embroidered pillows stuffed with straw, outwardly fine yet hollow and unstable.
What was more laughable was that they once did, and still had to, treat “who sits on the Dragon Throne” as the most important issue, an absurd and hypocritical concern that meant nothing when set against basic survival. Yet in tragedy they were tightly bound and unable to break free, for having been born into the imperial family made those ties unseverable, leaving them with no fate in which choice could exist.
Lu Lingcong never contended for the throne, and neither did Xie Jing. But if truly avoiding contention could guarantee peace and safety, they would not be standing here talking now at all.
Lu Lingcong was not wearing silver armor.
In fact, Xie Jing rarely saw him in military attire. Three years ago, no matter how outstanding he was, he was still a powerless prince. Although he was secretly planning to organize the Tiger Division, he dared not show any sign of having military authority in public at all.
Thinking of this, he opened his mouth and asked the first question tonight that was not suitable for outsiders to hear: “When did you decide to bring the Tiger Division out of the shadows?”
Lu Lingcong retracted his gaze from the distant camp lights and looked at him: “The night Imperial Father passed away.”
Xie Jing remembered the details of that night very clearly. The night everything began to slip out of control.
“Was there no upheaval in the capital when thirty thousand elite cavalries appeared out of nowhere like that?”
Lu Lingcong smiled: “Initially, there weren’t thirty thousand, and they weren’t elite cavalry when we left the capital. I relied on that slight brotherhood with His Majesty—and perhaps borrowed a bit of the master-student relationship between you and him—to leave Jinling alive. By the time those people wanted my life and the Tiger Division’s lives again, it was already too late.”
Even in a private setting with just the two of them, Lu Lingcong still referred to the current Emperor, his half-brother, as “His Majesty.”
Xie Jing found it amusing again. How could a person like this vehemently plead his “undivided loyalty” and have anyone believed him?
He then asked, “If it wasn’t those people, but His Majesty wanted it?”
Lu Lingcong’s expression was calm as he countered, “You taught him for six years; you know him better than I do. What do you think he thinks of me?”
Xie Jing lightly said, “I have no blood relation with him. His surname is Lu, mine is not.”
After speaking, he turned his face to meet Lu Lingcong’s gaze and smiled softly: “You have the answer in your heart; otherwise, you wouldn’t have kept Qing’er in the palace.”
Lu Lingcong’s gaze shifted: “I still keep a few letters from Qing’er in my tent. They arrived when I was in Longxi last autumn, but I haven’t received any since coming to Yongzhou, perhaps because of the distance.”
Xie Jing looked at the undulating mountains in the darkness, his expression softened as he whispered, “How tall is he now?”
Lu Lingcong thought for a moment and gestured in the air: “He reached my chest when we left, not broad at all, just growing lean and tall like you.”
He then added, “His features also resemble yours; when he cries, the area around his eyes turns red, he looks quite pitiful.”
Of course, Xie Jing knew that when Lu Shuqing cried, the corners of his eyes turned red like his own. He was the child he had raised with his own hands from infancy until he became obedient and literate, the eldest son he shared with Lu Lingcong, and the little son he had not taken away.
“The night before we left the Prince’s Mansion, he didn’t cry. He just lay beside me, watched me lull Ningning to sleep, and then quietly asked me if I would ever come back.”
“Yes, you will.” Lu Lingcong sighed instead of him.
“Will I?” Xie Jing looked at the profile of Lu Lingcong’s face, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “I couldn’t answer at the time.”
As they neared the Tiger Division camp gate, Xie Jing intentionally lagged two steps before pulling the hood of the large cloak over his head and covering half his face.
Lu Lingcong looked back at him and said, “They’re all young men; they won’t recognize you. Hiding like that only makes you stand out.” Xie Jing lifted the fox fur edge of his hood slightly, revealing pale skin, black hair, and a pair of jet-black eyes. Lu Lingcong blinked in surprise, momentarily lost for words, then said, “You better put it back on.”
As commander, Lu Lingcong patrolled the camp every night, so he ordered his two personal guards, the brothers, to escort Xie Jing directly to the main tent to settle in.
The younger brother, named Xu Yi, was young and timid. He didn’t dare follow Xie Jing into the tent, stopping only at the curtain door. He muttered a quiet “This subordinate will take my leave” before running off.
His elder brother, Xu Jia, bowed apologetically: “My younger brother is young and ill-mannered. Please forgive him, Princess Consort.”
Xie Jing shook his head to indicate it was fine, stood still, looked around, and then glanced at the completely cluttered desk, piled with all kinds of documents and letters, and said helplessly, “How long have you two been following His Highness?”
Xu Jia replied, “Two years. We hadn’t expected to actually be able to stay. Our late father’s will say that if we met with trouble, we could seek help in the army, so we came looking.”
Xie Jing nodded with understanding while pointing at the desk: “Can I touch these things?”
Xu Jia was startled, unsure if he was qualified to comment on such a question. He thought for a moment and answered honestly: “His Highness has his own habits; he can find what he needs even piled up like that. We dare not touch them… but if it’s Princess Consort, I imagine it should be fine.”
Xie Jing shrugged, then chuckled ironically: “Never mind, I don’t dare either.”
He casually asked two more questions about miscellaneous military affairs. Xu Jia then said, “Princess Consort, please allow this subordinate to report; this subordinate must go and prepare the bathwater. His Highness specifically instructed that it be brought into the tent.”
Xie Jing wondered, “Doesn’t he usually wash in the tent?”
“As a troop on campaign, His Highness usually washes with the soldiers in the army, just doing a quick wash to get by.”
Xu Jia didn’t dare to finish his sentence. When Prince Zhao gave the order, he added one more instruction: The Princess Consort has strict standards, making sure the water is absolutely clean and hot enough.
Xie Jing was both amused and exasperated. He wanted to say it wasn’t necessary, but Xu Jia, who was no more at ease than his younger brother, hurried off with a vague reply.
Xu Jia hadn’t previously paid attention to this “accountant” from the Prefect’s Mansion. Based solely on his younger brother’s description, it was hard to imagine. Hearing Lu Lingcong’s detailed instructions, he only felt that His Highness, who was usually so commanding, seemed to be somewhat afraid of his spouse, and this inspired a degree of apprehension toward Xie Jing.
It wasn’t until he had just met him that he realized the Princess Consort, who had always lived in rumor and hearsay, also had two eyes and one nose[mfn]Meaning he isn’t as the rumors say.[/mfn], didn’t put on air, and spoke with a smile, appearing even more amiable than His Highness.
Xie Jing wandered around the tent several times and lingered in silence as he stared for a long while at the desk, the sandbox and the map hanging on the wall. He did not touch anything and only belatedly realized he was warming up as the charcoal fire burned strongly, so he removed the large cloak, folded it, and went to sit on the bed.
Previously, wearing outer clothes on the bed was forbidden in Prince Zhao’s Mansion. Being a martial arts practitioner, Lu Lingcong was careless about details, and his clothes inevitably picked up dust. Xie Jing had lectured him for a long time before he finally surrendered to the rule.
Sitting idly on the edge of the bed like this with his hands resting on the quilt edge and his gaze fixed blankly on a spot on the floor as he waited in quiet confusion, it reminded Xie Jing of the night he and Lu Lingcong were married.
Back then the entire room was soaked in red—the lamplight red, the candlelight red, and the flickering flame hearts leaping and swaying until everything blurred into a single wash of color. Bored from waiting, Xie Jing counted how many flowers were embroidered with gold thread on the pomegranate branches on the wedding curtain.
Thirteen years had passed in a flash, and there was still a difference—at least now he knew this person was willing to be waited for by him.
A sound came from outside the tent and was followed by Xu Jia’s voice asking for permission to enter.
The two brothers brought in the tub of hot water and the screen with swift and efficient movements that left Xie Jing feeling slightly embarrassed. After setting things up properly, Xu Jia said to him, “His Highness sent word that he still has military duties and asks the Princess Consort to wash up and rest early.”
For the second time that day, Xie Jing said, “Thank you for your hard work.”
Xu Jia and Xu Yi then withdrew with a trace of awkwardness.
Xie Jing knew Lu Lingcong would not be courteous without reason. If he said he had matters to attend to then he truly did, and if he told him to sleep first then he meant it. He looked at the steaming tub, walked over, loosened his sash, let his long hair fall outside, and lowered his whole body into the hot water.
It was a bit hot, but after the initial moment, it was incredibly comfortable and relaxing. Xie Jing hadn’t had such a wholehearted, peaceful bath in a long time. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, rubbed his nose with the back of his hand until it was slightly damp, and felt deeply grateful to Lu Lingcong for making this exception and treating him with such care.
Half a day’s ride on horseback had actually tired him more than he expected. Xie Jing had only meant to rest his eyes briefly, but as he relaxed, sleep overtook him. He dozed lightly for an unknown stretch of time; his head slightly dizzy from the rising steam. Suddenly, he heard footsteps outside the screen, and then a familiar voice rang out:
“Not on the bed, are you still washing…” Lu Lingcong tapped the wooden screen as if knocking on a door. “Where are you?”
It took Xie Jing a moment to fully awaken, then answered slowly and hoarsely, “I’m here.”
Lu Lingcong didn’t come in. He seemed to take two steps in the opposite direction, then suddenly let out a “hiss” and said self-mockingly, “I left in a hurry a few days ago and didn’t pay attention. This desk is truly a mess.”
Then he raised his voice and teased Xie Jing: “You must be laughing at me. I really can’t manage without you. I’ll have to trouble my dear consort to take pity and help me tidy up.”
Xie Jing responded with a low sound, unsure whether it was assent or merely an acknowledgment that he had heard.
He shifted his body, stiff from remaining in one position too long, and felt the water had cooled to a lukewarm temperature as it flowed around him. He realized a significant amount of time had passed since he dozed off, then asked, “Aren’t you coming in? The water is getting cold.”
After speaking, he sensed something suspicious and questioned, “You don’t usually take cold baths, do you?”
Lu Lingcong smiled and said, “No need for that. In this deep winter chill, I can still tell the heat from the cold. You come out first, and then I’ll go in.”
Xie Jing glanced sideways at the tub. It was indeed not as spacious as the one in the Prince’s Mansion; accommodating two people would clearly be a squeeze. Reluctantly he stepped out of the water, dried himself, donned his sleeping garment, and emerged from behind the screen. He very naturally approached Lu Lingcong, raised both his arms, and began untying the fastenings of his outer garment as if it were his duty.
In Prince Zhao’s Mansion, there was no rule for servants to assist with changing clothes. Prince Zhao was perfectly capable of dressing himself most of the time. Only on rare occasions when the Princess Consort was in a good mood would he condescend to do it himself, personally helping him change.
Lu Lingcong watched Xie Jing’s actions with some surprise, seemingly wanting to speak but holding back. He finally allowed himself to be manipulated, having one garment after another removed until only his inner shirt remained. But then, he suddenly took half a step back, stopping Xie Jing’s fingers, which were about to untie the last knot.
Xie Jing initially didn’t notice his abnormality. Only after that half-step backward did he freeze, frowning as he looked up to meet his gaze, clearly completely confused about why Lu Lingcong was flustered.
“I’m going now.” Lu Lingcong offered no explanation but looked somewhat panicked as he tried to walk around him toward the screen.
Xie Jing stared bewilderedly at his back. After countless intimate moments and passionate encounters, the two knew each other’s bodies arguably even better than their own. Last night in the Prefect’s Mansion, and the time before that in the side room, when desire was at its peak, the necessary clothes had been removed without hesitation. So why was he now acting shy like an innocent maiden over taking off a simple undergarment?
Thinking about their intimate moments since their reunion, Xie Jing suddenly realized something was amiss—although they hadn’t completed the act, even in a situation like last night, where he had stripped down and they were completely honest with each other, Lu Lingcong, though drenched in sweat, had never taken off his upper garment.
Xie Jing spoke, his voice turning cold: “Lu Zifeng.”
Lu Lingcong didn’t stop.
He only heard a faint voice drift from behind: “If you don’t take it off, don’t get on the bed later. See if you can go for a lifetime without taking it off.”
The shadow inside the screen paused for a long time. Lu Lingcong finally turned and walked out, saying with a hint of helplessness, “You won’t want to see it.”
Xie Jing remained unmoved, staring directly at him. Deep down, he harbored a vague suspicion but did not dare to confirm it.
Lu Lingcong held Xie Jing’s gaze for a long time, knowing there was no way to avoid it this time. At last, he sighed deeply, turned his back, slowly untied the ribbon, and let his inner shirt fall away.
The solid, smooth contours of his neck, shoulders, and muscles were revealed inch by inch. When that lean, powerful back was fully exposed before Xie Jing, he froze, feeling a sharp sting in his lungs even from breathing slightly harder.
Numerous scars of various sizes covered Lu Lingcong’s shoulders and back. The old ones were only faint red marks, while the new ones still showed bruising around the edges. The most hideous and terrifying one cut across his left shoulder, slicing diagonally through the shoulder blade and only stopping at the spine. It didn’t look like a new injury, yet one could easily glimpse the fatal nature of the wound from that day; it was clearly deep enough to have reached the bone.
He did not turn to face him, but Xie Jing could no longer bear to look.
Lu Lingcong heard the silence behind him and smiled bitterly with a hint of pity: “I’ve already told you that you wouldn’t want to see it.”
