Lighting a Lantern at Your Brow - Chapter 6

Cheng Chang dragged his feet as he stepped into the Magistrate’s Office, and when he looked up, he saw a large sedan chair stationed in the middle of the courtyard.

In front and behind the sedan, two attendants stood on either side. Nearby, a servant held a ceremonial parasol, and another carried drums and gongs on his back.

Cheng Chang asked, “This… is… what exactly?”

A servant beside him replied, “Third Young Master, have you forgotten? This was gifted to you by the Grand Empress Dowager during the second year of Zhaoyuan’s reign, for the Longevity Festival.”

Only members of the imperial family were permitted to use such a sedan, and as the youngest son of Prince Cong, Cheng Chang naturally counted.

Back in the day—when Cheng Chang was still a scruffy, brat-faced boy—he hadn’t been this much of a menace yet. His face, as beautiful as the moon and stars, had been a favorite in front of the Grand Empress Dowager. That year, for her birthday, she asked what little Chang’er wanted. He pointed at the eight-bearer imperial palanquin beneath her and said, “I like that.” So she gave him one.

After receiving it, Cheng Chang was over the moon. From then on, every festival or auspicious day, he had someone carry him through Jinling, putting on a show.

Of course Cheng Chang knew what this thing was.

It was… that thing from period dramas. The kind emperors or palace ladies used to get around the palace—a bench strung between two poles, carried on the shoulders of attendants.

His voice trembled: “I… have to… sit in that… to return to the manor?”

“Yes, Young Prince. Is there anything wrong with that?”

It was not a regular sedan chair.

The key difference was: it was open-roofed. That meant everyone along the way could see him.

Cheng Chang asked again, “Did I… use this often before?”

“Not that often,” the servant replied. “After all, it was a gift from the Grand Empress Dowager, so only on festivals or special days. But this is the only one like it in all of Jinling. When you pass through the city gates, even the Grand Chancellor and the Lords of lesser royal houses have to make way for you!”

Cheng Chang stared at the servant, whose wide eyes reflected his own image.

Truth be told, this Cheng Chang did resemble his past self by seventy to eighty percent. Likely because he had grown up pampered and healthy, he was especially good-looking.

Cheng Chang had always considered himself reasonably intelligent and emotionally sharp, but this was the first time he had to look at himself with the same expression people use when they’re trying to gently guide someone with a mental disability.

What did he think this was? A limited-edition convertible supercar?

Parading through the city like this—what was he thinking? Had he not been embarrassed enough?

The only word Cheng Chang could muster in his heart was: regret.

Why didn’t he just die when his heart stopped—why did he have to transmigrate here?

And when he did transmigrate, why was his will to live so damn strong? Why didn’t he just drown again and be done with it?

With a congenital heart condition, he had cherished every moment of his short twenty-something years in his past life. He had lived carefully, purposefully. But ever since transmigrating here? Damn it, not even a full day and he was already sick of it.

Cheng Chang struggled. “Can I… maybe… not sit in that thing?”

The servants looked at him, clearly confused, with expressions that were both polite and completely bewildered.

Then it hit him—the original Cheng Chang was murdered. Now that he was here, and acting differently, he had to be careful not to arouse suspicion. If anyone picked up on his odd behavior, it could be dangerous.

His survival instinct kicked in. He had to bear it.

Just as he was about to step into the sedan, Yun Xi called out behind him, “Third Young Master.”

She seemed to have recalled something, taking a step closer. “Third Young Master, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

Cheng Chang nodded, and the constables and royal servants sensibly withdrew from the courtyard.

Yun Xi said, “You may have been too drunk to notice earlier, but when you were pulled from the Qinhuai River, two gold bricks were found hidden in your sleeves. You were… most likely targeted.”

She clasped her sword and bowed respectfully. “I will investigate this to the best of my ability. In the meantime, please be cautious.”

Cheng Chang froze, confused why she would bring this up to him specifically.

After thinking it over, he understood—he was Prince Cong’s youngest son, with a noble status second to none. After falling into the river and surviving, officials like that Zhang guy at the Magistrate’s Office clearly wanted to keep the matter quiet. They would probably treat it as an accident, bury the evidence about the gold bricks, and let it pass. Because if word got out that a Young Prince had been targeted, the imperial court would be forced to investigate. The resulting uproar would be no small matter.

Seems officials haven’t changed much in a thousand years.

Cheng Chang didn’t respond, but he did glance at Yun Xi once more.

He was born with a face like starlight and moonshine, but when he fell silent, even the spring sunlight on his lashes looked like frost on leaves.

This girl… isn’t half bad.

He opened his mouth. “You…”

He hadn’t even finished saying “you” when a servant called from behind, “Young Prince!”

The servant gestured to the sun and smiled obsequiously. “Young Prince, it’s now three-quarters past noon—an auspicious hour! Shall we return to the manor?”

Cheng Chang, hollow inside, resigned himself and sat back onto the sedan. A loud clang from the gong startled him. The next moment, the sedan lifted high, its canopy held aloft. Two of the prince’s servants ran to the front of the entourage, one beating the gong, the other loudly clearing the way.

Watching Cheng Chang’s figure disappear at the mouth of the alley, Luo Shu leaned toward Yun Xi curiously. “Ah Ting, what were you saying to the Third Young Master just now?”

Yun Xi knew she couldn’t tell anyone about the gold bricks and replied, “He fell into the river this morning. I reminded him to be careful.”

Luo Shu frowned. “You still have the heart to remind him? Have you forgotten? Three years ago, when you brought Brother Yun Luo’s body back to the capital, who was it that knocked over his coffin?”

“That’s a separate matter,” Yun Xi said calmly. “This happened while I was on duty. It’s my responsibility to remind him.”

But she hadn’t told him the whole truth.

Cheng Chang being targeted might be something Zhang Huailu could sweep under the rug, but she couldn’t. There’s no such thing as a secret that never leaks. One day, if word of this reached Prince Cong, Zhang could claim his subordinates never reported the full story. But her? She’d have no excuse. Better to take responsibility now.

Besides… after Cheng Chang fell in the river today, there was something strange about him. It was hard to describe—like his memory had gone fuzzy. The way he spoke, moved, reacted—it was all a beat too slow.

Had his brain been damaged from nearly drowning? Would it leave long-term effects?

Yun Xi cut off the thought.

She told herself: whatever happens to him is no concern of hers. He’s a prince, born into power and privilege. His future has nothing to do with her.

Just then, Luo Shu spoke again. “Ah Ting, you still haven’t told me.”

“Told you what?” Yun Xi asked.

“About your engagement with Pei Er-Ge.” Luo Shu stepped closer, her tone warm. “Have you two made any plans?”

Yun Xi was quiet for a moment, then answered honestly, “I don’t know. Let’s talk about it later.”

Luo Shu gazed at her, then slowly reached into her sleeve and took out a delicate, ornate box, pressing it into Yun Xi’s hands. Her voice softened. “This is a new rouge from Baozhai Pavilion. It took me ages to get one. I was saving it as a gift for when your engagement with Pei Er-Ge was confirmed. It’s not official yet, but I’m already anxious for you.”

She smiled sweetly. “Ah Ting, when things move forward between you and Pei Er-Ge, you mustn’t keep it from me. The three of us grew up together. Let me know in advance so I can prepare something even better for you.”

“Alright.” Yun Xi nodded. She glanced down at the rouge box in her hand and handed it back. “I’m still working at the Magistrate’s Office. I can’t use this. But I appreciate the thought—it means a lot.”

Luo Shu looked surprised, then gave a helpless smile and took the box back. As if suddenly remembering something, she asked, “Oh right, Ah Ting. On the day Pei Er-Ge returns to the capital, will you go to greet him? Let’s go together.”

She leaned in closer, almost like she was revealing a scandal. “I heard that Yao Susu from the Yao family will be there too.”

Yao Susu’s father was the Grand Secretary of the Secretariat, a top-ranking official.

Yun Xi showed no reaction. “Depends if I’m on duty that day.”

Then she called toward the magistrate’s office, “Tian Si!”

“Here!” came a voice from inside.

A moment later, a fair-skinned, youthful-looking constable stepped out. “Y-Yun… Constable Yun.”

Tian Si had joined the office a year ago, and had always worked under Yun Xi. Aside from a stutter, he was reliable enough.

Yun Xi turned to Luo Shu. “I still have a patrol shift. I won’t be keeping you company.”

With that, she walked off, Tian Si following closely behind.

By the time March arrived, Prince Cong, having learned that his youngest son had nearly drowned, rushed back to Jinling with the emperor, who had just finished his southern tour. The moment they returned, he placed Cheng Chang under house arrest, beat him severely, and then withheld food for three days. When Yun Xi and Zhang Huailu tried to deliver the case files for the official investigation, they weren’t even allowed through the gates.

Zhang Huailu, who’d originally wanted to dismiss the drowning as an accident, was more than happy to let it slide after Prince Cong vented all his rage on the Third Young Master. He washed his hands of the matter entirely.

Yun Xi, however, remained suspicious. If Prince Cong knew Cheng Chang had actually been targeted, there was no way Jinling would still be so calm. She had told Cheng Chang the truth with her own mouth. Yet the prince’s household had never followed up. Which meant… Cheng Chang had kept the truth to himself, and he hadn’t told a soul?

But he wasn’t the kind of person who could sit still.

Yun Xi couldn’t figure it out, so she asked Tian Si to quietly investigate.

Tian Si didn’t learn anything useful—but he did bring back one juicy rumor——

Apparently, Prince Cong, as always, had zero control over his son. After grounding him for half a month, he immediately relented and handed over a thousand taels of silver for Cheng Chang to spend however he liked.

With no mischief to make, the usual gang of Cheng Chang’s troublemaking servants grew bored and started gossiping about Drunken Fragrance Pavilion. They’d heard that the buns there had offended the prince’s delicate palate, and were gearing up to go smash the place to bits. But Cheng Chang stopped them. Not only did he say the buns were pretty good—he even insisted on packing some up, and ate them one by one in front of everyone, just to prove his point. He ate three whole trays.

“Packed them?” Yun Xi was stunned.

“Y-yes. He bought them, sealed them in food boxes, and brought them home,” Tian Si explained.

News of Cheng Chang packing buns spread like wildfire. Everyone in Jinling knew the Third Young Master’s taste was even more finicky than the emperor’s. If he said something tasted good, it had to be a delicacy.

Overnight, Drunken Fragrance Pavilion became the hottest spot in town. Every day, lines stretched out the door, with people eager to taste these legendary buns blessed by the prince himself.

Once, when Tian Si wasn’t on duty, he waited in line for two whole hours just to buy a tray of those buns. After eating them, he said to Yun Xi, “They’re okay, j-just… a little salty.”

At the end of March, after a few days of rain, late spring arrived—but instead of warmth, the city was blanketed in chill.

The peach and plum blossoms, once in full bloom, wilted and fell in the night rain. Their soft petals blanketed the riverbanks of the Qinhuai, painting them in soft shades of pink and white. The next day, a bright spring wind swept through, turning the scene into a full day of falling flowers—a floral rain.

And it was during such a season that Pei Lan returned to the capital.

On the day of his return, the Magistrate’s Office granted Yun Xi a rest day, yet she did not go to greet him. The following day, while patrolling the streets, she overheard all of Jinling abuzz with talk of him.

The young general rode back into the city on horseback, clad in white robes and silver armor. His elegant features held the edge of battle-hardened steel—yet just beneath it, when he smiled faintly while leading ten thousand victorious troops down the pear-blossom-lined road by the Qinhuai, even the flowers seemed to sway softer. That smile cut through the iron bones of his warrior’s pride, letting warmth seep through.

He was a commander who led armies to victory. A hero of his time. A refined gentleman in a chaotic world. He was the man Yun Xi was once promised to, by a betrothal made before birth.

But a betrothal by word alone—what proof was there, really? Even if promises were written down, hearts change. How could ink on a page bind a person’s will?

When she was young, Yun Xi had followed the Marquis of Zhongyong into the military camps. In war, life and death parted people all too easily. It had made her see through the illusions of fate.

Even in the battlefield, people from Jiangnan carried dreams and sentiments.
Whenever someone died or left, her father would often sing a little tune to lighten the grief.

How did it go again?

“You see him build his crimson tower,
You see him host his banquet guests,
You see the tower collapse.
Moss climbs the tiles, the past clings like dust—
Sing a sorrowful song of Jiangnan,
Mourn until you grow old.”

Now that Pei Lan had returned to the capital, everyone said their marriage must be near.

But Yun Xi thought, she and Pei Lan’s bond was likely the same as that crumbling tower—built high, collapsed fast.