After burning paper money for his dead-and-gone husband, Jiang Sheng patted the dust off himself and went back to his room to sleep.
Truthfully, Jiang Sheng hadn’t yet figured out how to escape.
He’d never done anything this bold and thrilling—well, except that time in high school he skipped class to go to a bar. But that time he’d been unlucky enough to get caught; Lu Yan laid hands on him for the first time, one palm print on each cheek of his backside, and Jiang Sheng cried half the night in fury—and in the end Lu Yan still had to be the one to coax him.
But this time was different.
This was a matter of life and death.
Though his memories of the original owner were scattered, Jiang Sheng could piece together the general lay of the land.
To escape, first he needed an excuse to leave the Capital.
The previous day’s chaos had run late, but the next morning the courtyard was clanging away again.
Whether Jiang Yan had been scared straight by yesterday’s beating or what, he didn’t come to be annoying today. Instead it was Madam Jiang who came, and seeing the courtyard full of chests of jade and treasures, she clutched her chest in fury.
“Jiang Sheng! What are you doing now!”
There was no trace of yesterday’s sickly creature. Jiang Sheng stood on the steps in a green fitted robe, like a tender bamboo shoot, chin raised, the very picture of arrogance.
“What, I’m marrying into the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor and can’t even take a few things with me?”
He directed the servants. “Keep packing. Fill up those chests too.”
He looked ready to strip the Jiang Family bare.
Madam Jiang’s face turned green with rage, but she could do nothing to him.
Just then a servant ran in. “Second Young Master, the carriage is ready.”
“The carriage?” Madam Jiang’s voice shot up. She whirled to glare at him. “You’re not thinking of running, are you?”
Jiang Sheng smiled sweetly. “What are you saying? I’m going to Guanyun Temple outside the city to burn a stick of incense for my mother—at the very least I should tell her I’m marrying into the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor. If you’re worried, why not come along?”
Madam Jiang’s expression shifted.
Back when Jiang Sheng’s mother was alive, she had been a concubine of the manor, obliged to pay her respects to the principal wife every day. Now that she’d finally been elevated in her place, how could she bring herself to burn incense for that woman?
She forced out a stiff smile. “Of course you should go. But there’s other business at the manor; I won’t accompany you.”
Jiang Sheng laughed lightly and beckoned. “Pack well, all of you. I’ll inspect when I return tonight. If even one chest is short, I’m telling Father on every last one of you!”
He had truly mastered the art of the fox borrowing the tiger’s might.
The whole courtyard of servants seethed silently, heads down, working.
Only then did Jiang Sheng swagger out of the Jiang Manor right under Madam Jiang’s nose and climb into the carriage.
All this was a smokescreen he’d deliberately laid, to make the Jiang Family believe he’d truly resigned himself to marrying the North-Guarding Prince.
Little did they know—now began Jiang Sheng’s actual flight.
He was dressed today like a walking Doraemon, everything he could carry strapped onto his body—as if wanting five or six jade hairpins on his head, a jade thumb ring on every finger, and a string of jade pendants at his waist.
After all, once he fled the Jiang Manor he’d still need to survive, and these were all he had.
Jiang Sheng had figured it out last night!
If he could transmigrate here after dying, then maybe—just maybe—his husband could too!
Having hope was better than none.
Once he escaped this place, he’d go find his husband!
The carriage jolted to a stop, cutting short his thoughts.
He lifted the curtain and peeked out—they had arrived.
Guanyun Temple was the most famous temple in the Capital, its incense never cold; even royalty occasionally came here to pray.
But the temple sat halfway up the mountain, unreachable by carriage. Worshippers had to climb on foot, and so Jiang Sheng began scaling the mountain, jingling with ornaments.
Never mind that he himself was pampered—the Second Young Master he’d transmigrated into was a sickly thing too, needing a rest every two steps. By the time he reached the summit he was gasping, both legs trembling.
Exhausted before the escape had even begun.
The servants who’d come along, apparently under orders, stuck to him like glue; several times Jiang Sheng failed to shake them off.
The great hall bustled with people.
Jiang Sheng knelt on a prayer cushion, hands pressed together, lips moving in what looked like endless prayer—who knew how many things he was asking the Buddha for, still not done after all that talking. In truth he was sneakily craning his head to look behind him; through the crowd he could see the servants still loitering outside the hall.
Honestly, they were watching him tightly enough.
Just now Jiang Sheng had claimed the heat was too much, slipped them silver, and told them to go drink mung-bean water in the back courtyard—and they’d refused even that.
What now? How to slip away…
Jiang Sheng was starting to get anxious.
Just then, several young monks entered from outside, followed by a column of Imperial Guards in iron armor with blades at their waists—frightening at a glance.
The hall erupted in murmurs.
It took a while to sort out: the North-Guarding Prince had suddenly decided to come light a Longevity Lamp for his wife, and the entire temple was to be cleared.
All worshippers were to descend via the back-mountain path.
For the first time, Jiang Sheng gained a vivid understanding of ancient privilege.
What tremendous official clout.
Clearing the whole temple just to light a lamp.
Wait… the North-Guarding Prince!
Why did that sound familiar?
Not the man he was marrying tomorrow!
Damn it! Jiang Sheng wanted to curse.
Lighting a Longevity Lamp for his wife one day, hunting a new bride the next? What a scumbag!
But—
Jiang Sheng’s eyes rolled.
This was actually perfect for his escape.
Sure enough, the servants at the door had already pushed into the hall, anxiously searching for him. Jiang Sheng quietly backed away step by step, hiding in the crowd, easing toward the exit.
Slightly hunched, his naturally slender frame melted perfectly into the throng.
The moment he was outside, he exhaled, quickened his pace, and slipped away through the gaps.
He couldn’t follow everyone down the small path—too conspicuous; the servants would easily catch him.
Actually, before climbing the mountain, Jiang Sheng had already had a target in mind.
In his memories, because his mother had been devout, “he” had often come to Guanyun Temple with her as a child. He knew of a way down the mountain—not really a path, more a shortcut the young monks used. Rough terrain, but better than being caught.
Following his memory of the direction, Jiang Sheng circled around to the back courtyard. It had been cleared of people, but Imperial Guards still stood watch.
Jiang Sheng hid in a corner, hand over his mouth, even his breathing muted.
Being caught by the North-Guarding Prince’s men would end just as badly as being caught by the Jiang Family.
Crouching like that, he inched along sideways until he’d made it behind a tree. Only when he was sure he hadn’t been spotted did he turn and bolt.
The moment he ran, Cheng Jing came patrolling around the bend.
“Little Lord Cheng.”
Every time Cheng Jing heard that form of address, his face soured.
Why was his brother “General Cheng” while he was “Little General Cheng”?
He affected aloofness and nodded. “Anything unusual?”
“Nothing to report, my lord. All quiet.”
Those people had been moving more and more aggressively lately—assassination attempts every few days. Clearing the temple was troublesome and drew criticism, but at least it guaranteed the Prince’s safety.
Besides, the Prince’s reputation was already so foul that a few more fleas wouldn’t itch.
Cheng Jing swept his gaze around. “Stay sharp. His Highness arrives soon. Don’t let a single mosquito through. If anything goes wrong, none of you will have an easy time of it.”
“Understood.”
Having issued his threats, Cheng Jing nodded and continued his patrol toward the rear.
On the same mountain, Jiang Sheng sprinted downhill while Lu Yan walked slowly up.
Cheng Yu, trailing Lu Yan, couldn’t help saying, “Your Highness, the sedan chair could carry you up. Why tire yourself?”
Lu Yan’s expression was mild. “Sincerity brings efficacy.”
Cheng Yu’s eyelids twitched.
Hearing that from Lu Yan’s mouth was rather amusing.
A man who beheaded enemies on the battlefield like slicing melons—and he believed in this stuff.
Then again, on reflection, it made sense.
Whenever that “wife” was involved, His Highness ceased to be normal.
In early spring last year, His Highness took a poisoned arrow. The manor’s Divine Doctor was applying acupuncture when His Highness suddenly vomited blood, by then probably delirious. Cheng Yu had been standing by, and heard him murmuring “Shengsheng” over and over.
Presumably that was the “wife’s” name.
At the brink of life and death, His Highness had still been calling for that person.
Lighting the Longevity Lamp for his wife was an annual ritual—supposedly her birthday fell in the winter month, though this year it came a little early.
He stole a glance at the man beside him and quickly looked away.
Thinking of His Highness’s usual cold ferocity, it was hard to imagine how he would treat his wife.
By the time they ascended to Guanyun Temple, it had been completely cleared.
The abbot led the young monks in waiting, bowing slightly. “Your Highness.”
Lu Yan pressed his palms together and bowed. “Master Kongjing.”
His expression softened a fraction, less icy than before, his tone gentler. “The Calming Incense you gave me last time worked wonderfully.”
Lu Yan walked into the hall with the master; Cheng Yu and the other monks dared not follow.
Kongjing said quietly, “Your Highness comes earlier this year.”
Lu Yan gave an “mm.” “I keep dreaming of him.”
Kongjing sighed helplessly. “Your Highness troubles himself in vain. However much incense you burn, what good will it do?”
Lu Yan said nothing more. He walked to the inner sanctum at the back, opened the hidden alcove with practiced ease, and inside lay a jade-carved Longevity Tablet.
From his very first day at Guanyun Temple, he’d had this tablet carved, and the Longevity Lamp had burned every year since.
Kongjing closed the hall doors for him.
The last of the light seeped through the door’s crack, faint enough that one could almost see the dust motes floating in the air.
Lu Yan bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the jade tablet.
“Shengsheng, I miss you so much.”
“Have you been good lately? Listen to Mom and Dad and your brother. No being picky about food. No thin jackets in winter.”
Every time, these were the things Lu Yan murmured.
He no longer knew what else there was to say to Jiang Sheng.
Eight years.
So much time had passed—bloodshed, power, scheming.
So many times he’d jolted awake from dreams, half-wondering whether he was still that modern Lu Yan who had married Jiang Sheng with a marriage certificate, or truly the North-Guarding Prince of Great Gan, one man below ten thousand.
What time had blurred, memory had etched all the deeper.
He could not forget—and how dared he forget.
In the dim hall, the man knelt on the ground, robes pooling around him. Bent forward, clutching the jade tablet tightly, that lofty, untouchable North-Guarding Prince looked, for once, lonely and pitiable.
