At that moment, one of Fu Xiong’s men hurried over and spoke in a low voice. “We’ve searched the carts farther back. Besides several carts of furs and miscellaneous goods, there are two carts full of beautiful women. From their dress and bearing, they seem to be dancers and musicians. There are more than a dozen of them.”
Fu Xiong’s gaze suddenly turned cold. So that was it. The horses and furs were just a cover. The man was probably acting on behalf of some decadent noble in Wei, buying up beautiful dancers and singers to take home.
His last doubts vanished, replaced by contempt.
“Hmph!” He gave a heavy snort and released Gong Mao’s wrist as if he’d touched something filthy. “So you’re a pack of crawling little profiteers, peddling yourselves in a disreputable trade. No wonder you skulk about and hand out bribes!”
He didn’t look at Gong Mao again, nor did he care about the Wei boy, still frightened in the carriage. Staying a moment longer felt like an insult to his eyes and ears. He turned his horse and waved to his men.
“Let them pass! Don’t waste any more time. Keep patrolling!”
With that, he dug his heels into his horse and galloped away with his men, their hooves kicking up a cloud of dust. Soon, they vanished at the end of the road.
Only when the hoofbeats had faded completely did Gong Mao’s legs give way. He almost slumped to the ground, his clothes soaked through with cold sweat. After a few ragged breaths, he scrambled upright and shouted for the caravan to move.
“Quick! Get going!”
It wasn’t until they had left Handan’s territory that the stone in Gong Mao’s heart finally dropped.
The relief of surviving the ordeal hit him belatedly. He steadied himself, then scrambled up the side of the largest carriage, still trembling.
“Prince? Are you all right?”
Ying Zheng sat calmly inside and glanced at Gong Mao, whose head was slick with sweat. “Wipe your face first.”
He sighed in dismay.
Another adult less reliable than I am… Why couldn’t I have a strategist like Fan Ju?
“That nearly scared me to death!” Gong Mao said, sheepishly wiping his sweat-soaked forehead with his sleeve. He forced a relieved smile. “Thank heavens you’re so clever, Prince, and that Fu Xiong was a thickheaded lout. He was easy to fool.”
Once he had calmed down, another thought struck him. His face paled again.
“Prince, what if Fu Xiong reports what happened to Lord Pingyuan once he gets back? What will we do?”
“If the two drivers outside started fighting over a waterskin, would you ask me to settle it for them?” Ying Zheng asked evenly.
Gong Mao shook his head without thinking. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dare trouble you over something so trivial.”
“Exactly,” Ying Zheng said, his voice clear, with the faintest trace of mockery. “It’s a trivial matter.”
“A questionable merchant caravan with questionable ties to a retainer of Lord Xinling, and a routine inspection that turned up no proof. Lord Pingyuan is gravely ill and confined to his bed. No one knows how much longer he’ll last. Fu Xiong won’t trouble him with something so insignificant.”
In just a few words, he laid out the situation.
When Gong Mao still looked dazed, Ying Zheng’s brow creased almost imperceptibly.
Gong Mao seems so much less capable than Lu Buwei… Never mind. I’m still young. I’ll have plenty of time to find worthy men of my own. For now, he’ll have to do.
Gong Mao finally came to his senses. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Slowly, he turned his head and looked again at Ying Zheng, sitting composedly in the carriage.
At the moment their eyes met, Gong Mao found himself shrinking back a little.
Before, he had respected Ying Zheng because of his noble status as the son of a Qin royal grandson.
Now, it was something else.
Over the following days, just as Ying Zheng had predicted, no pursuers came from behind. With bribes along the way and constant travel by day and night, the caravan made it safely into Wei.
Throughout the journey, Gong Mao treated Ying Zheng with the utmost respect, following his instructions in everything. It was clear he now regarded the boy as his lord.
After resting for half a day in Daliang, the caravan set off again. Their journey remained uneventful as they quietly crossed the border between Wei and Qin.
Ying Zheng and Zhao Ji had changed into fine clothes bought in haste in Daliang. They sat together in a steady carriage drawn by a pair of horses.
Zhao Ji clutched Ying Zheng’s hand so tightly that her fingertips had gone white. She gazed out at the open fields and farmhouses, so different from those in Zhao, and spoke through her tears, joy and disbelief mingling in her voice.
“Zheng’er, we really made it to Qin!”
Ying Zheng watched the scenery roll past. The wheat fields rippled in golden waves beneath the early autumn wind. Smoke curled from distant farmhouses, and farmers were just visible at work.
This was Qin.
Not the Qin in the Instance, but the real thing—the land to which his blood belonged. A wave of scorching warmth surged through his chest, leaving his fingertips tingling.
For a moment, he let himself sink into it.
Half an hour later, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he had forced the excitement from his gaze.
“Mother, we can’t celebrate yet,” Ying Zheng said, taking Zhao Ji’s hand in his.
She turned to him in surprise, tears still shining in her eyes. “Why not? We’re in Qin now. Who would dare bully us?”
Ying Zheng pressed the back of her hand and leaned close to whisper. “It isn’t enough. I want more, and you want more too, don’t you?”
His gaze drifted out the carriage window, across the seemingly endless Qin lands. “Father has only two sons: Ying Chengjiao and me. Once Grandfather Lord Anguo takes the throne, Father will be the crown prince. If anything should happen to Father…”
He stopped halfway through the sentence, but Zhao Ji already understood.
She tightened her grip on his hand and spoke, each word firm. “You’re right. You and I deserve more. We have to get more!”
Lu Buwei had been waiting anxiously for a long time outside the city they had agreed on.
When he spotted the familiar outline of the caravan in the distance, his heart tightened and he hurried to meet them. The carriage curtain lifted. Zhao Ji climbed down first, her face pale, supported by others. A moment later, a slender boy with a straight back leapt down after her.
Lu Buwei’s eyes immediately settled on the boy’s face. The brows, nose, and tightly pressed lips looked remarkably like Ying Zichu’s.
He understood at once. This was Ying Zheng.
“Prince!” Lu Buwei hurried forward and bowed deeply. “Your servant Lu Buwei is late to welcome you. You and Madam must have suffered terribly on the journey!”
Almost as soon as Lu Buwei began to bow, Ying Zheng stepped forward and firmly caught his arms, preventing him from lowering himself any further.
“Please rise, Master Lu!” The boy’s voice was clear, his emotion and gratitude perfectly measured.
“Without your careful planning and the people you sent to meet us, how could Mother and I have escaped the tiger’s jaws and returned to our homeland? You saved our lives. I will never forget your kindness!”
Zhao Ji knew that, as newcomers to Qin, the only person they could rely on was Lu Buwei, who was highly valued by Ying Zichu.
Her tears came at once. She took Lu Buwei’s hand in one of hers and Ying Zheng’s in the other, her voice soft and tearful.
“Zheng’er, Master Lu and I go back a long way. He was the one who introduced me to your father. Come, call him Second Father.”
Lu Buwei shuddered as if the title had burned him. He quickly pulled his hand away and retreated a step, bowing until his back was nearly horizontal.
“Madam, you honor me too greatly! Who am I to deserve such a title from the prince? I was only doing what I ought to do. I wouldn’t dare claim credit!”
He protested that he dared not, but inside, he was thoroughly pleased.
That’s right. You can only trust your own people. Ying Chengjiao is only six, yet his highborn mother has already taught him to ignore me. If he takes power one day, there’ll be no place for me.
Taking the risk to bring Zhao Ji and her son back had been the right choice.
But Lu Buwei knew better than to go too far. If he accepted the title outright, he would only seem arrogant. Besides, the king and the crown prince were still alive. How could they tolerate a mere merchant placing himself above a royal grandson?
He bent low, his forehead almost touching the ground.
Ying Zheng watched him quietly for a moment and sighed, looking both regretful and helpless. At last, he relented.
“If that’s what you wish… I’ll respect your decision, Master Lu. Please rise.”
“Thank you for understanding, Prince!” Lu Buwei straightened.
He quickly composed himself, stepped aside, and spoke with his usual brisk confidence. “Prince, Madam, we shouldn’t linger here. The carriages are ready. We must set off for Xianyang at once. The royal grandson is waiting there.”
Meanwhile, in Handan, Bian Zi was reclining on a couch in his hall, turning over an intricately inlaid bronze wine cup given to him not long before by the Qin caravan. He was in an excellent mood.
“Senior Official! Something terrible has happened!”
A panicked cry and hurried footsteps rang out. A soldier stumbled into the hall and fell at Bian Zi’s feet.
Bian Zi frowned and looked up, displeased. “Why are you making such a fuss? Have you no sense of decorum?”
“Senior Official, the mother and son are gone! The ones from the courtyard you told us to watch so closely.” The soldier’s face was deathly pale, his voice shaking.
The wine cup in Bian Zi’s hand clattered onto the table, spilling wine across it.
He sprang to his feet, spots swimming before his eyes. “When did they disappear? Did anyone see them?”
How could this have happened? He had ordered his men to keep the Qin caravan under close watch, and they hadn’t seen the mother and son at all—not even by the time the caravan left Handan.
“I—I don’t know,” the soldier stammered, shaking his head miserably.
A chill shot from the soles of Bian Zi’s feet to the crown of his head. His scalp prickled. He shoved past his men and shouted, “Prepare the carriage! No—prepare a horse!”
Before long, Bian Zi and his men were kicking in the gate of the secluded courtyard. The yard stood empty. The doors and windows were shut tight, and the whole place seemed dead.
Bian Zi’s face turned livid. He stood in the courtyard until dizziness swept over him and the world spun. He grabbed hold of the subordinate beside him to keep from falling.
“Search! Search the whole place!” he ground out.
The fierce-looking soldiers stormed into the main room and side chambers, turning over every box and cabinet. They found only odds and ends and a little money. Ying Zheng and Zhao Ji had vanished.
A soldier rushed out of a side room, shouting, “There’s writing here!”
Bian Zi didn’t wait for anything else. He strode into the room and went straight to the table.
An old, plain garment lay on it.
Bian Zi’s pupils contracted. He snatched it up and shook it open. Several lines had been written in vermilion in the lower right corner.
The handwriting was childish, yet wild and unconstrained, almost arrogant.
The hawk soars to the sky; the fish leaps in the depths. Zheng has gone west. Don’t worry. We will meet again one day.
Beneath it was a smaller line, each character like a needle driving into Bian Zi’s eyes.
When Qin’s soldiers come to Handan, this may yet keep your head on your shoulders.
“Argh!” Bian Zi was consumed by rage. His face went from green to red to purple, his chest heaving. He hurled the garment to the ground and, still not satisfied, stamped on it again and again.
“You brat! How dare you humiliate me! How dare you!”
He spun around and rushed outside, determined to mobilize his men and search the whole city. He would dig up every inch of ground if he had to.
A short while later, Bian Zi came stiffly back inside, his face still livid. His bloodshot eyes fixed on the old garment, now filthy from being trampled.
He bent down in silence and picked it up by the corner.
Five years earlier, Qin’s army had reached the walls of Handan. If Lord Xinling hadn’t stolen Wei’s military tally, killed Jin Bi, and led eighty thousand Wei troops to join forces with the Chu army under Lord Chunshen, Qin’s forces would have crushed the city.
Ying Zheng was only a brat now. But what if…?
“Go,” Bian Zi rasped to his silent subordinates.
He said nothing more and strode away first.
