Ye Jiao's once rosy cheeks had now turned deathly pale. Her sparkling, peach-blossom eyes widened in an instant, the onyx pupils contracting sharply. Her lips parted slightly, revealing an expression of utter disbelief. Outside the city gates, the bustling noise continued unabated, yet Ye Jiao's solemn figure seemed frozen in place, her fox fur cloak the only thing trembling softly on her shoulders. Li Jing laughed wildly in his heart. Excellent, she's frightened. Whether Ye Jiao still harbored feelings for Xiao Jiu or not, the two had shared tender moments. Women, after all, are more nostalgic than men—and far easier to deceive.
Li Jing maintained a facade of grief, preparing to turn and leave. Once he reached the carriage, he would laugh to his heart's content. But at that moment, Ye Jiao suddenly grasped his collar.
"Prince Zhao…" Her voice emerged through clenched teeth, imbued with the solemn authority of an interrogator. "You've never gnawed on a chicken leg, have you?"
"What… do you mean?" Li Jing panicked. What did chicken legs have to do with anything?
Seeing his fluster, Ye Jiao's certainty only grew: "If you had, you'd know the leg is the tastiest part of the bird. By analogy, a person's leg would be the best part too. So what kind of beast would leave the leg behind after devouring a person? You're clearly lying to me!" Her voice rose, sharp and fierce as if trying to banish some deep-seated dread with sheer volume.
Terrified, Li Jing wrenched free and dashed toward the carriage. Ye Jiao pursued him, relentlessly striking his back and shoulders—her palm strikes painful enough to force him into the carriage, where he slammed the curtain shut, gasping.
"Believe it if you want!" Li Jing said guiltily. "Soon enough, the Imperial Guards will carry back his corpse—his thigh."
Hearing his nonsense, Ye Jiao drew her blade with a sharp snap. Li Jing shouted, "Run!" The carriage sped off faster than a rabbit, shedding curtains and parts as it fled. Li Jing barely had time to gather himself, knowing the carriage was likely falling apart by the way it tore through the streets.
Ye Jiao waved her sword at his retreating figure.
"What's going on? What's going on?" Bai Xianyu approached, terror etched on his face. "Whose thigh fell off?"
"No one's!" Ye Jiao snapped, still fuming. "It's Prince Zhao Li Jing who doesn't want to live anymore."
Bai Xianyu grimaced and stepped back. Well, clearly it was better to curry favor with Ye Jiao than with the prince. Look at that—she even dared to strike a royal.
News of Ye Jiao's beating of Li Jing at the city gate swiftly spread to the palace. For the censorate, though they didn't need proof to "hear and report," they couldn't just impeach officials recklessly. Daily, they strained to find faults among colleagues—a thankless task—but they couldn't remain silent during morning court, after all, no salary came without effort.
Since Ye Jiao became an official, the censors had struck gold. Beyond the initial chaos of her patrols, from throwing dung at the Zhao prince's mansion, booking out the Huachao Brothel, to gambling in broad daylight, the censors just had to watch Ye Jiao's every move to reap rewards.
Today, a censor gathered several days' worth of evidence, aiming to swiftly urge the martial marquis of Tang to replace the man in command.
"Beating the Zhao Prince?" The emperor's composed yet stern gaze bore a mix of anger and curiosity.
"Yes," the censor raised his tablet. "The Zhao Prince fled to his carriage in fear of that formidable woman."
"What formidable woman?" a courtier immediately objected. "She is now the Martial Marquis of Tang; she should not be called a mere scold."
The censor admitted his phrasing was harsh and hastened to report another matter.
"Recently, inspections at the city gates have grown increasingly peculiar. Just days ago, when the Chu Prince left the city for disaster relief, the Martial Marquis inspected him several times, even demanding he strip for a search. Such an insult to the royal family is intolerable. I propose impeaching the Martial Marquis for impropriety and for using her office to settle personal scores…"
"Wait," the emperor interrupted, leaning forward as if to catch every word. "You said… a search? How was it conducted?"
"Stripped bare." The censor's voice was tinged with shame and anger. Such moral decline—to have a woman so brazen under the broad daylight.
The emperor nodded thoughtfully, his tension easing. "Explain this thoroughly."
That was all that mattered. Li Jing's beating was trivial. Turning to the chief eunuch, the emperor was handed tea.
Ye Jiao was distracted. During breakfast, her mother had mentioned receiving another letter from her brother, who would return home soon. Ye Rou was overjoyed; Ye Jiao merely nodded.
After the meal, she mistakenly took the wrong horse out of the stable. Just as she left, the maid Shui Wen chased after her with her ever-present sword.
"Miss, you look exhausted. Maybe you should stay in today."
The Martial Marquis didn't need to report punctually, and on quiet days Ye Jiao often went only half a day.
"I'm going," Ye Jiao said firmly. "I need to keep busy."
Keeping busy meant not thinking of Li Ce, not worrying for him, not fretting over her own meddling nature. What did his fate have to do with her? Disaster relief was just that—how could anything go wrong?
Ye Jiao remembered his refusal of the arranged marriage; every word had made her want to stab him. Enough, no more thought.
Yet as she turned onto Zhuque Avenue, she nearly fell into a gutter. Startled, she pulled her horse around and heard someone calling a warning.
Ye Jiao turned to thank them, but the man, upon seeing her, fled.
How could two legs outrun four? Ye Jiao spurred her horse and intercepted him.
"Wang Qianshan!" she demanded fiercely, "Why run?"
The fleeing man was the Taoist Wang Qianshan.
"Oh, Miss Ye…" Wang Qianshan stood stiffly in his cyan robe, like a bamboo stalk. "I've been dizzy and lightheaded lately, failing to recognize faces."
His eyes were fine; he was just afraid of Ye Jiao. When she'd previously inquired about Li Ce, he'd dodged the question with vague talk of his master. Now if she asked again, he didn't know what he'd do.
Ye Jiao dismounted and pulled a slip of paper and a pouch of silver from her sleeve.
"Calculate this birthday," she said, handing him the money and the note containing Li Ce's birth details—taken from the imperial archives.
"A birthdate…" Wang Qianshan scanned it, then said faintly, "This chart looks familiar. This person's fate lacks wood."
"I'm not asking what's missing," Ye Jiao interrupted. "I want to know if there is any imminent disaster."
That was what truly concerned her.
Wang Qianshan held out his right hand, his thumb rapidly tapping the joints of his other fingers, eyes half-closed, muttering incantations. After a moment, he stopped and looked up at the sky in puzzlement.
"Well?" Ye Jiao pressed.
His expression grew serious, then blank. "I reach a critical point, and my mind goes utterly empty—as if something is blocking me, as if I've encountered a taboo."
Ye Jiao's heart tightened.
"What taboo? Are you deceiving me?"
Wang Qianshan inhaled deeply and stubbornly resumed his calculations, raising his hand high, eyes closed tightly, silent. Time passed.
His face flushed crimson; his fingers stiffened and spread apart as he murmured, "Why… am I forbidden to divine? What forbids me?"
Suddenly, he seemed to realize something, his expression both horrified and reverent. He stepped back as if to immediately bow to heaven.
Ye Jiao suspected trickery and opened her mouth to speak, but Wang Qianshan stared blankly into space and solemnly intoned,
"My fate is mine, not governed by heaven or earth. I see not, hear not, know not. The divine is unborn, eternal with the Dao. I share one breath with heaven and earth, guarding my roots."
Ye Jiao recognized the passage—it was from the Taoist master Laozi's Xi Sheng Jing.
"Stop reciting scriptures at me," she said, tugging his sleeve. But Wang Qianshan, in a trance, continued forward, chanting as if possessed,
"My fate is mine, not governed by heaven or earth. I see not, hear not…"
"What does that mean?" Ye Jiao stomped in frustration, still pulling him back from the gutter.
After many repetitions, Wang Qianshan finally regained clarity and returned the silver pouch.
"Miss Ye, this man is unusually tenacious, unlike ordinary people. He disbelieves heaven and refuses fate. His destiny constantly shifts—one moment endless longevity, the next, imminent death. I cannot divine further. Seek out another seer."
Wang Qianshan seemed somewhat defeated but also enlightened. His eyes shone brightly as he murmured to himself, then strode toward the city outskirts.
"You're not returning to the Zhao Prince's mansion?" Ye Jiao asked.
Since arriving in the capital, Wang Qianshan had been supported by the Zhao estate.
He shook his head, calling out loudly, "Fine silks and sumptuous food are no match for enduring wind and rain, for plunging into hardship—that is the path to enlightenment, the way to immortality."
"Fair enough," Ye Jiao sighed, clutching the reins. "At least I saved Li Jing some money."
But what did Li Ce's birth chart truly mean? Could he perhaps ascend to immortality even sooner than Wang Qianshan?
Taking a deep breath, Ye Jiao tightened her grip on the reins.