Ye Jiao stood rooted to the spot, not moving an inch toward the carriage. Her expression bore the solemnity of one dutiful to her post, yet her gaze bypassed Li Ce's carriage entirely, instead falling upon Qingfeng with concern.
"You were injured yesterday—are you feeling any better?"
Just the day before, on Mount Yangquan, Qingfeng had sustained a brutal beating while trying to stop Yan Jide. After only a night's rest, he was already bounding about as though nothing had happened.
Caught off guard by her kindness, Qingfeng quickly responded, "Grateful for the Marquis's concern—I'm nearly recovered."
Grasping the carriage curtain, he deftly steered the conversation back to Li Ce. "Our Prince was also injured. Might I suggest the Marquis be a touch more cautious when searching the carriage this time?"
Go on, search it, show a little concern—maybe then you two will reconcile.
Ye Jiao nodded at his words. Qingfeng, suppressing his excitement, lifted the curtain eagerly, waiting for her to step inside.
But instead, she turned to Bai Xianyu beside her. "Little Fish, you search it. Be gentle—don't damage His Highness."
Though the words seemed considerate, her calm, indifferent tone gave the impression of someone warning a mischievous child: Don't kick that tree. Don't jump into that filthy ditch. Don't torment the poor toad.
Clutching his handwarmer, Bai Xianyu obediently agreed and approached the carriage. Qingfeng's hand hovered awkwardly in the air. Just as he was about to drop the curtain, Bai Xianyu slipped inside with practiced ease.
"Marquis…" Qingfeng called after her against the biting wind, sounding somewhat unwilling. "You're not searching it yourself?"
Ye Jiao smiled faintly and shook her head. "Though I now serve as a court official, propriety still matters between men and women. Better to avoid unnecessary suspicion."
Is that truly so?
Qingfeng's face darkened. Under his breath, he muttered, "But last time, when clothes had to be removed for the search, there was no talk of propriety…"
What had happened between them? It certainly seemed his master had fallen out of favor.
Rubbing his frostbitten cheeks and brushing the snow from his shoulders, Qingfeng drooped in spirit—like a maidservant from the Cold Palace, her mistress spurned, the future bleak. He felt aggrieved for his lord, yet disappointed in his passivity, and suddenly had nothing left to say.
Inside the carriage, Bai Xianyu wasn't faring much better. He stooped upon entry and found Li Ce seated by the window. His complexion was pale, and the small brazier by his side flickered weakly. Though swathed in furs, there was an undeniable air of desolation about him.
Bai Xianyu maintained his usual tactful stance, smiling as he spoke. "Just a routine inspection, Your Highness. Naturally, there's no need to actually search. I'll be on my way."
But Li Ce stopped him. "Captain Bai," he said gently, "I will be gone for over a month, even at the fastest pace. There is something I wish to entrust to you."
Bai Xianyu bowed lower. "Your Highness need only command—I shall carry out your will as faithfully as a hound or steed."
He listened closely, nodding throughout, and agreed to everything without hesitation. When he emerged from the carriage, he felt inexplicably taller, his chest puffed with pride. Things were going well—two princes now entrusted him with personal matters.
Prince Zhao had asked him not to pursue Ye Jiao. As for Prince Chu—well, that too concerned Ye Jiao.
See? She really was his lucky star.
Li Ce's carriage creaked through the city gates. Snow billowed and layered, framing the carriage roof with a soft silver edge. Bai Xianyu ambled back and reported to Ye Jiao.
"Search completed. Even if it meant offending Prince Chu, I would obey only you, my Lady."
Ye Jiao gave a weighty nod, a faint smile playing at her lips. "I'll gift you one of the Turkic horses the Emperor awarded me."
When she had first taken office and captured Zong Quanwu at the gate, the Emperor had rewarded her with two horses. She rode one herself, while the other remained at the garrison. That one was particularly delicate—requiring special care and fine feed daily, and the garrison could barely afford to keep it.
"Truly?" Bai Xianyu leapt into the air, slipping on the snow as he landed and nearly falling.
"Go fetch it," Ye Jiao waved him off, and off he ran, not sparing another second.
With the nuisance gone, Ye Jiao climbed the city wall. The road was straight but the snowy visibility poor. Squinting into the distance, she spotted Li Ce's carriage moving sluggishly, still dozens of yards away.
She swept a handful of snow from the battlement, formed it into a ball, and hurled it toward the carriage.
Smack!
The snowball struck the side of the carriage. It stopped. Qingfeng jumped down, glanced around bewilderedly, and climbed back up when he found no culprit.
This time, the carriage picked up speed. Ye Jiao fired off snowball after snowball, laughing until the carriage was a faint dot on the horizon, growing smaller and smaller.
"Scoundrel…" she muttered, rubbing her frozen hands.
"Marquis, please use this."
A soft voice sounded behind her. She turned to find a young officer holding out a handwarmer.
Its heat was just right—warm enough to spread instantly through her body without scalding her hands.
Ye Jiao found him vaguely familiar. "What's your name? Where are you stationed?"
The young man raised his eyes, reverence and gratitude shining within them. He knelt and said, "Marquis, it's me—Lin Jing, one of Captain Bai's men."
He looked about seventeen or eighteen, roughly Ye Jiao's height. Slender, perhaps from hardship, his expression remained timid and tense. If he gained some weight and eased that furrowed brow, he might grow into a rather handsome young man.
Ye Jiao remembered him. On her first day in office, he had been tied to the training stakes by Bai Xianyu for theft. He had warned her of an ambush, then been beaten by Zong Quanwu at the gate. She had rescued him and sent him home to recover.
"Are your injuries healed?" she asked.
Lin Jing's voice was barely a whisper. "Thanks to you, my Lady, I survived. Whatever you command in the future, I will repay this grace with all I am."
Ye Jiao gestured for him to rise. "The ground is cold," she said. "Your wounds are still healing—don't kneel too long. Follow me from now on. Do your duty well, live honorably—that is how you repay the garrison."
With those words, she descended the wall, Lin Jing bowing low behind her, too nervous to steal a glance.
In the swirling snow, his fingers opened slightly, letting the chill ground his excitement.
Did… the Marquis truly care about him?
Lin Jing looked down at his own worn self and felt warmth surge through him.
Later that day, on his way home, Lin Jing was cornered by a group of men.
"Well, well, look who finally showed up!" the leader spat. "Same rules tonight—you stand guard, we hit the roof."
"Hit the roof," of course, meant thieving.
Lin Jing's family was destitute—his father dead, his mother long sick. The garrison paid little. Desperate, he had often collaborated with these street rogues, letting them steal during his watch and taking a share afterward.
"Not anymore," he said quietly, standing in the snow-dusted alley. "I'm a Marquis's guard now. I won't aid theft again."
The gang stared, then burst into laughter.
"You serious?" they howled. "You planning to starve to death?"
Lin Jing flushed under their ridicule, forcing a faint smile. A part of him wavered. He had always been isolated, bullied. Joining the garrison had changed nothing. These rogues were the ones who had treated him like a brother, who praised him, who found him money.
Turning them down now felt like betrayal.
They approached. The leader slung an arm over his shoulders and laughed. "You've been out with injuries—none of us dared make a move without you. But now? Tonight, tomorrow, the next day—thirty days of big scores ahead!"
Lin Jing stood frozen, their words echoing in his mind.
Tonight, tomorrow, the next day…
They weren't planning just thirty days. If he gave in today, he'd be a traitor to the garrison for life.
"I…"
His fists clenched within his sleeves—