Chapter 19

Inside the carriage, waves of emotion surged. The Crown Prince’s expression appeared unusually calm, yet beneath it lay a heavy restraint.

Wen Biesang rolled down the window and gazed outside. Behind him, Chang San pressed his face against the glass, looking around at the long-unseen Shengjing and even waving.

“Sit properly,” a voice instructed.

Wen Biesang withdrew his gaze and shifted slightly toward the door, lowering his head. His fluttering eyelashes seemed to stir the air. Cheng Ying said softly, “Why sit so far away?”

Wen Biesang looked at him. Gong Wuchang’s demeanor had shifted again. Moments ago, when they boarded the carriage, he had been in a better mood—expressing thanks sincerely. Wen Biesang remained silent. Cheng Ying gently urged, “Come here.”

Wen Biesang stayed still, clutching a dagger with caution. Cheng Ying’s heart tightened; he took out a package wrapped in oil paper, opened it, and handed it over. Wen Biesang glanced inside and found a handful of dried fruit. His heart stirred.

From recent dealings with Gong Wuchang, he understood the gesture as a sign of goodwill. He shifted closer, watching Gong Wuchang’s expression carefully. Again, Gong Wuchang extended the package toward him. Wen Biesang pinched a piece of dried apple and placed it in his mouth.

The oil paper was withdrawn, and Cheng Ying gently patted the seat beside him. Wen Biesang chewed half of the fruit, then moved closer a second time. Cheng Ying quietly held the dried fruit; Wen Biesang looked at him each time he took a piece. No smile came, no anger—only a blank expression.

He said nothing, leaving Wen Biesang unable to fathom his thoughts. Fortunately, after a while, the carriage came to a halt. Chang Xingzhu knocked outside. Wen Biesang immediately grabbed Mu Li, bent low, and slipped out. Cheng Ying helped him down; as he landed, his knee bent painfully.

“Are you alright?” Chang Xingzhu asked.

“I’m fine,” Wen Biesang straightened, his tone much lighter. “Just a bit sore.”

“Hey, did you bring this on yourself? Why didn’t you take a faster horse when you fled? That old nag’s so slow—if it’s not you, who else could it catch?”

“He didn’t have a horse originally; you gave him one.”

“…That’s harsh,” muttered Chang Xingzhu. “We’re really unlucky.”

Shengjing after the snow was a sea of white, and the ice rink was packed. Chang Xingzhu quickly perked up, cheering as he grabbed Wen Biesang’s hand and ran toward the rink. Pang Qi followed, catching up and prying their tightly clasped hands apart.

Cheng Ying sat impassively inside the carriage in his princely robes, watching through the window. Qi Song, feeling the cold air drop steadily around him, suggested, “Perhaps I should find a tailor’s shop and buy some clothes for Your Highness?”

The Crown Prince’s attire was conspicuous; joining the lively crowd now might cause tension.

Cheng Ying replied coldly, “I’m just looking.”

Meanwhile, Lou Zhaozi’s carriage had already turned back, and Qi Song dared not leave the prince’s side.

Originally, today’s journey was for court attendance. With many patrol guards inside the imperial city, security was assured. Only six or seven skilled attendants accompanied the carriage. Venturing outside the city was unplanned.

Cheng Ying sat inside, plucking a raisin from the opened oil paper and placing it in his mouth.

“Where did you buy these dried fruits?”

“The same shop Your Highness used to favor.”

The oil paper was extended out the window again. Qi Song pinched a piece, tasting it. “No different from before.”

“I find it sour,” Cheng Ying remarked.

Qi Song reluctantly took back the package and rewrapped it. The carriage window slid open once more, and the prince peered out from the slit.

Wen Biesang was already seated beside the ice rink, holding ice skates, looking them over as if seeing them for the first time. Chang Xingzhu couldn’t bear it and snatched them away to help strap them on his feet. Pang Qi immediately pressed close, eager to assist, until Chang Xingzhu lost patience and shoved him three feet away.

Wen Biesang sat dumbfounded in the snow, a bitter expression of feeling unworthy of imperial grace.

Chang Xingzhu fully claimed the task of fitting Wen Biesang’s skates.

Qi Song’s neck hairs stood on end. “Your Highness, perhaps I should send someone to buy you some regular clothes?”

“I’m just looking.”

“…”

Lou Zhaozi’s carriage returned, and as he jumped down, he held a small package. “Your Highness, I have brought the clothes!”

Qi Song cautioned, “Your Highness did not intend to ice skate today.”

His outstretched hand froze mid-air.

Lou Zhaozi hurried on, “A look won’t hurt. This is the first snowfall of winter. Your Highness is well-known on the ice; naturally, you won’t compete with commoners.”

The clothes were snatched inside the carriage.

Soon, the Crown Prince removed his jeweled crown, changed out of his court robes, bowed, and stepped out of the carriage. Qi Song moved forward to assist, whispering, “Your Highness, today’s carriage is too conspicuous, and the rink is outside the city…”

“No reports from the spies recently.”

“Still, caution is best.”

After all, someone within Shengjing wished him dead.

“He manages city defenses; if anything happens to me in the streets, he cannot escape responsibility.”

Cheng Ying walked toward the crowd. His attendants followed closely but were stopped. “Don’t trail too near.”

Wen Biesang stood unsteadily after donning the skates, testing his balance before sitting back down anxiously.

Chang Xingzhu, having changed as well, declared, “Our Northern Border soldiers all excel at ice walking. Not to brag, but few in Shengjing can match me… Come, give me your hand and watch my prowess!”

Wen Biesang hesitated before extending his hand. Chang Xingzhu said, “Don’t be afraid; hold tight. I won’t let you fall.”

His grip was strong. Wen Biesang tentatively transferred his weight, but suddenly Chang Xingzhu lunged forward, shifted his center of gravity backward, and fell hard to the ground.

Startled, Wen Biesang recoiled and quickly sat back down.

Cheng Ying approached calmly, folding his fingers behind him, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh? You haven’t even started, and you’ve already fallen.”

“I—I felt someone pushed me…”

Chang Xingzhu’s face flushed red. Looking around, no one was near.

“It must be because I’m too heavy.”

“No, it’s not you. I really felt someone kicked my skate…”

“Enough,” Cheng Ying’s tone softened. “Leave him to me. Go show off on the ice.”

Chang Xingzhu grumbled as he stood. “That little dream demon, you’re going with him?”

Wen Biesang nodded softly. Mu Li veiled his face, hiding his expression.

Chang Xingzhu was about to say more when Cheng Ying pushed him toward the rink. The athletes on the ice skillfully dodged and weaved. Chang Xingzhu twisted his waist, weaving through them, until he spotted a familiar face.

“Song Qianfan? Are you Song Qianfan?”

“Who are you?”

“Me? Chang San!”

“Chang San? Chang Xingzhu? Ping An! Look who’s here!”

“Qi Ping An came too?”

“He’s right there!”

A lively reunion took place on the ice. In front of Wen Biesang, someone crouched down.

Cheng Ying leaned close, his forehead touching the veil of Mu Li’s draped silk. “If you’re going on the ice, it’s best to remove this.”

He reached out his hand but was swatted away by Wen Biesang.

Cheng Ying paused. “No one will make you cry today, I promise.”

Through the veil, Wen Biesang met his gaze.

Perhaps because the silk softened the look, he found Gong Wuchang’s eyes unusually gentle.

“I’m worthless. Even if no one bothers me, I still cry.”

Cheng Ying was speechless.

Words spoken upon their first meeting had returned like a boomerang.

“You… do you have a really good memory?”

“Not really,” Wen Biesang replied. “I just remember things more clearly when they hurt.”

With that, he loosened his skates, rose, and left the rink directly to return the skates.

He hadn’t come out today intending to skate, but because he got along well with Chang Xingzhu, who had helped him repeatedly, he had reluctantly tried.

If Gong Wuchang had taken him onto the ice, it would have been better not to skate at all.

Cheng Ying watched his retreating figure softly. “Am I… too polite to him?”

Turning his face away, Pang Qi hurriedly changed the subject. “I ordered men to follow that night watchman and found he entered the Prime Minister’s residence.”

“Oh?”

“To avoid mistakes, I also checked those who frequently left the residence to shop. Lately, many have been inquiring about the dream demon, including some from the Prime Minister’s household. It’s hard to guess what the Zhou family intends.”

“Some?”

“Exactly,” Pang Qi murmured. “The others are imperial relatives, all curious about Master Wen’s fate in the Crown Prince’s residence…”

“…Such tedious people.”

Many ships were docked at the city outskirts’ wharf, surrounded by bustling stalls thriving in business. Some vendors sat on the ground with cloths spread out, selling their goods loudly.

Wen Biesang moved among them, his gaze drawn repeatedly to the water.

A medium-sized vessel bore a red flame emblem, catching his attention.

He glanced around. Amid the clamor, he realized Cheng Ying was following him at a discreet distance.

He withdrew his gaze, bought a paper pinwheel from a nearby vendor, and stood at the water’s edge, holding it up as the wind caught and spun it.

In winter by the water, only bare tree trunks remained, their branches weighed down by snow. When the wind blew, snowflakes scattered wildly.

Mu Li’s silken veil fluttered in the breeze, mingling with the waist-length jet-black hair, making him seem as if he might ride the wind away.

Cheng Ying stood beside him.

Suddenly, the wind ceased. Wen Biesang stared at the pinwheel in his hand, motionless for a long moment.

“Whoosh—”

Cheng Ying blew gently on it. The pinwheel began to spin, and soon the wind returned, turning it ceaselessly.

“You said you’d let me go when my leg healed.”

“I meant to let you handle your own affairs.”

“I want to do my own things now.”

“This wharf lies outside the city; most ships carry dangerous goods—unprocessed flammable minerals, materials for firearms, fireworks, and some vessels without the capital’s river transport permits, forced to dock here. What were you looking for among them?”

The pinwheel whirred loudly, incessantly noisy.

Mu Li’s veil suddenly fluttered onto Cheng Ying’s face. His delicately curved nose traced beneath it; his slightly parted lips breathed through the thin silk, moistening it faintly.

Cheng Ying’s brows lowered, his gaze sharpening.

“Splash—”

The snow had just begun to fall; the water had not frozen yet.

The pinwheel slipped into the water, drifting with the ripples.

Wen Biesang clenched his sleeve.

Cheng Ying cast his eyes toward the ships on the water, as if asking—or perhaps speaking to himself—“Your own affairs… what is it you want to do?”

“I’m hungry.”

He left the water’s edge and sat down at a small stall selling fish noodles nearby.