Chapter Forty-Two: Chen Mian

Jiang Lan quickened her pace as if chased by a little ghost. In the end, even Yu Yuan had no choice but to jog after her. Just as they exited the Imperial Garden and reached the front hall, they encountered the grand procession swaying along with a palanquin.

The retinue numbered over a hundred, all armed guards flanking the procession, while thirty palace attendants shouldered the palanquin. The palace road, broad enough for an army, seemed suddenly cramped and narrow.

The palanquin’s base was carved with intricate patterns and adorned with precious gems, exuding extravagant opulence. Seated within was a man in his thirties. Even from afar, he radiated heroic bearing; his back remained straight, and a murderous aura surged about him despite his seated posture.

His eyes, naturally alluring like blooming peach blossoms, hid a cold gleam. One sensed his ruthless decisiveness. Jiang Lan arched her brow—not at the oppressive presence he exuded, but at the faint traces of violet energy between his brows.

As expected, this must be the restless Prince Anping.

Indeed, anyone able to contend against the Empress Dowager and the young Emperor in court could not be ordinary; it seemed fate had granted him a slim chance in this power struggle.

Jiang Lan and the eunuch Yu Yuan retreated to the wall, yielding the palace road.

As the son of a marquis, Jiang Lan bowed respectfully, yet his head remained unlowered, turned slightly aside. The palanquin stopped right before him, and, catching this in his peripheral vision, his lips twitched. He turned and met a pair of deep, inscrutable eyes.

"Young Lord of the Marquis of Wei?"

"Your Highness Prince Anping."

Jiang Lan stepped forward to pay his respects. After all, the prince was a regent, and to others, even if he was an imperial relative, he was still but a young, unripe scion.

"Yesterday, you were quite bold, Young Lord. For the sake of your cousin, you spoke outrageously, declaring you'd rather be a scoundrel than a gentleman just to strike a woman. Now all of Jiankang is talking about your 'achievement'!"

Prince Anping’s words were cold, devoid of warmth, commanding respect without anger, frightening many.

Jiang Lan frowned, his left thumb rubbing his forefinger as he pondered what Prince Anping was up to. Yesterday, the Feathered Guards went to the capital office but said nothing—if he wanted to intervene, he could have said so.

Now, did he want to make a scene, throw an olive branch to the Fang family? But that matter was settled—was this failed recruitment, venting on him?

The Empress Dowager had already "disciplined" him publicly in the palace, sentencing him to study quietly at the Imperial Academy, cultivating virtue and giving the Fang family due face. Why... was Prince Anping dissatisfied?

Giving face to the Fang family?

Was he here for words or for blows?

Jiang Lan glanced at the eunuch beside him for guidance, only to find the old fellow bowed and silent, offering no help.

Jiang Lan’s thoughts twisted and turned—could this old fox be a double agent?

Had he avoided Lady Shang by accident, only to stumble upon Prince Anping’s audience? Was it truly such coincidence!

No time for further reflection—the gaze from above was too piercing. Jiang Lan could feel the cowardice deep within the original body.

Yet, after twenty million years of swagger, Jiang Lan’s mischievous, unruly spirit was far from extinguished.

"Your Highness flatters me."

"……"

Prince Anping looked at the youth whose frame had yet to fully develop, seeming playful yet hiding pride and defiance. When had that frail child grown into this?

If not for Ah Yu's reminder, he would never have noticed this "sickly" boy whom a mere glance could frighten into fainting.

"I did not praise you."

Jiang Lan felt awkward—couldn’t Prince Anping just play along? Why tear off the mask? Although he was the Empress Dowager's nephew, he had not truly joined any faction.

Since you refuse, do not blame me for being unyielding!

"So what does Your Highness mean? Should I, when my sister is in danger, stand aside, observing coldly in the name of gentlemanly propriety, forsaking family? Can such a villain be called a gentleman?"

"……Is that what I meant?"

Jiang Lan’s face showed anger; he swept his sleeve and struck his own guard across the face, declaring loudly, "Such a person, I am ashamed to associate with!"

"Young Lord, Young Lord..."

Yu Yuan hurriedly apologized to Prince Anping, shaking his aged limbs as he chased after Jiang Lan.

The guard, struck by Jiang Lan, stepped forward, "Young Lord Jiang is behaving improperly, Your Highness, shall I detain him?"

Prince Anping waved his hand, "He is but a youth, possessing some scholar's integrity, wears his feelings openly and lacks guile, not fit for great tasks. Such a person is of no concern."

The guard hesitated, "But the Young Lord said..."

Prince Anping swept his gaze around, and those nearby instinctively withdrew.

"Ah Yu has always been cautious and thoughtful since childhood; this time he was too careful."

Prince Anping played with a string of fine Lantian jade beads, each perfectly formed—a gift from a southern governor facing trouble.

"With Jiang Jie dead, the glory of the Marquis of Wei's mansion is over; it no longer has the aura of Jiankang’s foremost clan."

"But this Young Lord Jiang?"

"This child was ruined by old Jiang Wu since he was young. With such weak constitution, Jiang Jie’s tens of thousands of troops... he stands no chance."

"I don’t understand why the Marquis would treat his own grandson so? Is it just to confuse spies in the mansion?"

Chen Mian shook his head, lengthening his sleeves to cover the beads.

"Old Jiang Wu exhausted all his strength and the clan’s resources to raise the brilliant eldest son, yet he died in the Hexi Corridor. Jiang Lan is Jiang Jie’s only heir, backed by the northwest’s great army. If raised well, he’d not survive past seven."

"The Marquis cannot bear to lose his bloodline?"

This time, Prince Anping neither nodded nor shook his head, merely gazed at the palace sky. "Who knows? The old fox is ruthless—to his children, to himself even more... I’ve pondered his mind for decades and never understood it."

He waved two fingers lightly, straightened his court robe. "Come, let’s see how His Majesty is doing with his studies."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Elsewhere along the palace road, Jiang Lan strode away, head held high, not caring for the eunuch chasing him.

"Young Lord, Young Lord..."

Jiang Lan ignored him, seeing a bend ahead; he swiftly moved to shake off the bothersome Yu Yuan.

Yu Yuan lifted his robe and hurried toward the palace gate, where Jiang Lan stood waiting.

"Young Lord, let me explain—"

"Shh!" Jiang Lan silenced him.

Yu Yuan followed Jiang Lan’s gaze. "Young Master Gu!"

Jiang Lan’s brows arched, watching the figure alight from the Gu family’s carriage at the palace entrance.

The curtain lifted slightly, revealing a simple interior: pure white fox fur laid out, a purple copper incense burner nearby. Comfortable yet understated. What caught the eye first was a flawless hand, slender fingers distinct, like porcelain, seemingly fragile.

It was already February. The man wore a moon-white wood pear robe, draped in a silver fox cloak, his right hand touching his lips.

Was he coughing?

Yu Yuan muttered, "Young Master Gu has been ill for days. He said he was frightened by ruffians on his way to the capital."

"Is that so?" Jiang Lan glanced at Yu Yuan.

"Young Master Gu is a prodigy, loved by the late emperor—he composed poetry at three, passed the imperial exam at ten... Now not yet twenty-five, his learning rivals the imperial tutor Fang. Most remarkable, he is not only versed in history and classics but has achieved much in the Book of Changes. Even the Grand Diviner of the Imperial Observatory wishes to take him as a teacher."

"I see his complexion is pale, not merely frightened."

Yu Yuan sighed, "Heaven envies talent. Young Master Gu suffers from a congenital weakness, has always been so—a porcelain man. And with such fine looks, all the noble ladies of Jiankang are enamored..."

Jiang Lan nodded, "Indeed, he has a fine appearance..."

Gu Ruo had not yet disembarked; beside him stood a towering man, muscular and lean, holding a massive black fan.

Jiang Lan looked up. The spring sun was gentle, warming the skin but not scorching.

This illness seemed severe. Thinking back to that embrace, it had felt cold—he once thought the man’s temperament aloof, but now it was clear: weak constitution, early death.

Yet why did he so resemble the man from her dreams? Except for the water-drop mark on his brow.

That stranger who called her "Yao Yao"—Jiang Lan pressed her chest. After ten thousand years as a wandering soul, whenever she recalled that figure and those blurred dreams, her heart throbbed painfully.

Indeed, she had forgotten something.

But Jiang Lan clenched her hands, nails biting into flesh. These things no longer mattered...

At the palace gate, the burning pain in her arm surged, more intense than before.

Clenching her teeth, Jiang Lan endured the agony and turned toward her own carriage.

"Young Master?"

Li Ming reminded.

Gu Ruo withdrew his gaze. "Let’s go."

"Yes." Li Ming glanced in the direction his master had just looked; aside from a departing carriage, nothing was there. Was he imagining things?

Suppressing his doubts, Li Ming followed his master into the towering palace walls.

Sweat streaming, Jiang Lan lifted the curtain, letting the chill spring wind into the carriage. Her soul and body trembled together; even the sweat beading on her pores ceased.

Inside, a blaze burned fiercely, while the cold outside pierced to the bone.

Between ice and fire, pain and fever were deeply hidden, pressed down.

Weakly, she looked at the carriage, head turned toward the window, repeatedly refusing the persistent eunuch who insisted on escorting her back to the mansion. Sharing the carriage, Jiang Lan could not let him notice her abnormal state.

Leaving the palace, the newly awakened fate violently drew the energy of heaven and earth into the wound on Jiang Lan’s arm, splitting the small lotus of merit that had gathered above her.

Her pale lips curled with a bitter smile: So, it still isn’t enough.