Unyielding Spring Mountains - Chapter 91: Newly Widowed

Chapter 91: Newly Widowed

Wei Zhen stared at the bamboo slip, feeling as though a part of her heart had been hollowed out.

If Qi Yan had truly fallen into the Yellow River, such a momentous matter would inevitably spread quickly—there was little chance this message was false.

In her previous life, Ji Wo had drowned in the Yellow River. Even at the end, no one ever found a trace of him. In this life, had it simply become Qi Yan in his place? Or perhaps destiny demanded that someone fall at Wusui—if not Ji Wo, then Qi Yan?

The characters on that bamboo slip pierced into her eyes like needles. Pain surged in her heart, so fierce she could barely breathe. Still, she forced herself to stand up.

Another letter had arrived, this one sent from the capital of Jin.

Wei Zhen’s eyes were red as she opened the seal.

Qi Yan was dead, yet the rebel faction he had led remained. Ji Yuan was organizing an alliance meeting at the border between Jin and Wei, inviting the kings of Qi, Chu, and Wei to gather and discuss together the matter of punishing the rebels.

The meeting was scheduled to take place in ten days, and the letter urged urgent departure; the wording left no room for delay.

Wei Zhen handed the letter to the King of Wei. After reading it, his gaze turned heavy with weariness. She understood what he meant.

Qi Yan’s ability to lead troops was undeniable. With news of his death, morale would break instantly. Even if Ji Wo sat the throne now, it would be difficult to reverse the tide. Their momentum was gone.

Therefore, Wei could no longer remain neutral.

“My dear,” the King said, sorrow beneath his voice, “I know your grief must be overwhelming. But Ji Yuan is holding court, and if ours is the only nation absent, we’ll become the common enemy.”

Wei Zhen’s voice was steady. “I understand.”

She nodded. “If Ji Yuan wipes out the remainder of Qi Yan’s forces and unifies Jin, and we do nothing to aid him now…the fire will surely reach Wei soon enough.”

The King of Wei had feared she would be too stricken with grief to think clearly. Seeing how lucid and composed she was, his heart ached even more. But he nodded. “You’re right. We must go.”

Wei Zhen’s nose turned red, eyes glossy with unshed tears. She whispered, “Yes.”

The King ordered preparations for departure to begin immediately.

But on the appointed day of departure, the King caught a chill and could not rise from bed. As Wei Zhen watched the physician take his pulse, anxiety twisted in her chest. She stepped aside to speak with Wei Ling.

“Father’s health is far too fragile. He can’t make the trip. I can’t bear to see him endure such a harsh journey.”

Wei Ling frowned, “What do you plan to do then? This meeting involves rulers from every kingdom. If our king does not attend, who could possibly take his place?”

Wei Zhen replied, “Usually the Prime Minister attends in Father’s stead—but this time, I want to go myself.”

Wei Ling was taken aback. “You?”

“Ji Yuan is treacherous. I’m bound to him by a marriage pact. I’ve always understood the way he thinks. The Prime Minister may not be able to handle him as smoothly as I can.”

But the truth was, Wei Zhen also wanted to confront Ji Yuan personally and ask him what had truly happened the night Qi Yan was pushed into the river. Ji Yuan surely knew more than the letter stated.

Wei Ling protested, “But I worry… appearing as a princess among kings, some may say it’s inappropriate. You could be slandered.”

Wei Zhen turned to glance at the King of Wei lying on the bed, her eyes filled with sorrow. “I know. Other kings can send a prince in their place, but Father has only one child—me. Who else can go in his stead? Even if there is gossip, I must still attend.”

Golden sunlight poured across her cheek, illuminating the fine hairs along her skin.

“Wei Ling,” she said, “once I leave, take good care of our father.”

“Sister!” His voice rose. “You’re not allowing me to come with you?”

Wei Zhen nodded. “If we both leave, those court officials we just suppressed will seize the opportunity to rebel. One of us must remain—and only you can make them back down.”

She rubbed his hand. “Don’t worry.”

Wei Ling clenched his fists. “But those attending the alliance are no harmless people. What if they make things difficult for you?”

Light flickered in Wei Zhen’s eyes, but her tone remained soft and unwavering. “There’s no need to fear. This is such a public stage, none of them would dare to touch me. And after these months at court, I’m no longer naive about power and predators.”

Just then, a voice called behind them. Both turned quickly and walked back to the King’s bedside.

He opened his eyes. For a moment, they were hazy before focusing again. “The carriage is ready, correct?”

Wei Zhen knelt by the bed, took his hand, and informed him of her decision.

The King’s gaze flickered as he looked at her.

No long speeches. No heavy-handed objections. Only a soft smile, creasing his thin cheeks, and his hand rose to brush the jeweled hairpiece from her hair. “You look splendid today. When they see you, they’ll marvel at the grace of the Princess of Wei. Go. Your father believes in you.”

Wei Zhen knew just how much weight his simple words carried. Her eyes turned wet. “Rest assured, Father.”

That afternoon, Wei Zhen boarded the royal chariot, the six-horse carriage reserved only for kings. She looked at the tactical map of Jin laid out on the table before her.

Two days had passed between the war report reaching her and the annunciation for departure. And still, no word from Qi Yan. If he were alive, surely he would have sent some sign by now.

She forced herself to remain calm. She remembered how, on the day he left Wei, he had kissed her hand and said: “No matter what happens out there, trust me.”

She consoled herself—perhaps this had all been part of Qi Yan’s plan.

She made sure her departure was extravagant, news spreading far and wide: the Princess of Wei would attend the quadrilateral alliance meeting in her father’s stead. She even deliberately slowed the caravan’s pace, hoping that if Qi Yan were alive, he’d hear where she was and come to her.

But the soldiers she sent to scout for him returned empty-handed.

Even worse—after his reported death, the army morale collapsed. Rebellions erupted. Ji Wo could not contain the troops.

Everything indicated that there was no turning back.

After four or five days, the caravan entered a small town. Beyond this town lay the meeting site.

The roads were full of bustling travelers.

At high noon, Wei Zhen ordered the caravan to rest by the road and continue in the afternoon.

A breeze stirred the silk curtain of her carriage. Noises from the street drifted in. She opened her eyes.

Amid the clamor, she heard a voice—one that sounded strikingly like Qi Yan’s.

The sounds came again. There could be no mistake—she had heard Qi Yan’s voice.

She lifted the curtain and poked her head out, scanning the road. All she saw were commoners—no sign of him in the crowd.

Then, her eyes fell on two men speaking outside an inn. One had his back to her.

The man was tall, neat-featured in profile—nothing like Qi Yan.

But last time, Qi Yan had disguised himself in much the same way to sneak into Wei Palace. He had even teased her then, asking why she didn’t recognize him.

This time, even if he turned to ashes, she would still know him!

“Stop!” Wei Zhen called.

The man turned. Her fingers trembled. Blood surged fiercely in her chest. Seeing that familiar build, she was certain. This man… this infuriating man! After all this time, well and healthy, and he hadn’t sent her a single word. While she had spent sleepless nights, craving news—he was drinking tea at an inn!

“Bring him to me,” she ordered the guards coldly.

The guards exchanged glances in surprise, but didn’t ask questions. They stepped forward and seized the man.

The man resisted, confused. “Officers… does the Princess wish to see a humble commoner like me?”

Wei Zhen’s face remained unreadable.

He continued to struggle, but the guards didn’t waste time. They bound him with coarse rope and dragged him to kneel before the Princess’s carriage.

The commotion quickly attracted a crowd.

Kneeling, the man looked up, confused and trembling. “P-Princess, what have I done? I don’t know how I’ve offended you. I beg your forgiveness…”

Even his voice sounded nothing like Qi Yan’s. Wei Zhen smiled. Still acting, huh?

She waved Liangchan over and muttered something into her ear. Liangchan’s face instantly turned pale. She hurried to the man, whispering at his ear:

“My lady said—she’s taken a liking to you. And wouldn’t you know it? She’s recently widowed. Her husband’s gone. So she wants you to attend to her tonight.”

The man’s eyes bulged. But before he could reply, the guards gagged him with a cloth.

Looking back toward the carriage, its bamboo curtain had dropped. The Princess’s face was hidden.

The man, now trussed like a pig, was thrown into the carriage. The door shut behind him with a loud clank. Silence followed.

He lay sprawled on the plush carpet. From the corner of his eye, he saw the rich hem of a luxurious silk skirt embroidered in gold.

Struggling upright with his bound hands, he found the woman in the carriage had not glanced at him once.

Only when the chariot began to move again did she finally turn—and those watery, slanted eyes bore down on him. She pinched his chin between her fingers, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Then she stuffed another cloth squarely into his mouth.

Fine. If he wanted to pretend, she would play along.

The carriage jolted, and he rolled slightly with each bump. When it became clear she wasn’t going to untie him, he straightened his spine and shuffled to her.

His words came out muffled: “Wei Zhen…”

“Ah-Zhen—Yangyang…”

Only when he said her childhood name did she finally respond. She yanked the gag from his mouth.

He gasped. Then finally, clearly, he said, “Yangyang.”

Wei Zhen asked, “You call yourself a peasant. Then why do you know my private name?”

Qi Yan paused. Her voice was cold—but choked with unshed tears. She was furious, and also afraid.

He tugged at the ropes around his wrists. They had been tied tightly—perhaps ten loops or more—impossible to undo quickly.

Instead of struggling further, he knelt before her. “Didn’t you say you were newly widowed? That I’d be your servant? How am I meant to serve you like this—tied head to toe? Unless… you intend to have me serve you while tied up?”

Wei Zhen’s cheeks flushed red.

He grinned. “Shall I guess how your husband died? Perhaps… swept away into the Yellow River?”

She looked down and saw that he wore mourning colors. No ornaments adorned her hair, and a lock of fringe at her brow was wet with tears. Her face was thinner too. Her melancholy expression—it really was like that of a grieving widow.

Her tightly clenched hands finally relaxed. Qi Yan wasn’t sure whether she wanted to slap him or not.

He said, “You didn’t know—your husband’s demise was staged. To fool the enemy.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me beforehand?” she demanded.

“He didn’t know he’d need to fake his death. He was indeed being pursued. But in the moment, he saw the opportunity. No time to inform anyone. He fell into the river to fake death—but the moment he climbed back out, he learned his wife was traveling to the alliance. So he ran to this town, knowing she would pass through, hoping to see her and set her mind at ease.”

She visibly flinched when he mentioned falling into the river. He knew—she’d been terrified for him.

He brushed her hand lightly to his cheek, rubbing against her palm. “Would you still hit me?”

Tears spilled from her lashes. He leaned in despite the ropes, kissing the corners of her eyes.

His tall frame filled the narrow space of the carriage. Even trussed up, she couldn’t escape his lips.

All the longing of days unspoken poured from his intense kiss. Her lips were pried apart, his tongue brushing hers. She tilted her head back. Amid storm and fire, her rage finally began to cool.

He finally released her.

He teased, “Look at me—don’t I resemble that husband of yours who’s been missing for days?”

Wei Zhen bit her lip. “When you left Wei, you said you hoped I would trust you no matter what happened. Didn’t you already have your fake-death idea by then?”

Qi Yan hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, but I wasn’t yet sure if I would use it. I hadn’t planned everything. It depended on how the battle unfolded. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Then do you think I didn’t worry?” Her eyes glistened. She turned her face away.

Qi Yan said gently, “Zhen’er… can you untie me?”

She shook her head. He sighed, sitting beside her. “Before I hit the water, I aimed for the calmest part. But even so—once in the current, anything could’ve happened. All I thought was: my wife is waiting. I can’t let her become a widow.”

She offered no reply. After a while, he felt her hand on his—undoing the knots. He looked up. Her eyes shimmered—but worry lingered in them.

“I’ll cut you loose,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Next time, I promise to tell you everything before I act. I’ll never leave you in the dark again.”

She said nothing. When he tried to hug her, she struggled—but he only held her tighter, pressing his chin to her shoulder.

“I’ve got bruises from the ropes,” he said with a cheeky smile. “Won’t my Princess apply medicine for me?”

“Do it yourself.” Wei Zhen wiped her tears with a handkerchief. “You don’t deserve my pity. I called for you at the inn—you still pretended. If I say I haven’t forgiven you, then I haven’t.”

Just then, the carriage stopped. It rocked suddenly—Wei Zhen fell forward, only to be caught in Qi Yan’s arms.

She straightened. “Why have we stopped?”

“Your Highness,” someone called from outside. “We’ve arrived.”

Beyond the window, the hill rolled in green. They had left the town—and reached sloping grasslands.

Hoofbeats approached. A new voice called, “Welcome, Princess. I am a court official serving the King of Jin. His Majesty has been awaiting you and requests your presence.”

Inside the carriage, Wei Zhen and Qi Yan locked eyes in silence.

The “King of Jin” of course—

Was Ji Yuan.