Chapter 45: Our Spoils of War

Song Youyi smiled gently, the smile blooming on her pale face like a small white flower slowly unfurling—pure and beautiful.

But when that smile fell on Xia Ling’s eyes, it held no purity at all, only a hint of darkness.

“Do you think my brother trusts you or me?” Song Youyi stepped forward lightly, her steps as soft as a cat approaching a trembling sparrow.

Xia Ling couldn’t help but take a step back.

“Guess what would happen to you if I told my brother about this?” Song Youyi’s eyes curved like crescent moons, her smiling gaze fixed on Xia Ling’s eyes.

Xia Ling’s heart leaped violently. Her teeth bit down on her red lips, fear flickering in her eyes.

She believed that if it really came to that, the young master wouldn’t punish her harshly—he was always kind to her.

But the problem was whether she could stay by his side. Probably not.

A maid who spied on her master’s privacy—even if the young master said nothing, the mansion’s rules wouldn’t allow it.

Leaving this life meant never seeing Song Ning again.

That was something she couldn’t accept!

He had picked her up from the roadside, a starving beggar.

He gave her clothes, food, a place to live.

He taught her to read, taught her manners, taught her how to live.

If she could never see the young master again…

“You… you’re framing me!” Xia Ling stared at Song Youyi, gritting her teeth, her eyes reddening.

Song Youyi shrugged nonchalantly, looking completely at ease.

“I’m not that kind of person,” she said flatly.

“If I wanted to frame you, I would have done it long ago. Why wait until today?”

“But today I did catch you spying. No matter how many reasons or excuses you have, you did something you shouldn’t have.”

Her slender fingers twirled a strand of hair, winding it around her fingertip over and over, then letting it go, then winding it again—a lazy, graceful motion.

She smiled lightly. “So this isn’t framing.”

Xia Ling fell silent.

Her mouth opened, as if to say something, but nothing came out.

She lowered her head, staring at the tips of her shoes, her voice growing weak:

“Then what do you want?”

Song Youyi saw her surrender and rejoiced inwardly.

Her eyes lit up. She reached out with her fingertips, lifting Xia Ling’s lowered chin, forcing her to look up and meet her gaze.

“Don’t make that face,” she said softly.

“None of this has happened yet. I haven’t said a word.”

Xia Ling was forced to look at her.

She saw her own face reflected in Song Youyi’s eyes—small and timid.

Song Youyi continued, “But I do need you to help me with some things.”

“If you want to stay in the Song Mansion, you have to listen to me. Otherwise…” Her voice suddenly turned cold.

“I really will kick you out, and you’ll never see your sister or him again.”

Song Youyi’s fair, tender fingers moved from Xia Ling’s chin to her cheek, gently kneading and tracing circles on her skin.

She smiled sweetly, her eyes curved, looking completely harmless.

“If you do well.”

“I’ll give you some rewards too—rewards you can’t refuse. Consider them our spoils.”

She let go, stepped back, and tilted her head, looking at Xia Ling.

“Well? Have you decided?”

…

Inside the room, Song Ning sat at his desk and suddenly sneezed, coughing lightly.

“Why do I feel a little cold all of a sudden?”

“Xia Ling! Xia Ling! Bring me a jacket.”

The usual cheerful reply didn’t come.

The courtyard was silent, with only the rustle of locust leaves in the wind and the occasional chirp of a distant bird.

After a moment, footsteps sounded.

The steps weren’t light or fast—completely different from Xia Ling’s quick, nimble gait.

The door opened, and a jacket was draped over Song Ning’s shoulders.

He pulled the clothes tighter, his fingers brushing the fabric on his shoulder, a faint smile curving his lips.

“It’s Xia Shuang,” he said, his tone knowing. “Where’s Xia Ling?”

“With Second Young Lady…” Xia Shuang’s voice came from behind him, halting and deliberate.

“She left.”

“I see,” Song Ning nodded, muttering to himself.

“She probably has something to do.”

He lowered his head, his fingers finding the Braille board again, resuming where he’d been interrupted, a hint of pride swelling in his chest.

Just by hearing the footsteps, he knew it was Xia Shuang, not Xia Ling. It seemed his ears were still pretty sharp.

Even though he was blind, no one could fool him.

…

The setting sun was like blood.

Clouds on the horizon burned into dark red by the sunset, stacked layer upon layer.

Leaves on the poplar trees along the official road rustled in the evening wind, like countless butterflies dancing in the twilight.

Qin Junyue reined in her horse. The war horse neighed, pawing the air with its front hooves, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Good. Finally here.

It was a good thing Song Ning had arranged everything and anticipated the danger Prince Xin would face on her way to the capital.

If he hadn’t written that letter, if he hadn’t sent Mother Qi to bring reinforcements, if he hadn’t instructed her to search along the official road, she dared not think what would have happened to Prince Xin by now.

“Your Highness, Prince Xin.” Qin Junyue dismounted, her boots hitting the ground with a dull thud.

She reached out, helping Prince Xin Tang Xuan down from the horse.

“Are we not entering the city?” Tang Xuan stood steady, looking up at the distant city walls, confused.

Qin Junyue shook her head, lowering her voice:

“Your Highness, to prevent Wei Yang from acting recklessly, please bear with it for a moment.”

“I’ll use the Capital Garrison’s token to get you in. If you march in openly, Wei Yang will know the assassination failed, and it will cause a huge storm.”

Tang Xuan nodded thoughtfully.

She lowered her head, thought for a moment, then leaned close to Qin Junyue, her voice dropping:

“Did your Young Master Song teach you that too?”

Qin Junyue patted her chest, the corners of her mouth curling up high, impossible to suppress, her voice brimming with pride:

“That’s right.”

That’s right. It was my Young Master Song who taught me.

Tang Xuan looked at her expression, and a hint of envy stirred in her heart.

She didn’t know who this “Young Master Song” was, but from Qin Junyue’s reaction, he must be an extraordinary person.

To make a Second-Rank Martial Artist so devoted, so proud, so…

She searched for the right word but couldn’t find one.

After all, as the Great Qian’s Prince Xin, the strongest martial artist under her command was only Third-Rank. Not a single Second-Rank was willing to be her guest elder.

“In that case,” Tang Xuan said quietly.

“Let me go meet this Young Master Song first, shall we?”

Qin Junyue paused, then nodded. “Alright, Your servant will take you to see him.”

She turned and gestured to the cavalrymen behind her.

The cavalrymen scattered silently.

One of them pulled out a few sets of commoner’s clothes from a pack and handed them over.

Qin Junyue took a gray-brown coarse linen jacket and handed it to Tang Xuan, then began removing her own armor.

“Change into this,” she said. “We’ll enter through the side gate.”

Tang Xuan held the coarse garment, looking down at it, then up at Qin Junyue.

“In all my life,” she said, “I’ve never worn clothes like this.”

Qin Junyue didn’t respond, muttering in her heart:

‘Of course you’ve never worn these. You’re the prince, after all.’

“You’ve never suffered the hardship of martial training either. All the martial artists in the realm serve your Tang family—including me, whose family was nearly purged by your sister when I was young.”

She kept her head down, unbuckling her belt.

The two changed clothes and mixed in with a few plainclothes cavalrymen, heading toward the capital city.

Twilight fell. The guards at the city gate were changing shifts, torchlight flickering across their faces, alternating light and shadow.

Qin Junyue flashed the Capital Garrison token and muttered a few words. The guards cleared the way.

They kept their heads down, hurried through the city gate, and vanished into the vast dusk of the capital.