Recklessly Breaking a Delicate Branch - Chapter 59

“Your Majesty, Great Yin is in a period of recovery. The letter from the Xirong requesting the hand of Princess Jinyang implies that if we refuse, they will use this as a pretext to invade the Central Plains.”

Marquis Yuanning spoke with a face full of simulated benevolence, his eyes fixed faithfully on the man seated upon the high throne. This was the master he had risked everything to seat there during the bloody war for succession. Emperor Zhaoming was a diligent ruler, and it was precisely because of this diligence that the Marquis dared to speak words that could lead to execution.

Princess Jinyang was the Emperor’s weakness. The last time the steppe people demanded her, she had pleaded for the sake of the realm, and with time pressing and the threat of war looming, the Emperor had been forced to let her go. Now that her return had been announced to the world, the steppe people—far from feeling guilt for past events—wanted to repeat the tragedy. It was a humiliation, yet the Central Plains could not afford a war.

“So what?” Emperor Zhaoming roared. “My Jinyang nearly lost her life on the way to that previous marriage. If I cannot even guarantee the safety of my own children, I am unworthy of being a father!”

The officials below knelt even lower, not daring to move. Only Marquis Yuanning dared to step forward. “Your Majesty, you are the Son of Heaven of Great Yin. You are a sovereign first, and a father second!”

With a resounding crash, the Emperor swept the memorials off his desk. The air turned icy. “Get out! All of you, get out!”

Shadows in the Lanyue Hall

That night, news spread like wildfire through the palace. In Lanyue Hall, the servants were in a panic. Yulu ran toward Jiang Wan-shu’s bedroom, her heart pounding.

Outside the window, the hushed whispers of maids filtered through the moonlight: “I heard the Khan promised that if the Princess marries back into the steppe, the next heir will be her child…” “Would the Emperor really let her go again after what happened last time?”

Yulu slammed the window shut, scaring the gossiping maids away. She turned to find Jiang Wan-shu sitting at a round table, silent tears streaming down her face like crystal beads on a lotus leaf.

“Princess, you heard everything?” Yulu asked softly, taking her cold hand.

“I heard,” Jiang Wanshu replied, her voice raspy from weeping. “They want me back. Yulu, why do they cling to this treaty so relentlessly?”

“The steppe people seek refined bloodlines and our advanced technology,” Yulu explained sadly. “They have everything to gain.”

Jiang Wanshu nodded. She didn’t hate being a princess, but she hated this tradition—this “custom” that treated princesses as offerings to be sacrificed for peace. She felt powerless, knowing her parents’ love might not withstand the pressure of the court.

“If we had known, we shouldn’t have come back,” Yulu blurted out in frustration.

“Father, Mother, and my brother are my kin,” Wanshu replied softly. “They grieved for me when they thought I was dead. I could not bear to keep them in sorrow.” She sighed, trying to comfort herself. “I’ve made this decision once. I can do it again.”

“Princess, if you don’t want to go, you can ask Guard Zhou for help!” Yulu suggested suddenly.

Jiang Wanshu shook her head. “He is but a teqin (official) of the steppe. He follows the Khan’s orders. What can he do?”

The Promise of the Hawthorn Sweets

Suddenly, the wooden door swung open. A tall man stood there, silhouetted by the winter starlight, holding two sticks of candied hawthorns (tanghulu) he had bought outside the palace.

“Wan-wan, wait for me. I will ensure you get your wish!” Zhou Yan’s voice was steady and firm. He walked to her and sat down, handing her the sweets. Yulu, sensing the shift in the room, quietly retreated and closed the door.

“You cannot go,” Jiang Wanshu whispered, her hand trembling. “This is the decision of the Xirong Royal Court. You are just one man.”

Zhou Yan smiled, his large hand enveloping hers. He peeled the sugar coating off a hawthorn and pressed it to her lips. “Taste it. I heard women in the city love these.”

As she took a small bite—the sour and sweet flavor bringing back memories of her mother—Zhou Yan finished the rest of the stick, swallowing it whole.

“What did you mean by what you said?” she asked.

“I mean I have a way to break this marriage arrangement,” Zhou Yan said calmly. He had no intention of letting anyone else claim his Ajia (bride). He needed to return to the steppe before the official decrees were signed to strike a deal with the Third Prince.

“How? Will you be hurt?” she asked, a flicker of hope in her eyes.

He pressed another hawthorn to her lips, watching the soft movement of her mouth. “No,” he promised, his eyes dark with determination. “I can do more than just stop this marriage. I can ensure that the century-old treaty of sending princesses for peace is abolished forever.”

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