FHJ - 13

Chapter 13: The Beginning (2)

Though Shen Xiling would later spend her entire life grateful for encountering Qi Ying at that moment, objectively speaking, it was far from a dignified meeting. At the time, she was kneeling in the snow, utterly disheveled, her frail mother unconscious and cradled in her arms. He emerged slowly from his luxurious carriage, draped in a fur-lined cloak, and looked down at her with an indifferent glance.

It was a fleeting, detached look, followed by his calm statement: “Yes, these are the ones.”

At the time, Shen Xiling had no idea who this man was or what he meant. She only noticed how the city guards bowed respectfully to him and inquired about their origins.

He remained silent, his expression unreadable, leaving the soldier visibly uneasy. His servant stepped forward to explain: “These individuals are fugitive slaves from our master’s Fenghe Garden estate. They committed offenses and were to be sent to labor camps but dared to escape under cover of night. Fortunately, you’ve apprehended them, sparing my lord further trouble. We thank you.”

The soldier hesitated, bowing deeply. “Master Qi may not know, but tonight two fugitives escaped from Shangfang Prison—a mother and daughter. We’re under orders to capture them. These people must still be taken back for questioning.”

Qi Ying said nothing. His servant interjected again: “You jest, sir. My master has personally confirmed their identity. Surely there can be no mistake? Please return these slaves to us while you focus on capturing the real fugitives.”

The soldier grew increasingly anxious, glancing cautiously at Qi Ying before replying: “We have our orders and cannot act rashly. We humbly request permission to take these individuals to the Tingwei for questioning. If they truly belong to your household, we will return them without delay. Please, Master Qi, do not make this difficult.”

The snow began to fall more heavily. Qi Ying glanced up at the sky, then turned his gaze toward the soldier. Finally, he spoke: “The Tingwei falls under Magistrate Lu’s jurisdiction. Inform him that I took these fugitives tonight. Should he question it, I will personally visit the Tingwei tomorrow to clarify matters. How does that sound?”

The final phrase—”How does that sound?”—was spoken in a tone neither raised nor lowered, yet carried an undeniable authority. Sensing his displeasure, the soldier hastily bowed and replied, “Yes, sir.”

Qi Ying nodded slightly, brushing off a few flakes of snow from his shoulder. He instructed his servant: “This matter is settled. Let’s go.”

Shen Xiling was taken out of the city in full view of everyone. His servants carried her unconscious mother, along with the wandering swordsman, but once they reached a forest outside Jiankang, they released the swordsman.

The forest was cold and desolate. The swordsman, bewildered, bowed toward the carriage and said, “I was tasked with ensuring the safety of the lady and her daughter. Until they are properly settled, I cannot leave.”

Standing outside the carriage, Shen Xiling couldn’t hear the man’s reply, only the servant’s response: “Since my lord has taken charge of this matter, rest assured everything will be handled appropriately.” The servant gestured deeper into the woods, where another carriage was hidden among the trees. A figure stood beside it, faintly visible through the falling snow.

Shen Xiling felt as though she were still dreaming. She didn’t know who he was, why he had saved her, or what would happen next. Her gaze was unfocused, her mind hazy. All she felt was the biting December wind piercing through her thin clothing. She was colder than ever before, colder even than during winters when their home lacked charcoal for warmth.

Her limbs were stiff with cold, but when one of his servants carried her mother toward the hidden carriage, she struggled weakly, terrified of being separated. The servant didn’t stop, so she stumbled after them, her frozen legs unsteady. Tripping over a stone, she fell hard onto the ground, her body covered in mud mixed with melting snow.

In that bone-deep chill, a wave of resentment washed over her, born of her helplessness—helplessness reminiscent of watching her sickly mother lie bedridden. She felt no pain, or perhaps she was too numb to feel anything. Instead, an overwhelming sorrow consumed her, sharper and deeper than anything she’d experienced in prison.

Then, she thought she heard a sigh. Turning her head mechanically, she saw him step out of the carriage. She stared straight at him, unblinking, as he approached her step by step. He crouched beside her and draped his luxurious, warm fur cloak over her shoulders.

The cloak was opulent and protective, shielding her from the wind and snow. It carried a faint trace of his warmth and a subtle fragrance of spikenard.

“Don’t be afraid.”

He personally fastened the cloak around her, his voice calm and distant: “They’re merely taking your mother to the carriage to rest.”

Shen Xiling remained motionless. He glanced at her, then reached out to lift her from the ground.

After a night of panic and exhaustion, now weakened by illness, her legs gave way beneath her. He steadied her, noticing her wobbling frame and pale face. With ease, he lifted her into his arms and placed her on the carriage seat. His embrace was broad and warm, enveloping her in the comforting scent of spikenard. The snow-covered forest glowed faintly with reflected light, illuminating the man’s face. Only then did Shen Xiling truly see him.

He was extraordinarily handsome.

Qi Ying’s renown as a prodigy and his illustrious lineage had overshadowed discussions of his appearance. Yet, he possessed striking phoenix eyes, deep and ink-black like swirling ink, exuding both depth and tranquility. Under the glow of the snow, his features appeared aloof yet compassionate, gazing upon the disheveled girl before him. Standing tall in his wide robes and elegant cap, framed by the rare heavy snowfall of Jiankang, he embodied the epitome of Jiangzuo aristocracy. Snowflakes clung to his brows and lashes, enhancing his noble bearing.

As he gazed down at Shen Xiling, his expression was complex—aloof and distant, yet his phoenix eyes held a flicker of pity, making her want to cry. But she didn’t. She swallowed her tears and fear, trembling faintly as she whispered, “...Who are you?”

He might have thought she was cold, for he reached out to tighten the fur cloak around her. But his touch elicited an even more pronounced shiver from her, causing him to pause momentarily before withdrawing his hand. He answered simply: “I am Qi Ying.”

Qi Ying.

Shen Xiling had heard this name before. Rumors spoke of him as the young prodigy personally chosen by the Liang Emperor, the revered second son of the Jiangzuo aristocracy, and now, at barely twenty years old, a high-ranking official in the Liang枢密院 (Imperial Secretariat). Yet she had never imagined she would ever be connected to this man, let alone that he would save her.

Her small hands clutched tightly at the fur cloak he had draped over her, and she asked, “Why did you save us?”

He stood outside the carriage, snowflakes accumulating on his figure, yet he appeared entirely unruffled. Hearing her question, he paused briefly, as if recalling something from the past, then replied indifferently: “Your father... could be considered my elder uncle.”

His words were sparing, but Shen Xiling hungered for more. At the mention of her father, her eyes brightened almost imperceptibly, and she immediately grasped his sleeve, asking urgently, “Father—how is Father? Will he come for us?”

At that time, she was still young, not yet the striking beauty she would grow into. But on that snowy night, upon hearing news of her father, her eyes shone with an intensity that lingered long in one’s memory. Her pale, delicate hand clung tightly to his sleeve, as if it were her last lifeline, the desperate light in her eyes unforgettable.

Yet Qi Ying did not answer her question. Instead, he pointed to the other carriage and said, “Take that carriage to Langya. It is your mother’s hometown. Once you are there, your father will be at peace.”

Shen Xiling had never heard her mother speak of her family home, nor did she dwell on it now. She only tugged at his sleeve, persisting in questioning him about her father’s situation. He glanced down at her once more, still offering no reply, and added, “The driver’s name is Bai Song, my personal attendant. He will escort you to Langya and ensure your settlement. If you need anything, you may instruct him to handle it.”

As soon as his words ended, Shen Xiling saw the figure standing near the other carriage begin to approach. Up close, she realized it was a young man dressed in black, tall and imposing, with a sword held in both hands. A faint scar ran across the middle of his left brow, lending him a somewhat fierce appearance.

Without a word, the man scooped her up from the carriage seat and began pulling her toward the other vehicle. Shen Xiling struggled desperately, unwilling to leave. She still had so many questions for Qi Ying, but Bai Song’s grip was firm, and she was merely an eleven-year-old girl, powerless against his strength. As he dragged her away, she repeatedly turned her head back to look at Qi Ying. The man still stood where he had been, clad in thin robes amidst the snow, his gaze meeting hers.

Suddenly overcome with panic, she shouted to him, “My father… will I ever see my father again?”

The distance between them grew, and she could no longer make out Qi Ying’s expression. She didn’t know if he pitied her then, but his calm, detached voice carried through the wind and snow, reaching her ears. He said, “Your father paid a great price to save you. If you do not wish his efforts to go to waste, remember this: you are only your mother’s daughter. You have never had a father.”

With those words, Bai Song shoved her into the northbound carriage.

The rare heavy snowfall that blanketed Jiankang, along with the man she had first met amidst it, abruptly vanished from her sight.