Chapter 12: The Ghost Envoys

Di Jiang was astonished. Everyone knew Princess Zhaohe, the cherished daughter of Emperor Chen, was extraordinary, but she hadn’t expected her to be so open-hearted and selfless. Di Jiang couldn’t help but feel both pity and admiration for her.

“Princess…” Sister Mei’s face fell, her eyes reddening as if on the verge of tears.

She had once thought Wu Jingyi was oblivious to worldly suffering, but now she understood—every family has its hidden sorrows. Like herself, Wu Jingyi was a figure worthy of lamentation.

“Don’t cry. I don’t feel any sorrow, so what right do you have to cry?” Wu Jingyi smiled proudly, but her expression soon dimmed as she added, “Besides, if I hadn’t mocked you that day, calling you lowborn yet ambitious, dreaming of climbing the royal ranks, you wouldn’t have taken your own life. A life for a life—I don’t want to owe you.”

In truth, that day, while she appeared to be speaking to Sister Mei, she was actually using veiled words to warn Liu Zhi. Who would have thought Liu Zhi paid no heed, while Sister Mei took her words to heart? This filled her with deep regret.

“It was my own fault—I can’t blame anyone… I’m already a ghost now. The only thing left undone is this final matter.” As Sister Mei finished speaking, her gaze turned toward the window. Her eyes were dark and unfathomable.

Following her gaze, Di Jiang saw that outside the window, the world was eerily silent. Red storm clouds engulfed the sky, and flocks of crows circled above the mansion, their oppressive presence seeming to threaten to burst into the room at any moment, though they always veered away.

The atmosphere was indescribably strange. Even Wen Yao couldn’t help but cross her arms tightly, repeatedly muttering, “It’s so cold.”

“Yes, there are warm braziers all around the room. Why is it still so chilly? I’ll send for more charcoal burners.” With that, Steward Liu left the room.

At that moment, the sound of a night watchman striking his wooden clapper echoed from the street. Three strikes reverberated, and the word “midnight” entered everyone’s ears.

Wen Yao and Di Jiang exchanged glances, their eyes conveying the same thought: “Prince Ru’an won’t survive past the fifteenth. That’s something we all know.”

Di Jiang looked at Wu Ru’an lying on the bed. His brows were tightly shut, and he showed no signs of life. Such a sudden and inexplicable illness was truly baffling.

Wen Yao tugged at Di Jiang’s sleeve, fearfully looking at her and whispering, “They say it’s because Empress Chen committed too many sins, so her children can’t meet a good end.”

“Where did you hear about ‘Empress Chen’? She’s already the reigning Empress.” Di Jiang shot Wen Yao a glare, signaling her to stop talking nonsense. She glanced at Wu Jingyi, who seemed not to have heard, and decided not to reprimand Wen Yao further.

Moreover, given the current situation, the explanation that Wu Ru’an’s condition stemmed from karma seemed plausible.

“It’s one-quarter past midnight,” Zhong Xu coldly reminded them.

Di Jiang nodded.

Zhong Xu didn’t understand human emotions or grudges—he only cared about preventing ghosts from harming people. And now it seemed clear that Ru’an’s illness had nothing to do with Qingmei.

At that moment, a wisp of green smoke drifted through the doorway, startling both Di Jiang and Zhong Xu.

Simultaneously, Qingmei softly said, “I hope that when the prince wakes up, none of you will tell him about me. I hope that in the days to come, he can live freely, without any lingering regrets in his heart.”

At first, neither Di Jiang nor Zhong Xu fully understood her meaning, but they soon realized.

Sister Mei recited an incantation, and her appearance transformed into Ru’an’s likeness. She then lay beside Ru’an, her face calm and serene.

Wu Jingyi was startled and began to speak, but Wen Yao quickly covered her mouth.

Wu Jingyi quickly understood and bent one knee, deeply bowing to Sister Mei.

“Princess, who kneels to heaven, earth, and the empress, today bows to you. In this life, I’ve lived without regret.” Sister Mei silently mouthed these final words to Wu Jingyi, then smiled—a radiant smile.

But soon, she stood up in pain, her body seemingly pulled by some invisible force, involuntarily moving toward the door.

“The time has come.”

This voice might have been inaudible to others, but Di Jiang heard it clearly. She could also see two ghost envoys dressed in white standing beside Sister Mei.

The ghost envoys held iron chains in their left hands and soul-guiding banners in their right.

“Wu Ru’an, it’s time to go.”

One of the ghost envoys spoke in a chilling tone, their voice freezing the very marrow of the bones, causing the room’s temperature to drop even further. But Di Jiang pretended not to see anything, keeping her head bowed, staring at her toes.

Sister Mei could no longer speak. If she did, it would reveal her identity. She looked at everyone, her eyes always carrying a faint smile.

Only then did Di Jiang finally understand—Ruan Qingmei had stayed by Ru’an’s side all along, waiting for this moment, offering her life in exchange for his.

Sister Mei disappeared, vanishing without a trace.

Before the two ghost envoys took Sister Mei away, they turned back and bowed to Di Jiang.

Di Jiang kept her head lowered, smoothing out her slightly disheveled hair.

“They… seemed to be bowing to you and paying respects?” Zhong Xu’s voice sounded in Di Jiang’s ear.

Di Jiang turned her head and saw Zhong Xu’s eyes filled with questions.

“Who’s bowing to me and paying respects?” Di Jiang looked utterly confused.

“The ghost envoys.”

“The ghost envoys?!” Di Jiang’s voice rose an octave, and she instinctively tightened her grip on her clothing. “Where are the ghost envoys? Don’t scare me. Am I going to die if ghost envoys pay me a visit?”

“If you… can’t see them, then forget it.” Zhong Xu exhaled deeply and picked up his sword before leaving.

Di Jiang watched his retreating figure, her lips unconsciously curling upward, her gaze full of amusement.

Zhong Xu, if one day you regain your memory, how will you treat me?

But,

I will never let you remember.

Sister Mei was completely gone. That night, the skies over Taiping Prefecture cleared, and the first snowfall of the year descended.

Three days later, Prince Ru’an, who should have passed away, gradually recovered.

Reflecting on that night when the ghost envoys came to claim his soul, Di Jiang realized it was Sister Mei who stayed by Ru’an’s side, transforming into his likeness to shield him from disaster.

But while Sister Mei saved Ru’an’s life once, she couldn’t save him a second time.

Di Jiang had calculated his fate twice—once, his lifeline ended on the fifteenth day of the new year. After the fifteenth, three days later, when she tried to calculate his fate again, she could no longer discern his life chart. What was certain was that his life-and-death calamities were linked one after another. But where would there be another Sister Mei to save him next time?

A series of women’s screams echoed from the entrance. The streets were packed with admirers of Prince Ru’an, who, upon hearing news of his recovery, nearly broke down the threshold.

The customs of Taiping Prefecture were liberal. Since the founding emperor, and now under the reign of Emperor Xuanwu, restrictions on women had diminished. Ambitious women could even take the imperial exams and serve in the court. Standing on the balcony, Di Jiang watched those women, each one nearly driven mad by Ru’an. Suddenly, she stopped worrying.

Yes, with Prince Ru’an’s charm, even if one Sister Mei fell, countless others would rise to take her place.

There would surely be no shortage of people willing to shield him from calamity.

“Why does Doctor Di look so pained?”

Ru’an’s words pulled Di Jiang from her thoughts. She tilted her head and smiled, saying, “I was just wondering—you have so many women vying for your attention, the line of visitors stretching almost to the Meridian Gate. Can you handle it all?”

“What’s difficult about that?” Wu Ru’an raised an eyebrow. “Every woman I’ve been with leaves feeling like royalty.”

“Ah… Is that so?”

Di Jiang felt a sense of awe but also sensed something amiss. Upon closer reflection, she realized—perhaps this man was indeed as rumored, possessing a devilishly handsome face but a mind full of mush, tossing out idioms without regard for their meaning.

She thought that what Wu Ru’an truly meant was, “Every woman I’ve been with, I make them feel happy and loved.”

Before leaving Ru’an’s residence, Di Jiang visited Wu Jingyi once more.

When she arrived, Princess Zhaohe was seated in her chamber reading The Art of War . Seeing Di Jiang, she dispensed with formalities, inviting her to sit at the table and personally brewed a cup of plum blossom tea.

Wu Jingyi smiled, saying, “A loss may turn out to be a gain. After Sister Mei possessed me, I haven’t seen any vengeful spirits or ghosts for a long time.”

“So you’ve found time to study poetry and books?” Di Jiang sipped the tea, finding the fragrance of plum blossoms refreshing, the tea perfectly warm—it was just right for the cold December weather. Soon, she felt warmth spreading through her body, as if the swirling snowflakes outside belonged to a different world.

“Just casually reading, passing the time.”

“Could it be the princess wants to join the military?”

“A woman joining the military isn’t impossible. While she might not excel in direct combat, here”—Wu Jingyi pointed to her temple—”she might surpass men.”

Di Jiang nodded with a smile. “Who says women are inferior to men? Empress Chen’s valor serves as a model for women of our era.”

“…”

After speaking, Di Jiang noticed that Wu Jingyi’s expression wasn’t particularly pleased. After a long silence, Wu Jingyi finally said, “Mother Empress is undoubtedly an extraordinary woman, but my aspirations lie elsewhere.”

Di Jiang knew that Wu Jingyi had been tormented by her ghostly sight for a long time. Rumors claimed that Empress Chen resorted to every possible means to ascend the throne, and the karmic retribution bypassed the next life, manifesting instead in her four children. Wu Jingyi must have felt this deeply, which explained why she didn’t wish to stain her hands with blood.

Turning her head, Di Jiang noticed several invitation letters on the table, all bearing the name of General Long. She asked, “Does the princess intend to meet General Long?”

Wu Jingyi shook her head. “He sent me nine invitations over three days, but I haven’t read a single one.”

“Why not?”

Wu Jingyi bit her lower lip, remaining silent. Her fingers were tightly clenched, and the plum blossom brand on her right hand glowed with a piercing red light, causing Di Jiang’s head to ache. She forced herself not to look at it.

After a while, Wu Jingyi slowly spoke, saying, “I already knew that Liu Zhi and Long Ming had grown fond of each other over time. How could I not see through Liu Zhi’s schemes? When Long Ming returned triumphantly, I rushed to see him immediately. But without hearing my explanation, he simply pointed at my nose and said, ‘You’re a princess, getting whatever you want. You indulge in pleasures daily, ignorant of worldly hardships. Just wave your hand, and thousands of men will line up for you. Why bother playing with me?’”

Di Jiang listened, her lips slightly parted, quite astonished.

First, she was surprised by how many people such a person would offend if they stayed at Taiping Mansion, with her ghostly sight, dared to venture into the camp filled with resentment; secondly, she was surprised by Long Ming’s carefree treatment of the princess.

“Later, he left, and I fainted. When I woke up, three hours had passed. I found myself still lying on that patch of grass. For three whole hours, he completely ignored me. I don’t quite remember how I returned, but at that time, I still wanted to marry him. I believed that if I treated him well, he would realize that I wasn’t the ignorant princess he thought I was. It wasn’t until later, when I saw him together with Liu Zhi, that I realized I had loved the wrong person all these years.”

“Hmm, who hasn’t loved a few wrong people when they were young?” Di Jiang took another sip of tea and said lightly.

“Heh, yes, he was just a mistake. He only saw the surface. He… never truly cared.”

“Do you plan to never see him again?”

“Does one need to revisit a mistake?” Wu Jingyi countered with a smile, leaving Di Jiang speechless.

“My time isn’t meant to be wasted playing games of ‘I love you, you love her.’”

“It’s good that the princess has come to terms with it…” Di Jiang nodded, though inwardly she was contemplating other matters.

Strangely enough, she had once calculated that the two were fated to have a connection—destined to be husband and wife across three lifetimes. But now, Long Ming had already married Liu Zhi, and the princess no longer wished to see him. At this moment, it seemed like their story had reached an impasse.

Oh well, worldly affairs are like watching a play—don’t take them too seriously.

Di Jiang rose to bid farewell to the princess and then returned to her shop.