The sharp knife in Jiang He’s hand had only just slipped from her sleeve when Zhao Zheng seized her wrist. His grip was strong, yet he did not hurt her; with a deft twist, he disarmed her, glanced at the blade, and tossed it onto the table before the bed.
“Search.”
His words were brief and to the point.
The nuptial wine on the table rippled faintly from the disturbance, its fragrance spreading through the room, yet the newlywed man and woman before the bed were in no mood to drink and celebrate.
Zhao Zheng’s hand slid over Jiang He’s collar, pinched through her wide sleeves, brushed along the hem of her skirt, and removed her phoenix shoes. He searched all the way down, finding every hidden weapon she had concealed for self-defense and throwing them onto the table.
A boning knife, a sharpened dagger, triangular throwing darts, silver needles, copper spikes. Finally, he held up a small ceramic bottle and asked, “What is this?”
Jiang He replied sullenly, without any goodwill, “If I said it was seasoning, would you believe me?”
“Poison.”
Zhao Zheng placed the ceramic bottle steadily on the table and looked her over carefully.
Within the hall, forty-five candles burned atop a bronze candlestick shaped with nine dragons playing with a pearl. A gauze screen painted with mountains and rivers blocked part of the light, leaving the rest of the soft, lingering warmth to fall upon the broad dragon bed in the sleeping chamber.
The woman before him was very beautiful.
Her black hair was piled like clouds, adorned with dazzling pearls. Her forehead was smooth, her eyes bright, her nose delicate, and her lips like cherry blossoms, as though light shimmered across her small oval face. Her neck was long and slender, its line soft; her shoulders were rounded. The wedding gown wrapped around a graceful yet slightly immature body, and because she was angry, her chest rose and fell faintly, making one unable to resist the desire to possess her.
But the woman before him was also very dangerous.
To bring equipment for murdering her husband on the night of her wedding—and so much of it at that—there was likely no one else in all the world like her.
Zhao Zheng opened a hidden compartment beside the dragon bed and took out a thin cord.
“You’ve already found everything. Isn’t that enough?” Jiang He glared at him and kicked the leg of the table in anger. The table did not move in the slightest, but the weapons piled upon it clattered noisily.
“I never trust anyone, let alone someone by my bedside.” Zhao Zheng approached Jiang He, reached up, and removed the phoenix coronet hanging high upon her head, letting her long, smooth hair spill down. Then he grasped Jiang He’s arm once more.
“I can sleep outside,” Jiang He compromised.
“You are my wife. How could you not share my bed?” Zhao Zheng spoke domineering words, yet his voice was gentle and mild. It was as though he were not tying up his wife’s arms, but helping her change.
The thin cord wound around Jiang He’s wrists, loop after loop, binding her tightly. Jiang He recognized the way he wrapped and knotted the rope. Such knots were usually used to set traps for wild beasts in the mountains; the more one struggled, the tighter they became.
Both her wrists were bound and fixed to the bedpost. The rope was pulled too taut, forcing Jiang He to sit on the bed.
Only then did Zhao Zheng begin to remove his own clothes.
The black-and-red auspicious robes were finely cut and meticulously made. Worn upon his broad, solid body, they carried a rather solemn air. Zhao Zheng unhurriedly drew out his belt, removed his deep robe, untied the sash and ornaments at his waist, then hung them neatly on the clothes rack. Only then did he take off his shoes and sit on the dragon bed.
Judging from his manner, he usually undressed and rested on his own.
She abruptly lowered her head and shrank back to the edge of the bed, both ashamed and annoyed.
Zhao Zheng, acting as if no one else were there, slipped into the innermost side, lifted the thin silk quilt, lay flat on the pillow embroidered with dragons, phoenixes, and twin acacia, then closed his eyes.
There was only one pillow. Since he was using it, Jiang He had none.
There were two quilts, but they lay at the head of the bed. Jiang He carefully hooked one over with her toes, but in a moment of carelessness, she lost her balance and fell off the bed. Her backside hurt, her wrists hurt, and she bared her teeth, itching to give Zhao Zheng a furious scolding.
But the moment she thought he might understand her words, she sat down against the bed in a fit of rage instead. Fortunately, the thin quilt was already beside her. The nights at the end of summer were warm, so even sitting on the floor by the bed, she did not have to worry about freezing.
Jiang He turned her head and glanced at Zhao Zheng.
He lay flat on the bed, both hands resting at his sides. The thin quilt was pulled from his feet up to his chest, covering him tightly, like an old man afraid he might catch cold, fall ill, and die if he was not careful.
Jiang He thought of what the teaching matron had said about Zhao Zheng abstaining from women before marriage.
His body must be no good.
Zhao Zheng soon fell deeply asleep on the bed.
His breathing was even and faint, making one feel inexplicably even sleepier.
Jiang He carefully propped herself up, curled by the edge of the bed, lay on her side, and closed her eyes.
She had once before experienced having both hands bound.
Because her mother had died early, her father had raised her alone. So when he went to Wei as Qi’s envoy that time, her father had, as usual, brought her along.
When the assassins rushed into the guesthouse, Jiang He was still asleep, so she did not see the terrible sight of her father being killed. Afterward, Jiang He’s hands were bound, and she was thrown into a deep dungeon.
“Where is the secret military scroll?” those people asked her.
What was the secret military scroll? Jiang He was utterly bewildered and anxious to get out to find her father. But they said her father was dead. To make her believe it, they even cut off one of her father’s arms and threw it into the dungeon.
Her father’s fingers had once been burned while cooking. That scar from the burn could not be faked.
Thirteen-year-old Jiang He fainted from fright.
When she woke, the youth named Wei Ji had already jumped into the dungeon and cut through the ropes binding her.
Jiang He’s foot had been sprained when she was thrown into the dungeon, so Wei Ji carried her on his back.
He was dressed in white, purer than snow; her red skirt hung loose and scattered.
Jiang He cried on Wei Ji’s back, begging to go back and search for her father.
“Jiang He, hurry and leave. Only by leaving can you survive.”
He did not look back. In the heavy snow, they left the capital of Wei and headed east.
He was so tense it was as if he were fleeing for his life.
Only then did Jiang He realize that the mastermind behind her father’s assassination was the ruler of Wei.
And so Wei Ji, though of noble status, could only take her and flee in silence.
Because they left in such haste, Wei Ji had not even brought Wei currency with him. He pawned his precious fox-fur cloak, calculated every coin carefully to buy food and stay at inns, but no matter how he counted, the money was not enough to hire a carriage.
Wei Ji bought a one-wheeled handcart.
It was a thousand li from Luoyang to Linzi. Wei Ji, the younger brother of the ruler of Wei and a noble prince of that state, pushed the handcart step by step and brought Jiang He home. Sometimes, when the axle broke and the cart could no longer move, Wei Ji would carry Jiang He on his back until he could buy another cart.
A thousand li; they walked for three months.
He brought her back to her homeland, and as a prince of Wei, he pleaded with the ruler of Qi to forgive the accident of the envoy’s assassination, averting a war.
He had not only brought her back; he had also protected the common people of two states.
This time, no one would untie the ropes for her. The road ahead was unpredictable. Jiang He had to seize any glimmer of hope and survive.
Then she would go and see whether he still smiled as brightly and dazzlingly as before.
Thinking of these things in a daze, Jiang He gradually grew sleepy and fell asleep.
When she woke, there were the faint footsteps of palace maids outside the hall, and Zhao Zheng was untying the ropes around her wrists. Seeing Jiang He awake, he frowned and said, “You are not allowed to talk in your sleep again tonight.”
Jiang He rubbed the obvious red marks around her wrists and cursed him countless times in Qi dialect in her heart.
“Got it.” She answered carelessly, though she was curious about what she had said in her sleep.
There was a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. She wondered if she had dreamed of food.
According to custom, yesterday she had gone hungry from noon until night.
Originally, after the bride served her husband at night, she could bathe and eat some pastries. But her husband was a limp man who lay down and slept, so naturally she had not gotten those pastries.
Jiang He rubbed her arms. Knowing she still had to go and serve tea to the empress dowager next, she felt even hungrier. Yet Zhao Zheng, after untying the ropes, did not leave. He took a strip of white silk several chi long from the end of the bed and handed it to Jiang He.
“What does this mean?” Jiang He asked in confusion.
Her hair was a mess, and because she had not slept well, weariness still lingered on her face. This less-than-refined appearance instead gave rise to a different sort of feeling.
Thinking of the words she had spoken in her sleep last night, Zhao Zheng suddenly felt uncomfortable.
This was something that had never happened before.
He steadied himself for a moment, brushing away the disorder in his heart, then forced himself to say crisply to Jiang He, “Smear blood on it. This is the palace’s method of examining you.”
Jiang He’s face instantly turned red.
The teaching matron had indeed taught her about such matters, but she did not have extra blood on her body for this.
“No.” Jiang He refused just as straightforwardly. “Let them think whatever they want. I don’t care.”
Zhao Zheng’s expression stiffened for an instant.
Was there truly a woman in this world who did not care about her own chastity and reputation?
“What does whether Jiang Yuheng is a virgin or not have to do with me, Jiang He?” Jiang He added. “Besides, this isn’t only an examination of the bride. It’s an examination of you too.”
Zhao Zheng’s face did not merely stiffen; it darkened.
He understood what she meant.
Because of his peculiarity, there were rumors inside and outside the palace that he lacked the ability to extend the imperial bloodline.
He really should have listened to his advisers and found someone easier to control to impersonate the princess of Qi. But that day, after he heard her curse in Qi dialect and smelled the fragrance of old duck congee in the hall, some strange impulse had led him to make this deal with her.
Jiang He had already risen and was walking behind the screen. As she passed, Zhao Zheng caught her by the arm.
Jiang He winced faintly in pain, but she did not beg for mercy.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To relieve myself. Want to come along?” Jiang He pressed her lips together and looked at him. Though her figure was much more petite than his, her words carried an overbearing force.
The hand gripping her arm trembled slightly with anger. Zhao Zheng looked at her and squeezed one word out from between his teeth.
“Fine.”