Indeed, when Murong Yi saw her, he beckoned her over, pulled her onto his lap, and pointed to those dates: “Which of these days looks more pleasing to you?”
Tie Ci looked at the dates—July or August, all very near—and played dumb: “What days are these? My birthday? Are you preparing to buy me gifts?”
“Why wait for your birthday to buy gifts? If you like, I’ll celebrate your birthday every day.”
“Then your birthday? Speaking of which, you still haven’t told me when your birthday is?”
“Every day I’m with you is my birthday.” Murong Yi rustled the paper loudly. “Quick, choose one.”
Tie Ci pressed down on the paper, unable to suppress her laughter: “Good heavens, your mouth is getting more and more slick. Cheesy romantic lines come so naturally now.”
Seeing she wouldn’t take the bait, Murong Yi gathered up the paper with some disappointment and sighed: “Others are getting married, and I don’t even have the first stroke of the character here. How am I supposed to live like this?”
“Just keep living. Didn’t you say that as long as two people are together, there’s no need to mind worldly affairs? When did you start caring so much about marriage or not?”
“Not marrying is fine too. How about you flip my green tablet tonight?” the enchantress earnestly suggested.
Tie Ci smiled without warmth: “Fine, I’ll have Chi Xue make green tablets right away—a whole row of tablets, all with your name, from the first to the thirtieth of the month, all you.”
“That’s a strange thing to say. If not me, whose name were you planning to write?” Murong Yi laughed. “If you ask me, let’s choose this August 15th, Mid-Autumn Festival. We won’t talk about marriage—by then we should be back in the capital. How about I go to Chongming Palace to propose?”
Seeing his persistence, Tie Ci only smiled without speaking.
Her marriage wasn’t so simple. While she needn’t follow the ancient rites of ordinary men and women in Great Qian, she would have to pass through many more barriers.
It couldn’t be resolved with a single marriage proposal.
Murong Yi couldn’t fail to understand this point. Probably he wanted to give her everything that worldly women could possess, and he didn’t want hardships and obstacles to burden her, so he wanted to choose to resolve things himself.
Their situation was both difficult and simple to resolve. As long as Murong Yi abandoned everything, Great Qian’s court ministers would certainly be delighted to see Liaodong’s prince become part of her harem.
But she didn’t want to wrong Murong Yi so, and was even more afraid that Prince Da’an of Liaodong, that deep and ruthless man, would impose sanctions on Murong Yi because of this.
But Murong Yi suddenly changed the subject: “You don’t know my birthday? Didn’t you read our marriage contract back then?”
Tie Ci laughed awkwardly.
Never mind the marriage contract—she had even thrown a dart at the portrait with her back turned.
When Liaodong sent the marriage contract, she had already gone to Haiyou. Before returning to the palace, the marriage was already annulled. By the time she learned that Murong Yi was Feiyu, the engagement had long been dissolved.
But Murong Yi had no reason to be righteous about this matter either. At least Tie Ci had only failed to read the marriage contract, while he had once boasted extensively about the rewards sent by Great Qian’s imperial family, casually giving them away and selling them off. After discovering Tie Ci’s identity, he had to spend double the silver and great effort to retrieve the imperial gifts that had already been scattered.
Tie Ci was magnanimous and didn’t hold it against him, so he wasn’t thick-skinned enough to argue with her about it.
He only said: “Actually, reading the marriage contract wouldn’t have helped. The birth date and time on the marriage contract weren’t accurate.”
Tie Ci raised her eyebrows in surprise. Murong Yi said: “When my mother was pregnant with me, the doctor predicted the due date would be during our Liaodong’s Blessing Festival, one of the most important holidays for Liaodong people, with seven days of celebrations—the most auspicious time. For this, my mother specifically reported to the Great Prince and received many rewards. Who knew that a few days before labor, because she was misled into thinking the Great Prince was arriving and she needed to go greet him, she hurried and slipped in the snow, causing me to be born several days early. That day happened to be when, according to Liaodong legend, an evil dragon wreaked havoc. On that day, all Liaodong people gathered pine flowers to throw into water to ward off evil. Children born on that day didn’t matter much in ordinary families, but in the royal palace, it was quite inauspicious. So my mother didn’t dare call the imperial physicians and gave birth in secret.”
“Because it was too rushed, the midwife hadn’t had time to enter the palace, and without imperial physicians attending, my mother nearly had a difficult birth. She also had to conceal the news. It was Mu Si’s father who heard about it and urgently sent the best midwife. After giving birth to me, my mother refused to announce it and hid me in a chest. Those days were unusually hot. The wet nurse who followed me said both she and I were covered in heat rash and nearly had our skin rot, then got sick. Only when the Blessing Festival began did my mother take me out to announce the good news. When announcing, she was again misled by someone and presented me as female instead of male. Prince Da’an came to see me, saw my face covered in red spots and listless spirit, and immediately turned away…”
Tie Ci instinctively tightened her grip on Murong Yi’s hand.
Murong Yi patted the back of her hand in return, his face showing complete nonchalance as he smiled: “Feeling sorry for me already? If I’d known that telling a few stories like this would make you feel sorry for me and grant my every wish, I should have said more earlier. You should know that while I might not have many good things to tell, I have plenty of these kinds of stories from childhood to adulthood.”
Seeing Tie Ci’s expression, he suddenly smiled again, blinking as he leaned closer: “Really feeling sorry? I was lying! The hiding for a few days was real, but I didn’t suffer much. After all, it was the royal palace, and my mother’s family was wealthy—how could they really let their only daughter suffer?”
Tie Ci didn’t pursue it further, only smiled: “Even if I feel a little sorry, don’t expect to get everything you want. Playing the victim won’t work on me.”
“Of course—who among us didn’t grow up in royal palaces? Even if there’s sympathy, it should be me feeling sorry for you.” Murong Yi held her tighter, resting his chin on her shoulder and saying softly: “Everything before was joking. I just wanted to tell you that my home, that palace, that position—I’ve never cared about them and they’re not worth my caring. Since I don’t care, why are you so concerned? We both know clearly that being born into an imperial family is the most bitter thing in this world. You can’t let go, but I can. The burden on your shoulders is already heavy enough—there’s no need to take on worrying about my share too.”
Tie Ci reached to grasp his hand on her shoulder, gently caressing it. His fingertips were slender and snow-white, like jade carvings. Only when touching carefully could one feel the countless small calluses, just like the person himself—countless hardships hidden beneath playful anger and laughter, never touchable unless one drew close to him.
“From my selfish perspective, naturally I don’t want you to become king of Liaodong and then be pushed by the throne, ministers, responsibilities, and various other reasons to finally become my enemy. Don’t rush to deny it—those in power often can’t help themselves, and time will eventually change everything. But if I wanted you to restrain your wings and abandon everything to become part of the so-called Crown Princess’s harem, that would still be too selfish and would wrong you for all the hardships you’ve endured.”
“Why haven’t you considered that I could become king of Liaodong and then submit to Great Qian? That should be the best outcome.”
“I never dare imagine everything too beautifully, because I know there are too many disappointments, helplessness, and things against one’s heart in this world. Liaodong, and the throne of Liaodong, are not things anyone can wield freely once obtained. Liaodong’s submission would mean withdrawing troops—after all, no one can allow fierce tigers to sleep soundly beside their bed. Your Liaodong cavalry is the best under heaven, with military strength second to none among the vassal states, operating under a military household system. Once troops are withdrawn or rotated, it means soldiers leave their homeland, countless military households lose their foundation and become displaced, and countless interests related to the army are harmed. The resistance or mutinies this would produce are unimaginable. This is the military-political aspect. Then there’s the official system—once submitted, all officials automatically drop two ranks, and even with exceptions, they’d drop one rank. The resulting salaries, ranks, honors, lands… all would decrease. Would your hundred officials in Liaodong accept this? Not to mention that although Liaodong is cold, the land is fertile and grain-producing, with deep forests, dense woods, and abundant mineral resources. Once submitted to Great Qian, these resources would inevitably have to be surrendered and redistributed, or fall into the hands of court officials. But after all these years, various Liaodong factions have become deeply entrenched and have long since privately divided up these resources. How could they willingly spit out benefits they’ve swallowed… Have you thought about what you’d face then?”
“You really look like a worrying housekeeper, except you’re worrying about the entire realm—truly imperial material.” Murong Yi smiled lazily. “Everything you said is right, but don’t worry—I believe I can have both Liaodong and my beauty.”
Tie Ci muttered: “How come it feels like I should be the one saying that?”
They laughed heartily for a while, then let the somewhat heavy topic pass.
Murong Yi asked her: “Want to visit the prince’s manor next door? I discovered there’s a small hill in that garden with a swing. When you swing high enough, you can see most of the manor.”
“Not interested in the manor, but interested in the swing.”
Soon after, everyone in the entire mansion saw the Crown Princess and her enchantress swinging.
The swing went extremely high. At first it was just the Crown Princess alone, like a projectile shooting toward the sky, frightening Bu Qing who was on duty on the roof into thinking an assassin had come and nearly shooting her down with his bow.
Tie Ci stood on the swing with wind roaring in her ears. The slightly moist vapor from the heights rushed toward her face, cool and refreshing. Everything became patches of brilliant color at this moment, whistling as they crashed into her chest and passed through her body—a heart-piercing joy.
From far behind she heard Murong Yi shouting loudly: “If you feel exhilarated, shout it out!”
Tie Ci opened her mouth wanting to shout, but somehow couldn’t. The court education of the past decade and the heavy burdens she was born to carry had become heavy shackles in her heart, suppressing those emotions that wanted to burst forth, as if it had become habit.
The next time she swung down, there was a tremor beside her—Murong Yi had leaped up.
The two instantly shot toward the sky.
Both figures on the swing were tall and graceful, black and white robes fluttering and intertwining. His wide sleeves billowed like clouds while her sashes danced in the wind, drawing a flowing arc in the sky.
Their upturned faces caught the sunlight, bright and clean as jade, with light seeming to flow across them.
People below looked up, stunned.
Murong Yi held Tie Ci’s waist with one hand and gripped the swing rope with the other. With a light flick of his fingers, the swing suddenly began spinning in mid-air.
Spinning faster and faster, becoming a top in the air while continuing to rise.
People below gaped.
The Yannan region also loved swinging, and because of the many ethnic groups, each had its own swinging methods—there were mill-like rotating swings, seesaw swings that rose and fell like carrying poles, water swings, and windmill swings that rotated like wheels with great momentum. The Hake people of Yannan even had special swing festivals, good opportunities for young women to find mates. Swings tied with red ropes would swing high, dropping ropes with copper coins from above. Whoever swung highest and gathered the most coins won, and the winning girls and boys would certainly become sought-after darlings.
But when had anyone seen swinging like this? Wouldn’t this make you dizzy?
The swing spiraled up in a dizzying manner, then had to spread out even more dizzyingly. The spreading speed was obviously faster, directly spinning into a blur.
Tie Ci felt like she had encountered a tornado.
She was right at the tornado’s center, being swept up, twisted, involuntarily rushing upward, then spreading out in earth-shaking darkness. All her muscles and blood were surging and shooting about, her very soul seeming to fly up to the clouds.
In the roaring wind, she heard Murong Yi shouting in her ear: “Life rarely offers such joy—if you want to shout, shout it out!”
The next moment she cried out. She felt her voice was instantly swallowed by the wind, but her chest seemed to be lit by lamplight in an instant, transparent with exhilaration from inside out.
This long sky’s wind was at her side, these myriad li of rivers and mountains were beneath her feet, this beloved person was beside her.
Even with the dome covering overhead, as long as her heart was free, she could ascend to heaven or descend to the seas.
Beside her, Murong Yi laughed heartily and, in the rapid spinning, lowered his head to kiss her fiercely.