Chapter 8 - The Princess's Longing
Ye Zhao rhythmically swayed his folding fan, his gaze lingering on the vibrant blossoms lining the path. The air in the Great Thousand Garden was fragrant, and he felt a rare sense of leisurely contentment, far removed from the stifling atmosphere of the imperial court.
Suddenly, the sound of frantic calling drifted from behind, growing louder and more desperate with every passing second.
He paused and turned. An elderly woman was hurrying toward him—half-running, half-stumbling—with a small entourage trailing in her wake. Her face was a mask of urgent longing, her eyes fixed solely on him.
Ye Zhao glanced around. The nearest person was at least thirty feet away. Confused, he opened his mouth to ask if she needed assistance, but ultimately remained silent. Instead, he simply stepped to the side, intending to let the group pass. He assumed he was merely a bystander, a "passerby A" in someone else’s drama.
To his surprise, the group came to a sudden, jarring halt just a few paces from him.
The Princess Royal, Wei Meng, was trembling violently. Whether it was from the physical exertion of her sprint or the overwhelming surge of emotion, her entire frame shook like a leaf in autumn. She stared at the young man standing quietly by the roadside, his head slightly bowed in a polite gesture of deference. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, shimmering with a hope that bordered on the painful.
After a long, heavy silence, she spoke. Her voice was a fragile thread, trembling with a mixture of caution and disbelief. "Lord... Lord Tianshu?"
This time, Ye Zhao heard her clearly. He looked up, his face etched with genuine bewilderment. "Are you... addressing me?"
There was no one else in the immediate vicinity; the question was almost rhetorical.
The Princess Royal’s eyes remained locked onto his. She took a slow, deliberate step forward until she was standing directly in front of him. Without warning, two crystalline tears escaped her lashes and rolled down her weathered cheeks. "It’s true... You’ve truly returned!"
Ye Zhao was utterly blindsided. Before he could offer a word of protest, he was swept up by the group and led away, feeling very much like a rare specimen being paraded for observation.
Moments later, he found himself seated in a place of honor. To his right sat Princess Xiyue, and to his left, the Princess Royal herself. Below them, the gazes of the gathered noble sons and daughters were like scorching needles, threatening to bore holes through his very skin. Ye Zhao sat perfectly still, his posture rigid. He felt as though his seat were a slab of red-hot iron, and he was the unfortunate morsel being seared upon it.
The Princess Royal, however, was radiant. It was as if the mere sight of him had stripped decades from her age. With a joyful, fluttering energy, she personally moved plates of exquisite fruit and pastries toward him, her hands never resting. She poured him tea with her own hands, all the while chattering incessantly about past events, her words a dizzying stream of nostalgia.
Faced with such overwhelming hospitality, Ye Zhao felt a cold sweat breaking out. "Your Highness... Princess Royal... I am not the 'Lord Tianshu' you speak of. I fear you have mistaken me for another."
The old woman didn't even pause. "How could I ever mistake you, Lord Tianshu?"
Ye Zhao finally realized who this "Lord Tianshu" was—the legendary figure whose shadow loomed over the history of the Wei Kingdom. But this realization only made his heart sink further. This was a title he could not—and would not—claim.
"Princess Royal, my name is Ye Zhao. My father is Ye Yuan, the Vice Minister of Revenue. I am truly not Lord Tianshu."
Several people in the crowd had tried to offer this exact explanation earlier, but the old lady had ignored them entirely, her ears seemingly closed to any voice but her own memories.
At Ye Zhao’s firm declaration, she finally paused. She stared into his eyes, her mind seemingly struggling to process the information. Below the dais, the onlookers let out a collective sigh of relief. They thought that, finally, the Princess Royal had regained her senses. It was well known that as she aged, her mind occasionally wandered into the mists of confusion. Today’s spectacle was surely just another such "oops" moment.
After a long silence, the Princess Royal’s voice finally steadied, though it took on a tone of profound, grandmotherly affection. "Oh, so it’s Zhao-zhao. My apologies, I seem to have been mistaken."
Ye Zhao let out a long, silent breath. The misunderstanding was resolved.
Or so he thought.
The old woman continued, her voice soft and wistful. "You look exactly like your father, as if carved from the same mold. For a moment, I truly thought he had come back." She reached out and took Ye Zhao’s hand, her expression a mix of hope and anxiety. "Where is your father? Why didn't he come with you?"
"Huh?" A short, startled sound escaped Ye Zhao’s throat.
While he and his father were undeniably related by blood, he could not, in good conscience, admit that he was his father's spitting image. In all his years, this was the very first time anyone had ever suggested he looked like Ye Yuan.
Confused but honest, he replied, "My father is currently on duty at the Ministry of Revenue."
"Has your father returned to court then? Why did no one tell me that Lord Tianshu had come back?"
The crowd finally began to piece together the old woman’s fractured logic. Princess Xiyue, who had been watching the exchange with a complicated expression, leaned in to explain. "Grandmother, Lord Tianshu has not returned. Young Master Ye is referring to Lord Ye Yuan of the Ministry of Revenue. He is Lord Ye’s son, Ye Zhao."
Xiyue had spent enough time with her grandmother to know that sometimes a point had to be repeated three or four times, phrased in different ways, before it would take root.
But this time, the Princess Royal seemed particularly stubborn. she looked back and forth between Ye Zhao’s face and the empty air, her confusion palpable. "Xiyue, no... that’s not right. This is Zhao-zhao. He is Lord Tianshu’s son. Look at him! How could he not be? He looks just like his father."
She seemed to slip further into the past, her voice dropping as she recounted a long-buried memory. "Years ago, Lord Tianshu told me... he said if he ever had a son, he would name him 'Zhao.' And a daughter..." She looked at Xiyue with a piercing gaze. "...he would name her 'Xiyue.'"
A stunned silence fell over the garden. Even Princess Xiyue froze, hearing the origin of her name for the first time.
Then, the whispers began.
"That is... quite the coincidence..."
"Surely not? There were never any rumors of Lord Tianshu having a child!"
"Don't be foolish. People can look alike, and names can be shared. It’s just a fluke," someone countered, though their voice lacked conviction.
"The Princess Royal is old," another whispered. "A thirty percent resemblance becomes eighty percent in her eyes." Many nodded in silent agreement.
"Back then, Lord Tianshu had many admirers, both men and women," a young lady added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "But I never heard of him having an... affair with anyone."
"Ye Zhao, the son of Tianshu? Preposterous!"
Another young miss, recalling certain scandalous rumors, blurted out, "I heard Lord Tianshu’s relationships with the old Chancellor Pei and the old General Wei were... unconventional."
Instantly, dozens of sharp gazes shot toward her, including a cold, piercing look from Pei Yunting. The girl immediately lowered her head, hiding behind her fan as if she had never spoken.
Ye Zhao felt like his head was about to explode. He was sitting on pins and needles. "My name was given to me by my father. It is merely a coincidence. Perhaps I do bear some resemblance to Lord Tianshu, but I am not his son. A lie cannot become the truth, Princess Royal."
The old woman paused again, taking a long time to digest his words. Ye Zhao waited with bated breath.
"Oh," she finally said, her voice small. "So, Zhao-zhao, you’re saying you aren't Lord Tianshu’s son?"
She had understood. Ye Zhao felt like weeping with joy. "I am not!"
"Oh... I see..." The light in the old woman’s eyes dimmed. A profound, lonely melancholy settled over her features, as if she were retreating into a past that only she remembered.
Ye Zhao couldn't bear to stay a moment longer. He stood up and bowed. "Princess Royal, I have just remembered an urgent matter at home. May I have your permission to withdraw?"
The Princess Royal looked up at him, her expression dazed. "You’re leaving?"
"Er... yes."
"Will you come back?" she asked. Her voice wasn't sad, or clingy, or even disappointed. It was the simple, direct question of a child watching someone walk away.
Ye Zhao met her gaze, his voice catching for a second. "My home is here, in Tianshangjing."
"I see." She nodded slowly. Then, she reached down and slid a carved silver bracelet from her wrist—a piece that seemed far too humble for her royal status. She held it out to him with a gentle smile. "Zhao-zhao, when you have time, remember to visit this old woman. I live... I live at..." She paused, searching her memory. "I live at the Princess Royal’s Manor."
She spoke the words carefully, as if afraid he wouldn't be able to find her, her eyes filled with a deep, unspoken yearning for a future visit.
Ye Zhao looked at the silver bracelet. It was clearly an old object, worn smooth by years of contact with skin, a testament to how much its owner cherished it. He had wanted to meet the legendary Princess Royal, but he hadn't expected to be the recipient of such profound, misplaced affection.
He didn't want to take it, but he couldn't refuse. The Princess Royal insisted, pressing the cold metal into his palm. He could feel the gazes of the crowd growing even more intense, burning with envy. To anyone watching, it seemed the Princess Royal was still treating him as Tianshu’s heir. Whether it was a misunderstanding or not didn't matter; to have the favor of the Princess Royal was to have a powerful shield in the capital.
Finally, Princess Xiyue stepped forward to escort him out. As they walked away, Ye Zhao could practically see the little flames of jealousy flickering over the heads of the young noblemen.
The two walked in a silence that was almost suffocating. A maid followed a few paces behind.
"Qingyuan, fall back," Princess Xiyue said coldly.
"Yes, My Lady." The maid hesitated, clearly worried about leaving the capital’s greatest beauty alone with a notorious dandy like Ye Zhao, but she obeyed.
They reached a secluded path flanked by artificial rockeries, which blocked them from the view of the main garden. It was a perfect place for a private conversation.
Ye Zhao had a feeling he knew what was coming.
"Young Master Ye," Xiyue began, her voice as cool as moonlight. "I will be blunt. My grandmother shared a deep bond with Lord Tianshu. Because you resemble him so closely, she has momentarily transferred her affections to you. But you must not take her words to heart. You are not Lord Tianshu, and Lord Tianshu had no son."
She had finally realized why Ye Zhao had looked familiar when they first met. A portrait of Tianshu hung in the Princess Royal’s manor, and she had seen it many times.
"The false can never become the true. You understand this yourself." She stood tall, her tone measured but sharp. To her, Ye Zhao was likely just a piece of mud that she didn't want staining her family’s reputation. She held out her hand. "Grandmother is old and her health is fragile. In the future, please do not disturb her peace."
She paused, then added as an afterthought, "If there is something I can help you with, you may ask."
Ye Zhao didn't interrupt. He simply smiled—a relaxed, easy smile that held no bitterness, only the detached amusement of an observer. He had always known Xiyue was a "cold beauty," but now he saw that her beauty was matched by a supercilious arrogance. Her offer of "help" was clearly a polite way of telling him to take a bribe and disappear.
*Zhao-zhao.* He remembered the way the old woman had said his name. Only his father had ever called him that.
He suppressed his swirling thoughts and placed the silver bracelet into her pale, elegant palm. "Rest assured, Princess. In the future, even if you were to beg me, I would not dream of disturbing the Princess Royal’s peace."
His tone was... subtle.
Princess Xiyue frowned, assuming he was acting out of spite. But then she reconsidered her own harshness. "Young Master Ye, you misunderstand. I did not mean to belittle you..."
"I never said you did," Ye Zhao interrupted, his gaze clear and honest. "This bracelet is clearly a precious memento of the Princess Royal. It is of no use to me. Returning it to its rightful owner is simply the most sensible thing to do."
He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back. "Oh, and one more thing. I imagine you wouldn't want today’s events to spread. Please do me the favor of informing the ladies and gentlemen back there of the truth. After all, this misunderstanding is just as inconvenient for me as it is for you."
With that, he walked away without a second glance, showing absolutely no interest in the "Number One Beauty of the Capital."
His utter indifference left Xiyue feeling a strange, prickling sense of shame. She had expected him to be overjoyed by the Princess Royal’s favor, or perhaps angry at being dismissed. She hadn't expected him to simply... not care.
*Perhaps I misjudged him,* she thought, watching his retreating back.
"My Lady?" her maid called out, returning to her side.
"Let us go back," Xiyue replied, her expression complex. She had achieved her goal of distancing the manor from Ye Zhao, and his final request had aligned perfectly with her own wishes. Yet, his dismissive attitude left her with a lingering, unsettling question.
Since when had the Princess Royal’s favor become something so easily discarded?
***
