Chapter 6: Encounter

Because of this, when the carriage came to a halt, Azho thought they had arrived home and was about to speak, but then sensed something was amiss.

Outside, it was not the brightly lit Ye Mansion but rather dark and stormy with heavy wind and snow, as if they were still on the street.

Lingbo had already woken up. Though still drowsy, her expression was alert, her eyes fixed on Qinglan. The carriage was lit by a lantern hanging at the front. Qinglan had offered the middle of the carriage for her younger sisters to sleep, while she sat alone leaning against the carriage wall, resting against the glazed window. The shadow of the window frame and the faint snowlight cast patterns across her face, her dignified features resembling a serene temple statue, revealing no sign of emotion.

“Why have we stopped? Are we home?” Yan Yan’s voice was loud upon waking, shattering the quiet atmosphere.

“Shh,” Lingbo frowned, stopping her. There was no time for chatter. She whispered, “We’ve run into the Northern Town Army’s convoy returning to the capital.”

“The Northern Town Army? Isn’t that Brother Cui Jingyu...” Yan Yan began to say the name but immediately stopped, sensing the tension, and nervously glanced at Qinglan.

Qinglan remained calmly seated in the carriage.

“It’s fine, just sleep,” she soothed, stroking Azho’s hair gently. Then, she spoke softly toward the outside, “Uncle Yang, go ask if this is indeed the Northern Town Army’s unit.”

The coachman’s surname was Yang, father of Yang Hua, husband to Lady Yang. He was a trustworthy man, one of the dowry servants Lady Ye had brought from the Lin family years ago. With two attendants, he drove the carriage. Hearing Qinglan’s instructions, he nodded quickly, jumped down, and went ahead to inquire.

It was late at night and the Ye family’s two carriages—one carrying the young ladies and their personal maids, the other the servants—had taken a shortcut through a narrow alley near Wanxi Street, a route often used. Unexpectedly, they ran into the Northern Town Army, over a thousand strong, marching through Zhuque Main Street. The Ye family’s carriage had plunged into the middle of the troop, surrounded at both ends by soldiers, unable to retreat or turn. Under the lantern light, the Ye family’s attendants and coachmen stood face-to-face with the soldiers, both sides wary.

“Move aside! This is the carriage of Lord Ye’s household. How dare you block us!” one attendant challenged immediately.

Uncle Yang hurriedly stopped the attendants from being arrogant. The soldiers, provoked, tightened their grip on their spears and halberds. A few stepped forward menacingly, encircling the Ye family carriage tighter.

The army’s response was swift. As Uncle Yang hesitated whether to push forward to meet the officers or stay back to defuse the situation, a group of mounted commanders approached—armored, cloaked, swords and bows at their sides. Though their faces were obscured, their graceful but martial bearing marked them as young and capable men. The leader spoke coldly, “What’s the matter?”

The soldiers immediately fell silent, standing at attention. A centurion stepped forward and reported, “General, two carriages suddenly appeared in our formation.”

Uncle Yang quickly explained, “We are the Ye family’s carriages, returning from Minister Shen’s residence, with a curfew pass. Please allow us to pass.”

He thought that invoking the Ye family name and Minister Shen’s would earn them some courtesy, even from a general.

But the general sneered as he turned his gaze on Uncle Yang.

“Ye family?” he repeated.

He looked barely eighteen, remarkably young. Raising his hand, a subordinate brought a lantern which he shone directly into Uncle Yang’s face. The light caught Uncle Yang unprepared, and the general laughed coldly.

“If it’s the Ye family’s carriage and you have a curfew pass, then don’t go back,” he said icily. “Surround them!”

At his command, the soldiers closed ranks, leaving no room to retreat. Uncle Yang, honest and unaccustomed to such treatment, panicked, fearing both to disturb the young ladies and to anger the general. He forced a smile and asked, “General, why is this—”

“None of your business. Stand aside,” the young general said coldly, arms folded, watching from his horse as the snow intensified. The soldiers stood firm, immovable as iron.

Helpless, Uncle Yang leaned close to the carriage and whispered to the young ladies.

Inside, a heavy silence reigned. Yan Yan and Azho only half understood. Lingbo frowned deeply. If not for concern about Yan Yan and Azho, who were to attend the Flower Signal Banquet in two days, she might have spoken up already. Her posture, leaning toward the glazed window, betrayed her barely contained frustration.

Qinglan, however, remained composed.

“Uncle Yang,” she said calmly, “ask the general his name.”

Uncle Yang was about to comply when the general sneered, “My name is none of your concern. Behave.”

The night wind howled fiercely. Though the carriage had a stove, the cold seeped in slowly. The walls were wooden frames patched with felt, no match for the relentless cold.

Uncle Yang could not fathom what grudge this man had against them. The young ladies were delicate as lotus petals, unable to endure the chill. If they were to be trapped here all night, what would become of them? Though honest, Uncle Yang’s heart burned with a protective resolve. He glanced at the attendants, all anxious, and felt a sudden urge to act.

But before he could, Qinglan’s calm voice came from inside the carriage, steady as ever, as if the world were falling apart yet she remained unshaken.

“In that case, have Commander Wei come speak with us,” she said quietly. “What reason is there to detain a general’s family in the middle of the road at this hour?”

“Wei Commander has already been ordered to the palace for the official’s victory banquet,” the young general replied sharply. “If anyone could just seek audience with Commander Wei, the Northern Town Army’s reputation would be worthless. Rest assured, if the Censorate investigates, I’ll bear responsibility.”

His tone was a veiled threat—everyone knew the Northern Town Army had just arrived in the capital with honors, and this young officer likely had military merits. So what if he detained a carriage with officials’ families? His deeds and faults would balance out. This trouble was inevitable for him today.

At this moment, Lingbo could no longer restrain herself.

“If the Censorate’s inquiry doesn’t scare you, what about General Cui’s?” she called out, naming the man directly in anger. “Wei Yushan, don’t be so insolent!”

“And what if I am?” Wei Yushan answered coolly. Upon being named, he pushed his helmet back, revealing a handsome, cold smile on his youthful face, no older than seventeen or eighteen. Folding his arms, he lounged on his horse. “What if I keep you surrounded until dawn?”

“You’re so impressive! Armored and sword-bearing, yet harassing women!” Lingbo shot back immediately.

Wei Yushan showed no shame or emotion, ready to reply, when suddenly a light appeared at the front of the formation—a small squad galloping swiftly. Leading was a tall man on a massive horse, clad in dark armor and cloak. It was none other than Cui Jingyu himself. Beside him rode a man in a simple blue robe, without armor, leisurely on horseback.

Wei Yushan dreaded losing face before this man, and today was his unlucky day.

Uncle Yang, who had been at a loss, brightened instantly upon seeing the leader.

Azho, though seated inside, was sharp and almost pieced together the situation. Yan Yan was still confused, saying, “Why look for Commander Wei? Let’s just find Brother Cui Jingyu directly...” Lingbo clicked her tongue sharply and shot her a stern look, silencing her.

Lingbo leaned close to the glazed window, secretly opening a narrow gap. The carriage was dark inside, so looking out was clear without being seen.

“Sister,” she whispered excitedly to Qinglan, “he really has come.”

Qinglan remained still. Azho sensed a calm yet heavy aura about her and knew she would not approach the window.

Lingbo motioned to Azho and Yan Yan, and the three pressed close to the window to watch.

Though Azho tried to remain composed, curiosity filled her. Unlike Yan Yan and Lingbo, who had met Cui Jingyu before, she could hardly tell which was which. The men leading the group wore dark armor and cloaks, exuding a cold, martial aura. Snow settled on their shoulders as if it were part of their nature. Helmets concealed their faces, but their tall, lithe, warrior-like physiques were unmistakable.

The man in the blue robe trailing just behind, without armor, revealed only half his face but was strikingly refined and handsome, looking more like a scholar than a general.

Azho’s gaze flicked among them before settling on the young man who had blocked their path—Wei Yushan.

His surname was Wei, proud and arrogant, with a handsome Qin-style lean face. The Wei family, from Qin territory, likely counted him among their kin. Though he showed great respect to Cui Jingyu, when Cui approached, Wei called out, “Brother Cui, it’s the Ye family’s carriage. I’ve surrounded them for you...”

But the next moment, he was flung from his horse. Azho barely caught the scene—a blur of Cui Jingyu grabbing Wei by the collar and tossing him like a sack. Wei landed hard in the snow, stunned, sitting there bewildered and aggrieved, staring at Cui Jingyu in shock.

Cui Jingyu said nothing and did not glance at the Ye family’s carriage.

“Disperse,” he commanded calmly. “Let the carriage through.”

Like trained doves parting, the soldiers opened a path. Uncle Yang was overjoyed, quickly climbing back onto the carriage pole to guide the horses, attempting to thank Cui Jingyu, “Young Master Cui...”

Cui Jingyu seemed not to hear. He turned his horse sharply, the familiar steed obediently moving under the eaves beside Zhuque Street. Soldiers surged forward, shielding the Ye carriage from him.

He apparently wished to speak no words to the Ye family.

Uncle Yang urged the horses forward, while the young ladies remained silent, their first meeting in four years ending abruptly and without word. Even this honest, peaceful man’s heart churned with mixed emotions.

What he did not expect was that they had a second young lady.

Azho, though young, was perceptive and sensed a subtle, complex emotion lingering inside the carriage. As she pondered, she suddenly felt a weight on her head.

It was Lingbo, who pressed Yan Yan’s and Azho’s heads down—both destined to attend the Flower Signal Banquet soon—and then reached up to push the glazed window wide open.

The window, narrow as a framed painting, caught the moment perfectly—just as Cui Jingyu and the carriage passed each other.

Inside, Qinglan was half-hidden in shadow. Outside, one could briefly glimpse a jade-like profile, flushed with a faint blush from wine, dignified and elegant as a Guanyin statue, twenty-three years old—the delicate lotus blossom hanging beyond the window.

Cui Jingyu did not even turn his face.

His black armor resembled a bronze statue, hiding his expression and emotions. Calmly seated on horseback, he appeared as though passing by a stranger with no shared past. The faint wistfulness built over four years did not touch him at all.

The snow fell thick and large, like goose feathers, drifting down. Though only a yard separated them, it was as if an entire city lay between. The wind swept the snowflakes against their faces, nearly blinding them.

“What heavy snow,” someone laughed admiringly. It was the young man in the blue robe who had accompanied Cui Jingyu. His smile revealed handsome, charming eyes, seemingly gazing at the carriage under the guise of watching the snow. His natural peach blossom eyes were truly beautiful.

But Lingbo’s spirit surged with murderous intent.

She knew the window had been opened in vain today, so she cast a resentful glare at him, then slammed the window shut with force. Her aura was fierce enough to silence Yan Yan, who had wanted to peek outside.

“Alright then, strangers meeting but not recognizing each other,” Lingbo said, her eyes swirling with countless schemes. Her tone softened, almost honeyed. “We shall see how this plays out.”

Though she often lost her temper, it was usually not frightening. This time, even Azho sensed danger.

Qinglan, however, spoke calmly to soothe her.

“It’s all in the past. Why dwell on it?” She smiled faintly. “This year, let’s just take good care of Yan Yan and Azho. Don’t think about those matters. Focus on preparing for the Flower Signal Banquet.”

Outside, the north wind still howled. Azho’s mind was tangled with a thousand thoughts, unsure where to begin. Perhaps from the wine she had drunk, she felt a first stirring of something like regret. Instinctively, she huddled close to Yan Yan, as if watching a mountain slowly crumble. Though powerless to change fate, sadness welled within.

Before falling asleep, one thought struck her suddenly.

If that Cui Jingyu, the cold and indifferent young general who had once been betrothed to Qinglan and rejected, truly was a stranger to her now... then why, when the snowy wind swept fiercely against them, did everyone instinctively raise their hands to shield their faces—except for those two, who did not even glance at each other, nor flinch?