Chapter Twenty: Deliverance from Peril

Xiong Zhen was raging inside the palace, smashing everything he could—whether breakable or not—onto the floor.

The envoys from Wu strutted about the city with lofty arrogance, even lingering at the palace gates to hurry things along. The Marquis of Sui gathered the ministers for court meetings day after day, yet no conclusion was ever reached. The mounting invisible pressure was nearly driving Xiong Zhen mad.

The sky remained perpetually overcast, thick clouds pressing down like a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Zi Xi stood quietly at the doorway, watching with calm detachment. Only when Xiong Zhen, exhausted, slumped against a cushion, gasping for breath, did Zi Xi step forward.

“What does the Marquis of Sui say?” Xiong Zhen jumped up, anxiously searching Zi Xi’s face. Zi Xi merely shook his head, remaining silent.

“How can this be? Isn’t Sui a vassal of mighty Chu? They dare to hand me over to Wu? How could they?”

“The Marquis of Sui lacks decisiveness; the ministers cannot agree,” Zi Xi replied after a pause. “I’ve heard the Wu envoys have stationed guards at all four city gates.”

What did that mean? Was escape now impossible? Xiong Zhen sat on the floor in despair. But even if he could flee, where would he go? The sovereign of a great nation reduced to a fugitive, living in constant fear.

The capital of Sui was not large, but bustling with activity. Standing at the gate, Meng Di noticed Ji Mi hesitating and asked her gently if she was alright.

In truth, both understood that their relationship would never be the same as before.

“Meng, I—” Ji Mi began.

“Don’t worry. I will always be your Meng,” Meng Di replied.

As they entered the city, they happened upon the Wu envoys returning from the palace, swaggering back to their inn. The crowd scattered before them.

The three kept their heads down, pressing themselves against the edge. Ji Mi’s heart was troubled, her mind unsettled; someone bumped her heavily, and she let out a low cry of pain.

Looking up, she saw the man who had collided with her was clutching his sword, striding heedlessly toward the envoy’s carriage.

Meng Di reacted swiftly, placing one hand on his sword and the other on the man’s shoulder, whispering in his ear, “General Dou Chao, don’t be rash.”

The man turned. He had a square face and thick beard, his eyes blazing—none other than Dou Chao, brother to Dou Huai, whom they had met in Ying. Dou Chao grasped Meng Di’s arm, pleased, and said, “Let’s join forces and kill the Wu envoy!”

“The envoy must not be harmed. Princess Ji Mi is here. Take us to the King at once,” Meng Di said.

Princess? Dou Chao glanced at Ji Mi, who indeed looked familiar. The envoys had already moved on, so he stomped his foot in frustration and led the three back to the palace.

Upon seeing Xiong Zhen, Ji Mi burst into joyful tears. Xiong Zhen, too, was moved, gripping her hand with emotion. “Your brother is useless, letting you suffer so.”

“I’m fine, Brother. Where is Mother?”

“Go rest for now, Mi. I have matters to attend to,” Xiong Zhen replied, his expression awkward.

When Ying fell, he had been dragged out of the city by his guards, unable to care for anyone else. Rumor had it that everyone in the city—from the palace to the commoners—had their families and wives seized and humiliated by the Wu army.

Zi Xi feared Xiong Zhen would break down, so he ordered everyone not to speak of Ying, especially hiding news of Wu Zixu’s desecration of the royal tombs.

At this moment, Ji Mi’s mention of her mother struck right at the sorest spot.

Zi Xi quickly diverted the conversation, asking Ji Mi about her journey.

“If not for Meng, I would never have escaped the city,” Ji Mi blurted, immediately regretting it.

As expected, Xiong Zhen’s face darkened, his gaze shifting to Meng Di standing nearby.

Zi Xi sighed, stepping forward. “General Meng serves under Lord Dou Xin. He has protected the princess throughout this journey, deserving a reward, Your Majesty.”

“A reward? Should I call him Meng as well?” Xiong Zhen retorted coldly.

He then burst into laughter, the sound hoarse and wild, as if venting all his pent-up grievances.

When the laughter finally faded, Meng Di said calmly, “Your Majesty seems quite cheerful. You must have found a way to deal with the Wu envoy.”

Without the mantle of kingship, Xiong Zhen was just a sensitive, capricious youth in Meng Di’s eyes. Watching the shifting colors of his face, Meng Di felt that any further provocation might push him over the edge. So he coughed lightly and spoke seriously, “If Your Majesty finds this difficult, why not let me handle it?”

Xiong Zhen wondered if he was mad or if Meng Di was—a mere minor general daring to make such bold claims.

Ji Mi hastily interjected, “Yesterday, General Meng and Lord Zuo She discussed a plan to resolve this.”

Lord Zuo She? Zi Xi’s heart stirred. “Is this the Grand Shaman Zuo She who lives in seclusion here in Sui? If he’s willing to help, it might just work.”

Seeing that his trusted brother Zi Xi believed it worth a try, Xiong Zhen’s eyes grew hopeful. As long as he wasn’t handed over to the Wu, what did it matter if he called Meng “brother”?

“What will you do?” he asked.

“You needn’t know the details, Your Majesty. Just follow my instructions,” Meng Di said.

“Very well. I’ll trust you this once!” Xiong Zhen said after much hesitation, gritting his teeth.

Meng Di’s first order was to send someone out of the city, disguised as King Zhao of Chu, to make a grand show of heading toward Zheng.

The second order was to spread rumors among the populace that King Zhao had already arrived in Zheng.

The third was for everyone to change into Sui attire, ensuring no hint of their true identity leaked.

And then… wait.

“Wait?”

“Yes, wait until the Marquis of Sui begins the divination.”

The waiting was agonizing; the palace furnishings were smashed batch after batch.

Three days later, Xiong Zhen was summoned for the divination.

Everything unfolded as Meng Di had planned. Zuo She, the shaman who inwardly doubted all magic, put on a splendid act.

The ceremony was solemn and majestic. After honoring Heaven and Earth, the process began with yarrow stalks—inauspicious.

Then came the burning of a tortoise shell; mysterious patterns appeared, still foreboding.

A final divination—ominous in the extreme!

The Sui nobles were terrified, sending forth a silver-tongued minister to inform the Wu envoy, “The King of Chu truly never came here!”

Unexpectedly, the envoy believed them completely, even informing Sui that the King of Chu had gone to Zheng, and that he must hurry back to report.

The crisis was resolved.

These days, Meng Di spent his time at Zuo She’s humble cottage. The two found in each other kindred spirits, and their friendship bridged the years.

Zuo She poured scalding water into a clay pot, then carefully dropped in some tea leaves, gesturing for Meng Di to help himself.

Remembering the bitter, astringent taste from last time, Meng Di could only smile wryly and shake his head. Zuo She laughed, sipping gently, closing his eyes and sighing with pleasure, finally exhaling deeply, utterly content.

Jing Chuo, at some point, had become inseparable from Lian, whispering together in a corner.

“What are your plans, young friend?” Zuo She asked.

Meng Di remained silent. He felt no attachment to Chu; if not for Ji Mi, he would have left long ago, his obligations fulfilled.

In his previous life, always in the army, he had never tasted the joys of love. Only now did he realize how persistent this gentle longing could be.

Zuo She, wise with age, saw through Meng Di’s heart and advised, “Chu values lineage. You have neither title nor land; it will be hard to win the King’s favor.”

“Better to travel the kingdoms. With your talents, you will make a name among the lords, or at least establish your own domain.”

Meng Di pondered for a long time, then rose and bowed deeply to Zuo She, saying little as he took his leave.

Heaven had granted him another life; he must do something worthy, not waste away in gloom. On the road back to the city, his steps grew ever firmer.

“Meng, look,” Jing Chuo called from behind.

“What is it?” he asked, following her gaze.

Under the peach trees stood Ji Mi, graceful as ever, smiling silently.