This was Ji Wanqing's biological father—the former Marquis of Jingbei, Ji Zongqing.
Aside from Ji Zongqing's steadfast refusal to support Empress Ji, even to the point of severing ties with the Linjiang Marquis' household, the most important reason he commanded such respect was his valor on the battlefield. For decades, he had loyally defended the realm. In the end, father and son alike fell on the battlefield while resisting Tatar incursions. Such heroism was truly admirable.
The deaths of Ji Zongqing and his son filled the court with grief and regret. Gao Xu, as Crown Prince, was no exception—hence his words just now.
Yet upon hearing them, Ji Wanqing's nose stung sharply, and she nearly burst into tears. She had not expected that three years after her father's death—long after her uncle had inherited the title—someone would still refer to her father as the Marquis of Jingbei. She forced herself to hold back and replied, "In response to Your Highness, that is indeed so."
Gao Xu nodded. "Your father and brother gave their lives to defend the nation. They are the very embodiment of loyalty and righteousness in Great Zhou."
At last, tears soaked Ji Wanqing's lashes. Her chest felt unbearably tight. It was true that her father and brother had died for the country, fulfilling the greater cause—but in doing so, they had abandoned their small family. Her mother had followed them in death, leaving behind only two sisters, alone and helpless.
After her father and brother fell, because she and her sister were daughters, the consolation offered by visiting women never went beyond hollow phrases of condolence. In these three years, this was the first time anyone had openly affirmed her father's and brother's sacrifice.
And such lofty praise had come from the Crown Prince himself—the heir apparent her father had once so deeply admired.
Emotion surged uncontrollably. Forgetting propriety, Ji Wanqing abruptly lifted her head to look at him. Through the haze of tears, she met a pair of deep, dark eyes.
The Crown Prince's eyes were exceptionally black and bright. His expression remained gentle, yet within his gaze—and only within—lay a trace of genuine sorrow and regret.
He did not reproach her lapse in decorum. After a brief moment of eye contact, he said, "Miss Ji, please accept my condolences."
At this point, Ji Wanqing knew that if she spoke, she would only choke on her words. She said nothing, merely lowered her head and nodded.
After those few brief exchanges, Gao Xu said no more. Leaving the Imperial Garden, he boarded his carriage and returned toward the Eastern Palace.
No sooner had he arrived than a trusted aide reported that Elder Wu had been waiting for some time.
This Elder Wu was none other than Wu Zhengyong, the Crown Prince's maternal grandfather and a Grand Secretary of the Inner Cabinet. Gao Xu immediately went to the main hall.
"Your Highness," Wu Zhengyong said, "this old man has heard that Empress Ji summoned the eldest daughter of the former Marquis of Jingbei."
He had received the news a step too late. With the palace gates locked the night before, he could not enter. As soon as court adjourned that morning, he had rushed over. Both anxious and furious, he exclaimed, "This is outrageous! The Crown Prince is the heir of the realm—how can he, how can he be matched with a lone orphan girl?"
His aged face flushed red with anger—at Empress Ji's sordid scheming, and at the emperor's muddleheadedness. Out of wariness toward the Crown Prince's competence, the emperor had allowed the empress free rein.
Marriage for the Crown Prince could indeed consolidate the Eastern Palace's power. But even if that proved impossible, Wu Zhengyong at least hoped his grandson would take a worthy wife—one who could ensure harmony within the household, making the inner court a place of rest, and stabilizing the rear.
Wu Zhengyong had once planned that, if all else failed, his own granddaughter could marry the Crown Prince—cousins binding closer still. The Eastern Palace would gain no new factional strength, and the emperor would likely not object.
He had never expected Empress Ji's intentions to sink so low. Frowning deeply, Wu Zhengyong said, "How can a daughter of the Ji family be fit to become Crown Princess?"
Gao Xu took his seat opposite his grandfather. After a moment's contemplation, he said, "Eldest Miss Ji is the daughter of Ji Zongqing." Ji Zongqing's merits were undeniable; Gao Xu would never dispute that.
At the mention of the former Marquis of Jingbei, Wu Zhengyong fell silent for a long while. "Lord Ji was upright and loyal—truly admirable. But this Eldest Miss Ji is merely a woman, raised for three years by her uncle and aunt. What sort of person she has become—who can say?"
Wu Zhengyong held Ji Zongqing in high regard. Yet traditionally, a daughter's upbringing lay in her mother's hands. A sheltered young lady confined to the inner chambers had limited horizons. And since Empress Ji had clearly laid such plans, she would surely have someone indoctrinate Ji Wanqing. Influencing a fatherless young girl would hardly be difficult.
Gao Xu did not respond at once. What his grandfather could foresee, he himself understood well. After a long pause, he said evenly, "If she keeps her place, she will live out her days in peace. If not…"
A flash of cold light passed through his eyes, usually so mild and warm.
Wu Zhengyong could only shake his head and sigh inwardly. A woman specially chosen by Empress Ji—he feared the outlook was bleak.
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Chapter Three
The Jingbei Marquis' carriage had been waiting outside the Xuanwu Gate all along. The moment Ji Wanqing stepped out of the palace gates, she saw her personal maid, Lihua, poking her head out of the carriage, anxiously scanning the entrance.
"Miss!" Lihua, with her round face and large eyes, lit up with joy upon seeing her mistress. She jumped down at once and rushed forward to help her up.
Once mistress and servant were inside the carriage, the driver flicked his thin whip. Hooves clopped as the carriage turned and headed back the way it had come.
"Lihua, pour me a cup of tea first," Ji Wanqing said. After more than an hour of walking back and forth, she was both thirsty and exhausted. Feeling that the cup was not too hot, she drank two cups in quick succession before finally quenching her thirst.
She then sat down on the short couch. Lihua hurried over to knead her legs. After a while, Ji Wanqing felt somewhat better and relaxed, leaning sideways against the cushion.
Her movements were elegant, yet the posture was undeniably lazy—something her mother would never have permitted, had she still been alive.
In her previous life, Ji Wanqing had been rather carefree. In this one, having become a woman of ancient times, she had instead grown exceedingly cautious. She did not necessarily agree with all these rules, yet she feared disgracing her parents' name. Thus, she had devoted herself to learning and observing them for over a decade, until they were etched into her very bones.
Perhaps that was for the best. At least she had not failed her parents' long-held expectations.
It had been three years since their deaths, and she had largely come to terms with it. Yet recently, having just emerged from mourning, old memories resurfaced, leaving Ji Wanqing frequently weighed down by sorrow.
"Miss," Lihua asked softly as she massaged her legs, worry evident in her voice, "why did Her Majesty summon you to the palace?"
Innately fearful of imperial authority, Lihua lowered her voice to a whisper, glancing around even as she spoke.
Ji Wanqing curved her lips faintly, the smile chilling. "Your miss is a fatherless orphan. The only things of use to others are this surname—and my marriage."
"Miss, then what shall we do?" Lihua was the daughter of Ji Wanqing's wet nurse and had grown up at her side, utterly loyal. Hearing this, she panicked.
"What else can we do?" Ji Wanqing replied calmly. "When others hold the knife and I am the fish on the board, all I can do is meet soldiers with generals, and water with earth. We'll see their move first—then respond."