Chapter 80: The Conquest of Yanyi (Part Four)

After receiving fifty heavy blows, Quan Ce and Wu Yanyi were both unable to walk, lying prone on stretchers as they were carried out of the palace.

“Hey, you filthy lot, don’t you know the way? Why take all these detours? If you keep this up, I’ll see to you myself!” Wu Yanyi, lying face-down and wracked with pain, glanced over at Quan Ce, who was being carried alongside him, his anger simmering. He noticed that the young eunuchs carrying them were intentionally taking a circuitous route; at each gate, they walked from east to west, then south to north, parading the two of them past every official bureau so all could witness their miserable state.

“General Wu, you’d best save your strength. These men wouldn’t dare act on their own. We’ve already been beaten; letting people look is hardly the worst that could happen,” Quan Ce said, seemingly untroubled. As they passed the Phoenix Pavilion, he even waved and greeted familiar colleagues such as Zhang Shuo and Wang Jiao. Empress Wu, after all, was a ruler of grand vision. Quan Ce’s tearful performance in front of the Princess of Gao’an’s residence had called for a measured response; now, Wu was issuing a public punishment as a warning—both to him and to those factions scheming in the shadows. Wu Yanyi’s inclusion in this parade served as a gesture of reassurance.

The weighty affairs of the court were deftly managed by Empress Wu. With a single move, the tension that had been building was instantly dispelled. The Wu clan, the Li clan, those openly stirring trouble, and those working in secret—all received fifty lashes apiece. This resolution was neither personal nor strictly legal; by sentiment, Quan Ce ought to have suffered far more, and by law, Wu Yanyi’s crimes far exceeded mere caning. But politics prevailed. With two stretchers and two young men’s battered bodies, the Empress demonstrated her magnanimity and her commitment to balance.

“Assistant Minister Quan, until we meet again.”

“General Wu, until we meet again.”

After nearly an hour paraded through the palace, they were finally carried out of the Vermilion Phoenix Gate. Each man, lost in his own thoughts, offered a formal farewell. Wu Yanyi’s face was still streaked with blood, his expression fierce, while Quan Ce maintained a gentle, almost smiling composure.

The servants of the Princess of Gao’an’s household received Quan Ce, carrying him from the carriage and laying him in his chambers. Though his injuries were not grave, his back and hips were smeared with blood, a terrifying sight that greatly alarmed Fuqu.

Quan Ce instructed the servants not to spread word of the incident, hoping not to alarm his aunt. But how could such a thing be concealed? As soon as the Princess of Gao’an heard, she hurried to his side. Fuqu hastily covered him with a brocade quilt in an attempt to hide the evidence.

“My boy, don’t worry about your aunt. I won’t cry,” the princess said, but she was not so easily fooled. Lifting the quilt, she saw the blood and her face turned ashen; hands trembling, she covered him again and anxiously asked, “Is the ordeal truly over now?”

Quan Ce nodded repeatedly.

“Good. I’ve sent for the best physicians—don’t let this leave you with lasting wounds.” With that, she barked a few orders to Fuqu and then hurried from the room. At the turn of the corridor, she pressed her hand to her mouth, suppressing her sobs.

The soundless weeping pierced Quan Ce’s heart. Glancing aside, he saw Fuqu bustling about, her face etched with sorrow and worry.

He lay face-down, burying his head into a golden embroidered pillow, tormented by guilt. He swore never again to rely solely on cunning and calculation; today was a bloody lesson. The power of life and death was in others’ hands. No matter how reasonable, how blameless, one could never predict the next move in such a game.

Moreover, always being forced to defend was intolerable—there would always be something overlooked. He needed to take measures to protect himself. He could endure suffering, but he could not bear to see his loved ones grieved.

“My lord, let me help you undress and clean your wounds. It may hurt a little—bear with it,” Fuqu said, having prepared everything. She bent to help him sit up, but Quan Ce refused to cooperate, clinging to the bed with all his might. Fuqu, panting and sweating, failed to move him an inch, while he grinned wickedly.

“My lord!” Fuqu stamped her foot in mock annoyance, her brow furrowed.

“Smile for me, and I’ll let you have your way,” Quan Ce teased.

Fuqu’s eyes grew red. As Quan Ce was about to apologize, she suddenly threw herself upon him, embracing him tightly. “My lord, I would smile for you my whole life, if only you would always return safely.”

“Very moving, truly, but right now I need that smile. Quickly, now,” Quan Ce said, gently patting her back, still refusing to relent.

Fuqu pouted and wriggled playfully, her hand drifting down as if to give him a pinch, but she relented, meeting his gaze with soft eyes. She forced a smile and gave him a shove. “Hurry up, or your wounds might catch cold.”

With an effort, Quan Ce propped himself up and removed his underclothes. Years of military training had left his young body lean and muscular, but his back and hips were crisscrossed with bloody welts—a shocking sight.

Fuqu brought water and a soft cloth, gently tending to his wounds.

Once cleaned and dressed, a servant arrived with word: “Master Quan, the eldest son of the Princess Taiping’s household has come to call.”

“Oh?” Quan Ce was surprised—he was hardly in a state to receive guests. He called out, “Please convey my apologies to my cousin. I’m unwell and cannot receive him.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, and the footsteps faded.

Before long, Wang Hui appeared, escorting Xue Chongyin, the eldest son of Princess Taiping, to his bedside. “My lord, Young Master Xue comes at Her Highness’s command to invite you to recuperate at her residence. Are your injuries manageable? Will you be able to move?”

“Cousin Quan, my mother insists you must come. If you’re well enough, please come with me,” Xue Chongyin said politely. Though only nine, he spoke with poise and elegance, reminiscent of his late father.

Given the insistence and the presence of her eldest son, Quan Ce could not refuse. He apologized for the trouble and agreed to accept Princess Taiping’s hospitality.

For the third time, Quan Ce entered the Princess Taiping’s residence—this time carried in. The household had already prepared a courtyard for him, adjacent to Wu Youji’s, identical in every way, with servants and maids at the ready, awaiting only his arrival.

“My lord, how are your injuries? You’ve suffered unjustly this time,” Wu Youji said, apologetic. After a few words of comfort and an update on the porcelain experiments—several kiln trials had turned out well—the two men were deep in conversation when a servant announced the arrival of Princess Taiping.

Wu’s reaction was odd. He bowed quickly, excused himself, and slipped away through a side door back to his own quarters, as though the couple were sworn enemies, never to meet.

Princess Taiping seated herself by Quan Ce’s bed, her gaze stern. “Tell me, how many more such ordeals do you think your body can endure?”

Quan Ce could only stammer, unable to answer.

“In truth, it’s not your fault. The tall tree catches the wind; had you not stood out, you’d have been crushed long ago,” she continued more gently, then called in a maid. “This is Yu Nu, my steward. I’m giving her to you. She has her own staff—use her as you see fit, or dismiss her if you wish.”

Yu Nu stepped forward gracefully, knelt, and bowed to her new master, stealing a glance at Quan Ce’s haggard face, her own expression full of concern.

“Thank you, Aunt. I am deeply indebted—my life would not suffice to repay your care,” Quan Ce said, hastily expressing his gratitude.

“You’re young—don’t speak so morbidly,” Princess Taiping snapped, her eyes fierce. “A prince of the royal house, yet you cower like a peasant—such pettiness is intolerable!”

“Please, Aunt, don’t be angry. I am unworthy, but I will strive to improve and not disappoint your efforts,” Quan Ce replied, forcing himself upright despite the pain, beads of sweat on his brow, his demeanor wretched.

Yu Nu hurried forward to support him.

The princess’s sternness melted. She helped him settle back, gently patted his shoulder, and said, “Enough. Focus on recovering your health before worrying about anything else.”

She personally assigned duties to the servants and put Yu Nu in charge before finally leaving the room. As she glanced at the side door, a trace of sorrow flickered across her face.