Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Smiling Imperial Guard

Nervously, she stepped into the training ground. The vast space was deserted; not a soul was in sight. Kaiming glanced around in confusion, standing alone in the center of the field, gazing down at her toes as if reflecting on something.

Dressed in a pale blue robe, his long black hair loose and flowing, he lifted his head slightly at the sound of her entry, revealing a profile she recognized—it was the Lord Commander.

“Why is there no one here?” Kaiming tiptoed forward to ask.

“I gave them the day off,” Ji replied, his gaze calm as ever.

“Then, my lord, why are you here?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Her heart gave a startled leap.

“Come with me.” Suddenly, Ji seized her hand and strode toward the gate.

“My lord, where are we going?” Kaiming called out anxiously. Ji’s grip was so strong it almost brought tears to her eyes.

Ji led the way, moving swiftly, almost flying. To her surprise, he exited through the back gate of the camp. In the distance, a young soldier hurried over, leading two horses. “Lord Commander, I’m sorry I’m late!”

“You’re not late.” Ji took the reins with practiced ease, mounted one horse, and turned to Kaiming, who stood frozen in astonishment. “Get on!”

“I… I don’t know how to ride,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than a mosquito’s.

Impatience flickered across Ji’s face. “You’ll learn. What kind of soldier can’t ride a horse?”

The young soldier hurried to help her mount. “Here, sister, let me give you a hand.”

Awkwardly, she clambered onto the horse’s back. Ji grabbed one side of her reins. “I’ll lead.” Squeezing the horse’s flanks, he set off at a gentle pace.

Terrified, Kaiming gripped the reins tightly, swaying unsteadily atop the horse, afraid she might fall off at any moment. Seeing her panic, Ji slowed further and spoke in a soothing tone, “Don’t pull the reins so tight; you’re hurting the horse. And don’t tense up. Relax. Breathe.”

With his patient guidance, she managed to ride at a slow walk. “A little faster now,” Ji said, then suddenly slapped the horse’s haunch.

The horse neighed sharply and broke into a gallop. Kaiming shrieked, “No, my lord! I haven’t got the hang of it yet!”

“If we keep this pace, we won’t reach the capital before tomorrow. We need to get there and back before nightfall!”

The capital? she wailed inwardly. Why drag me along for your private business?

The forest flashed by like a film running in reverse, and Kaiming felt the horse’s speed increasing, her heart pounding with terror. Ji kept pace beside her, urging his own horse faster, the two steeds vying with each other.

Her insides churned with every jolt, until she could bear it no longer; she let go of the reins, wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck, and squeezed her eyes shut, surrendering to the wild ride.

She had no idea how long they sped through mist and cloud before the horse finally skidded to a halt. At once, she tumbled from its back, collapsing onto the ground and retching violently. It was sheer torment—surely her first ride with Suo hadn’t been this bad.

“Pathetic,” Ji remarked coolly, then called out, “Brew a pot of red tea and see to the horses.”

Kaiming lifted her head and saw a grand, imposing establishment. Grand? She realized the word came to mind because, from her position on the ground, the shopfront looked as impressive as a magistrate’s office.

She scrambled upright, her eyes sweeping over the bustling streets. Excitement bubbled within her. The capital! She’d entered it twice before with Suo, but both times at night, when the city lights dazzled but left its true face hidden. Only now, brought by Ji in daylight, could she see this city—so close to the imperial palace—for what it truly was.

Crowds jostled past, some with tall headdresses, others plain merchants or laborers, each with their own bearing. On both sides, shops lined the streets, their banners fluttering like colorful pennants in the wind.

Ji stood before her. “Well? Are you coming in?”

She followed him wordlessly into the teahouse.

A pot of red tea was brought over—steaming, crimson as blood. She stared at it in alarm; was this really drinkable? Ji watched her with a commanding look that brooked no argument, as if to say she’d drink it even if it were poison.

She could only glare back, bracing herself nobly for sacrifice.

The first sip was unremarkable, but soon a gentle warmth spread through her, soothing and comforting. She eyed the strange tea with new respect.

Ji spoke. “You were ill from the ride. Red tea soothes the liver and warms the stomach. It will help.”

So, even the Lord Commander knew how to show concern. She cast a searching glance at him.

Ji remained expressionless, savoring his tea with deliberate care, as if it were the finest in the world. Her gaze drifted, unbidden, to his slightly parted lips, tinged red from the steam—a memory flickered in her mind, vivid and unwelcome: that night, when he’d pressed her down onto the table and kissed her with burning intensity—his warmth, his lips, and those contradictory eyes, cold outside and blazing within.

“Don’t you ever wish to be a woman again?”

“Kaiming.”

She jumped in her seat, realizing she’d drifted off.

“What is it?” Ji’s eyes flicked to her, and she blushed, looking away in silence.

“Let’s go.” He rose, his tone indifferent.

“Go where?” Kaiming muttered under her breath. Was the Lord Commander some austere monk, stingy with words?

Outside, she was admiring the sugar figurines and candied hawthorns when Ji beckoned from across the street. “Hurry up.”

She hurried over and saw it was a clothing shop, its proprietress beaming with a face full of kindness. “My lord, you’re buying clothes?” she asked in surprise.

Ji ignored her and addressed the shopkeeper, “Pick something suitable for her.”

The proprietress sized Kaiming up with a calculating gaze that made her uneasy. Why stare at her so intently?

“This girl has delicate features and good skin—she’d look beautiful in anything,” she simpered. Kaiming shivered; businessfolk and their flattery, she thought.

At the woman’s words, Ji examined her more closely, making Kaiming even more uncomfortable. Thankfully, the shopkeeper was quick, selecting an outfit and holding it up to block his gaze. “I think this one is perfect.”

“Go try it on,” Ji ordered.

Kaiming gaped, pointing to herself, “You mean me?”

“Or do you want me to wear a dress?” Ji retorted bluntly.

Speechless with embarrassment, Kaiming allowed herself to be hustled into the back room by the bossy proprietress. “Hurry along, listen to your husband,” the woman urged.

“He’s not my husband—you—!”

“Stop fussing,” Ji’s tone brooked no further protest, and Kaiming, pouting, went in.

Moments later, a commotion erupted from the dressing room. “What is this? How do I even put this on? What are all these layers?”

Ji exchanged a look with the shopkeeper, who, sweating nervously, hurried in to help. Soon enough, she returned, pushing Kaiming out. “Come show your husband, quick.”

“This is impossible! I can’t walk in this thing!” Kaiming stumbled, grabbing the doorframe, desperate to retreat. The proprietress blocked her way.

“Stand still, turn around!” Ji commanded with the authority of a superior officer, as if they were still back on the training ground.

Reluctantly, Kaiming spun around, rolling her eyes. Fine, look as much as you want!

Ji’s eyes brightened—gone was the unruly soldier in drab uniform; in her place stood a young woman in a vibrant grass-green skirt, her complexion glowing. His gaze lingered on her face, astonished at how a little disguise could bring out such delicacy.

He reached out to tidy her loose hair. “Your hair needs work.”

“Sir, there’s an accessories shop next door. You could take her there, have her hair done,” the shopkeeper offered eagerly.

Kaiming shot her a glare, then glowered at Ji. What was this, dressing her up like a pet?

Ji ignored her indignation, paid promptly, and dragged her to the accessories shop. Kaiming muttered curses under her breath, tripping several times on the unfamiliar skirt.

Ji carefully chose a simple floral hairpin, frowned at her messy hair, and asked the shop girl, “Do you have a comb?”

When Ji’s fingers pressed gently to the crown of her head, Kaiming was so stunned she could have swallowed an egg whole. The Lord Commander himself, combing the hair of a low-ranking soldier? What an honor! Yet all she felt was as if ants were crawling all over her—she itched from head to toe.

“There,” he pronounced at last. Kaiming let out a long sigh, feeling as though centuries had passed.

The shop girl gazed at her in awe. “You have such skill, sir—how beautiful!”

Kaiming thought, She must mean the hair, not me—better not let it go to my head.

Ji studied his handiwork, quickly spotting a flaw. “Put a little makeup on her.”

Kaiming swayed and clenched her fists—endure, just endure!

The shop girl dabbed at her face with brushes and powders, rough as a plasterer. Kaiming, eyes shut, wondered what ingredients went into these cosmetics—did they contain lead? Were they safe? Before long, the girl was done. “Sir, come see if you’re satisfied with your lady’s makeup.”

Ji came over, inspecting her carefully. “That will do.” Kaiming opened her eyes and glared at him. So he was just going to accept her as his wife, just like that?

“Keep glaring and you’ll go cross-eyed,” he teased, his eyes crinkling with laughter.

Kaiming made a discovery: the ever-stern Lord Commander could actually smile, and when he did, his eyes curved like crescent moons. It was unexpectedly charming. Fascinated, she couldn’t stop staring.

Ji seemed unaware of her thoughts, fixing the hairpin in place and smiling softly. “It’s good.”

“It is,” Kaiming replied gruffly.

Ji, puzzled by her tone, looked at her.

Kaiming met his eyes deliberately. “If you smiled more often, it would be even better.”

At her words, Ji’s smile faded instantly, as if she’d touched on some taboo. He tossed a silver ingot onto the counter. “Keep the change.” Then he turned and strode away.

Kaiming stood with her mouth agape, unsure what she’d said to offend him. Watching him lavish money so carelessly, she felt a pang for the wasted silver. After a moment’s hesitation, she hurried after him.

What’s with this man, changing his mood like the wind? She stumbled along, cursing under her breath, clearly not used to wearing skirts.

Hearing her string of complaints behind him, Ji’s lips curved into a smile once more, and he unconsciously slowed his pace for her.