Mistakenly Treated The Princess As A Concubine - Chapter 2

When Wen Zhuojin arrived at the front courtyard, everyone else was already prepared and waiting for her.

As she stepped down from the sedan chair, her eyes met the face of a middle-aged man. His features were decent, though slightly bloated, and his expression carried a benevolent smile.

“Azhuo, how’s your health? Today’s journey might be a bit tiring,” the man said warmly.

“Still alright. Thank you for your concern, Father,” Wen Zhuojin replied softly, placing a hand on the handkerchief covering her cheek and coughing lightly.

The man before her was none other than her father, Marquis Jing’an, Wen Heming.

“It’s cold outside. Quickly, help the eldest young lady onto the carriage. There’s a brazier inside,” Wen Heming said with concern. At his words, Ziru hurried to assist Wen Zhuojin into the carriage.

Wen Zhuojin was pampered in Qinfang Pavilion, and it was no different outside.

Upon entering the carriage, the Marchioness, along with her two daughters and eldest son, greeted her with smiling faces.

“It’s quite cold today. I’ve prepared a hand warmer for you. Don’t let yourself catch a chill,” the Marchioness said with a kind smile as Wen Zhuojin took her seat, though there was a trace of cautiousness in her eyes.

“Thank you, Madam,” Wen Zhuojin replied politely, without removing the handkerchief from her face. She coughed lightly again, drawing another round of concern from the Marchioness. The scene appeared harmonious, a picture of maternal kindness and filial respect.

Anyone unaware of the truth might mistake the Marchioness for Wen Zhuojin’s birth mother.

The second young lady of the marquis’ household, Wen Peishu, who was a year younger than Wen Zhuojin, seemed to have a different expression. Resentment flickered in her gaze, but after receiving a sharp look from the Marchioness, she quickly lowered her eyelashes and twisted her handkerchief tightly, as if holding a grudge against it.

Wen Zhuojin caught this out of the corner of her eye but chose to act as though she hadn’t noticed.

Although her uncle, the Earl of Changyuan, held a relatively modest title, his political career was thriving. Currently serving as the Imperial Censor of the Third Rank, tasked with overseeing all officials, he was widely regarded as a likely candidate for the next Prime Minister.

Both Marquis Jing’an and the Marchioness held him in considerable awe, which naturally translated into an exceptional courtesy toward Wen Zhuojin.

As the saying goes, “Lean against a big tree to enjoy the shade”—the relationship spoke for itself, regardless of sincerity.

Wen Zhuojin was content to enjoy her comfortable position.

The Marchioness, with her delicate features and gentle voice, though insincere, was not altogether disagreeable.

After exchanging a few polite remarks, the carriage began to move, and the noise outside finally faded away.

The enclosed carriage, however, held the scents of several people crammed together, creating a less-than-pleasant atmosphere. Wen Zhuojin lifted a gilded sachet to her nose for a breath of fragrance, which eased her discomfort. Already drowsy, the gentle swaying of the carriage soon lulled her into sleep as she leaned against its wooden wall.

The Marchioness picked up a thin blanket and draped it over Wen Zhuojin.

“Mother, who’s the real daughter here? The best fox fur cloak goes to her, and now even this—” Second Miss Wen Peishu muttered discontentedly, only to fall silent under the Marchioness’s stern, furrowed gaze.

“Today’s trip to offer prayers is a serious matter. Mind your tongue. Your elder sister is frail and needs more care. Remember that, all of you,” the Marchioness said softly, her gaze sweeping across her children.

The younger ones dared not voice any further complaints. The carriage fell into silence, the only sounds being the creak of wheels and the howling wind outside.

The carriage reached the city gates just as they were opening for the day, joining the queue to leave.

A variety of carriages, along with accompanying servants and guards braving the wind and snow, headed one after another toward the Heavenly Xuan Palace atop Xuannü Mountain in the western suburbs.

By the time dawn broke, and the sky grew lighter, the carriages arrived at the base of the stone steps leading up to the temple.

Wen Zhuojin was gently awakened and disembarked from the carriage alongside the others.

The bone-chilling wind howled fiercely, and amidst the pristine white snow, a clear stone staircase stretched upward, teeming with crowds, leading directly to the Heavenly Xuan Palace nestled in the silver-white mountains.

The red walls loomed tall in the distance, their black-tiled roofs resembling dark ink strokes. Amid the billowing mist, the temple appeared like a celestial palace, inspiring awe and reverence.

Wen Zhuojin let out a quiet sigh, once again thinking of the Pink-Faced Shy Blossom. Only then did she muster the motivation to climb the steps.

The noblewomen and young ladies, who rarely ventured outside and were usually pampered and delicate, seemed to have reached a tacit agreement. Clad in thick winter garments, they trudged up the steps together.

Before long, Wen Zhuojin began to hear labored breathing. Glancing around, she noticed that even the frail-looking Marchioness and her two younger sisters—both raised with the refined delicacy expected of proper noblewomen—were panting heavily but still pressing on.

It was as if some unseen force was pulling them forward, their gazes fixed on the Heavenly Xuan Palace just ahead, eyes filled with determination and a trace of excitement.

Everyone around her seemed like exact replicas of one another.

She didn’t quite understand it, but she respected it.

Lowering her gaze, Wen Zhuojin idly played with the gilded sachet hidden within her sleeves, leisurely keeping pace with the crowd—neither too far ahead nor lagging behind.

Perhaps due to the sheer number of people, the collective warmth caused the snow to melt into water as soon as it landed.

By the time they reached the temple gates of Heavenly Xuan Palace, many of the outer cloaks people wore had already become damp.

While queuing to enter, Wen Zhuojin’s maid, Zirong, helped her change into a dry cloak from the bundle they carried.

“When you head to the vegetarian hall later, wait for me there. If you’re hungry, buy yourself some hot food,” Wen Zhuojin instructed quietly, slipping a silver ingot into Zirong’s hand.

“Miss, this servant should wait for you outside the Hall of Blessings,” Zirong replied.

“Not going to listen to me?” Wen Zhuojin raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll listen, I’ll do as you say,” Zirong quickly responded.

“That’s my good girl,” Wen Zhuojin said with a smile in her voice.

Based on her memories from previous years, the blessing ritual was a lengthy process involving a ceremony filled with mystical and elaborate steps, lasting about the time it took to make a round trip. Followers and servants were not allowed inside, leaving them to shiver in the cold outside.

The vegetarian hall Wen Zhuojin referred to was within the Heavenly Xuan Palace.

The dining hall required silver to enter.

Wen Zhuojin was always generous to her people and wouldn’t save a bit of silver at the expense of letting her maid freeze or go hungry.

While speaking with her maid, Wen Zhuojin had already arrived at the entrance of Heavenly Xuan Palace.

She watched as the Marchioness presented the court-issued entry token and handed over a stack of silver notes as incense offerings, receiving several sticks of incense in return.

Wen Zhuojin mentally clicked her tongue.

The incense offerings had doubled in price again.

Low-quality incense sticks, yet each cost a hundred taels of silver.

With six people from Jing’an Marquis Manor, each burning three sticks, that totaled 1,800 taels.

Such extortion, yet they handed it over willingly.

That lofty Eldest Princess certainly had a knack for business, running this like a lucrative enterprise.

When they reached the entrance to the Hall of Blessings, Wen Zhuojin parted ways with Zirong and followed the others inside.

The grand hall enshrined a statue of a woman with a flying celestial bun, draped in flowing robes and wide sashes. The statue stood five or six meters tall, gilded in gold, emanating both solemnity and divinity, like a celestial consort descended to the mortal realm.

This was the “main deity” of Heavenly Xuan Palace, the Xuannü Empress. It was said that this golden statue was modeled after the current Eldest Princess.

Wen Zhuojin glanced at it and sighed at the extravagance.

The layer of bright yellow gilding was real gold!

Inside the hall…

There were already quite a few people present, burning incense, kneeling on prayer mats to offer blessings, and awaiting the “incense signs” to divine their fortunes.

The so-called incense signs interpreted the height, smoke patterns, and color of three burning incense sticks against a set incense chart to determine auspicious or ominous outcomes.

If the divination was auspicious, additional offerings were expected. If ominous, even more silver would be required to “ward off disaster.”

In short, it was another way to extract money.

Wen Zhuojin silently marveled again at the Eldest Princess’s ability to rake in silver.

Everything here was a business.

As she moved further inside, the grand hall was noticeably warmer than outside, but the air was much heavier with complex smells.

A strange, unfamiliar scent snapped Wen Zhuojin’s attention back.

Amidst the overwhelming mix of smells, there was another distinct aroma. It wasn’t one of the materials used in making the incense. Wen Zhuojin recognized one element as datura, while other unfamiliar notes lingered—ones she had never encountered before. Even the handkerchief covering her mouth and nose couldn’t entirely block it out.

She endured it, lighting incense alongside the others from Jing’an Marquis Manor, placing the sticks into the burner, then kneeling on the prayer mat to offer blessings like everyone else.

A female Daoist priest in robes, holding a whisk, chanted something unintelligible, but Wen Zhuojin wasn’t paying attention.

Her focus was entirely on the strange smell.

As more people lit incense and the smoke thickened, the strange scent intensified, creating a growing sense of heat and restlessness.

Wen Zhuojin, naturally sensitive to scents, couldn’t identify the unfamiliar ingredient, but her instincts screamed that it was far from harmless.

Was it not enough to have all these people devoutly worship the Xuannü Empress? They had to resort to incense poisoning as well?

Wen Zhuojin glanced around. No one else covered their nose and mouth like she did. Their faces were faintly flushed, and their gazes seemed more enraptured than when they had first entered.

Inhaling this scent for a short while might not be harmful, but the method was despicable.

To seek wealth was one thing, but to harm lives was another.

Wen Zhuojin’s expression grew colder.

The all-powerful Eldest Princess, said to be the reincarnation of the Xuannü Empress.

How laughable.

Wen Zhuojin had initially intended to go along with the crowd and endure for a while, but the increasingly unbearable smell forced her to reconsider. Glancing around, she covered her nose and mouth, coughed a few times, and quietly retreated backward.

It was said that breaking off during a blessing ceremony would render it ineffective.

Fortunately, neither Jing’an Marquis nor the Marchioness cared about her enough to interrupt their own prayers for her.

Wen Peishu noticed Wen Zhuojin leaving and narrowed her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. If she doesn’t properly pray, she’ll just have another year of bad luck.

Regardless of what was happening inside, Wen Zhuojin managed to leave the blessing hall smoothly.

At the doorway, she lifted the heavy curtain, bent low as she stepped out, and finally stood upright outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

There were quite a few waiting servants gathered outside. Wen Zhuojin avoided them, intending to look for the rumored Pink-Faced Shy.

“Nature calls. Could you point me in the right direction, Daoist priest?” Wen Zhuojin casually asked a young Daoist, slipping him a small piece of silver.

The young Daoist, preoccupied with his own tasks, simply pointed out a path and went on his way.

Wen Zhuojin thanked him but didn’t follow the suggested direction. Instead, she followed the faint scent of something pleasant, winding her way through the small paths.

Wrapped in her warm fox-fur cloak, with a heated hand warmer in hand, a pouch of snacks at her waist, and a fragrant sachet hanging by her side, Wen Zhuojin strolled leisurely. The snow falling softly around her and the secluded path added a certain charm to her walk, keeping her entertained.

Since the path was untrodden, her steps left visible footprints. To avoid unnecessary trouble, she pulled her cloak down, letting it sweep over the snow and obscure her tracks.

The incense from the blessing hall didn’t spread too far; the farther she walked, the fresher the air became.

Before long, Wen Zhuojin found herself in a plum grove.

Snow-covered plum blossoms adorned the branches, creating a scene of serene beauty.

Lowering the handkerchief from her nose and mouth, Wen Zhuojin took a deep breath of the cool, faint floral fragrance, feeling her body and mind refreshed.

Suppressing the urge to pluck a blossom, she continued her search for the fabled Pink-Faced Shy.

Deeper into the grove, amidst the faint scent of plum blossoms, a subtle and distinct cold fragrance emerged.

In this grove full of blooming plums, the fragrance was incredibly faint but carried an undeniable presence. Just catching a hint of it sent a shiver through Wen Zhuojin, who had been feeling slightly warm from her walk.

It was a chill laced with a sharp, cool undertone, like an icy crystal flower born from the vast, desolate winter landscape.

“Is this the scent of Pink-faced Shy?”

It smelled pleasant, yes, but it wasn’t quite the floral fragrance Wen Zhuojin had imagined. The scent carried a distinct chill, lacking the sweetness typical of most flowers, instead leaning toward a sharp, cold undertone.

She sniffed again.

Following the trail of the scent deeper into the grove, she caught additional notes—a hint of woodiness, the aroma of agarwood. Then, unexpectedly, there was something else… a faint metallic tang, like bl00d.

Just as Wen Zhuojin tried to discern the peculiar mix, a sudden gust carried a smoky, sweat-laden stench toward her, accompanied by faint noises.

Her instincts flared. Looking around, she ensured her cloak had erased her footprints, then quickly hid behind an artificial rock, pulling her handkerchief tightly over her nose and mouth.

The sounds grew louder, the acrid smell stronger. Soon, voices reached her ears, though she couldn’t make out the words. It seemed as though they were searching for something.

She waited, staying perfectly still, until the commotion subsided. Only then did she step out from behind the rock.

However, the once-pleasant fragrance had now faded, polluted by the lingering stench of those who had passed through.

By now, the blessing ceremony was likely nearing its end. Moreover, something seemed amiss at Heavenly Xuan Palace—staying any longer might invite trouble.

Still, this rare scent intrigued her. If it was indeed Pink-faced Shy, collecting some—or even purchasing it from someone at the palace—would be worthwhile.

Her dark eyes flickered with thought as she adjusted her cloak and ventured further into the grove.

Not long after, she noticed footprints covering the path ahead, rendering her efforts to obscure her own unnecessary. Yet, it was evident that the group from earlier hadn’t fully left; a few individuals lingered.

The remaining people were dressed in the uniforms of the Imperial Guard, a sight that instantly made Wen Zhuojin aware of the gravity of the situation.

To mobilize the Imperial Guard at Heavenly Xuan Palace, it could only be the work of the Grand Princess herself.

Even when I’m just looking for some Pink-faced Shy, she has to stir up trouble. Truly, we’re fated to clash.

As Wen Zhuojin deliberated whether to circumvent the guards, the deep, resonant sound of a bronze bell rang out.

The blessing ceremony was over.

Wen Zhuojin glanced into the distance, wrinkling her nose in slight regret. She would have to come back another day.

The pink-faced shy planted here should not disappear.

Wen Zhuojin retraced her steps, stopping by the dining hall to call Zi Rong to join her in returning to the prayer hall.

By the time Wen Zhuojin arrived at the prayer hall, the strong incense scent had dissipated considerably.

When Wen Zhuojin arrived at the prayer hall, the people from the Jing’an Marquis’s residence were talking with several elegantly dressed outsiders.

Wen Peishu, standing beside the marquis’s wife, had a joyful look on her face, her eyes shining as she gazed at the person in front of her.

Wen Zhuojin paused for a moment, furrowing her brows before relaxing.

“Ah Zhuao, I didn’t see you in the prayer hall. Your uncle said you weren’t feeling well. Are you feeling better now?”

A young man in dark blue robes, who was none other than Shen Yunque, the heir to the Rongguo Duke, stepped forward and asked after noticing Wen Zhuojin.

“Much better, thank you for your concern,” Wen Zhuojin responded softly, giving a slight curtsy before continuing forward without stopping. The scarf she used to cover her mouth and nose remained in place.

“Greetings, Duke of Rongguo, Madam Duke, and Madam Ming. Thank you for your concern,” Wen Zhuojin said as she approached the others, her voice still somewhat weak, fitting the impression others had of her being frail, delicate, and polite, a stark contrast to the energetic woman who had almost toured the entire Heavenly Xuan Palace earlier.

Wen Zhuojin addressed Madam Ming, a beautiful middle-aged woman in her thirties, whose vibrant-colored clothes and luxurious hair ornaments made her stand out. She exuded a carefully blended floral fragrance, and was the only one in the room with a pleasant scent.

Madam Ming was the widowed aunt of Shen Yunque, and her reputation was not very good.

However, Wen Zhuojin would rather converse with Madam Ming, whose reputation isn’t great, than exchange a single word with Shen Yunque.

Ever since Wen Zhuojin arrived, Shen Yunque’s gaze has been fixed on her.

On the side, Wen Peishu’s expression darkened, and the handkerchief in her hand was twisted tightly.

Wen Zhuojin engaged in polite conversation with the others, relieved that Madam Ming was present, making it somewhat bearable.

These people weren’t in a hurry to leave; they were waiting in line to see the Taoists of the Heavenly Xuan Palace to interpret their incense signs or seek disaster relief and elixirs.

Although Wen Zhuojin did not pray, the incense she had burned earlier was still there, and it would have its own incense sign.

For all the incense burned in the incense burners, the resulting incense signs would be recorded, with corresponding serial numbers.

To know one’s own incense sign, one just needed to pay the fee and provide the Taoist with the serial number to have it interpreted.

Wen Zhuojin didn’t believe in these incense signs.

“Your incense sign is the ‘Ruyi Incense,’ a good omen, something to be happy and congratulated for. If you ask about marriage, your wish will be granted, and you will marry a good match…”

The Taoist interpreting her incense sign said this.

Wen Zhuojin: ……

At this moment, Wen Zhuojin truly hoped that the Goddess Xuan was real and that the incense sign was true.

But how could that be?

It seemed very unlikely she would get what she wished for.

Upon hearing Wen Zhuojin’s incense sign, the people from the Marquis of Jing’an’s household and the Duke of Rongguo’s household exchanged smiles.

“What a good omen, it must be heaven’s will, a perfect match,” the wife of the Duke of Rongguo chuckled softly, with the Marquis of Jing’an’s wife following suit. Only Wen Peishu lowered her head to hide her expression, her handkerchief nearly twisted to shreds.

Wen Zhuojin remained silent, and everyone thought she was just shy.

Finally, after everyone had their incense signs interpreted, it was time to go back.

Wen Zhuojin quietly sighed with relief. She wanted to go back, eat lamb soup buns, and then have a good sleep.

However, before anyone could leave, the sound of a bronze bell rang again. The synchronized ringing, followed by loud shouting, indicated that over a hundred Imperial Guards had surrounded the Heavenly Xuan Palace’s Prayer Hall!