My wife is a concubine - Chapter 5

“Whether my uncle said it is true or not, we’ll know once we reach the border of Tong’an County. But for now, I must trouble the girl to accompany us until we cross the waters.” Lao Jiu had embellished Du Yu’s brief response  a mere “mm”  yet, having long served his master, he naturally understood what it meant, though outsiders did not.

Of course, the idea to keep her was his alone. As for the sedan bearers, Ah Ru, and Li Da, they were dismissed.
He sent a maid to inform the county magistrate that his daughter had been taken along by their convoy, lest the overly honest man raise an unnecessary alarm.

Bergman was then transferred to the carriage where the palace maids rode; Aunt Xuan was among them.

“This Miss Bao will accompany us only until we’re past Tong’an County,” Aunt Xuan explained gently. “Sisters, be patient for a few days she’ll leave once we enter Xinzhou.”

Her words eased the faces around them.

Bergman understood. The journey to North Vietnam was long and difficult. Four women squeezed into a single carriage could barely stretch their legs—five would make it almost unbearable.

“Thank you for your kindness,” she said, smiling warmly at the older maids. “It’s a cramped road ahead for everyone.”

“Girl, there aren’t many kind-hearted ones like you these days,” Aunt Xuan said, her tone carrying a hint of meaning.

“Auntie,” Bergman chuckled, “there aren’t many as foolish as me either—walking right into a trap.”

She told herself to be content now that she was already on this road, but she couldn’t help silently cursing Du Yu in her heart.
What a vengeful man!

Bringing her along—was this his way of saying if I must suffer, you’ll suffer too? If she got caught up in danger again, she might not come back alive.

But how could Bergman know that her capture wasn’t Du Yu’s idea at all it was Lao Jiu’s plan, not the prince’s revenge.

Outside, the rhythmic clatter of hooves and wheels rolled on. She thought, A well-trained guard is indeed different neat and precise, not a single wasted motion.

After a day and a half, Bergman observed that the fifth prince’s entourage numbered around a hundred guards, attendants, cooks. Whether they stopped to rest or camp, everything was done with strict discipline.

She received no special treatment. She ate and stayed with the palace maids. Having left in a rush, she had no spare clothes, but Aunt Xuan kindly lent her a clean half-new set to change into.

In these few days, she’d grown somewhat familiar with the others. Still, she didn’t care much what they thought of her so long as her conscience was clear.

By right, a prince’s journey to his fief should have been lined with officials coming to greet and escort him. But this one was different. The fifth prince, they said, had always been invisible in the royal family technically a vassal, but in truth, almost an exile.

Du Yu himself cared little for such formalities. The fewer officials he met, the fewer troubles he’d have. He disliked pomp, and too much visibility could only invite danger.

That evening, as they neared Xinzhou and dusk fell, Bergman began to doubt her own warning. Not a single suspicious soul had appeared not even a stray insect scuttled across their path.
Maybe I imagined it, she thought. Maybe fate had changed. Maybe in this life, the fifth prince won’t be assassinated at all.

She smiled wryly. Not every mistake in life can be undone; not every sin can be rewritten.
At least no one called her mad for worrying.

She lifted the curtain to look outside just in time to see the coachman flung violently from his seat.

The horses screamed and reared, the carriage lurched wildly, and chaos erupted.

The women’s shrieks filled the air as the carriage spun out of control. Objects flew everywhere. Someone fainted. Guards shouted:

“Assassins! Protect His Highness!”

Bergman’s head spun; her vision blurred. Only then did she realize—their carriage was being used as a decoy to create confusion.

Eight lifetimes of bad luck! she cursed.

The guards had no time to save them only the prince mattered now.

Through the blur, she caught sight of Aunt Xuan hanging halfway out of the carriage, her body flailing like a rag doll. One more jolt, and she’d be thrown out.

Without thinking, Bergman braced her legs against the seat, swung herself out, and reached desperately.
“Grab me!” she screamed into the wind.

She didn’t know if Aunt Xuan heard her the roaring wind stung her eyes but she kept stretching, straining, until she felt a grip catch hers. Then, with one final heave, she pulled Aunt Xuan back inside.

Before they could even catch their breath, the carriage slammed into something hard.

This is it. I’m dead.

Father, your daughter is unfilial—she’ll go first.

The world spun. She felt herself thrown into the air then, just before she hit the ground, a strong arm caught her mid-fall.

For a long while, she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

When she finally realized she was safe—really safe—she looked up blankly and clung to the first thing she could grasp.

“How long do you intend to hold this king’s sleeve?”

The cold, steady voice jolted her awake—it was the same voice as before.

“U-Uncle…” she stammered, then fainted right into Du Yu’s arms.

The tea in the white porcelain Ding kiln cup gleamed pale green under the lamplight. Du Yu’s slender fingers held it lightly against his lips.

Inside the command tent—luxurious despite its military austerity—Lao Jiu reported, “All assassins are dead, Your Highness. The only one caught alive bit poison from his teeth.”

A man named Shen Jie, the prince’s close guard, stepped forward and presented a small talisman. “This was found on one of the bodies.”

Lao Jiu turned it over and frowned. “There’s something sealed inside.” With a flick of his knife, he revealed a tiny waxed pellet no bigger than a mung bean.

He and Shen Jie exchanged looks. “I’ve heard,” Lao Jiu said slowly, “that certain princes use drugs to enslave their dead men.”

They didn’t name names, but both knew whom they meant.

“Give it to Doctor Wu for examination,” Du Yu ordered quietly, his tone unchanged as if assassination were a daily inconvenience.

Lao Jiu couldn’t fathom his master. Calm, cold, utterly unshaken.

Everyone else in the palace had long forgotten the frail fifth prince who had nearly died as a child forgotten the sickly boy abandoned to eunuchs and servants. But Lao Jiu remembered the nights of bl00d and bitter medicine that kept him alive.

And now, even after being sent away to the coldest, poorest fief, someone still wanted him dead.

“The heart behind this,” Lao Jiu thought grimly, “is too ruthless.”

“Your Highness,” he ventured, “there’s one more matter. The princess is frightened—should you visit her tent?”

Du Yu didn’t answer. Lao Jiu added quickly, “Since the convoy is halted for repairs, it may ease her mind.”

At last, Du Yu rose and walked out.

But when he reached the princess’s tent, angry sobs and crashing objects greeted him.

“Why was I cursed to marry such a man?” Princess He Yanzhi’s voice cracked. “I’m hurt, and he hasn’t even looked at me! Does that sickly ghost have me in his heart?”

Du Yu stopped outside the curtain.

Her maid, Mama Shi, hushed her frantically. “Princess, hush! The past is past—think of the future.”

But He Yanzhi only wept louder. “If not for Father’s bias—He’er got to be Crown Princess while I was sent to a vassal prince! The future Queen versus an exiled consort—how can that be fair?”

The maid coaxed; Du Yu turned away silently, face unreadable.

Lao Jiu followed hesitantly. “Since the princess is… not in good spirits, perhaps we should visit that girl, Bao?”

Du Yu paused, then wordlessly changed direction.

The tent where Bergman lay was small, tucked at the edge of camp. Inside, she was being tended by Aunt Xuan and a young maid.

Her left arm was bandaged, her ankle splinted, and her forehead wrapped with cloth stained faintly with bl00d. Yet she wasn’t crying she sat upright, half-smiling, with a cup of hot medicine by her pillow.

The faint scent of herbs and woodsmoke filled the air.

Lao Jiu blinked in surprise. For someone so badly hurt, she looked astonishingly calm.

Du Yu’s gaze lingered. Beneath the bandages, her face was pale but fine-boned—almond eyes clear and luminous, long lashes trembling as she looked up. The corners of her lips held a soft, playful curve, a strange mixture of innocence and quiet strength.

For the first time, Du Yu really saw her.

“The little girl is inconvenient right now; please forgive her, Uncle — she can’t rise to greet you properly.”
Bergman bowed her head and made a somewhat awkward curtsy.

Silence stretched between them. To be honest, even Lao Jiu couldn’t explain why His Highness had such a strange temperament — only that he did.

Sensing the atmosphere, Lao Jiu immediately motioned for everyone in the tent to withdraw. Even he excused himself to stand guard outside.
His Highness clearly wished to speak to the young lady alone.

Although the fifth prince was not favored in the palace, his rank still commanded respect. Lao Jiu and Aunt Qi had long shielded him from harm; aside from minor disputes between princes, he had suffered little. Yet because of their overprotectiveness, he was clumsy in human dealings — especially when it came to women.

Of course, women meant little to him. Though unloved by the emperor and neglected by his own mother concubine, he remained a prince of the Yongding Dynasty. There were always plenty of women eager to climb into a prince’s bed.

Seeing that Du Yu did not insist on strict formalities, Bergman did not waste words either. She simply met his eyes, waiting for him to speak.

His brows were half-lowered, as though deep in thought. His posture was leisurely, almost elegant, and though his frame was slender, his long legs crossed with effortless grace — a sight particularly unpleasant to the short-legged Bergman.

“How did you know someone was going to assassinate this king?”

His lips barely moved. His face showed no emotion; not even his eyelids flickered.

“I only heard rumors, Your Highness,” Bergman replied cautiously. “There’s no wall in the world that can’t be penetrated by wind.”

“Then how did you know this king was a prince?” His tone wasn’t sharp, but his voice was light and cold, its calmness carrying a dangerous chill. His face  pale, refined, almost too beautiful  made his eyes seem darker, bottomless.

“Uncle… Fifth Prince,” she said, forcing a small smile. “You don’t look like an ordinary man.”

“Do you know what happens to those who lie?”
With a flick of his finger, he sent a teacup smashing to the floor.

He could see the girl’s body tense, though she tried to hide it. For reasons he didn’t understand, he suddenly felt reluctant to frighten her. She had done nothing wrong  she had even risked her life to warn him.

The sharp aura he had unconsciously released eased slightly.

Bergman barely had time to mourn the fate of that shattered cup. “Everyone has secrets they can’t speak,” she said boldly. “But Your Highness, you’ve escaped danger. Has the Sage’s book taught you to treat your savior like this?”

Du Yu’s expression didn’t change, but his cold aura pressed down like a weight.

Bergman could not appreciate how much he was holding back. His temperament was impossible to predict  the sort only highborn people possessed, the kind who believed the world revolved around their suspicions. And her story was indeed full of holes.

She could only curse herself inwardly. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?

“Savior?” Du Yu’s lips curved faintly. “Who knows if you’re a spy sent by someone else?”

If Lao Jiu had been present, he would surely have broken into a cold sweat.

“If I’d known you were this suspicious,” Bergman snapped, “I wouldn’t have bothered to save you! Letting someone die for no reason clearly suits you better. What an ungrateful man  a wolf-hearted prince!”

“This king gives you two choices,” he said coolly. “Be imprisoned on suspicion of espionage — or tell the truth.”

As he turned to leave, Bergman realized she had reached her limit. It was useless to play games with someone like Du Yu.

“I’m afraid, Your Highness,” she said, her voice steady but low, “that once I tell you, you won’t let me go.”

Du Yu gave no answer, only looked at her  a gaze sharp enough to peel skin. Her fists clenched beneath the blanket. Who’s he trying to crush with that stare?

With a deep breath, she surrendered. “Fine,” she said softly, then louder:

“Believe it or not, I’ve lived longer than anyone you know. I’m not some all-knowing being  I just happened to know about your assassination back then. I admit it was foolish of me, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. If you must punish me, so be it. It’s only a life, after all.”

When Aunt Xuan later mentioned that the losses from the ambush had been minimal  a few minor injuries among the servants, the fifth prince completely unharmed, and the assassins failing to even approach  Bergman realized something.

The separate carriage he’d arranged for the palace maids hadn’t been an act of courtesy at all. It had been part of a plan.

He had expected the ambush  and had used the carriage as bait.

She, without knowing, had stumbled straight into his trap.

This man isn’t just cautious, she thought furiously. He’s a black-hearted schemer!

While she fumed inwardly, she didn’t notice that Du Yu’s eyelids had trembled slightly when she mentioned “living again.” But that was all.

When she finished speaking, Du Yu simply stood, turned, and walked out of the tent without another word.

She blinked after him, half-dumbfounded.

That’s it?

That’s all?

“Have Ying Huai escort her back,” he said quietly as he passed Lao Jiu.

Shen Jie, his visible bodyguard, and Ying Huai, the hidden one, both nodded.

“That girl seems frail, but she saved Aunt Xuan,” Lao Jiu remarked. “To leap from a carriage in full gallop  that takes courage.”

Du Yu gave him a sidelong glance. “This king met with danger within Bao Zhengtao’s jurisdiction. He can’t escape responsibility. Take the king’s seal and tell Yun Ronglu to reward him for his ‘meritorious escort.’”

That was no small favor  to have the Governor of Zhili intercede directly, bypassing a mere prefect!

“I’ve heard Bao Zhengtao’s been serving in Tong’an County for over twenty years,” Lao Jiu said. “Never once sought a transfer.”

“You handle it,” Du Yu said, dismissing him, and strode away.

When Bergman learned she could finally go home, she agreed at once. The only thing she felt reluctant to leave behind was Aunt Xuan and the young maid who had cared for her these past few days.

Injuries can heal anywhere, she told herself. Better at home  and faster too. Who knew when the fifth prince might change his mind? Best not to gamble with fate.

A sedan chair and a few guards were arranged for her return. She and the prince’s convoy parted ways  perhaps forever.

It didn’t matter. She had no illusions about noble families anymore. She had been given another life, and she intended to live it properly this time  not ruin herself again.

Bao Zhengtao had already prepared to send out search parties when Ah Ru returned, breathless, saying the second young lady had been “invited” away by the fifth prince.

Invited, she said  as though anyone could refuse.

“When will she be released?” he demanded.

Ah Ru had no answer.

The magistrate wanted to rage, but the words wouldn’t come. The entire Bao household was in chaos. Still, Ah Ru’s return was enough to calm the panic slightly, though Bao Zhengtao’s worry only deepened.

He had been notified months earlier that the fifth prince’s convoy would pass through Tong’an County, though the date was uncertain. It wasn’t unusual for such processions to be delayed, but as a cautious official, he had kept the matter close to heart.

Could I have offended him somehow? he wondered, dread seeping in. Did I anger him enough to seize my daughter?

Unable to sit still, he rushed toward the yamen, intent on mobilizing troops if necessary  even if it meant turning Tong’an County upside down.

“Master, you mustn’t!” cried Ba Shi, blocking his path.

Bao Zhengtao’s glare nearly made her knees buckle. “I know Second Miss is your heart, Master,” she said quickly, trembling. “But if you send men openly, word will spread that the girl is missing. Even if she’s found safe, her reputation will be ruined. You must search quietly  use only those you trust.”

Her reasoning struck him at once. “You’ll watch the house,” he said briskly. “I’ll take charge of the search.”

Days passed, and though the county was scoured in secret, no trace of her was found. Inside the Bao residence, Bao Si and Ba Shi were as restless as ants on a hot stove.

When the sedan chair finally arrived carrying Bergman home, Ba Shi nearly fainted at the sight.

Heaven help me how am I to explain this to the master?

Her second young lady, who had left home safe and whole, returned bruised and bandaged. But fainting now was not an option — the escorting guards still waited in the hall, expecting courtesy.

She bit the inside of her cheek, forced herself upright, and handed Bergman off to Bao Si before hurrying to greet the guests.

Bao Si, sleepless for several nights, burst into tears at the sight of her injured sister. She clung to her, scolding herself for not protecting her properly.

The room filled with sobs until Bergman could hardly get a word in. But her heart warmed — this was family. Bl00d, after all, was thicker than water.

She smiled weakly. “It’s only some scrapes. Nothing serious.”

“The face of a girl is most important!” Bao Si cried, inspecting her. “How could you scrape off so much skin? And your arm!”

Once she saw the splint binding Bergman’s thin wrist, her expression turned to shock.

“Quickly—call the best doctor in the county!” she ordered.

“Sister, the imperial physicians already treated me,” Bergman said quickly. “They said rest will heal it.”

Thankfully her long skirt hid the injuries on her legs; otherwise, her sister might have wept herself sick.

“Still smiling?” Bao Si huffed, wiping her tears. “Tell me what happened — properly this time.”

She had heard bits from Ah Ru, but hearing “imperial physicians” made her heart race.

“Did he—did that man—do anything to you?” she stammered, unable to say the words.

Bergman understood at once. She shook her head, sticking out her tongue. “He’s a high noble, Sister. How could he possibly fancy someone like me?”

“Nonsense! My sister is the best!” Bao Si sniffed, still frowning.

“My dearest sister,” Bergman said, grinning, “can I have a pot of almond tea? I’m parched from the journey. And I want to bathe, change clothes, and sleep on my own carp-and-algae porcelain pillow.”

Hearing that lively complaint, Bao Si’s heart finally settled. She wiped her face, smiled through the tears, and bustled off to fetch everything herself — her sister’s favorite almond tea first.

As long as Bergman was safe, everything else could wait.