Queen O's Timid Fugitive A - Chapter 30

30

The news of Chen Ya’s defeat, the loss of his fifty thousand troops, and the fall of the border city still reached Southern Liang. Even the emperor could not suppress it, and could only watch as a wave of despair swept through every corner of the capital.

The capital, previously immersed in the excitement of the autumn hunt, woke up overnight draped in white mourning cloth.

Jiang Ciqing, who had been secluded in the mountains for a month and had not entered the city, caused no surprise among others. After all, she was known to be a frail, reclusive figure who avoided lively gatherings. The deep autumn chill and the looming cold winter meant that even a slight cold could leave her reliant on bitter medicine to survive until spring.

It wasn’t until Chen Ya’s body was brought back to the capital that the Chen family personally sent an invitation. Only then did a carriage, now adorned with white cloth and bamboo patterns, clatter along the mountain roads into the city.

Publicly, Jiang Ciqing could not refuse. In the eyes of outsiders, Chen Ya was the savior of her only friend, and she had previously fallen gravely ill while forging a blade for General Chen. With Li Zhile absent from the capital, it was only natural for Jiang Ciqing to represent her friend and pay respects at the Chen household.

The carriage stopped at the mansion’s entrance, where Chen Simu, the eldest son of the Chen family, was already waiting. His resolute features, bearing a five-point resemblance to his father, were shadowed with dark circles under his eyes and an expression of grief. Though only in his twenties, he looked as worn as a man in his thirties.

The walls of the courtyard bore indelible marks of various kinds, a testament to the hardships the Chen family had endured over the past month. The common folk, heedless of the reasons, only knew that Chen Ya had led fifty thousand men to defeat and vented their anger on his descendants.

“My condolences,” Jiang Ciqing said softly, her words neither heavy nor light.

Chen Simu nodded. Having witnessed the harshness of the world in just a month, he did not find Jiang Ciqing’s demeanor cold. Compared to those who kicked them while they were down, she was far better. He stepped aside to welcome her inside.

The hall, draped in white cloth, echoed with mournful sounds as the wind blew through. Few people were present—only a handful of military generals close to the Chen family were willing to attend, along with Chen Ya’s immediate relatives.

Following protocol, Jiang Ciqing lit a stick of incense. Chen Simu then invited her to a side room, where he served a pot of hot tea. After dismissing all the servants, he sat silently on a wooden chair for a few minutes before standing to check the surroundings, ensuring no one was nearby. Only then did he relax.

Jiang Ciqing showed no reaction. Her pale complexion, accentuated by her white robe, made her appear even more frail and sickly. Her hands, clutching the teacup, revealed delicate wrists that looked as though they could snap with a single pinch, exuding an air of somber autumn melancholy.

“Please forgive me, Master Jiang,” Chen Simu said, offering an apology before taking out a rectangular wooden box. “My father instructed me before he left that if anything happened to him, this blade must be returned to the Jiang family.”

Opening the box, it indeed contained a double-handed sword, now broken into several pieces. Though Jiang Ciqing hadn’t been involved in the entire process, she had glanced at the blade before it was sent to the Chen family.

“It’s a pity this blade… can only be returned to the Jiang family in this state,” he said with a hint of helplessness.

Uncertain of the Chen family’s intentions, Jiang Ciqing remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Chen Simu didn’t beat around the bush. “My father also left a letter for Master Jiang, saying it explains everything.”

She raised an eyebrow and accepted the letter he handed over.

Without hesitation, Chen Simu turned and left the room, standing guard at the door, likely following his father’s prior instructions.

Such cautious behavior piqued Jiang Ciqing’s curiosity, despite her usual calm demeanor. She tore open the wax-sealed leather envelope, which contained only two thin sheets of paper, each bearing just a few words.

As she read, cold sweat broke out on her forehead, dripping like rain.

Creak!

The sharp sound of a wooden hinge turning startled Chen Simu, who quickly turned back. As his father had said, this matter concerned the survival of the Chen family, and he dared not be careless.

“I’ll take the blade back,” Jiang Ciqing said, clutching the wooden box as she stepped over the threshold.

Chen Simu sighed in relief, understanding that this meant she had agreed. He asked no further questions and quietly led her out.

As they passed through the hall again, Jiang Ciqing paused, her eyes revealing a complex emotion. After a moment of silence, she spoke, “I’ll offer another stick of incense for General Chen.”

Chen Simu naturally didn’t object and quickly handed her three lit incense sticks.

This time, her actions were noticeably more sincere. Standing before the coffin, Jiang Ciqing held the incense with both hands and bowed deeply.

In his letter, Chen Ya had mentioned three things.

First, three years ago in the barbarian lands, while leading a small squad to pursue Xu Fusheng, he had seen Jiang Ciqing’s face. Afterward, the entire squad, except for him, perished in the deep forest. He then abandoned the pursuit, leading the remaining soldiers to hunt magical beasts instead.

Second, before this expedition, he had foreseen his own death. As a loyalist, he knew resistance was futile when the emperor demanded his death. The prior leak of information had been intentional.

Third, he asked Jiang Ciqing to help preserve the Chen family’s lineage.

The other sheet listed the names of those who had pursued Xu Fusheng that year.

Her mind swirled with thoughts. Jiang Ciqing lingered in her bow. Had Chen Ya not concealed the truth, the Jiang family would likely have perished in that snowy, rainy winter…

Now, he had even provided the list of those who hunted Xu Fusheng—a significant debt of gratitude.

Hmph!

As Jiang Ciqing straightened, a cold snort came from behind her, its distinct, rising tone unmistakably familiar.

She froze, slowly turning her head.

Xu Fusheng, also dressed in white, stood behind the Fifth Prince. Her eyes were icy, her lips curved in a half-smile as she looked at Jiang Ciqing.

It’s over.

Those two words flashed through Jiang Ciqing’s mind.

After the autumn equinox, the days grew darker faster. The carriage wandered through the streets for a few laps before twilight descended.

At a deserted alley, Jiang Ciqing ordered the carriage to stop and walked alone toward Wu Yi Lane.

The lane’s brick seams remained unrepaired, and perhaps due to the weather, the moss had taken on a desolate yellowish-green hue. A few wilted petals clung to the osmanthus branches, far from their once-fragrant glory.

Jiang Ciqing tucked her shakuhachi flute into her waistband, carrying a package of osmanthus cakes wrapped in kraft paper. She nimbly climbed over the brick wall.

The courtyard was empty, with only the rocking chair under the tree creaking back and forth. Memories of a reckless night under the moonlight surfaced unbidden, and the long-celibate Alpha swallowed hard, shaking her head to dispel the thoughts.

A faint light spilled through the wooden lattice window, casting the graceful silhouette of the person inside. Hearing the noise Jiang Ciqing made, the figure didn’t speak, continuing to sit at the desk.

The little Alpha couldn’t gauge her mood but knew this person held grudges fiercely. Xu Fusheng never tired of bringing up a certain phrase about “broad daylight,” mentioning it repeatedly. Who knew when she’d let it go? Earlier that day, she had seen Jiang Ciqing offer incense to those who had hunted her, with an attitude so respectful she lingered for a long time.

Back in the barbarian lands, Jiang Ciqing might have faced severe consequences. Now, her heart was uneasy, her steps hesitant, turning a five or six-meter walk into one that felt like dozens of meters.

Standing before the window, she couldn’t find words. She raised her hand and knocked.

Knock, knock-knock!

The shadow on the window didn’t stir, as if she hadn’t heard.

Jiang Ciqing pursed her lips and called out softly, “Miss Xu.”

She sounded like a nervous thief sneaking to a lady’s window at night.

The bamboo-patterned hem of her white robe fluttered in the wind, her fingers tightening around the red cord, crinkling the kraft paper.

After waiting without a response, she tried again, “Are you really angry?”

“I brought osmanthus cakes. Want to try some?”

“Xu Fusheng…” Her tone was both helpless and pitiful, her brows drooping.

The person inside remained silent. If not for the shadow’s faint movement, Jiang Ciqing might have doubted whether anyone was there.

“I brought my shakuhachi. Want to hear me play?” She pressed closer to the window, afraid her voice wouldn’t carry.

Osmanthus petals scattered on the ground. Jiang Ciqing stared at them, thinking the courtyard could use some cleaning. Maybe…

She looked around but gave up when she couldn’t find a broom.

Knock, knock-knock!

Another tentative knock, still unanswered.

Jiang Ciqing looked at the shakuhachi in her hand. Maybe…

As she raised it, a voice finally came from inside, cold and curt: “Master Jiang, not sleeping in the middle of the night and disturbing the peace? I already have one mournful woman playing the zither every day. I don’t need another.”

The words were harsh, but Jiang Ciqing’s face lit up—she was speaking at last! Setting aside the scorned flute, she chirped, “Then, Miss Xu, want some osmanthus cakes?”

Silence followed.

Feeling bolder, Jiang Ciqing lifted the window, clinging to the sill like a dog wagging its tail.

“Xu Fusheng…”

The woman inside wasn’t annoyed. Propping her cheek on one arm, she sat at the desk. Her light blue cotton dress hugged her curves, its thin straps loosely draped over her straight collarbone, nearly slipping off. Her silver hair cascaded over one shoulder, obscuring part of her alluring figure.

Her peach-blossom eyes shimmered with a teasing, half-smiling gaze.

Jiang Ciqing faltered, shifting her eyes to the swaying pearl earrings, flustered.

Feeling the silence was awkward, she croaked, “It’s chilly in autumn, Miss Xu. You should wear a coat.”

Xu Fusheng glanced at her, her tone sharp: “If Master Jiang hadn’t opened my window, it’d still be quite warm in here.”

The little Alpha touched her nose, seizing the chance: “Then can I come in?”

Afraid of rejection, she lifted a leg to climb in but hesitated mid-motion, looking up uncertainly.

Xu Fusheng’s lips curved into a smile, her ruby-like eyes glinting coldly.

Jiang Ciqing’s knees weakened, and she lowered her leg, obediently closing the window and circling to the front door.

The woman inside was still upset—how could she open the door?

Jiang Ciqing waited patiently, then gently pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Xu Fusheng, are you hungry? Want some osmanthus cakes?” She held up the kraft paper, her eyes timid.

Xu Fusheng didn’t know how to respond. This person kept repeating the same lines, frustrating her to the point of speechlessness.

Unable to read her thoughts, Jiang Ciqing took three steps to cover one, inching toward the desk. She untied the red cord, unwrapped the paper, and revealed neatly stacked osmanthus cakes, arranged in three layers by the shop, undisturbed despite the journey.

The sweet scent of honeyed osmanthus filled the air. Jiang Ciqing blinked, looking eagerly at the woman beside her.

Xu Fusheng maintained her cool demeanor, her pale fingers tapping the desk.

Tap, tap, tap.

Understanding instantly, Jiang Ciqing picked up a piece of cake and offered it to her lips.

To her surprise, Xu Fusheng turned her head away.

“Is this how Master Jiang apologizes?” the Omega snapped, unable to hold back her irritation at the Alpha’s denseness.

Is this not right?

Jiang Ciqing’s dark, glossy eyes blinked in confusion, resembling a clueless puppy. After a moment’s thought, she tentatively bit the edge of the cake and leaned forward.

As she lowered her gaze, she caught Xu Fusheng’s first genuine smile of the night.

The cake was dry on its own, but with the little Alpha’s help, it became easier to eat. Xu Fusheng tilted her chin slightly, making it easier for her.

The osmanthus scent mingled with the fresh aroma of bamboo, less cloying and more refreshingly sweet. Their tongues brushed warm skin unintentionally, and Jiang Ciqing instinctively pulled back before leaning in again, unable to resist, casting a shadow over the other.

Xu Fusheng neither dodged nor approached, her fluttering eyelashes betraying her focus. White crumbs clung to her lips, trembling but not falling.

It was tantalizing, and Jiang Ciqing wanted to brush them away but feared disturbing her.

Propping one hand on the desk, her dark eyes rippled like a forest pool, her throat bobbing subtly as she carefully avoided crushing the cake.

As the cake dwindled, their warm breaths intertwined, the pearl earrings swaying. Jiang Ciqing grew inexplicably anxious, leaning closer deliberately.

Xu Fusheng didn’t indulge her, pulling back lightly with the cake still in her mouth, widening the distance.

Jiang Ciqing’s hand gripped the dark wood, her knuckles pale through thin skin. Her brows drooped, looking pitiful.

So spineless.

Who could imagine the outwardly aloof and refined Master Jiang becoming a timid, shrinking figure before Xu Fusheng?

The Omega was both exasperated and amused, wondering why this person couldn’t muster some persistence. She reached out, her slender fingers pressing against Jiang Ciqing’s nape, applying slight pressure.

“Silly dog…” she muttered, her tone laced with frustration.

Jiang Ciqing was forced to lower her head, finally meeting soft lips.

Outside, a strong wind rose, swirling petals in endless circles. The full moon hung in the sky, the mountain’s silhouette blurring. All was silent.

No wonder it was a century-old shop’s signature treat—soft, sweet, and fragrant, the honeyed osmanthus lingering on the tongue even after being softened.

At some point, their positions shifted. Despite her striking features, the Alpha was now cradled in the Omega’s arms, her arms around her neck, tilting her head in a placating gesture.

A flush tinted her eyes, the loose strap finally falling, her silver hair gathered to one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of moonlight-like skin in the dim room.

The mournful zither of a secluded lady drifted from outside. The bamboo-patterned carriage rumbled out of the city, never pausing.