Chapter 22
“You want us to do what?” Feng Kai’s weathered face registered open shock—the first time Yun-yao had ever seen the stoic head guard’s composure crack.
They stood in the small study adjacent to the training grounds, dawn barely breaking beyond the windows. Yun-yao had summoned him at first light, unable to wait a moment longer once her mind was made.
“I need fifty of your best men prepared for a northern expedition,” she repeated calmly. “Supplies for at least three weeks' travel. Horses, weapons, winter gear. We leave in three days.”
Feng Kai stared at her as if she'd suddenly started speaking in tongues. “Lady Wei, with all respect... the northern passes are treacherous this time of year. The snow hasn't yet begun to melt. There are bandits, wolves—”
“And my husband,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “The General is alive, Master Feng. but search parties have already been called off. We have to find him ourselves”
His face softened with pity. “Grief can make us believe—”
“This is not grief speaking.” She stepped closer, holding his gaze. “He is alive. I know it. The General once told me that you would die for him. Is that true?”
Feng’s spine straightened. “Without hesitation.”
“Then will you not also risk discomfort to find him? To bring him home?”
His weathered face remained troubled. “The General charged me with your safety above all else. To take you into such danger...”
“I'm not asking permission, Master Feng.” Yun-yao’s voice was quiet but unyielding. “I am going north. Either with the Household Guards or alone.”
Feng Kai studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed in assessment. Whatever he saw in her face seemed to resolve some internal debate, for he slowly nodded.
“The General chose well when he married you,” he said finally. “I will enlist thirty men, fifty will not be able to go north unseen. But I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“You follow my commands in matters of safety. You wear armor beneath your traveling clothes. You stay in the center of our formation at all times.” His voice hardened. “And if we encounter genuine danger, you will retreat without argument if I deem it necessary.”
“Agreed to all but the last,” she countered. “I will retreat only if the danger threatens the entire party. I will not abandon the search at the first sign of difficulty.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You negotiate like him, too.” He sighed heavily. “Very well. We will make the necessary preparations and leave in three days. But how will you explain your absence? The Chancellor will surely—”
“Leave that to me,” Yun-yao said. “I have a plan.”
That same afternoon, Yun-yao sent word to the Shen residence requesting her sisters' companionship at the General’s residence.
When the carriage bearing Yun-si and Yun-jia finally arrived, Yun-yao greeted them with practiced serenity in the garden pavilion, directing the servants to bring tea and pastries before dismissing them with a gentle wave.
Only when the last maid had disappeared around the corner did Yun-yao’s composed mask slip. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, “I am going north to find the General.”
“You're going to do WHAT?” Yun-jia’s voice rose to a pitch that startled a pair of sparrows from the garden willow.
“Shhh!” Yun-yao and Yun-si both hissed in unison.
“But you can't just... ride off to the northern borders!” Yun-jia continued in an agitated whisper. “That’s—that’s—”
“Exactly what I'm going to do,” Yun-yao finished calmly. “The General is alive. I'm certain of it.”
“How can you be certain?” Yun-si asked, her observant eyes searching Yun-yao’s face.
Yun-yao hesitated, then reached into her sleeve and withdrew the small pouch containing the casting stones. “Because of these.”
She explained about the stones, the dreams, the connection she'd felt. To her surprise, neither sister looked shocked or disbelieving. Instead, Yun-jia’s eyes widened with excitement, while Yun-si nodded thoughtfully.
“I always knew there was something different about you,” Yun-si said softly. “The way you'd sometimes stare at nothing during fevers, or how birds would gather when you were reading in the garden.”
“Remember when Cousin Mei ruined your favorite book, and that sudden downpour drenched her new silk robes?” Yun-jia added.
“That was coincidence,” Yun-yao protested weakly, though she remembered the incident well.
Yun-si shook her head. “Mother always watched you more carefully than the rest of us. I think she knew. Eldest Sister, the journey is dangerous. The weather. Bandits. How will you travel? Who will protect you?”
“Feng Kai and the Household Guards,” Yun-yao said. “They swore loyalty to me as to Zhen-ting. They’ll come.”
“And Mother? Father?” Yun-si pressed.
“They cannot know,” Yun-yao said firmly. “They would stop me. Or the Emperor would, fearing scandal, political instability.”
She leaned forward. “We need a story. A reason for me to leave Shangjing publicly.”
Yun-si’s eyes lit with understanding. “The nunnery.”
“Exactly,” Yun-yao nodded. “I will announce I am withdrawing to the Cloud Serenity Nunnery in the western hills to pray for Zhen-ting’s soul and seek solace. A respectable, expected retreat for a grieving widow.”
“And we,” Yun-jia jumped in, catching on, “will accompany you! To see you settled! Publicly!”
“Yes,” Yun-yao confirmed. “We three will travel together in my carriage, with a small escort, towards the nunnery. Once we’re well clear of the city.
.. I change. Feng Kai and a contingent of Household Guards will meet us at a pre-arranged point off the main road.
I ride north with them. You two continue to the nunnery, stay for a few days, then return to Shangjing. ”
“Maintaining the pretense,” Yun-si murmured, betraying a thrill beneath her calm. “It could work. The roads are treacherous this season; travel delays are expected. No one will question us taking time.”
“Exactly,” Yun-yao said. Relief washed over her, mixed with a thrilling surge of adrenaline. She wasn’t alone.
“What about clothes?” Yun-jia asked practically. “You can't ride to the border in silk robes.”
“I've had riding clothes made,” Yun-yao replied. “But I'll need something warmer for the mountains.”
“I have fur-lined boots you can take,” Yun-si offered. “And Grandmother’s old winter cloak with the fox fur collar. No one will miss them from the storage chests.”
Yun-jia suddenly grabbed Yun-yao’s hands, her eyes bright with excitement. “I wish I could go with you. It’s so unfair that you get to have the grand adventure while we stay behind.”
“This isn't an adventure from a huaben,” Yun-yao said gently. “It will be dangerous, uncomfortable, and likely miserable much of the time.”
“Still,” Yun-jia sighed dramatically. “It’s terribly romantic. Riding off to rescue your husband when everyone else has given up hope...”
“I'm not rescuing him,” Yun-yao protested. “I'm... finding him. That’s all.”
Both her sisters exchanged knowing looks but said nothing.
As the afternoon light began to fade, they finalized their plans. Yun-si would speak to Lady Shen about a retreat to the Cloud Serenity Nunnery. And Yun-yao would discreetly announce her intention of retiring to a nunnery to mourn and pray.
“Three days,” Yun-yao said as they embraced. “In three days, we begin.”
For three days, Yun-yao lived a double life.
By day, she was the picture of a dutiful wife in dignified mourning. She even attended the state memorial for fallen soldiers. Amidst the thick incense smoke and suppressed judgment, Yun-yao knelt in the front row reserved for high-ranking widows, her face a mask of serene sorrow.
Whispers slithered through the solemn air like snakes.
“...twice now...” “...ill-starred...” “...should have entered a nunnery after the first betrothal...” “...drawn misfortune...”
The words, meant to be discreet, carried in the vaulted hall.
Yun-yao didn’t flinch. The icy composure held, but inside, the fragile thread she’d sensed pulsed.
North. The whispers weren’t daggers anymore; they were irrelevant noise.
Her world had narrowed to that thread and the desperate need to follow it.
By night, she was a woman exploring her newfound gifts.
She slept little. Each night, she cast the stones again and again, learning them, following the tenuous thread that connected her to Zhen-ting.
Each casting strengthened the thread, and she could sense him more and more clearly—he was alive, somewhere in the northern mountains.
The morning of departure dawned grey and bitterly cold.
Snow swirled in the courtyard as the carriages stood ready, laden with trunks ostensibly containing prayer robes and devotional texts. Lady Shen stood stiffly by the gatehouse, her expression unreadable.
Lady Shen hesitated, then reached out to touch Yun-yao’s cheek—a gesture so unexpected that Yun-yao nearly started. “Find peace, daughter,” she said softly.
Yun-yao bowed perfectly, her poise masking the guilt of her deception. “Thank you, Mother. Your concern is a comfort.”
Then she turned and climbed into the carriage after Yun-si and Yun-jia. The driver clicked his tongue, and the carriage lurched forward, passing through the imposing gates of the General’s Residence.
They traveled in silence for the first hour, the rhythmic clop of hooves and the rumble of wheels the only sounds. Once the sprawling outskirts of Shangjing gave way to snow-dusted fields and skeletal trees,
Yun-jia let out a held breath. “Finally! I thought I’d suffocate pretending to be mournful!”
Yun-si peered out the window. “Nearly there. The crossroads just ahead.”
The carriage slowed, turning onto a narrower, less-traveled track.
A mile down, hidden by a copse of winter-bare willows, a group of mounted figures waited.
Feng Kai, his weathered face grimly determined, sat astride his horse at the front.
Beside him stood Baihe, Yun-yao’s dappled mare, saddled and ready.
A dozen Household Guards, clad in practical winter gear, their faces set and loyal, formed up behind them.
The carriage stopped. Yun-yao didn’t hesitate. She pushed open the door and stepped out into the biting wind. Feng Kai dismounted and bowed deeply.
“Lady Wei. The horses and men are ready. Provisions secured. The northern route scouted as best we could.”
“Thank you, Feng Kai,” Yun-yao said, her voice clear and strong, carrying over the wind. She turned to her sisters, who had climbed out behind her. Yun-jia’s eyes shone with unshed tears and fierce pride. Yun-si offered a small, encouraging smile.
“Be safe, Eldest Sister,” Yun-si whispered.
“Bring him home, Big Sister!” Yun-jia added, her voice thick.
Yun-yao embraced them both tightly. No more words were needed.
She released them and walked towards Baihe.
Gone was the heavy silk brocade of the General’s lady.
She wore layers of sturdy wool and fur-lined trousers beneath her riding cloak, her hair braided tightly and pinned under a practical fur hat. She pulled on thick gloves.
Feng Kai offered a hand to help her mount. She waved him off. Placing her boot firmly in the stirrup, she gripped the pommel and swung herself up into the saddle with the fluid confidence born of countless dawn rides. She settled, taking the reins, feeling Baihe’s familiar strength beneath her.
She looked back one last time. Yun-jia and Yun-si stood by the carriage, small figures against the vast, snowy landscape. They waved. Yun-yao raised a hand in farewell. Then she turned her face resolutely north, towards the mountains swallowed by grey clouds.
“Feng Kai,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the wind, no trace of the Perfect Maiden left, only the General’s wife, driven by love and steel resolve. “Ride.”
She nudged Baihe forward. The mare broke into a trot, then a steady canter. Feng Kai and the guards fell in behind her, a wedge of purposeful motion against the white. Hooves thundered on the frozen earth, leaving the carriage, the pretense, and the whispering world far behind.
From the carriage, Yun-jia wiped her eyes with a mittened hand. “Look at her,” she breathed.
Yun-si watched the figure on horseback, back straight, cloak streaming, diminishing rapidly into the swirling snow, heading straight into the teeth of winter and uncertainty. A smile, genuine and awed, touched Yun-si’s lips.
“She’s riding free.”