And in those hills, Yuelai fought for her life, unaware that the bandits attacking her had been sent by the very man she was trying to expose—and that her evidence was about to slip through her fingers like water.
Yuelai's sword blocked another strike, but her arms were growing heavy. Sweat and blood mixed on her skin beneath the stolen uniform. Around her, the Minister's guards were falling one by one, overwhelmed by sheer numbers and superior skill.
The bandits were pushing toward the dowry carts now, ignoring the fallen guards, focused on their objective. Several had already reached the carts and were beginning to cut them loose from the procession, preparing to drag them away into the mountains.
No, Yuelai thought desperately. I can't let them take it. Not after everything. Not when I'm this close.
But she was one person, injured and exhausted, against forty bandits. What could she possibly do?
A bandit's blade came at her throat. She blocked it, but the force drove her to one knee. Her injured shoulder screamed in protest. She looked up to see the bandit raising his sword for a killing blow, his eyes cold and merciless through the cloth covering his face.
This was it. This was how it ended.
But then the memories came flooding back, unbidden and overwhelming.
Junwei's face, smiling at her from across the Palace courtyard, teaching her sword forms when she was barely tall enough to hold a practice blade.
Xiaoyu's laugh, bright and innocent, echoing through the palace corridor before everything went wrong.
The faces of all the others—the attendents who had served her for years, who had believed in her.
And Tianyu, holding Junwei's severed head, his expression twisted with grief and rage, the moment that had shattered her world into pieces.
The anger came then—not hot and wild, but cold and focused. It burned through her exhaustion like fire through paper, filling her limbs with strength that shouldn't exist, that came from somewhere deeper than mere physical endurance.
I can't die like this, she thought, and the thought was a promise, a vow written in blood and fury. No. I won't die like this. Not before taking revenge for everyone. For Xiaoyu. For Junwei.
She remembered standing before Ming Hao, making her promise. I'm coming back. I promise you, Ming Hao—I will definitely return. And she would keep that promise. She would go back. She would make sure to avenge everyone.
Yuelai's hand tightened on her sword grip until her knuckles went white. The world narrowed to crystal clarity—every movement of the bandits, every opening in their defenses, every possible strike she could make.
She rose from her knee like a phoenix from ashes.
Her sword moved faster than it had any right to, given her injuries. The bandit who had been about to kill her stumbled backward, his killing blow intercepted, his eyes wide with shock behind his mask. Yuelai pressed forward, her blade singing through the air in patterns that were more instinct than conscious thought.
One bandit fell. Then another. She moved through them like water flowing downhill—inevitable, unstoppable, finding every gap in their defenses. The pain in her shoulder became distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the sword in her hand and the enemies before her.
The bandits began to back away, uncertainty replacing their earlier confidence. This guard they'd thought was nearly finished was fighting like a demon possessed, and their numbers were dwindling rapidly.
Yuelai's vision was starting to blur at the edges, dark spots dancing across her sight, but she refused to stop. Just a little longer. Just a few more. I can't let them take the evidence. I can't fail.
Soon only two or three bandits remained standing near her. The rest had either fallen or retreated toward the mountains, abandoning their mission in the face of this unexpected resistance.
Yuelai raised her sword for one final swing, putting everything she had left into the strike. But exhaustion was finally catching up with her. Her movements were slower than they should be, her form imperfect. The bandit she was facing was fast—faster than her in this weakened state. He raised his own blade to counter, his sword moving to cut her down.
Then an arrow appeared in his back.
The bandit's eyes went wide. He stumbled forward and fell, revealing Prince Zhenge riding up on a magnificent black horse, bow still in hand, surrounded by soldiers bearing the Censorate's banner.
Relief flooded through Yuelai so powerfully that her legs nearly gave out. She managed to keep standing, but barely. The sword in her hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
Her body wanted to collapse, to give in to the exhaustion and pain that had been building for what felt like hours. But she couldn't. Not yet. There was still something she needed to check.
Her eyes scanned the chaos of the battlefield, searching through the scattered guards and overturned carts until she found what she was looking for—the bride's sedan chair, still standing but tilted at an angle, its curtains torn.
The bride. I need to make sure she's safe.
Yuelai took a step toward the sedan chair, but before she could take another, someone crashed into her from behind, arms wrapping around her in a desperate embrace.
Yuelai turned in her cousin's arms, and the fear and worry on Wei Ling's face made her chest tighten with guilt. She'd put her cousin through so much these past few days.
Wei Ling's eyes dropped to Yuelai's shoulder, and her face went pale. "You're bleeding! Your shoulder wound reopened! We need to get it treated right now—"
"It's alright," Yuelai said, her voice rougher than she'd intended. She reached up with her good hand to wipe away Wei Ling's tears. "I'm alright. But can you do me a favor? Can you check on the bride? She must be terrified. She's still inside the sedan chair."
Wei Ling looked toward the sedan chair, then back at Yuelai, clearly torn between her concern for her cousin and the request.
"Please," Yuelai said quietly. "I need to know she's safe."
"Okay," Wei Ling finally agreed, though reluctance was written all over her face. "But you're getting that shoulder treated the moment I get back. No arguments."
As Wei Ling hurried toward the sedan chair, Prince Zhenge dismounted and approached. He was wiping blood from his sword with a cloth that had probably been pristine white before the battle. Now it was streaked with red.
"Nice work, Inspector Wei," he said, and there was genuine respect in his voice. "You should get that wound treated."
Yuelai looked at him properly for the first time since his arrival. The Prince stood before her, not a hair out of place despite having just led a cavalry charge, his expression composed and analytical. In the fading light, he looked every inch the royal heir—powerful, confident, dangerous.
"Fine," she agreed. "I'll leave the rest to you."
She turned toward the horses the Censorate soldiers had brought with them, intending to mount up and ride back to the capital. The sooner she was away from here, the sooner she could think clearly about everything that had just happened.
But Prince Zhenge's hand closed gently around her wrist, stopping her.
Yuelai looked back at him, confused.
Zhenge released her wrist immediately, as if realizing the impropriety of touching her. "The capital is quite far from here," he said, his tone practical. "You shouldn't travel in your condition. And the bride must be frightened as well. How about we rest at a nearby post house? There's one about an hour's ride from here. You can have your wounds properly treated there, and we can ensure the bride is safe before continuing to the capital tomorrow."
Yuelai stared at him, genuinely confused. Why would a prince concern himself with her well-being? It didn't match anything she'd learned about Prince Zhenge during her investigation. He was known to be politically astute, yes, and capable, but not particularly compassionate toward those beneath his station.
Still, the offer made sense. She was in no condition to ride all the way back to the capital, and the bride's safety was important.
"Alright," she agreed.
She called out to Wei Ling, who was helping the bride's attendants check on the young woman inside the sedan chair. "Wei Ling! We're going to rest at a post house nearby."
Wei Ling looked up and nodded, relief evident on her face.
Yuelai moved toward the nearest horse again, gripping the saddle with her good hand, preparing to mount despite the agony in her shoulder. But before she could pull herself up, Prince Zhenge spoke again.
"Inspector Wei."
She turned back once more, trying to hide her exasperation. What now?
Zhenge gestured toward his own carriage, which had pulled up nearby. "Take the carriage. I'm coming as well—I can't leave the responsibility of keeping the bride safe to an injured person."
There it was again—that unexpected consideration. Yuelai studied his face, trying to read his intentions, but his expression gave nothing away.
Finally, she nodded. "Thank you, Your Highness."
She made her way to the carriage and climbed inside with some difficulty, her injured shoulder protesting every movement. Wei Ling soon joined her, guiding the bride—her face still covered by her ornate wedding veil—into the carriage as well.
As they settled into the seats, the carriage driver waited for Prince Zhenge's signal to depart.
Wei Ling immediately started fussing over Yuelai's shoulder again. "We need to move quickly," she told the driver anxiously. "She needs medical attention as soon as possible!" But she kept her voice low, clearly unwilling to treat the wound here where the bride could see everything.
Yuelai leaned back against the carriage seat, exhaustion finally beginning to overtake her adrenaline. But even as her body relaxed, her mind continued to work.
Why would he come in person? she thought, watching through the window as Prince Zhenge gave orders to his soldiers. He could have sent any of his men to escort us to the post house. Why bother accompanying us himself? From everything I've learned about him, this isn't his usual behavior.
Prince Zhenge was known to be careful, calculating. He didn't take unnecessary risks. He delegated tasks efficiently and kept himself distanced from anything that might become politically complicated.
So why was he personally ensuring their safety? What was his angle?
Yuelai wondered. Does he think staying close to me will help him politically? Or is there something else going on?
The carriage lurched into motion, and Yuelai winced as the movement jostled her shoulder. Wei Ling immediately moved to support her, worry etched into every line of her face.
The bride sat quietly in the corner, her hands folded in her lap, her face hidden behind the elaborate veil. She hadn't spoken since entering the carriage, but Yuelai could sense the tension in her posture. The poor woman had just been attacked by bandits on what should have been her wedding day. She must be terrified.
"Are you hurt, Miss?" Yuelai asked gently, keeping her voice low and respectful. "The bandits didn't harm you, did they?"
The bride shook her head slightly but said nothing.
Wei Ling glanced at Yuelai with concern, then turned her attention back to the bride. "You're safe now," she said soothingly. "The Prince's soldiers will protect us the rest of the way. And once we reach the post house, we can send word to your family. I'm sure they're very worried about you."
Still no response, but the bride's shoulders relaxed slightly.
Outside, Yuelai could hear Prince Zhenge giving final orders to his men. Some would escort the dowry cart.Others would pursue the fleeing bandits into the mountains. And a select group would accompany the carriage to the post house.
The carriage rolled on through the mountain pass, carrying three women with secrets, escorted by a prince with his own agenda, while behind them, soldiers secured evidence that would shake the empire's government to its foundations.
And in the capital, in a luxurious study, Prime Minister Xiao waited for news of his plan's success, unaware that his carefully laid scheme was about to unravel in the worst possible way.
END OF CHAPTER 20