Chapter 18

Day one of the journey was not as difficult as she had imagined.

The ship was new, carrying a faint scent of wood, though it was hard to detect because every area she might visit was meticulously perfumed with incense.

Not only was it perfumed, but everyone felt the spices used outside weren’t noble enough, lacking a deep, serene elegance. Yet the princess found lighting incense burners all around the ship both suffocating and unsafe. So a few young palace maids devised a cleverer method: they cut melons into small pieces and placed them in delicate containers—not to eat, but to use the sweet, fresh fragrance of the fruit to scent the ship.

Unsurprisingly, the princess scolded them, but the young girls giggled behind their hands, unconcerned.

“Why must the princess be so harsh on herself?” they said. “There’s plenty in the palace.”

“There’s plenty in the palace, but what about on the road?”

“Of course there is!” They smiled brightly. “Whatever the princess desires, just say the word. If the counties along the way cannot deliver in time, we have other means.”

She frowned, doubtful. “What means?”

The civil officials of the Song dynasty were generally indifferent toward the royal family, especially the princesses, who, in a sense, were often scapegoats. A misstep or careless word could easily bring an imperial censor’s indictment, a headache even for the emperor.

If a local official erred or slighted her, it was uncertain whether the censor would come to her defense.

Was she really expected to complain to Father over such trifles?

Before the maids could elaborate, Ji Lan—the eldest and most respected among the young attendants—approached, temporarily halting the conversation.

“The princess’s words and actions are always righteous and benevolent, which is why the emperor values her and the noble ladies pity her. It is unreasonable for you to speak such nonsense.”

One by one, the palace maids obediently withdrew, and before leaving, they dutifully removed the melon pieces as instructed.

“The matter’s not finished,” she said. “What exactly are their ‘other means’?”

Ji Lan bowed her head. “They are young and speak without understanding. Even if the princess asks, this servant should not speak.”

She frowned, realizing no further information could be extracted.

Though a trivial matter, what great affairs could there be aboard a ship?

She decided to ask someone else.

Traveling on the Yellow River, the boat was small. After less than ten meters, she reached the cabin of the senior eunuch Cao Fu, an imposing figure. Within the cramped space, there was only a couch and a low table, no chairs; a woven box served as a small stool.

Cao Fu sat on the couch, a young attendant perched on the box, carefully clipping something. Upon seeing her enter, both rose respectfully and bowed.

“What are you cutting?” she asked, curious.

“Your Highness,” the attendant replied clearly, “this is the Cao family’s medicated plaster. Cut into pieces and applied to the temples, it cures headaches, insomnia, seasickness, vomiting—everything.”

She leaned in for a closer look; the dark paste explained the pungent medicinal smell in the cabin.

“But isn’t the scent overpowering for Your Highness?” the attendant asked nervously. “I’ll close the door right away.”

“No matter,” she waved her hand. “The palace maids gave me two patches before; their scent was mild. Would you like me to bring some for you?”

The attendant glanced at Cao Fu, who smiled. “Palace-made plasters have a faint scent to avoid displeasing noble ladies, but they’re not as effective as the Cao family’s.”

Seeing her surprise, Cao Fu added, “The Cao pharmacy in Xiaohuoxing is the same one used by the chief imperial physicians—reliable without doubt.”

Noticing the princess’s inquisitive presence, the young attendant quickly gathered the plasters, while the elder carefully spread his kerchief over the woven box before inviting her to sit.

Without preamble, she asked,

“I think neither princesses nor princes should disturb the counties along the route, lest they be impeached by censors. Then why do they say such things?”

Cao Fu lowered his head for a moment. The young attendant slipped out, leaving the senior eunuch to answer her question with another:

“Princess, who have you met in Baolu Palace?”

She thought carefully. “Mostly reclusive immortals.”

“Truly reclusive?” Cao Fu asked.

Zhao Luming was momentarily stunned but then found a clue.

At Baolu Palace, she had practiced cultivation. Being so young and without rank, she was theoretically the lowest-level novice, akin to a servant in both Taoist and Buddhist temples—doing all the menial labor, fetching water, chopping wood, cooking. If the master was displeased, beatings and scoldings were common, sometimes to the point of death.

After all, who sent a child to a temple expecting luxury? Most were poor village children, sent to the temple just to survive. They worked from dawn to dusk until adulthood, often without ever obtaining a Taoist license—a costly certificate controlling temple access. Without it, no matter how much hair grew on one’s chin, one remained a novice and bore the hardships.

But how could such hardships befall her?

She had never even met such people!

As a princess, being sent to Baolu Palace for cultivation was a great honor. She was well cared for. Apart from Wei’s household, Baolu Palace had prepared a retired female attendant from the palace to serve as her Taoist mentor, a well-paid official. They had invested heavily.

Recalling the immortals in Baolu Palace, there were kind-faced elders, ethereal sages, taciturn ones, and witty humorists. Over the years, they had all been noble, detached from worldly affairs.

But how could that be?

At this time, the Shenxiao Sect flourished, and the emperor had granted them privileges. Even when meeting officials, they were treated as equals. Would local officials dare defy them? Why would they need to be impeached? Couldn’t the Taoists settle disputes by force themselves?

Seeing her realization, Cao Fu smiled.

“Moreover, princess, you don’t know—your cultivation outside the capital was arranged by Li Yan.”

Zhao Luming was familiar with Li Yan, a notorious eunuch rivaling Tong Guan and Liang Shicheng, among the most hated and powerful in the Song dynasty. One of his minor achievements: when the emperor needed money, Li Yan managed to seize over thirty thousand acres of “ownerless land” around Bianjing. His ruthlessness and arrogance astonished even later historians.

To gather so much land, local officials either colluded or were overwhelmed. Otherwise, anyone with pride would have smashed their heads against Yongxi Mausoleum or let the god of the Gaoliang River know the disgrace brought by their descendants.

So, it wasn’t just about two ruined melons. Even if she dined extravagantly along the way, who would dare demand money? After all, this travel group was run by Li Yan’s protégés!

“Does the eunuch…” she trembled slightly, “have a history with Li Yan?”

The senior eunuch was indifferent. “When he first entered the palace, I supervised him for several years.”

With this double layer of influence over her journey, Zhao Luming was stunned.

On the very first day outside the city, she formed a grim suspicion:

Compared to a world-saving heroine, she seemed more like a pampered, arrogant villainess.

As if to confirm this, the steady ship suddenly jolted. The young attendant respectfully poked his head in.

“Princess, the ship has docked.”

After traveling most of the day from the Bian River to the Yellow River, still within the capital region, the ship stopped.

The stop was, naturally, at a proper dock with a resting station. She disembarked, surrounded by layers of palace maids, eunuchs, and guards attending to her as she boarded a carriage.

She looked back. In the sunset’s glow, the Yellow River surged, with many indistinct shapes clustered at the center like reefs, rows upon rows planted there.

“What are those?” she asked.

Cao Fu squinted. “Princess, those are ships.”

“Why do they neither approach nor depart?”

“They’re transporting timber from Hedong Road, unloading here. With the imperial vessels nearby, they must avoid the river. When our ship sails tomorrow, they will move on.”

The carriage wheels rolled steadily; after a short distance, they arrived at the station’s gate.

Here, there was no cheap incense scent, but the melon fragrance was strong.

The window screens had been replaced, but curtains were drawn outside; the beds were new, but the walls were covered with silk wall hangings.

Tables, chairs, stools, basins for washing, rinsing bowls, and delicately prepared hot meals served in exquisite boxes—all arranged with impeccable care.

Under the glow of palace lanterns, it felt as if she had left the palace, yet not at all.

And everyone’s eyes told her that this was exactly how it should be.

Their attitude was further confirmed the next evening when a ship from the capital caught up to them.

“The emperor has sent a gift!” A nimble attendant boarded swiftly, laying a plank from the approaching ship. “Princess, please come to the rear ship and have a look!”

“A gift from Father?” She was still processing. “What is the occasion?”

“When the sovereign rewards his children, no reason is needed,” the young attendant said with a mysterious smile. Then in a low voice, “Wanyan Aguda died of illness! The emperor is greatly pleased!”

She was silent for a moment. Well, as long as the emperor was happy.

What was the gift?

“They send a noble lady of the Deyin clan to accompany the princess on her cultivation journey!”

She was utterly shocked. If it were any other gift, it would be one thing, but who was this noble girl that they sent along?

It was said that Zhao Luming, coming from a future time, was too young, far too young. Sending a royal kin to accompany her—what kind of “great gift” was that?

Moreover, why bring a clan lady but not herself? Why insist the princess meet her on the rear ship?

Carefully stepping onto the plank, Zhao Luming cautiously boarded the rear vessel. Upon entering the cabin, she was completely dumbfounded.

“Do you call this a Deyin clan lady?” she asked.

“It’s not this servant’s naming,” the attendant cheerfully replied, pointing to a vast block of floral stone nearly bursting the cabin walls. “Princess, do not underestimate her! She is the younger sister of the Marquess of Pangu!”