Unexpectedly, Ning Wang was quite skillful at planting trees, a fact Qingge discovered when he lowered his noble self to help her plant a mulberry sapling. Once done, they both covered the roots with fresh soil, and then Ning Wang remarked, “We need to water it, or it won’t survive.”
Qingge scanned around and spotted an elderly woman nearby selling mulberry wood buckets filled with water for watering the saplings. Along with the bucket, she also peddled intricately carved peachwood plaques.
The old woman approached them, smiling brightly, “Greetings, Sir and Madam. After watering the tree you planted together, you can write your wish on this peachwood plaque and hang it on the tree.”
Qingge was intrigued, “And then?”
“If the tree grows lush and strong, it means your wish will come true, and your life will be smooth sailing,” the old woman explained.
What would happen if the tree died was left unsaid. Most people, instinctively choosing to ignore this possibility, wouldn’t ask either, and Qingge was no exception. “I’ll take one!” She said to the old woman.
“Certainly. That’ll be twenty copper coins.”
Qingge patted her sleeve, only to realize she had no money on her. Having briefly returned to her identity as the secret guard before resuming her role as Ning Wangfei, she hadn’t considered the need to carry any coins. She turned to Ning Wang for help.
Ning Wang also patted his own sleeve, and his expression turned slightly awkward.
Qingge understood immediately—he didn’t have money either. In retrospect, it wasn’t surprising; Ning Wang, always accompanied by a retinue of guards and attendants, rarely had any need to carry money himself.
It was the old woman who turned dumbfounded. This couple dressed so opulently, yet couldn’t come up with a few coppers?
Ning Wang calmly removed a pendant from his jade belt and handed it over. “Take this as payment. Will that suffice?”
The old woman was startled. “I-I can’t accept this! It’s far too valuable!”
Ning Wang was unconcerned. “Take it. It’s the Zhonghe Festival. Sell your water and head home early.”
The old woman, moved to tears, thanked him profusely and eagerly carried the water and plaque for them.
“All right, now you can write whatever wishes you have,” Ning Wang said. Though he wasn’t particularly interested, he indulged Qingge’s enthusiasm. After the blessing porridge episode, his patience was wearing thin; he couldn’t wait to finish the tree planting and head back to wash up.
Qingge, however, was brimming with excitement. She didn’t care whether the man beside her was engaged or not—she was having fun anyway. Holding the plaque, she pondered seriously for a while.
“Can’t think of a wish?”
Qingge stared at the plaque, conflicted. “No, I have too many wishes. I don’t know which one to write. Can I hang multiple plaques?”
“How greedy.” Ning Wang remarked.
The old woman grinned and said, “That won’t do, Madam! You can only hang one plaque and make one wish per year. More than that, and it won’t work.”
Then, turning to Ning Wang, she added with a smile, “But with such a fine husband, Madam must be wishing for a child soon, aren’t you? That’s the most important.”
‘A child?’ Qingge scoffed inwardly—she had no interest in bearing Ning Wang an heir. After much deliberation, she finally decided on her wish. Just before putting it into words, her gaze shifted to the man standing beside her.
Seeing this, Ning Wang immediately turned away. “Don’t worry. I won’t look,” he said, clearly uninterested.
Qingge did trust him. With his aloof and proud nature, this noble prince was naturally too disdainful to engage with such trivialities—there was no way he would stoop to peeking at what she wrote, which would be beneath his dignity.
Having nothing to worry about, she promptly wrote her wish on the wooden plaque, tucked it into the blessing pouch, and silently recited her wish before hanging it on the tree. For good measure, she watered the tree again, hoping it would grow lush and strong.
Ning Wang stood with his hands behind his back, watching her busying around, her forehead glistening with a fine layer of sweat. The spring sunlight illuminated her fair skin, lending it a soft, rosy glow. Most boudoir ladies had pallor skin which came from years spent shielded from sunlight, but her complexion was vibrant, as though naturally dusted with rouge. Seemingly sensing his gaze, she looked over, puzzled.
Ning Wang smiled. “There will be lanterns to see tonight. By then, I’ll have a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Qingge muttered.
“You’ll find out after dinner,” he replied. Then, his smile faded slightly as he examined her and remarked coolly, “But right now—you’re dirty.”
‘Dirty…’
Qingge froze for a moment. Slowly, she stopped what she was doing and raised her head to look at Ning Wang. He, of course, was the opposite of dirty—immaculate and meticulous as always. Born into the imperial family, refinement and fastidiousness were ingrained in his very bones.
“Yes, dirty indeed,” she agreed, chuckling softly as she tilted her head to give him a better look. “You now have a dirty Wangfei, Your Highness; but what can you do about it, hmm?”
Ning Wang’s expression was hard to describe—disapproving, indulgent, and resigned all at once. With a faint sigh, he finally said, “Go back and clean yourself.”
For a brief moment, Qingge was tempted to defy him—to leave him with a dirty Wangfei just to unsettle him. Even if he were to learn the truth one day, at least for now, she could enjoy seeing him so troubled.
But the thought lasted just for a moment, passing as quickly as it came. She relented, bathed, and let the maidservants help her change into a fresh dress and redo her makeup.
By the time she was dressed, Luo Momo, the guards, and her other attendants had finally caught up. It was clear Luo Momo had initially been furious, but upon learning that Qingge had been with Ning Wang and had even boarded his boat, her anger turned to delight.
As she styled Qingge’s hair, the momo whispered, “I heard there will be flower lanterns on Lize Lake tonight. It’s a perfect opportunity to take a boat and admire the night view of Yuning City.”
Qingge said nothing in response. She looked at herself in the bronze mirror. Her appearance was undeniably striking—delicate and graceful features, radiant skin, and black eyes as clear as spring water. The luminous pearl dangling lightly from her forehead added to her beauty, casting a soft glow that made her skin appear as smooth and luminous as jade. Yet, as she gazed at her reflection, richly adorned in such gorgeous outfits, she felt a sense of unfamiliarity.
‘Is this really me?’ Her recollection of herself was always a plain, unadorned figure, one that faded seamlessly into any crowd.
Poking herself in the face, Qingge muttered to herself: ‘I’m a fraud.’ Borrowing the identity of the Xiahou clan’s legitimate daughter, she relied on this extraordinary beauty to hide her lowly self, basking in the affection and indulgence of her former master.
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