The Prime Minister’s Daughter and the Marquis’s Fool – Chapter 275
by Little PandaBonus Chapter 11
If you want to make a fool of yourself, do it yourself—don’t drag me into it.
Qu Ning and Zhao Ningying scanned their surroundings in growing alarm, unable to spot any trace of their companions. Just as anxiety set in, Zhao Ningying caught a scent.
To be precise, the aroma of roasted meat.
Zhao Ningying looked toward where the fragrance drifted and spotted a faint wisp of green smoke rising straight upward. She raised a hand and tapped Qu Ning’s shoulder, pointing to draw her attention.
Qu Ning frowned in puzzlement for a moment, then followed Zhao Ningying toward the source.
The two quickly crested the hillock and took in the scene where the smoke originated, watching for a long while. Zhu Qianjie and Qu Zhimu were currently gorging themselves on roasted meat with great enthusiasm.
Looking more carefully, they noticed several burly men seated nearby, apparently merchants passing through.
Qu Ning and Zhao Ningying kept quiet at first, observing for a good while before descending the hillock and walking toward the group.
The several burly men seated around the fire noticed the newcomers and turned to look. Zhu Qianjie and Qu Zhimu, still eating, also glanced over.
Zhu Qianjie broke into a grin the moment she saw Qu Ning and Zhao Ningying approaching. “You’re finally back! Mu-jiejie and I were nearly faint from hunger. Luckily, these uncles were kind enough to share some with us.”
Qu Zhimu also stood up. Noticing that the two had returned empty-handed, she asked, “Did you not catch any game?”
Qu Ning and Zhao Ningying exchanged a glance. Zhao Ningying eased the tension from her face and replied, “We did. They’re back at the carriage.”
Qu Zhimu uttered an “Oh,” then turned to glance at the men, who were all watching them. She looked back at Qu Ning and the others. “Let’s head back, then. Jin’er should be arriving soon.”
With that, Qu Zhimu turned to the men and said, “Thank you for your hospitality, uncles. We’ll be heading back now.”
“No trouble at all. These are your companions, I take it? If you don’t mind, why not sit and have a bite with us?” one of the men offered.
Qu Ning studied them. These men were thick-set and sturdy—they looked like traveling merchants, yet not quite. They seemed more like caravan escorts.
Qu Ning raised her hands in a courteous bow and said, “Thank you, but we’ve arranged to meet friends who will arrive shortly. My two companions have imposed upon you all.” As she spoke, she drew some broken silver from the pouch at her waist and placed it on a nearby stone, then stepped back a few paces with a slight bow of her head. “A small token of our appreciation.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—just a few pieces of meat.” The man stood, picked up the silver, and walked toward Qu Ning, intending to return it.
Qu Ning stepped back instinctively and said, “One should not accept unearned rewards1. Please, do us the honor of accepting it.”
Seeing Qu Ning’s insistence, the man chuckled, went back, and carved off another slab of meat. He held it out to Qu Ning and said, “We’ll take the silver, but you take this roasted meat as well.”
Qu Ning looked at the fragrant roast meat before her and declined, “You worked hard roasting it. We couldn’t possibly—”
Before Qu Ning could finish, Zhu Qianjie stepped forward, accepted the meat, and said with a grin, “Then we’ll obey rather than decline2.”
Qu Ning was a bit helpless, but seeing that Zhu Qianjie had already taken it, she could only offer her thanks once more. “Then we thank you all for your kindness.”
Qu Ning bid the men farewell and led the group back.
Zhu Qianjie tore into the meat as she walked, saying, “Actually, there was no need to give them silver. Make a friend, and with more friends, the road gets easier.”
“Taking food and favors for free—is that how friends behave?” Qu Ning put on a stern face. Hers wasn’t nearly that thick.
Zhu Qianjie, chastised by Qu Ning’s sharp tone, pouted and fell silent, her footsteps veering toward Zhao Ningying’s side.
Zhao Ningying looked at Zhu Qianjie with an indulgent smile and said, “You can’t blame Ning-jiejie for being upset. Even I was frightened just now. You didn’t leave any message at all—you truly terrified us.”
Zhu Qianjie pouted again, glancing sideways at the silent Qu Zhimu.
It wasn’t as though she had gone over there alone.
Qu Zhimu didn’t dare say a word. One younger paternal female cousin, one younger female cousin—both little adults, both more accomplished than she was now. When Qu Ning scolded Zhu Qianjie, how could Qu Zhimu not understand why? It was simply because she was the older cousin and felt too embarrassed to scold her instead.
The four returned to their original spot. Zhu Qianjie and Qu Zhimu, having eaten their fill, threw themselves into helping with vigor. Before long, Qiao Jin arrived on horseback.
They sat down, roasting meat and eating the pastries Qiao Jin had brought along as dusk cast its shadows.
The group gathered around the fire, eating, drinking, and playing drinking games in high spirits.
Once the revelry wound down, the mood grew a bit flat. Qu Zhimu asked Qiao Jin to bring out the qin she had brought and play a tune for everyone.
Qiao Jin sat cross-legged, settled the qin across her lap, and let her fingers glide across the strings. Melodious notes drifted out gently.
Qu Zhimu’s adoring gaze was unmistakable, hiding nothing from anyone.
When the piece ended, Qu Ning felt her fingers itch. Her qin-playing had been taught by Lin Xizhao. In the old days, when the elders gathered together, Lin Xizhao was always the one at the qin, so naturally her skill was no less accomplished.
Qu Ning’s style carried a strong frontier flavor—mostly soldiers’ laments, mourning songs for the fallen.
The slow, soothing melody had barely begun when a deeper, earthier sound wove itself into her qin music.
Everyone turned to look and saw that Zhao Ningying had produced a clay xun3 at some point, playing in harmony with Qu Ning’s qin.
[Image: Taoxun]
Having spent so long in the army, these tunes were in her blood. Qu Ning’s fingers plucked the strings as she looked toward the sound; Zhao Ningying, in the midst of playing, turned to face her.
Their eyes met. Neither looked away.
In the wordless exchange between them lay not only years of friendship but something else entirely. Yet the melody was so mournful it seemed to bind the two of them together, and only when the final note faded did their gazes finally part.
“Play another one,” Qu Zhimu suggested.
Qiao Jin also looked over and said, “I’ve heard that many soldiers are quite talented. The tunes they compose rival those of the pleasure houses4, yet carry far more nostalgia and homesickness. I’m fortunate to hear such music today. It stirs the heart—I only hope there will be no more wars.”
“Homesickness is also longing for old friends,” Qu Ning said softly, picking up the thread.
Zhao Ningying’s lips curved slightly, silently affirming Qu Ning’s words. Away from home, how could one not yearn for old friends?
Zhao Ningying’s gaze drifted toward Qu Ning, as if carrying an undercurrent. Qu Ning sensed it the instant Zhao Ningying looked her way. She looked back, and in both their eyes lay an accumulated longing.
And now, the old friend was right beside her…
Zhu Qianjie listened to them talk, downed a mouthful of wine, and turned her head. “Play another one, then!”
The delicate atmosphere shattered. Zhao Ningying looked over with laughing eyes and asked, “What would you like to hear? Ning-jiejie and I will perform for our Qianjie-meimei.”
Zhu Qianjie brightened at the prospect of a personal performance. She thought for a moment, but couldn’t remember many tune names—though the one just now had indeed been beautiful. “Just play that one again.”
Zhao Ningying’s brow quirked slightly. She glanced sidelong at Qu Ning and, seeing no objection, turned to Qiao Jin. “I remember Jin-jiejie brought a flute. Could I borrow it?”
Qiao Jin nodded, reached into her bag, and pulled out the white jade flute.
Zhao Ningying took it, ran her fingers over the jade, and praised, “Fine flute.”
Qu Zhimu smiled and said, “It was a gift from my Mother.” Zhao Jiayu had a flute that had been with her for years. She couldn’t even bear to part with it for Qu Zhimu, yet she gave it to Qiao Jin—proof enough of her affection.
Qu Ning looked over and heard Zhao Ningying say, “Then I’d better play a worthy tune, to do justice to Maternal Aunt’s generosity.”
Qu Zhimu arched a brow and said, “Play it however you like—she can’t see you anyway.” She knew full well what her mother’s flute playing sounded like. In the old days it was called filling the orchestra with poor skill5; now it was merely passable.
Zhao Ningying gave a soft laugh, looked at Qu Ning, and raised the flute to her lips.
Qu Ning positioned her hands on the qin, ready to harmonize—but when the first flute note rang out, she froze for an instant.
It was the same tune, yet the pitch was higher, and the tempo faster.
Qu Ning glanced at Zhao Ningying, then her fingertips followed along. The two instruments wove together, and the three listeners sat spellbound.
The mournful, homesick melody had transformed in an instant into a rousing battlefield anthem. How could it not send a thrill through the heart?
Like dragon soaring and tiger leaping, neither yielding to the other.
When the piece ended, a fine sheen of sweat had formed on Qu Ning’s brow.
Zhao Ningying, by contrast, looked perfectly composed, even exhilarated.
Qu Ning had trained at the Northern Frontier but had never set foot on a battlefield. Zhao Ningying was different—she had not only fought in battles but had led troops as a commanding general. Her emotions swayed thousands of soldiers; she couldn’t afford a single misstep.
In this short piece, the gap between them was plain to see.
The way Qu Ning looked at Zhao Ningying was the same way Qu Zhimu had looked at Qiao Jin—admiration written plainly across her face.
Zhao Ningying met Qu Ning’s gaze with laughing eyes. Their eyes locked again, and only slowly did Qu Ning withdraw the adoration from her own.
“Ying-meimei’s style is a gift unto itself, with the power to command a thousand armies and ten thousand horses. As the older cousin, I concede defeat.”
Zhao Ningying smiled gently at this. “I didn’t give Ning-jiejie any advance warning, yet you adapted effortlessly. That kind of skill isn’t something just anyone can manage. Ning-jiejie, don’t sell yourself short.”
Qu Ning had harmonized with absolutely no preparation, yet she had precisely tracked every rise and fall of the melody. Apart from a brief hesitation at the opening, there was not a single note out of place.
“You’re both heaven-blessed talents—able to draw two completely different effects from a single tune. It’s clearly a matter of innate gift. It seems I’ll need to practice hard when I have the time, lest I make a fool of myself between the two of you again,” Qiao Jin said, smiling at them both.
“Nonsense. My Jin’er’s qin-playing is the one that touches my heart most,” Qu Zhimu countered softly. Her wife’s spirit was the finest.
Qiao Jin looked at Qu Zhimu, warmth in her eyes, and reached out to pat the soft back of the hand resting in hers. Qu Zhimu leaned her head against Qiao Jin’s shoulder, radiating deep devotion.
The group exchanged glances and laughed.
Zhu Qianjie clapped her fire-tending hands and said, “Since you’ve all played, then Mu-jiejie and I will make fools of ourselves too.” She stood up.
Qu Zhimu heard that Zhu Qianjie meant to drag her along and quickly waved her hands. “If you want to make a fool of yourself, do it yourself—don’t drag me into it.”
Her sense of melody wasn’t that good. She had loved martial arts since childhood but hadn’t amounted to much—mostly inheriting Zhao Jiayu’s temperament, stuck somewhere in the middle.
Zhu Qianjie saw Qu Zhimu’s adamant refusal, huffed twice, and dropped the idea. Zhao Jiayu was right—she was only a hair better than Zhao Jiayu herself.
The group extinguished the fire, packed up their things, and took the carriage back toward the city. By now the city gates had already closed, but their identities posed no obstacle.
The gate commander was Qu Ning’s Fifth Maternal Grand-Uncle, Liang Lianhui. She had informed him before leaving the city.
As they passed through the gate, Qu Ning gave the remaining roast meat to the gate guards. Liang Lianhui also dispatched men to escort them home.
After several consecutive nights away from the palace, even Qu Ning, much as she wished to stay with Zhao Ningying, had no choice but to return.
Before heading back to the palace, though, Qu Ning dropped everyone off at their respective residences. To spend as much time with Zhao Ningying as possible, she saved the Zhao Residence for last.
Zhao Ningying stepped down from the carriage and walked straight toward the residence. Qu Ning held the carriage curtain aside, watching her retreating figure, as reluctance slowly accumulated in her heart.
Just as Qu Ning was about to let the curtain fall, Zhao Ningying turned around. The curve of her eyes, bright and radiant, offered a fleeting comfort to Qu Ning’s heart at the moment of parting.
A backward glance, a single smile, a hundred charms born6—this was surely what it described.
“The night grows ever deeper. Ning-jiejie, hurry back,” Zhao Ningying called, waving at Qu Ning’s carriage.
Qu Ning watched her, her lips curving upward stiffly, and raised her hand as well. But her fingers were slightly rigid, as though they didn’t want to part.
The author has something to say:
Qu Ning: “Stop flirting, my legs are going to give out.”
Qu Sheng: “My daughter is a bit lacking in that area.”
Darlings, take a look at the other advance collections in the author’s profile. If any catch your fancy, add them to your collection.
Endlessly grateful, prostrating myself in worship!
Footnotes
- 无功不受禄 | wú gōng bù shòu lù | Classical idiom: one should not accept payment or favors without having rendered service in return.
- 恭敬不如从命 | gōng jìng bù rú cóng mìng | Polite formula: 'to show respect, it is better to obey than to decline'—accepting graciously is itself a form of respect.
- 陶埙 | táo xūn | Ancient Chinese egg-shaped earthenware vessel flute, one of the oldest wind instruments in China, producing a deep, haunting tone.
- 秦楼楚馆 | qín lóu chǔ guǎn | Classical term for entertainment quarters and pleasure houses, associated with refined music and courtesan performances.
- 滥竽充数 | làn yú chōng shù | Classical idiom from a Han Dynasty tale about a man who bluffed his way into a royal orchestra by pretending to play; means filling a role without genuine ability.
- 回眸一笑百媚生 | huí móu yī xiào bǎi mèi shēng | Famous line from Bai Juyi's Tang Dynasty poem 'Song of Everlasting Sorrow,' describing a beauty whose backward glance and smile conjure a hundred charms.
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