The Princess’ Shadow Guard – Chapter 42
by Little PandaIf Not Resentful, If Not Indignant, Then Let It Be
The carriage stopped before the home she had been away from for years — an imposing gate, four large characters reading “Prince of Yu’s Mansion” rendered in clerical script1.
Since returning to the Capital at sixteen, she had weathered every kind of storm over thirteen years. Now, standing here once more, Murong Yan felt as though a lifetime had passed.
At the entrance, a handsome young man in armor and a red cloak paced back and forth with a furrowed brow. When the carriage from afar finally arrived, the anxiety melted from his face, replaced by a bright, open smile.
“Yue’er!”
Calling Murong Yan by her childhood name, the man — long accustomed to army camps — ignored all propriety, throwing open the carriage door and reaching in to help the woman alight. Instead, a small tiger came tumbling out and startled him.
“Xiongzhang2.” Murong Yan gathered her skirts and quietly took Murong Can’s outstretched hand, slowly dragging her steps down from the carriage.
“The road was long. You must be exhausted, Yue’er.” It was the first time Murong Can had seen his twin sister after her ordeal — limping, frail, her hair already half-white, so thin she seemed like a willow branch that would topple at the slightest breeze.
After the initial shock, his eyes filled with an ache he couldn’t suppress.
Murong Yan’s expression remained utterly still. She walked into the mansion in silence alongside her brother, the little tiger padding behind on its paws, curiously sniffing at every corner of its new surroundings.
They crossed the vast garden and fish pond. Every tree and blade of grass here had long ceased to resemble anything the woman recognized. Before entering the main hall, Murong Yan signaled to the tiger cub to stay outside and play, then stepped inside with her brother.
At the head of the room sat the Prince of Yu in a red python robe3, sporting a very long beard. Though he had reached fifty, years of martial training kept his body robust, his complexion still ruddy.
Though the Princess of Yu had passed away, the seat beside the man was not empty. A woman in an exquisite dress sat with the poised bearing of a proper wife. Below her sat a young man slightly older than Murong Can, dressed in a blue robe, his body thin and frail — nothing about him suggested he came from a martial household.
Murong Yan walked slowly to the Prince of Yu. Ignoring the concubine and her son to the side, she simply gave her father a composed bow.
“The journey must have been hard on you, Yue’er.” The Prince of Yu looked at the daughter he hadn’t seen in ages, her appearance so transformed that he spoke first — then asked with some hesitation, “In the Capital… is all well?”
“The Crown Prince has rebelled. His Majesty has passed. I trust you have already received word, Royal Father.”
Murong Yan had no patience for hollow pleasantries. She drew the oil-cloth packet from her sleeve and handed the decree and tiger tally4 to Murong Can beside her. “The late Emperor decreed on his deathbed that the throne pass to the Eleventh Prince. He entrusted me to tell you this, Royal Father. I ask you to help the Eleventh Prince ascend the throne.”
Without a moment’s hesitation — she knew she had to persuade the man before her.
The Prince of Yu frowned as he took the items from Murong Can’s hands, examined them, and then fell silent for a long while.
“Royal Father.” Seeing her father make no reply, Murong Yan prompted, “This is the late Emperor’s dying wish.”
The Prince of Yu sat high in the seat of honor. He glanced at his daughter, then put away the decree and said with evident hesitation, “This matter… is exceedingly dangerous. His Highness the Crown Prince holds the Eastern Palace. It would be proper for him to succeed to the throne. This prince does not know…”
Beside them, Murong Can frowned at his father’s words, then cupped his hands and spoke in a clear voice, “Royal Father, if we hold both the tiger tally to mobilize troops and the late Emperor’s decree proclaiming the rightful heir, I believe helping the Eleventh Prince ascend the throne is entirely justified.”
Murong Wen, the half-brother who had been quiet all along, suddenly spoke up. “Brother, this is for Father to decide. Don’t interrupt!”
Murong Wen was about to continue, but his eyes met Murong Yan’s raised gaze.
The woman’s expression was cold and contemptuous. She merely looked at him in silence, and Murong Wen — who had always been somewhat afraid of his legitimate younger sister — fell quiet.
After a moment’s thought, Murong Can spoke again to persuade him. “If you do not enter the Capital, Royal Father, the Eleventh Prince will certainly have no path to survival. And if the Crown Prince takes that dragon throne, with Zhang Chi leading that pack of corrupt civil officials to line their own pockets — before long, forget about the grain shipments to the Northern Borders being delayed again. The court will simply leave us to fend for ourselves against the barbarians, no matter how hard we resist.”
“But… this.” The Prince of Yu looked at the decree, then at his daughter, still unable to decide. He spoke with reluctance, “Yue’er, this concerns the great succession. We must be cautious. The Crown Prince may be arrogant, but his mother’s clan is powerful, and his position in the Eastern Palace is legitimate. I fear…”
Murong Yan had anticipated her father’s reaction, yet watching this farce unfold before her eyes, she still found it maddening.
The moment she thought of Ming Qin — whose fate was unknown, who had stayed behind to protect her — a wave of grief and absurdity surged through her heart over everything that had happened.
She curved her lips into a cold smile and said, “How is it that Father can so effortlessly cut down barbarian heads, yet cannot purge the court of its scoundrels and fulfill his own brother’s dying wish?”
“Does Father not resent it?”
Her voice rang like iron.
“On the frontier, risking life and limb for the realm, while the Crown Prince controls your grain lifeline — choking you by the throat — does that not breed resentment?”
Murong Yan stepped forward, her stride unwavering. She paused, then continued, “Does Father not feel indignation?”
She lifted her skirt to reveal the prosthetic leg gleaming coldly, and laughed with bitter irony. “His own daughter was schemed against and lost a leg. She was coveted and imprisoned in a high tower as a hostage for six years — does that not breed indignation?”
“If there is resentment. If there is indignation.” The curve of her lips vanished.
Murong Yan lifted her head and fixed her gaze on her father above, her voice rising with fierce intensity. “To raise an army in righteousness, escort the Eleventh Prince to the throne, fulfill your loyalty, avenge your family, and destroy the Crown Prince’s faction — what is so difficult about that?”
“What could Father possibly find beyond his reach?!”
The vast main hall echoed with the woman’s heart-rending cry. No one else dared make a sound.
Including the Prince of Yu.
“If there is no resentment. If there is no indignation.”
Staring at the man who still could not speak, Murong Yan felt her already cold heart go numb, inch by inch.
She lowered her skirt and exhaled. “Then let it be,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Murong Yan turned away, as though she cared not at all whether she had succeeded in persuading her father.
She could not bear to stay in this suffocating place for one more moment. Her longing for Ming Qin flooded her chest, sustaining the last remaining warmth in her heart.
Only Ah Qin. Only Ah Qin.
The one who would feel unqualified fury on her behalf. The one who would weep for the injustice done to her.
Murong Yan found herself grasping the hair cord wound around her wrist.
As though only by gripping it tightly could she breathe.
“Yue’er! Yue’er!”
After the evening meal, Murong Can hurried to Murong Yan’s courtyard and knocked on her door.
When the woman inside called back, he strode in with a smile on his lips.
“Yue’er, Father has agreed! After the new year, when the spring snow melts, he will muster the troops and march.”
Murong Yan sat quietly on a cushioned wooden chair. She showed no reaction to the news Murong Can brought, simply pouring him a cup of tea.
Murong Can settled into the wooden chair naturally and took a sip. Drinking tea brewed by his sister after such a long absence warmed something inside him. The last time he had seen his twin sister was eleven years ago, when their mother died.
“Yue’er, don’t be angry with Father. He has his own difficulties too.” The man looked at the twin sister whose face mirrored his own, the sister he cherished beyond measure, and spoke softly to comfort her.
“What difficulties could Father possibly have?”
Murong Yan drained her tea and spoke with cold indifference. “What kind of difficulty could make a husband not bury his own wife with his own hands, make a father ignore a daughter imprisoned for years, and make a subject disregard his sovereign’s command?”
“The barbarians?”
The woman scoffed. “It’s merely because they’re far away on the horizon that you choose to pretend you can’t see.” She set her teacup down hard. The ceramic struck the tea table with a jarring clatter.
Then Murong Yan gazed at her brother with something like sorrow. “Xiongzhang, stop making excuses.”
“Yue’er…” Murong Can could not refute her. Looking at Murong Yan, so utterly transformed, his heart ached. “I have missed you so much.”
The sister of his youth had once ridden beside him across the vast grasslands. Even the morning sun piercing through the clouds could not match the radiance of her laughter.
When at sixteen she and their mother left for the Capital, he — on the battlefield, spear in hand, slaying enemies — heard that his sister had stunned everyone at the spring poetry gathering and won the hearts of a crowd of young men, and he was not the least bit surprised. He took it as only natural.
And when at twenty-one he heard that his sister, at the autumn hunt, had single-handedly held off three assassins intent on killing the Emperor — even though she lost her right leg because of it — he had felt both sorrow and pride in her loyalty and courage.
But after years apart, he now looked at the sister who had once been as bright as a spring flower, whom he had held in the palm of his hand — now so gaunt and withered, her eyes devoid of all light, as though someone had trampled her without restraint.
His father’s helpless sigh: 『Yue’er, held as a hostage in the Capital.』
Just a few short words, yet so unbearably heavy.
What had really happened?
Could it truly be as the rumors said — because that damned Crown Prince loved her and could not have her?
“…Yue’er, can you tell me what happened to you?” the man asked, his voice dry. Even at nearly thirty, hailed as the Ever-Victorious General, he was still at a loss before the sister he loved so dearly.
“Anything at all… whatever Yue’er wants to tell me.”
Murong Yan looked at Murong Can — the one person in this mansion she still felt any attachment to — and some warmth returned to her face. She began to explain, in measured tones, how she had escaped Cangyue Tower, taken a roundabout route, and shaken off the pursuers.
When she mentioned Ming Qin, she fought down a sob and skimmed past it, as though letting a single thread of emotion slip would send the accumulated grief flooding through like a burst dam.
But even in those few spare words, the perils of the journey were enough to make Murong Can’s heart pound with dread.
Just as the man was about to speak, a young beast’s growl and a child’s imperious shouting came from the corridor.
“Ah! You little beast, you dare hurt me? Someone, hit it — beat it to death!”
In the corridor of Murong Yan’s courtyard, the chaotic footsteps of several servants rang out, followed by the thin, plaintive wail of the small cub.
“Kill that beast that dared bite this young master! Kill it quick!”
Her expression changed. Paying no mind to Murong Can’s steadying hand, Murong Yan rushed out the door.
Footnotes
- A major style of Chinese calligraphy, characterized by rectangular, flattened brushstrokes and a formal appearance — commonly used for official inscriptions.
- A respectful Chinese term for an older brother, used by a younger sibling.
- A formal Chinese court robe embroidered with python-like dragon motifs, worn by nobility and high-ranking officials as ceremonial dress.
- An imperial military token, traditionally cast in the shape of a tiger and split into two halves, used to authorize and verify the mobilization of troops.
Woke up every morning to read this 🥹 translator the best!
I was waiting for this! I was sitting here refreshing for a while. Wonder how it’s gonna go for Ming qin
What’s his reason though? And let the cub go, damn. Thank you for the chapter!
Queen you dropped this 👑
Woke up every morning to read this 🥹 translator the best!
I was waiting for this! I was sitting here refreshing for a while. Wonder how it’s gonna go for Ming qin
What’s his reason though? And let the cub go, damn. Thank you for the chapter!
Queen you dropped this 👑