The Princess’ Shadow Guard – Chapter 5
by Little PandaCan’t Die Before Giving the Commandery Princess Her Gift
Ming Qin’s hair was soaked with sweat, plastered to her face in a damp, dirt-streaked mess.
Her clothes were already slashed to ribbons, her outer robe lost to who-knew-where. She bore several blade wounds, including one perilously close to her left breast—a testament to how vicious the battle had been.
Fortunately, she had kept them tied down in combat for days. By now, her shixiong should have long since boarded a boat heading toward the Capital.
Ming Qin took a deep breath and turned to face the dozen or so burly pursuers.
Even after they realized Ming Qin wasn’t their original target, she had slaughtered more than half their number. There was no way they were going to let her walk away.
“My, are all you Dongying warriors this clingy?”
Ming Qin absentmindedly scratched her head, only to come away with a hand full of blood. She casually tossed aside her ruined, notched sword, kicked a long saber out from under a nearby corpse, and weighed it in her grip. “Borrowing this, thanks.”
She said it politely, without a trace of mockery.
But the remaining men seemed infuriated by her attitude. Several charged at once, intending to take her down in a single surge.
Ming Qin shifted into a proper stance, casting aside all distractions. Clatter, clash! Amidst the flashing steel, another bitter fight broke out.
When the last man fell, Ming Qin dragged her battered body over to a tree and slumped against it.
As expected, taking on that many people was pushing it a bit too far.
Blood soaked her garments. Ming Qin felt herself growing drowsy.
In her haze, she remembered Lin Yan mentioning a forbidden book he had once read in the palace. It recorded that after death, people were carried off to the heavens by birdmen1 wearing white feather-woven robes, with golden rings floating above their heads and fleshy wings growing from their backs. If she died right now and got the chance to see a birdman, that wouldn’t be so bad.
She had no ties, no burdens, and no lingering attachment to this world.
Raised in the Shadow Guard camp since childhood, her life consisted of nothing but eating, drinking, and obediently completing missions.
Right, the mission.
What was it again?
Defeat the pursuers.
Protect the secret letter.
The pursuers were dead now. She just had to eat the secret letter before she breathed her last.
To think that she, who had savoured so many worldly delicacies, would have a scrap of paper as her final meal.
Reaching down to open the cloth pouch at her waist, Ming Qin pulled out the envelope, sealed thick with black wax. It looked terribly unappetizing.
Just as Ming Qin was grumbling internally with profound dissatisfaction, a small oil-paper packet slipped out and landed on her lap.
This is the gift I’m bringing back for the Commandery Princess, Ming Qin suddenly realized.
Earlier, while bored out of her mind waiting for Cao Yun in the Min region, she had wandered into a teahouse. The matron inside took one look at Ming Qin, recognized her as an outsider speaking the Capital dialect, and aggressively grabbed her hand. Shoving a packet of tea at her, the woman spun a wildly extravagant tale about how it was the finest rock tea2 in all the world.
Utterly bluffed, Ming Qin ended up buying the tiny packet of tea. It cost her three months’ salary.
The image of Murong Yan elegantly sipping tea had flashed through her mind at the time, completely dulling the ache in her wallet.
At the thought of this, Ming Qin shuddered. Her mind cleared significantly.
She had promised the Commandery Princess a gift. If she didn’t return, the Commandery Princess would be disappointed.
Picturing Murong Yan imprisoned all alone in that tall tower, watching the seasons change in isolation, Ming Qin forced herself to rally.
I have to keep my promise and go back.
Using the long saber to prop herself up, Ming Qin sliced away a relatively clean swath of fabric from a corpse. She stuffed the scraps of cloth directly into her bleeding wounds and strapped her leather belt tightly over them to hold the makeshift packing in place.
Moving at a slow, agonizing drag, she approached the mounts the warriors had tethered in the distance. Selecting the sturdiest horse, she hauled herself onto its back with immense effort, then reached down and severed the reins of the others. “You’re all free now,” she told them.
Ming Qin then patted the neck of the horse she had chosen. “Good boy,” she whispered. “I need you to help me.”
When Ming Qin finally returned to the Shadow Guard camp, she had to be carried in.
According to the men stationed at the stronghold outside the city, Ming Qin had arrived six days ago in a semi-conscious state. She had used a rope to bind her waist tightly to the saddle to prevent herself from falling off. She held on just long enough to exchange the secret password, and the very next second, she blacked out completely.
It nearly scared her contact to death.
Not counting minor flesh wounds, she had sustained seventeen deep cuts that reached muscle and bone. Three of them were mortal.
Upon receiving the carrier pigeon’s message, their Master had dragged an imperial doctor out of bed in the middle of the night. Hauling the half-dressed physician out of the city in a frantic rush, the two old men took one look at Ming Qin’s catastrophic condition and glared, puffing out their beards in a fury.
Even deep in her coma, her hand was clamped in a death grip around a tattered cloth pouch.
It ultimately took four or five people prying and massaging her rigid fingers to finally extract the secret letter from within.
Fortunately, her life was no longer in danger.
Song Shuqing relayed the situation to Cao Yun, who was currently recovering in bed. Cao Yun looked conflicted. “This is all because of me.”
“I should have stayed behind,” he said, drowning in self-reproach.
“If you stayed behind, you’d be dead.” Song Shuqing leaned against the doorframe and rolled her eyes. “The words you should be directing at Qin-qin are ‘thank you,’ instead of aiming this sentimental nonsense at me.”
Seeing Cao Yun’s endlessly miserable face, Song Shuqing spoke up again. “Do you know what you should be doing right now?”
She sighed. “You should be sincerely thanking the heavens that the person who went down to rendezvous with you was Qin-qin. If it had been anyone else, both of you would be dead.” Song Shuqing held her hand flat like a blade and made a slicing motion across her throat.
Cao Yun looked at Song Shuqing, his expression suddenly turning serious. “Have you read the secret letter?”
Song Shuqing nodded, all traces of humor vanishing from her eyes.
“Did His Highness the Crown Prince truly assassinate the Eighth Prince, who was secretly being raised in Qiongzhou?” Cao Yun asked.
Watching Song Shuqing nod again, disbelief washed over his face. He let out a heavy sigh. “I fear the ones remaining in the Capital are next.”
“Do we not know what kind of moral fibre that man possesses?” Song Shuqing scoffed. “Murdering his own siblings, poisoning his own father—nothing he does would surprise me.” The woman’s words held not a shred of reverence for the imperial family.
The two fell into silence.
Seemingly unable to bear the heavy atmosphere, Song Shuqing finally spoke. “Get well soon.”
She spun around with a dramatic flourish. “You and Qin-qin are both bedridden recovering, Da Linzi is out of the city, and I’m exhausted to death doing everything alone! I’m going to file a complaint with the labor union!”
No sooner had Song Shuqing stepped out of Cao Yun’s room than she heard the rapid drumming of approaching footsteps. A young boy in a training uniform sprinted toward her. “Song-shijie! Song-shijie!”
“Why are you yelling so loud? Are you trying to call back a spirit?!” Song Shuqing slapped a hand over one ear.
The boy looked frantic. “Ming Qin-shijie is awake, and she’s trying to get out of bed! Song-shijie, hurry and go stop her.”
Before he even finished speaking, Song Shuqing’s face darkened, and she pivoted, marching swiftly toward the medical pavilion.
The moment she stepped through the door, she saw Ming Qin. Her entire body was bound in bandages, yet she was still stubbornly struggling toward the exit. A few white-bearded senior doctors were hovering nervously around her, completely at a loss.
“Qin-qin!” Song Shuqing barked sharply. “You should be resting right now.”
“Shijie!” Ming Qin rasped, her voice hoarse. “I have to go out.”
Song Shuqing marched up, extended a single finger, and poked Ming Qin hard in the forehead. Ming Qin instantly lost her balance and tipped backward.
“In your current condition, you’d need someone’s help just to squat over a toilet… no, use the latrine. Where do you think you’re going?” Song Shuqing caught Ming Qin, half-embracing her to gently force her back down onto the bed.
“But…” Ming Qin looked a little wronged, waving her heavily bandaged hands in a haphazard panic.
“No buts.” Song Shuqing pulled the quilt up over her, her eyes flashing with a fierce scolding. “Until you escape the fate of being wrapped like a zongzi3, you can’t beat me in a fight. Do you want me to use violence on you? Just like when we were kids?”
Ming Qin shrank back into the blankets. Childhood memories kept her from daring to move. “Then… my pouch…”
“You mean this?” Song Shuqing reached into her sleeve, pulled out a thoroughly tattered cloth pouch, and handed it to Ming Qin.
Taking it, Ming Qin eagerly felt around inside. Her deeply furrowed brow finally relaxed. “This is it! Thank you, Shijie.”
The young Shadow Guard broke into a wide, ecstatic grin, only to immediately wince as the movement pulled at the wound on her cheek.
Ming Qin gingerly touched her oozing face, looking utterly pathetic.
It was rare to see Qin-qin look so miserable. Song Shuqing rubbed her forehead, finding the sight both pitiful and hilarious. She leaned over and tucked the edges of the quilt more snugly around her shimei.
“Get well soon,” she said, her tone carrying a rare gentleness.
Without you guys sharing the workload, I’m so busy I don’t even have time to go down to Flower Street to listen to tunes.
Footnotes
- A bizarre, culturally mixed interpretation of Western angels encountered in a foreign text. The 'white feather-woven robes' describe the robes and wings of an angel, while the 'golden rings' represent halos.
- A premium variety of oolong tea grown in the Wuyi Mountains of Fujian province (historically part of the Min region). It is famous for its 'rock rhyme'—a complex, mineral-rich flavour.
- Traditional Chinese sticky rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo or reed leaves and tied securely with string. A common humorous comparison for someone heavily bandaged.
Wait so, the crown prince killed the emperor? Why is he still a crown prince then?
This is a possible mistranslation. I will be looking into it later 🐱. Thanks for pointing that out!
After looking into it, the accurate translation would be, “poisoned his father”, not “killed”. Thanks for reading!
Aw that’s so cute