The Princess’ Shadow Guard – Chapter 42

If there is no resentment and no indignation, then let it be

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the grand house, a place not seen for many years. The once-imposing doors, now faint in their majesty, bore the large characters “Residence of Prince Yu” written in clerical script.

Since returning to the capital at sixteen, Murong Yan had weathered all sorts of storms over these thirteen years. Now, standing before this place, it all felt like a distant dream.

At the gate, a handsome young man in armor and a red cloak was pacing back and forth, frowning. But upon spotting the approaching carriage, his anxious expression gave way to a bright smile.

“Yue’er!” (Little Moon)

Calling out Murong Yan’s childhood nickname, the man, long accustomed to the barracks’ lack of formality, didn’t bother with niceties. He eagerly swung open the carriage door, reaching out to help the lady descend, only to jump back as a small tiger cub came tumbling out instead.

“Brother,” Murong Yan murmured, gracefully managing her skirt as she silently accepted the hand Murong Can extended to her, stepping down from the carriage with deliberate slowness.

“The journey was long; Yue’er must be weary,” Murong Can saw his sister for the first time since she had been injured—limping, her figure frail as a willow and her hair now half-grey. She appeared so delicate as if a gust of wind could knock her over.

Beyond the initial shock in his eyes, there was now an unstoppable flood of sorrow.

Murong Yan’s expression remained as still as the surface of a pond, silent as she followed the man into the mansion. The little tiger cub tagged along at her heels—pitter-patter—sniffing around the new surroundings with animated curiosity.

They crossed the vast garden and fish pond—every plant and stone no longer familiar to the lady. As they were about to enter the main hall, Murong Yan gestured to Little Tiger to stay outside and amuse itself. Then, she and her brother stepped into the house together.

Seated at the head was Prince Yu, clad in a red dragon robe, his long beard flowing. Despite his years, which had brought him to an age of wisdom, his dedication to martial arts kept his body strong and his complexion ruddy.

The seat next to the prince didn’t remain empty despite the prince’s wife having passed away; a woman in a refined dress sat there, the very picture of a first wife. A young man, slightly older than Murong Yan and dressed in a modest green shirt, sat beside her. His frail frame didn’t quite seem to fit the lineage of a martial family.

Murong Yan strolled up to Prince Yu, paying no mind to the concubine and her half-brother at his side, and with a nonchalant bow, she addressed her father.

“You must be weary from the journey, Yue’er,” Prince Yu spoke first, eyeing his daughter who had greatly changed in appearance since he last saw her. Then, with a hint of hesitation, he asked, “Is all well in the capital?”

“The Crown Prince has plotted treason, and the Emperor has perished. Father must have heard the news already.”

Murong Yan had no intention of engaging in insincere pleasantries. She deftly drew out an oilcloth package from her sleeve, and with an air of solemn importance, handed over the Imperial Edict and the Tiger Tally to Murong Can, who stood beside, “His late Majesty’s will was to pass the throne to the Eleventh Prince, and he entrusted me to relay his wishes to you, Father. Please support the Eleventh Prince in ascending to the throne.”

She was straightforward and to the point, knowing full well that she had to convince the man before her.

Prince Yu frowned as he took the items from Murong Can’s outstretched hands and examined them, sinking into a prolonged silence afterward.

“Father,” Murong Yan prompted when her father remained silent, “this was the late Emperor’s dying wish.”

Prince Yu sat high at the head of the table, giving his daughter a brief look before carefully stowing away the edict, his face etched with hesitation as he spoke, “This matter… it’s fraught with danger. The Crown Prince has always been the heir apparent, the one prepared to ascend the throne. I really don’t know…”

Beside them, Murong Can, frowning in confusion at his father’s words, spoke up with a formal bow, “Esteemed Father, if one has the Tiger Tally to command the troops and the late Emperor’s decree affirming the rightful succession, your son believes it makes perfect sense to support the Eleventh Prince’s accession to the throne.”

All this while quietly observing, the half-brother Murong Wen suddenly interjected, “Brother, let our Esteemed Father decide on this matter—hold your tongue!”

Murong Wen was about to continue, but his gaze met the lifting eyes of Murong Yan.

Her expression was cold and dismissive, merely watching him in silence, which was enough to intimidate Murong Wen—who had always been somewhat fearful of his legitimate (nah) sister—into quietude.

After pondering for a moment, Murong Can once again spoke up, attempting to persuade, “If Esteemed Father does not enter the capital, the Eleventh Prince will surely have nowhere to turn. Moreover, if the Crown Prince ascends to the throne and allows Zhang Chi to lead those corrupt civil officials to govern, fattening their own wallets, it won’t be long before the provisions meant for the North are delayed yet again. I fear that no matter how we resist the barbarians, the court will only be leading us to our own destruction.”

“But… this,”

Prince Yu glanced at the Imperial Edict and then back at his daughter, still indecisive, he began with hesitation, “Yue’er, this matter concerns the great order, we must be cautious. Although the Crown Prince is arrogant, after all, his maternal family is powerful, and because he is the legitimate heir in the Eastern Palace, I’m afraid…”

Although Murong Yan had anticipated her father’s response, watching this farce unfold before her, she still felt frustrated.

The thought of Ming Qin, whose life or death was uncertain in order to protect her, made her heart suddenly feel the whole situation was both pathetic and absurd.

With a cold smile lifting the corners of her mouth, she retorted, “Why can Father easily behead barbarian chieftains, yet finds himself unable to clean up bandits and fulfill the last wishes of his own dear brother?”

“Doesn’t Father even feel a bit of resentment?”

Her voice was firm and resolute.

“Fighting to the death for the country at the borders, yet the supply line, our lifeline, is strangled and throttled by the Crown Prince’s control. Doesn’t that make you resentful?”

Murong Yan stepped forward, her presence solid, pausing before adding, “And doesn’t Father feel indignant?”

She lifted her skirt to reveal the cold gleam of her prosthetic leg, her laugh ringing with sarcasm, “Your own daughter, her leg cruelly taken by a scheme, coveted and imprisoned by the Crown Prince in a high tower as a hostage for six years—doesn’t that fill you with indignation?”

“If there’s resentment, if there’s indignation,” the curve of her smile vanished.

Murong Yan lifted her head to meet the gaze of her father, lofty above her, and asked with impassioned urgency, “What’s so difficult about raising an army for justice, to protect and elevate the Eleventh Prince to the throne, to serve with loyalty, avenge our family, and eradicate the Crown Prince’s faction?

“What can’t Father possibly achieve?!”

The grand hall echoed with the woman’s heart-wrenching cry, after which no one else dared to make a sound.

Including Prince Yu.

“If there’s no resentment, if there’s no indignation.”

Gazing steadily at the man before her, still unable to speak, Murong Yan felt her already cold heart go numb, inch by inch.

With a drop of her skirt and a raspy voice, she said, “Then let it be.”

After speaking those words, Murong Yan turned around, seemingly indifferent about whether she had successfully persuaded her father.

She didn’t want to spend another moment in this suffocating place, her longing for Ming Qin filling her chest, maintaining the last bit of warmth in her heart.

Only Ah Qin, only Ah Qin.

She would unconditionally rage at injustices for me, cry for the unfairness I endure.

Without thinking, Murong Yan’s hand flew to the hair tie wrapped around her wrist.

It’s as if only by gripping it tightly could she breathe.

“Yue’er! Yue’er!”

After dinner, Murong Can rushed to Murong Yan’s courtyard, knocking eagerly at her door.

Once the woman inside responded, he stepped in with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Yue’er, Father has agreed! When the first thaw of early spring comes, we’ll marshal the troops and set out.”

Sitting quietly on a cushioned wooden chair, Murong Yan barely reacted to the news Murong Can brought, simply reaching out to pour him a cup of strong tea.

Settling naturally into the wooden chair, Murong Can took a sip of the tea, the warmth from his sister’s brew reaching deep into his heart for the first time in ages—it had been eleven years since he last saw his womb-shared (twin) sister, back when their mother died.

“Yue’er, don’t be mad at Father; he has his difficulties,” the man said, looking at his sister, who bore a resemblance to him, his dear womb-shared sister, as he started to console.

“What difficulties does Father have?”

Murong Yan drank the last of her tea with an indifferent expression. “What sort of difficulty allows a husband not to personally attend his wife’s funeral, a father to ignore his daughter who has been imprisoned for years, a subject to disregard his sovereign’s orders?”

“The barbarians, perhaps?”

The woman scoffed. “So, it’s only because it’s a world away that he chooses to pretend he can’t see.” She set down her teacup heavily, the porcelain clashing against the tea table, emitting a jarring sound.

Then Murong Yan looked at her brother somewhat forlornly, “Brother, there’s no need to make excuses anymore.”

“Yue’er…” Murong Can was at a loss for words, gazing at the much-changed figure of Murong Yan, his heart ached, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Doesn’t he recall the days of their youth, when his sister would race horses with him across the vast grasslands? Even the sun piercing through the clouds couldn’t shine as brilliantly as her radiant smile when she laughed.

When she, at sixteen, accompanied their mother to the capital, and he, engaged in battle, wielding a spear against the enemy, heard of how she amazed everyone at the Sping Festival poetry session, attracting a host of young admirers. He wasn’t surprised at all— it just seemed natural.

At twenty one, when he heard that his sister had single-handedly fought off three assassins attempting to kill the Emperor during the autumn hunt—even though she lost her right leg in the process—he couldn’t help but feel a mix of distress and pride for her courage and loyalty.

But having not seen her for years, now she looked like a shadow of her former self—her vibrancy, like spring flowers, had withered away. Thin, haggard, her eyes devoid of their usual sparkle, she appeared as though someone had callously trampled over her spirit.

Their father’s helpless sigh, 『Yue’er has been kept as a hostage in the capital…』

Those few words carried such weight.

What on earth had happened?

Could it really be, just like the rumors say, because of that damn Crown Prince, unrequited love?

“…Yue’er, could you talk to me about what you’ve been through?” the man asked, voice rough with dryness. Even nearing thirty and known as the ever-victorious general, he was still at a loss when it came to his dear sister.

“Anything at all… as long as you wish to share with me.”

Murong Yan glanced at Murong Can, this sole person from the Prince’s residence for whom she still held some fondness, and her expression softened. She began to explain, in measured tones, how she’d escaped from the Cangyue Tower, taken detours, and shook off her pursuers.

When it came to Ming Qin, she hurried through, choking back tears, as if revealing even a sliver of her emotions would cause her pent-up sorrow to flood out.

The thrilling events along the way were enough to make Murong Yan’s heart race, even if it was just a few sentences.

Just as the man was about to speak, a low growl of a young beast and the angry voice of a child rang out from the porch.

“Ah! You little beast, how dare you hurt me? Someone, beat him, beat him to death!”

In the courtyard of Murong Yan’s residence, the chaotic footsteps of several servants could be heard, followed by the tender wailing of a small young beast.

“Kill that beast that dares to bite this young master! Hurry up and kill him!”

Her face changed, and without caring about Murong Can’s attempt to support her, Murong Yan hastily rushed out of the door.

LP: Re-translated on February 27, 2024

“womb-shared” hehe, I laughed at that! Ahh, that annoying kid, I can’t stand spoiled brats!