1:
The rain was falling harder and harder.
A dense fog blanketed the sky, completely obscuring the sun. The path, usually bustling with carriages and horses, now lay desolate, with only the sound of rain filling the air. Occasionally, a bird or two—too late to find shelter—flitted through the roadside bushes, chirping as they flew away again before they could settle.
A horse-drawn carriage was slowly making its way along the muddy path in the downpour. The wheels rolled steadily over the wet ground, splashing water with every turn. Sitting at the front under a rain cover was an old servant, his veiny hands gripping the reins tightly, terrified of steering the carriage off course.
Suddenly, the curtain at the back of the carriage was lifted slightly, revealing a slender hand. A few raindrops slid off its fingertips. A faint, weak voice followed.
"Old Chen, is it still far?"
The old servant driving the carriage slowed down and turned his head back.
"There's still a way to go, Young Master. Please don't lift the curtain, you might catch a cold."
"Mm. Go slower," the curtain was lowered again, the hand withdrawing inside. Not long after, a few coughs came from within the carriage, clearly stifled and intermittent.
"Young Master, cover yourself with the blanket inside. This rain brings a heavy chill—you mustn't catch cold," the worried old servant turned his head again to give a few more reminders. From inside, a soft "mm" could be heard, followed by another wave of coughing.
Damn this rain—when will it ever stop?
Old Chen yanked the reins in frustration, cursing silently. They had been on the road for two days now. When they left home, the plan had been to arrive at the Madam Cousin's estate by now. But they'd been caught in this storm. She had written back promising to send someone to the nearby post station to pick them up, yet they had waited an entire night with no one in sight. Left with no choice, they had to continue forward on their own.
Fallen from grace and even the dogs shun you —that's probably the best way to describe their current state. If the First Madam were still alive, the Young Master wouldn't have to suffer like this.
"Hey!" Lost in thought, the old servant was startled when the horse in front suddenly reared in fright, out of control. Despite pulling hard on the reins, he couldn't manage to steer it. The horse raised its front hooves sharply.
Smack!
A whip cracked sharply against the muddy ground, water splashing high and staining the carriage curtain. Regaining his senses, the old servant looked up and saw a group of riders blocking their path.
The man at the head looked fierce and intimidating. He pointed at the old servant and demanded, "Are you heading to the prince's residence?"
"And you are...?"
"I asked if you're heading to the prince's residence. Just answer!"
Before the old servant could reply, a deep and composed voice interrupted, "Don't be rude."
"Yes, Young Master Yibo," the burly man immediately dropped his aggressive demeanour and moved his horse aside.
The speaker was a man sitting on horseback, very young and handsome. His expression was gentle, yet there was a distant coldness about him that exuded a commanding presence.
"Old Chen, what's wrong?" The carriage curtain lifted slightly again, and that slender hand reappeared. This time, the curtain was pulled back a bit more, revealing part of a thin and frail figure. Before Old Chen could respond, the man on horseback—called Young Master Yibo—rode up beside the carriage, looking down at the hand and the figure behind the curtain.
So thin, it looked like it could be snapped in an instant.
As Wang Yibo approached the carriage, a strong scent hit him—completely different from the fragrances worn by the women in his residence. This one was mixed with herbs and the freshness of rain, hard to describe yet strangely compelling.
"You must be Cousin Young Master Xiao Zhan? I'm Wang Yibo—my mother, your aunt, asked me to come fetch you and Steward Chen."
"Ah, so you're Young Master Yibo! Thank goodness you came!" exclaimed Old Chen, visibly relieved as if seeing a savior. Finally, he wouldn't have to fight with that unruly horse while worrying constantly about the frail Young Master behind him.
Wang Yibo didn't acknowledge him, his gaze still fixed on the half-drawn curtain. The strong fragrance continued to drift toward him, making it hard to tell whether it was the scent of wet earth and grass—or something emanating from the person inside.
The burly man who had shouted earlier helped Old Chen onto another carriage, and a younger man was assigned to take over their original one.
"Young Master Xiao, this horse is overworked. Let me take you to our carriage so you can rest," Wang Yibo said as he held an umbrella and leaned down from his horse, reaching toward the curtain.
The closer he got, the stronger the scent became.
"No!" In a flash, the hand pulled back, and the curtain was hastily dropped. Xiao Zhan cried out in alarm, quickly trying to regain his composure. "I'd prefer to stay in this carriage. Could someone be assigned to watch over it?"
Wang Yibo's hand was still suspended in the air. Without a word, he turned to signal the other carriage to go ahead. He sat upright again and redirected his horse.
"This road is full of bandits. I'll escort your carriage myself," he said.
As Wang Yibo prepared to move forward, a sudden gust of wind lifted the light curtain. In that fleeting moment, he caught a clear view of the person inside.
It was a stunningly beautiful face, delicate and frail, wrapped in a blanket and curled up in the corner of the carriage, trembling slightly.
So, this is the son of my mother's dearest friend?
Wang Yibo instinctively looked in again—just in time to meet Xiao Zhan's eyes. His cheeks were flushed bright red, as if he were about to cry. He bit his lip and breathed heavily; panic written all over his face.
His wide eyes were filled with helpless fear—as if he'd just been caught.
*****
TBC...