Chapter Eight: The Streets of Bianliang

As the city lights flickered on, the prologue of the sleepless city slowly unfolded. The dazzling, star-like brilliance illuminated the urban landscape, making night as bright as day. Walking through this wonderland felt like wandering into a fairy tale, tempting one to linger and lose oneself in its magic.

On the streets, whether ordinary citizens or visiting merchants and travelers, it seemed only in the evening did everyone truly let down their guard and reveal themselves. The long night was just beginning.

Zhao Yun wore a brocade robe, gently swaying his folding fan, embodying the image of a flashy young nobleman. With such beautiful scenery and a perfect evening, to ride in a carriage or sedan would be a waste; Zhao Yun much preferred the feeling of mingling with the crowd, which made him feel all the more alive.

Duan Feihe, accompanied by several nervous attendants, followed closely behind Zhao Yun. Knowing him well, Duan was certain that Li Yan, that hapless fellow, would be in trouble tonight. But what could he do? He understood their young prince’s temperament—once he set his mind to something, nothing could stop him. All Duan could do was ensure the prince’s safety as best he could.

Zhao Yun, however, was utterly confident. To do what others dared not—such was the life he craved. And this was only the beginning; countless more adventures awaited him.

As he strolled, a familiar figure suddenly appeared amidst the crowd ahead. After a moment of scrutiny, Zhao Yun called out loudly, “Prince Brother!”

The figure ahead stumbled, nearly falling, then hurried forward without turning his head.

Zhao Yun gave him no chance to escape, striding swiftly until he seized the man’s sleeve.

“Prince Brother, it’s me, your eighth brother! Where are you off to?”

The man, seeing he couldn’t shake Zhao Yun off, turned around reluctantly, revealing a thin, pale face—it was none other than Prince Zhao Huan.

Though Emperor Huizong had many sons, he kept strict control over his crown prince. The endless rules and restraints nearly suffocated Zhao Huan. He often envied his other brothers, who could play freely without supervision. But alas, he was the crown prince.

Today, he had finally managed to sneak out for a stroll, going so far as to disguise himself, yet this annoying brother still recognized him.

It wouldn’t have mattered if Zhao Yun merely recognized him, but why did he have to shout it out? Was he afraid people wouldn’t know the crown prince was out shopping incognito?

Zhao Yun’s shout had successfully drawn everyone’s attention, and under their gaze, Zhao Huan couldn’t lose his temper. He squeezed his eyes at Zhao Yun and forced a smile worse than crying. “Ah, it’s my eighth brother! What a coincidence. But today your royal elder brother has matters to attend to. Let’s catch up another day. Farewell, farewell!”

Seeing Zhao Huan’s furtive demeanor, Zhao Yun immediately understood. He glanced at the onlookers, leaned in, and whispered, “Forgive me, Prince Brother. I was too rash. Go about your business—I’ll make it up to you another time.”

Even a fool could see Zhao Yun had deliberately called out the prince’s name. He wasn’t usually so thoughtless; clearly, there was a reason.

Like Zhao Yun, the crown prince had lost his mother young, but Empress Zheng favored Zhao Yun. The motherless Zhao Huan grew to resent not only the empress but Zhao Yun himself. Others didn’t know, and Zhao Yun never spoke of it to the empress, but he thoroughly despised Zhao Huan’s character.

If he couldn’t properly inherit their father’s throne, so be it, but why harbor such petty grudges? Who else should he tease, if not Zhao Huan?

Zhao Huan wanted nothing more than to avoid conversation. He gave a perfunctory bow and, with his attendants’ protection, slipped into the crowd and hurried off.

Zhao Yun’s purpose was achieved, so he saw no need to pursue him. Smiling at Zhao Huan’s retreating figure, he turned to leave, only to find a group blocking his path ahead.

At the front stood a beautiful girl in traditional Khitan attire, flanked by a maid and several burly, fierce-looking Khitan warriors.

At this time, the Song capital of Bianliang was the greatest metropolis in the world, drawing peoples from across the globe with its openness and grandeur. Whether pale-skinned, red-haired foreigners or diminutive East Asians, all were common sights on its streets, not to mention Mongols, Khitans, and Jurchens from neighboring lands.

So Zhao Yun wasn’t surprised by the sudden appearance of these travelers; what caught his eye was the Khitan girl’s beauty.

He mused privately—how could such a lovely girl come from the cold, dry lands of the Khitan?

“Hans, was that coward just now really your Song crown prince?” the girl asked, her voice crisp and rapid, like beans popping in a pan—distinctive and lively. Clearly, she had heard Zhao Yun’s earlier shout.

Though the Liao Kingdom hadn’t clashed violently with Song in recent years, the two nations had never been truly friendly, especially over control of the Yan-Yun region. Now, with a Khitan girl inquiring about the crown prince, Zhao Yun couldn’t help but be wary.

“No, you must have heard wrong. First time in Bianliang, young lady? Go enjoy the city, and don’t poke your nose into everything,” Zhao Yun replied, sidestepping her and continuing on his way.

“Pah! Another coward,” the girl spat sarcastically behind him.

Zhao Yun merely smiled. There was no need for a grown man to quarrel with a young girl.

The Khitan girl, failing to attract Zhao Yun’s attention as she wished, glared resentfully at his back and bit her lip, about to follow him.

“Miss, we’ve been wandering for a long time—let’s return to the inn before we worry the elders,” her maid urged.

“What do you know! This concerns my future—how can I not get to the bottom of it?” the girl retorted sharply.

Clearly accustomed to command, she spoke and her party fell silent, obediently trailing behind her as she pursued Zhao Yun.

The streets were thick with crowds. Zhao Yun, preoccupied with plotting against Li Yan, quickly forgot about the Khitan girl and never imagined she would follow him.

Soon, the sign of the Star-Picking Tower came into view, but at that moment, chaos erupted ahead. Someone shouted, “The horse is spooked—clear the way!”

At the warning, the crowd scattered in panic, but with so many people, those at the front were pressed by those behind, creating a crushing effect. Shouts, cries, and curses mingled in a cacophony—chaos beyond description.

Zhao Yun hadn’t expected such an event. He was forcibly pushed to the wall by the surge. When the crowd eased, he realized in astonishment he’d been squeezed into a corner, with Duan Feihe and his attendants nowhere in sight.

Perhaps the runaway horse had been subdued, for the commotion soon subsided.

Standing on tiptoe, Zhao Yun searched for his companions, when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he found standing beside him was none other than the Khitan girl he’d met moments before.

“Hey! Did you get lost in the crowd too?” she asked.

Before he could reply, Zhao Yun sensed something amiss. Glancing around, he saw several men had appeared, their faces hidden under straw hats, their expressions cold and sinister.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Zhao Yun demanded.

Instinct told him these men were up to no good. Protective by nature, he immediately pulled the girl behind him.