Chapter Seventeen: Refinement (Part One)

Lying inside the prison cart, Madam Lu watched the scene unfold and felt a deep pang of sympathy for her beloved grandson. Struggling to sit up, she said, “Brother Yue, you must be tired. Come to Grandma.”

Pei Yue glanced at his cousin Pei Qinghe, whose expression was cold and indifferent. As he stepped forward with his left foot, he quietly pulled it back again.

For more than half a month, everyone’s movements—standing, walking, sitting, or lying down—were dictated by Pei Qinghe’s commands. She had established absolute authority.

Though Pei Yue was only five years old, he knew whose mood to watch and whose words to obey.

Without Qinghe’s permission or nod, no matter how much Madam Lu coaxed, Pei Yue dared not move.

“Go back to the cart!” Pei Qinghe finally spoke. “From now on, listen to Pei Feng. If you cause any more trouble, I’ll deal with you myself.”

Pei Yue responded softly, his spirit deflated as he climbed back into the prison cart, clutching his grandmother’s arm.

Madam Lu embraced him, thinking she had shot a warning glance at Pei Qinghe without revealing her true feelings.

It was ineffective—there was no intimidation in it at all.

Ever since it was certain that Madam Lu had survived the ordeal, Pei Qinghe had lost interest in her. Turning away, she praised Pei Feng a few words: “You did well today. As captain, you must discipline them.”

“Anyone who dares not listen, I’ll personally teach them a lesson.”

Pei Feng puffed out his chest and nodded vigorously, like a proud little rooster.

Suddenly, the sound of crying drifted on the wind.

Pei Qinghe frowned.

“I’m not walking anymore!” A young woman in her mid-twenties sat on the ground, wailing loudly. “Walking every day, my feet are almost worn to the bone.”

“Whoever wants to walk, go ahead. I can’t take another step.”

This young woman was Mrs. Zhao from the twelfth household. Most of the Pei family’s daughters-in-law came from military families, but Zhao was an exception. Her father was an official in the Ministry of Rites, and she had been trained in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting since childhood. After marrying into the Pei family, differences in temperament and interests led to a lukewarm relationship with her husband.

When the Pei family was struck by disaster, Zhao’s only son, just over eight years old, was dragged to the execution ground and beheaded.

Zhao’s world collapsed. For days she wandered like a living corpse, dazed and wandering with the others. Today, utterly exhausted, she suddenly broke down like a snapped bowstring, her spirit drained, crying her heart out.

Mao Hongling patiently tried to comfort her.

Zhao sobbed, breathless, “You still have your little boy; I have nothing left. Why should I keep living? To suffer like this every day? Just let me die!”

Her heart ached, but her body ached more.

Walking dozens of miles daily, her feet blistered, legs aching, swollen, and numb. How long would this torment last?

“Sister-in-law of the Fourth Household,” Pei Qinghe’s voice rang beside her, “rest in the cart for a while.”

Zhao’s sorrow deepened. “Resting won’t help. I’m not like you all—I’ve been weak since childhood. I can’t even make it to Youzhou. Just leave me here! I don’t want to live anymore...”

The pervasive gloom spread instantly. Many women turned, their eyes reddened.

The path of exile was long and arduous.

Military training was unbearably harsh.

Was all this struggle truly worth it?

Suddenly, Pei Qinghe raised her hand and struck Zhao. Zhao’s eyes rolled back, and she lost consciousness; her cries abruptly ceased. Pei Qinghe then ordered Mao Hongling and others to carry her onto the donkey cart.

Training was certainly grueling.

Where was there ever training without hardship?

Without hardship, there would be no military discipline, no orders to obey, no toughness or strong bodies.

Kind words were useless; it was necessary to forge strength through relentless trial—like iron hammered in the fire.

Those who couldn’t endure became scrap iron; those who could, became sharp weapons.

The official road was rough, the donkey cart jolting incessantly. After an hour, Zhao woke, dizzy and nauseous, vomiting twice.

By nightfall, Zhao developed a high fever.

Doctor Bao prescribed medicine and brewed a thick, potent herbal decoction for her to drink.

Zhao took the medicine, but the fever did not subside.

After lying in the wooden cart for several days, Zhao breathed her last on the third afternoon.

Wrapped in a straw mat, she was buried by the roadside without even a wooden marker.

The young daughters-in-law of the Pei family wept, their eyes red, sending Zhao off with tears.

Among the sorrow, only Pei Qinghe remained calm, almost indifferent: “We’ve already delayed over half an hour. Wipe your tears and keep moving. We must reach the inn before dark.”

Mao Hongling felt a pang of discomfort and couldn’t help but speak: “Can’t we at least buy a coffin for her?”

Before the words had fully fallen, Pei Qinghe shot a cold glance over.

Mao Hongling’s heart tightened.

Then Pei Qinghe’s icy voice cut through the air: “The Pei family has been exiled; we are the families of traitors. The Eastern Palace guards are here to protect us. Running errands and menial tasks are not their duties.”

“Those who don’t value their lives, like Sister-in-law of the Fourth Household, will die and be buried where they fall, becoming lonely wandering spirits.”

Mao Hongling shivered involuntarily.

Just a little more, and that could have been her fate.

That night, if Pei Qinghe hadn’t found her, she would have ended her own life with a belt.

Then buried hastily, a lonely spirit wandering the world.

Sitting in the prison cart, Madam Lu felt chill after chill, waves of fear washing over her.

Without the doctor, the medicine, or the cart, her old life would have ended long ago.

“If you want to live, pull yourself together, straighten your back, and keep moving forward.”

Pei Qinghe raised her voice: “If we don’t reach the inn, no hot water tonight, no steamed buns either. Then everyone will go hungry!”

Mao Hongling wiped her eyes hard and shouted back, “The clan leader is right. Let’s keep going.”

Soon, sparse voices responded: “Go.”

“Listen to the clan leader.”

Pei Qinghe blew sharply on her bamboo whistle.

At the sound, the group quickly gathered. In less than a cup of tea’s time, they were once again on the march.

There was no time for mourning; everyone pressed onward.

Watching this scene, Captain Sun’s heart swelled with complex and subtle emotions. Miss Pei Liu was born the wrong gender. If she had been a boy—no, a man—he would have long ago been beheaded.

Such ruthless decisiveness and skill in commanding people were something he had rarely seen in his life.

In the future, Miss Pei Liu would surely become a person of great accomplishment.

...

Today they had lost more than half an hour and only reached the inn after dark.

Everyone’s mood was gloomy; no one spoke, not even the mischievous Pei Yue, who sat quietly beside his grandmother, whispering, “Grandma, I’m hungry.”

Madam Lu was hungry too.

But at such a time, no one felt like cooking. They had to make do with the dry biscuits prepared by the inn.

These dark, coarse biscuits were sour and unpleasant. After days of eating steamed buns and meat-filled buns, going back to dry biscuits was hard to swallow.

In the middle of the night, rain began to patter. By early morning, it had turned into a torrential downpour.

The rules of exile were strict: no matter if knives fell from the sky, they could not stop.

Captain Sun hesitated as he watched the pouring rain.

Pei Qinghe stepped forward: “Captain Sun, isn’t it time to set off?”