Volume One: Carefree Journey Amid Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Thirty-Three: A Twist of Fate

The scar-faced man had already risen, turning back to say, “The young lord must be hungry. Quickly, bring some provisions and water.” Suddenly remembering something, he asked Yang Ning, “Would you like some wine, young lord?”

Yang Ning took a moment to compose himself; his mind whirled, and he instantly understood what had happened. Without a doubt, these men had mistaken him for someone else. If his guess was right, the real young lord was actually the hostage he’d buried in the bamboo grove.

His own appearance was nearly identical to that of the hostage, and now, wearing the same clothes, it was no wonder he’d been mistaken for the young heir.

“So that boy was a young lord,” Yang Ning mused inwardly.

In his previous life, he’d had an interest in history and had read extensively, so the term “young lord” was familiar to him. In ancient times, it referred to the eldest legitimate son of an emperor or a noble, destined to inherit the throne or title. Usually, the emperor’s heir would be called crown prince, but among the nobility, the successor was known as young lord.

Yang Ning knew the hostage came from a distinguished family, but he hadn’t expected him to be a young lord. Thinking further, it made sense—only someone of such status would inspire those Northern Han spies to believe they could earn rewards for their efforts.

“Young lord?” The scar-faced man’s voice interrupted Yang Ning’s thoughts. He looked up, uttering an “ah,” and saw the man’s respectful demeanor. The man was so tall that, looming above Yang Ning, he seemed intimidating, but he bent slightly, his smile warm and gentle: “Would you like some wine, young lord?”

Though he wore a smile, his scarred face was so fierce it looked more like a grimace than a grin.

Yang Ning smiled, asking, “Is there… wine?” Inside, he was thinking: since these men had mistaken him for the young lord, admitting the truth would only lead them to the body in the bamboo grove, and he’d never escape; they’d surely force him to guide them.

If he led them to the corpse, how could they possibly believe the young lord’s death had nothing to do with him? Dressed in the young lord’s clothes, he could talk himself hoarse, but they wouldn’t believe him. Worse yet, everyone at the scene was dead; aside from himself, the only other person who knew about the kidnapping was Xiao Guang, whose whereabouts were unknown. Even if he grew a hundred mouths, he couldn't explain it.

Now was certainly not the time to reveal the truth; he would have to play along and act accordingly. Moreover, he knew nothing about the young lord’s background or personality—one wrong move and the consequences would be dire.

In such circumstances, the less he said, the better. The only thing he knew about the young lord was that the portly man in the gray robe had mentioned he seemed to be a fool, though to what degree, Yang Ning was unsure.

Still, Yang Ning doubted the young lord was truly an idiot—perhaps just slow to react. After all, how could a simpleton become a young lord?

These men, it seemed, were all servants of the young lord. The scar-faced man’s gentle inquiry suggested the young lord could speak and perhaps enjoyed wine, or else the man wouldn’t have asked so readily.

When Yang Ning asked if there was wine, the scar-faced man beamed, “Yes, there’s wine.” He turned and called, “Qi Feng, bring the wine! And fetch a seat cushion for the young lord, he must be tired.”

The group immediately bustled about: some fetching food, others wine and water; someone pulled a cushion from a horse and placed it on the ground for Yang Ning to sit.

Since crossing over, Yang Ning had never been treated so well; he found it immensely gratifying. Nearly all the horse cushions were taken down—two laid out for food and drink, the rest piled under Yang Ning’s seat.

Once he sat, the food and wine were arranged before him. Besides some dry rations, there were two roasted chickens and a large bundle of beef; though cold now, covered in a layer of congealed fat.

Ever since his arrival, Yang Ning had not tasted meat. Seeing it now, he cared nothing for the fat, grabbing a chicken and devouring it greedily.

The men clustered around him, watching his ravenous eating with excitement. The scar-faced man glanced at the lanky Qi Feng, smiling: “See, Qi Feng, the young lord is truly hungry.” He picked up a wine pouch, uncorked it, and offered it to Yang Ning with both hands. “Young lord, take your time. There’s plenty, don’t choke. Here, have some wine.”

Yang Ning took the wine pouch, drank a mouthful—it was strong, but fragrant, not poor quality. He put it down, mouth stuffed with a drumstick, mumbling, “You… you really know how to enjoy yourselves, bringing roast chicken and wine on the road…”

He only said it casually, but the men’s expressions changed slightly. The scar-faced man hurriedly explained, “Young lord, when we learned you were kidnapped, we immediately split up to search. We haven’t dared slack off for a moment, looking for clues along the way, risking our lives to find and protect you…”

Yang Ning thought, Protect me? Your young lord is already in the ground. With your incompetence, by the time you found him, the body would be bones.

The scar-faced man continued, “We found clues leading us here, so we searched day and night. But… to keep up our strength, we bought these on the road, mainly so that when we found you, you could have a good meal…”

Qi Feng quickly chimed in, “Young lord, Brother Duan speaks the truth. Since leaving the capital, we’ve been racing day and night, never resting, searching for your whereabouts. Brother Duan often wept, vowing not to return unless you were found…”

Hearing the words “wept,” Yang Ning was drinking; the wine still in his mouth, he sprayed it all over the scar-faced man’s face.

Everyone was stunned. The scar-faced man calmly wiped his face, turned to pat Qi Feng’s shoulder, and sighed, “Let’s not mention these things to the young lord. Now that we’ve found him, nothing else matters.”

Qi Feng declared, “Brother Duan, everything I said is true. Why shouldn’t we speak of your devotion? Who here doesn’t know your loyalty to the young lord? Young lord, Brother Duan bought these to keep us going—he himself hasn’t eaten in days.” He spoke passionately, spraying spittle as he did.

Yang Ning regarded the scar-faced man with suspicion; he looked energetic, hardly like someone who had gone days without food.

The scar-faced man grabbed Qi Feng's hand, his eyes reddening, “Brother Qi Feng, I… I won’t say anything more. From now on, we share life and death!”

Qi Feng immediately put on a grin, “Brother Duan, about those ten taels of silver you owe me—once we return to the capital, can you…?”

The scar-faced man interrupted, his tone serious, “Zhao Wushang, take two men and search the area. See if there are others—stay alert.”

A cold-faced man bowed and led his men out to patrol.

“You’re surnamed Duan?” Yang Ning had already finished most of the chicken, took a sip of wine, and gazed at the scar-faced man.

He was evidently surprised by the question, pausing awkwardly, “Young lord, have you forgotten me?”

Yang Ning tapped his head, “My mind’s been foggy these days. I can’t recall many things. You look familiar, but I can’t remember your name.”

The scar-faced man hurried to answer, “I’m Duan Canghai. I’ve served in the household for years. Do you remember now, young lord?”

“Duan Canghai?” Yang Ning repeated, grinning. “That’s a fine name.”

“Thank you for your praise, young lord.” Duan Canghai smiled, “The general himself gave me that name. I’ve always thought it sounds good.”

“General?” Yang Ning asked, puzzled. “Which general?”

Duan Canghai’s smile froze, looking somewhat embarrassed, “Young lord, surely you haven’t forgotten General Wei? He… he’s your father.”

This time, Yang Ning was momentarily stunned. So the young lord’s father was a general. “Oh,” he said. “My father’s surname is Wei!”

Duan Canghai wore a helpless expression, explaining, “Young lord, you’re mistaken. The general’s surname is Qi. General Wei is one of the Three Great Generals—apart from the Grand General, there’s the Champion General, the Chariot General, and General Wei, all second-rank. General Wei is your father’s title!”

Yang Ning finally understood, feeling embarrassed but also surprised. So the young lord’s father was a second-rank General Wei—a truly powerful background.

Duan Canghai saw Yang Ning deep in thought and couldn’t help pointing at Qi Feng, asking, “Young lord, do you remember him? Do you know his name?”

Yang Ning replied, “Isn’t he Qi Feng?”

“You’re wise, young lord!” Duan Canghai breathed a sigh of relief. “So you still remember him.”

Yang Ning said, “Didn’t you just call him Qi Feng?”

Duan Canghai was taken aback, even more embarrassed. Qi Feng tugged at his sleeve, giving him a look. Duan Canghai caught the hint and said to Yang Ning, “Young lord, take your time. There’s no rush.” He rose and followed Qi Feng to the side. As Yang Ning ate and drank, he listened closely.

Qi Feng lowered his voice, “Brother Duan, you know that whenever things get complicated, the young lord’s mind gets confused—the more we say, the more muddled he gets. Let’s keep quiet. I’m sure the young lord has suffered plenty these days, and the shock has scrambled his mind.”

“No wonder he doesn’t recognize me,” Duan Canghai nodded slightly. “Now that we’ve found the young lord, we can relax. Let’s hurry home so the old madam and third mistress won’t worry.” Suddenly he frowned, glancing sidelong at Yang Ning. Seeing Yang Ning absorbed in his meal, he whispered, “Qi Feng, how did the young lord escape? How did he end up here all alone?”