I had to admit—this marketplace looked similar to the bazaars from my own time, yet I had never seen such disciplined chaos in my life. The stalls were arranged in neat, straight lines; every street was dedicated to a different good—silk merchants on one side, spice sellers and tea vendors on the other. Red banners bearing the imperial crest fluttered from every corner, and guards patrolled the lanes with their spears, keeping the crowd in order.

The air carried a mixed scent of sesame oil, incense, and freshly milled wheat. Women haggled over colorful fabrics on one end while food vendors shouted over steaming trays on the other. Everything here was alive—sounds, scents, colors—but even that liveliness clung to a sense of order, as if even chaos itself obeyed certain rules.

Bürke and I slipped into the crowd. As the morning sun hit the stalls, silks, glazed dishes, and freshly baked pastries shimmered with gold highlights.

Our first stop was a stall breathing out fragrant steam. The vendor had stacked bamboo baskets on top of each other, each one releasing warm clouds of vapor.

“What are these?” I asked.

Bürke glanced at the small, round dough buns the vendor handed us.
“Meat-filled baozi, Princess.”

I lifted one. The dough was soft yet surprisingly heavy. When I took a bite, the aroma of steamed beef and ginger filled my senses.

“Not bad,” I said with my mouth full, and Bürke smiled as if he had made it.

The next stall displayed rows of jewel-like fruit candies—bright red fruits skewered on bamboo sticks, coated in a glossy sugar shell.

“This is tanghulu,” Bürke explained.

The sourness beneath the sweet shell made my face twitch.

“Sour candy… I didn’t expect to find something this good here.”

Bürke laughed and pointed to the noisy children crowding around the stall.
“Kids love it.”

As we walked, the air filled with the scent of roasted chestnuts, boiled corn, and sticky rice cakes. Everything was foreign to me, yet in a strange way it all felt enchanting. Bürke eagerly hopped from stall to stall while I followed behind, half-eaten baozi in hand, studying the faces around me.

How strange… I was walking through a market thousands of years in the past, yet something about it felt familiar. People were the same—haggling, laughing, living.

As we moved deeper inside, the noise began to fade. The smells of spices and baked dough gave way to damp earth, rust, and the sharpness of hunger.

A woman crouched against a wall caught my attention. A little girl sat in her lap, her face darkened with soot, crying softly. The woman’s clothes were torn, her hems soaked in mud. The exhaustion in her eyes was enough to crush a heart. It was as if she had forgotten how to cry.

Her ragged garments and dirt-streaked face stood in stark contrast to the vibrant market. It felt like the cheerful scene around me was only a curtain—and I was seeing the harsh reality behind it for the first time.

Bürke approached quietly.
“Princess… they’re survivors of the flood. The temples are full. Most of them live on the streets now.”

My hand instinctively moved to my money pouch, but I hesitated. Giving them money—would it help? Or would it turn them into targets for the wrong people?

The little girl looked at me.
No—she was looking at the baozi in my hand.

Before Bürke could stop me, I walked toward them.

If desperation had a face, it would look like theirs.

When I reached them, the little girl stopped crying and stared at me with wide, tear-brightened eyes. She was still looking at the food. I knelt beside her and held out the half-eaten baozi.

She grabbed it and took a huge bite. Then, without hesitation, she held it up to her mother’s cracked lips.

My eyes burned.

The woman looked at me then—expressionless at first, but slowly… gratitude surfaced.

“May the heavens protect you,” she whispered.

For a moment, silence fell. The wind rustled the fabric of a toppled stall nearby. I turned to Bürke and handed him my pouch.

“Buy food,” I said, voice calm but firm.
“There are many like them. Get enough for all of them and bring it here.”

“At once, Princess.”

Bürke hurried off.

When I looked back, the little girl clutched the baozi as if afraid I might take it from her. I gently extended my arms and glanced at her mother for permission. She nodded weakly.

The girl was so light in my arms it was as if she had no bones at all. A sour, heavy smell clung to her—overwhelming her natural childlike scent.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “There will be more food soon.”

The woman bowed her head, mumbling a faint thank-you.

I swallowed hard.
“What was your home? Where did you live?” I asked, hoping to spark at least a flicker of will in her. She needed to keep living—for her child.

“Dalu Region…” she murmured, shivering. “The water came overnight. No one could escape. The men tried to divert it but… my husband never returned.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

One moment. One night. And a life could change forever.

Just then, I felt it—someone watching me.

A presence, sharp and quiet. Someone in the crowd, observing carefully, not wanting to be noticed.

I lifted my head and scanned the market, but no single face stood out.

Still, the feeling didn’t leave.

General Han Ruo left his residence with only one thought in mind:
Was Princess Sayina meeting with a spy?

Wei was known for its shadow-walking spies spread across the empire. Even here, they had eyes and ears. Her behavior—especially insisting on visiting the market so early—had fed the suspicion gnawing at him.

Before going after her, Han Ruo removed his palace uniform and changed into a simple black hanfu worn by ordinary soldiers. Silk robes and embroidered belts would draw too much attention. If he planned to get close to her, he needed to smell not of wealth but of the common crowd.

“Chen Bo,” he said coolly. “Take your men and secure the north, east, and west entrances. Blend in. Do not draw attention.”

“Yes, Commander.”

When Han Ruo stepped into the market, the midday heat hung low over the stalls. The sharp scent of spices mixed with the smoke of roasting chestnuts; vendors shouted above the crowd.

He walked slowly, eyes scanning every face.

As he passed a stall draped in shimmering cloth, something caught his attention. In the corner ahead, he spotted her.

Princess Sayina—kneeling beside a collapsed woman, a small child in her arms. Sayina cradled the girl gently, brushing her hair with soft strokes.

Han Ruo stopped cold.

He had followed her expecting a covert meeting, a secret exchange—yet the sight before him silenced every calculation in his mind.

While he watched, the servant returned carrying a large basket. Sayina carefully took a piece of bread and handed it to the child without disturbing her.

The girl—still tear-stained—took it eagerly while Sayina stroked her back.

And the soldier inside Han Ruo fell silent.

For a brief moment, the man—the human—Han Ruo resurfaced.

This wasn’t an act. There was no scheme in her eyes. Only quiet, exhausted compassion.

Still… this woman unsettled him. A fleeting moment of tenderness stirred an unfamiliar curiosity in him. She wouldn’t recognize him dressed like this—yet, perhaps, he could get closer, learn who she really was, what she thought, and what she might be hiding.

He stepped back into the shadows, heart beating with a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years.

For the first time in a long while… he was curious.

Leaving them in the street gnawed at me. No matter how much food we gave the flood survivors, it would never be enough. They needed shelter—but how? In modern times, there were places to apply for assistance. Here… how did any of this work? And why weren’t the wealthy helping?

People never understood suffering until it touched them.

Lost in these thoughts, I wasn’t watching the road—or the crowd—when I bumped into someone. Hard.

A strong shoulder hit mine, and I barely kept my balance. I lifted my head and—

A pair of dark eyes met mine.

Eyes I knew.

It was the soldier.
The one who had caught me when I nearly fell from the bridal cart…
The one whose wrist I had bandaged.

Seeing him here—helmetless, in the middle of a marketplace—felt like reality itself had tilted.

“Princess, are you all right?” Bü rke rushed to my side, voice sharp with concern.

But I barely heard him.

It was my first time seeing the soldier without his helmet. His hair was long—dark strands pulled into a topknot, the rest falling down his back. Not messy; carefully gathered, like he belonged in a palace courtyard rather than a battlefield. Yet his clothing said otherwise: a plain, thick hanfu with a dust-stained armor vest.

A full soldier.

I had to tilt my head back to look at him. Was it strange that I felt… happy to see him again?
Probably.
He was a man of another era—raised by orders, hardened by war.

Yet something else lived beneath that stern exterior. Something I felt rather than understood.

“You,” I said, breaking the heavy silence between us. Then, trying to steady myself, I added, “I didn’t expect to run into you again.”

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” he replied, voice measured as always.

He bowed slightly, hands clasped before his chest—a crisp, practiced motion—and greeted me.

“Princess Sayina.”

Hearing my name in his deep, emotionless tone felt oddly grounding. Not too warm, not too distant—just as it should be.

I bowed my head in return. No smile. No unnecessary words.

“I didn’t expect we’d cross paths again,” I said quickly. Fate seemed determined to place this man in my path.

“Nor did I expect newlyweds to appear in a public marketplace. Surely General Han must be nearby.”

I smiled faintly. I wasn’t about to admit that Han hadn’t come with me at all. Until I figured out the whole “Blood Moon” situation, I needed to protect his reputation—even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Yes, he came with me,” I lied smoothly. “He’s very considerate—left his duties to accompany me, but something urgent came up.”

The soldier’s brows drew together—like he wasn’t sure he heard me correctly. Then, the stiffness in his face softened. For a brief moment, a different expression flickered in his eyes—not a general’s, but a man’s surprise.

As if my words had reached somewhere I couldn’t see.

But he quickly regained control, lifting his chin and pulling his gaze back behind his usual disciplined wall.

“You still shouldn’t be here,” the soldier said, scanning the area with sharp eyes. “With the recent migration, too many people flooded into the capital.”

I nodded. “Can’t you help them? Why are they like this?”
I hadn’t meant for my voice to sound so accusing, but it came out that way anyway.

“We are helping, but…”
His sentence trailed off. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he wasn’t satisfied with the situation either. He wasn’t used to seeing a scene like this—just like me.

“Losing both your family and your home… it’s horrible,” I whispered, a knot tightening in my throat. Back in my own world, I had complained about my life every single day. But after waking up here—now, in this era—I finally understood its worth. At this point, even a tooth infection could kill me.

The soldier inclined his head slightly. He understood my words, but clearly preferred not to comment further.

“I should escort you back to your residence,” he said.
Without meaning to, I took in a deep breath. His voice was calm, but carried an undeniable sense of authority.

“Thank you,” I said quickly. “We can find the way on our own.”

I paused, almost as if the thought had just hit me, and turned back to him.
“I don’t know your name.”

His eyes flicked up to the sky for a brief second before landing on me again. The corner of his mouth curved—not arrogant, not warm. More like someone who weighed every word before speaking.

“Zhao,” he said at last. “Zhao Yun.”

A short, simple name—yet strangely reassuring. Even if he wasn’t all that reassuring himself. Still, running into him again felt like stumbling upon an old acquaintance.

“Nice to meet you, Zhao Yun,” I said with a small smile. “But if you’ll excuse me, I need to head home now.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and dipped his head just a little.

“Perhaps you should wait for General Han,” he said, his tone calm but deeply confident. He wasn’t looking around—just at me.

“I’m sure I can find my way without him.”

He suddenly smiled. The expression lit up his face, completely transforming him. His gaze shifted to something behind me.

“Isn’t that General Han?” he asked, a faint hint of mischief in his voice.

I reacted instantly, whipping my head around. My heart kicked up, frantic—like a child caught doing something they shouldn't. Running into Han here, in a crowded market, would be a disaster. My eyes darted over the crowd. Every face, every glint of armor looked the same.

Please don’t let it be him…

“My mistake. Must’ve been a look-alike,” Zhao Yun said a moment later.

When I snapped my head back toward him, the beads on my hairpins swung forward and smacked me across the face like a whip.

“Damn it!” I hissed under my breath. The stupid beads were so heavy my cheek actually stung. When I heard someone snort with suppressed laughter, I froze. Looking at Zhao Yun, I saw him trying—failing—to compose himself. Even he seemed surprised that he had been the one laughing.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time,” I snapped. My cheeks were still throbbing. “I need to go. Hopefully we won’t meet again. Come on, Bürke.”

Before we left, Bürke stuck his tongue out at the soldier, but thankfully didn’t say anything else. As we walked away, Zhao Yun was wearing that annoyingly smug little smile. He hadn’t even bothered helping with his own bandaged wrist, yet somehow he managed to irritate me the moment he saw me.

I hurried off, secretly hoping I’d never see him again.