Chapter 20: Am I a Bastard Son?

After noon, the soldiers of Wei had eaten and drunk their fill, and had rested enough. Under the urging of their respective officers, the troops packed up their belongings and began the journey home.

Within the borders of Xianghe County in the state of Chen, the land was covered with hills. The fewer than two thousand remaining Wei soldiers wound their way through the twisting forests and mountains. Riding atop his tall steed, Wei Wuji swayed as he moved forward, with Zheng Dali following closely behind.

Though the threat from the Chen army was gone, Wei Wuji did not feel at ease. It is often said that drawing near to home brings unease, and that was precisely his state of mind. More than that, he was troubled—he still did not know his own identity or the details of his life. All he knew was that he was a prince of Wei, but which one? Who was his mother? What was her name, how was she addressed, what did she like to eat… All these things eluded him.

With so much uncertainty, how could Wei Wuji possibly be happy? Zheng Dali, though rough in appearance, was sometimes quite perceptive, and he noticed something was amiss. He quickly urged his horse forward and asked, “Prince, we’re about to return to camp. Why do you still seem unhappy?”

How could Wei Wuji answer that? He couldn’t very well say he’d forgotten his parents’ names! Seeing that Wei Wuji remained silent, Zheng Dali’s face grew troubled as well.

“Prince, if you’re unwell, you must say so!” Zheng Dali chattered on like a talkative old woman, continuing, “Madam entrusted me to take good care of you, after all.”

He was somewhat exasperated—why was the prince suddenly so hard to please? He, a sturdy man, had been reduced to nagging like a housewife. Yet, Wei Wuji, who had been keeping his mouth tightly shut, suddenly brightened at Zheng Dali’s words.

“Dali, you said Madam asked you to look after me? Is she my mother?” Wei Wuji asked uncertainly.

What a question! Zheng Dali thought to himself that the prince’s behavior had become more unpredictable since taking command. Aloud, he replied, “Of course, Prince! Who else but Madam? If it weren’t for her, I’d have frozen to death in the streets long ago!” When Zheng Dali spoke of Madam, his face filled with gratitude.

Wei Wuji cared little for such details—the moment had come! It seemed Zheng Dali knew quite a bit. If he didn’t clarify things now, then when?

“Dali, tell me about my mother,” Wei Wuji said brazenly. He was oblivious to how undignified he must look, compared to his usual aloof airs.

“What? Prince, did I hear you right? Why do you suddenly want to hear about this?” Zheng Dali was baffled—what story was the prince after now?

Wei Wuji hurried to explain, “Well, you see, I injured my head a few days back! There’s so much I can’t remember. Just tell me…”

That was the only excuse he could offer.

“Oh!” Zheng Dali believed him, since he had no concept of anything so extraordinary as transmigration. He gave Wei Wuji a puzzled look, then prepared to speak. But as the words reached his lips, he hesitated—he didn’t know where to begin.

After a long pause, Zheng Dali finally started, “Prince, Madam exhausted all her ingenuity to persuade His Lordship to let you join the expedition.”

Wei Wuji said nothing, just listened. The road home was long—there was no need to rush or risk exposing a flaw.

With nothing else to do, Zheng Dali continued his recollections.

“Prince, Madam treasures you deeply. She cares for you in every way, never so much as scolding you…”

At this, Wei Wuji’s face betrayed disbelief. If she truly cared, why send him to war? And besides, what he wanted were stories from the past, not this sentimental digression.

Zheng Dali’s next words, however, caught Wei Wuji’s attention. “To help you earn merit and a fief, Madam went everywhere seeking support for you.”

A prince needing someone to plead for a position? Wasn’t that just a matter of a word? But seeing Zheng Dali’s earnestness, Wei Wuji had to believe him—Zheng Dali had no reason to lie.

Zheng Dali went on to recount many things between Wei Wuji and his mother; the common theme was that she had shown him boundless kindness. What moved Wei Wuji most was learning that, in order for him to become a captain, his mother, Lady Dan, had agreed to Lady Wei’s exceedingly harsh terms.

She had promised Lady Wei that, so long as she did not stand in the way of her son’s appointment as infantry captain, she would move out of the palace.

Hearing this, Wei Wuji asked angrily, “Why would my mother agree to such a thing? Does my father not care?”

Zheng Dali looked at the childlike Wei Wuji with a complicated expression. Pity the hearts of all parents—Lady Dan had sacrificed so much for her son’s future.

“Prince, Madam herself asked to move out, so His Lordship did not insist otherwise,” Zheng Dali replied tactfully.

So because she requested it, there was no compulsion? Did the Marquis of Wei truly have no affection for his wife? Was he even a man? But then, perhaps all emperors, ancient and modern, are heartless. Wei Wuji let it go.

Thinking of his mother, he recalled the mothers he had seen in his previous life—always sacrificing everything for their children’s future, without regret. In his last life, he had no parents; in this one, not only did he have parents, he had such a good mother. Wei Wuji was deeply moved.

Perhaps, when one door closes, another opens. He could not understand it, but one thing was clear: his mother was surely suffering now, and he was the cause.

“How is my mother now?” Wei Wuji asked in a low voice.

Zheng Dali sighed before answering, “Madam’s days are hard now. When she left the palace, she gave away all her possessions, and now survives on her monthly stipend from the court.” Zheng Dali’s face showed his worry. “Later, she spent everything she had left to pay for my injuries.” He lowered his head, unable to meet Wei Wuji’s eyes, feeling he’d wronged him.

No wonder Zheng Dali treated him so well—it was his mother’s doing.

At last, Zheng Dali said, “Madam is a good person.”

A good person, Wei Wuji thought, but good people seldom live long. He rubbed his eyes, as if dust had gotten in.

Now his confusion only deepened. Why was his mother so miserable? Why did his father do nothing? In this whole affair, he felt like a dead man, powerless.

“Why? Why?” Wei Wuji turned to Zheng Dali, desperate for answers.

Zheng Dali hesitated, knowing quite well why, but unable to say so. The matters involved were too complicated.

“Why?” Seeing Zheng Dali remain silent, Wei Wuji’s face twisted with frustration as he growled at him. Were it not for the crowd, he would have grabbed Zheng Dali by the collar and demanded an answer.

Still, Zheng Dali kept quiet. In his view, revealing the truth now would only bring harm.

Wei Wuji realized this was the crux—only by understanding could he truly know his place.

“Dali, I beg you, for my mother’s sake, tell me!” Wei Wuji pleaded, bowing deeply, abandoning all princely dignity.

Zheng Dali’s expression grew even more troubled, caught between speaking and silence.

“You have to tell me, so I can take better care of myself and not worry my mother,” Wei Wuji added.

This struck Zheng Dali’s soft spot. Lady Dan’s kindness was a debt he could not ignore; it was why he had agreed to be Wei Wuji’s personal guard.

After carefully choosing his words, Zheng Dali finally said, “Prince, you are the Marquis of Wei’s son by a concubine.”

At this, Wei Wuji froze, his mind racing to process what that meant.

So he was a concubine’s son—hardly better than illegitimate. No wonder he was overlooked and persecuted.

“A concubine’s son… I am a concubine’s son…” Wei Wuji murmured. Clearly, he was not fated to be a chosen one.