MTLNOVEL Chapter 250: Gray On Gray
The mule's ears flicked back every time she shifted in the saddle, as if the beast had already decided it disliked her. The feeling was entirely mutual. Bai Yuyan had never been one for animals. They were too unpredictable, too smelly, and it took too much effort to control without the right leverage.
People were easier. People you could talk circles around. People were able to be manipulated.
The road was narrow, the ruts frozen hard enough to jar her teeth when the mule slipped on the hidden ice. All around her, the refugees from Baiguang shuffled forward in a slow, exhausted line. It wasn't that hard to tell between her guards and the men that were fleeing for their lives.
Those men had bowed shoulders like they couldn't take their next step. The women were carrying baskets with nothing in them but the memory of what they used to own. Even the children clung to threadbare sleeves, too scared of leaving their mothers to even look around the road.
Every single one of them in the same washed-out shade of gray.
Yuyan cocked her head to the side as she studied them. Most people didn't wear that color unless they knew they weren't welcome anywhere else. Did that mean they saw the witch coming and quickly changed?
Or did the witch give them enough time to change and get out before she did whatever it was that she did?
Either way, Yuyan didn't really care. It made it even better for her and her party. They blended in perfectly. And wasn't that a delicious irony…her, of all people, disappearing into this sea of drab misery. No silk, no jewelry, no hairpins worth stealing. Just a coarse wool tunic, leggings tucked into worn boots, and a scarf that smelled faintly of smoke. The picture of survival.
It wasn't the image she preferred, normally she preferred to stand out, but she was no fool. In Baiguang's capital, the rules had apparently shifted overnight. She'd heard the whispers from the others around them: a slaughter in the royal palace, the streets running red, the banners torn down and trampled.
And there was only one name on people's lips.
Zhao Xinying.
Yuyan's fingers tightened on the mule's reins as she fought the sneer trying to appear on her face. She didn't believe in myths or monsters. But she did believe in women who thought they could take the spotlight from her, and that was just as bad.
First, Zhao Xinying tried to take her destined husband away from her. And worse yet, she succeeded.
Next, she was trying to take her married husband from her, and that was just something that Yuyan wasn't willing to let see happen.
The crowd slowed ahead where a fallen tree forced everyone to funnel single file. Yuyan took the opportunity to glance over her shoulder. Her personal guards and maids were keeping their heads low, the same gray tunics hiding polished armor beneath. They didn't jostle with the common refugees, instead, it was almost like there was a natural bubble around her, a quiet agreement that she was not one of them even if she wore the same rags.
Her physician rode behind the group, his donkey's saddlebags bulging with carefully wrapped bundles. She caught his eye once, and he dipped his head slightly. Good. She'd chosen each member of her party for loyalty over competence…skills could be learned, but obedience was harder to teach.
The mule gave a long, dramatic sigh, and she leaned forward to pat its coarse neck. Not kindly, more to remind it who was in charge. "Don't you start," she murmured. "You get me there, and maybe I'll let you live somewhere with grass again."
A man trudging beside her gave a sidelong look, clearly wondering who she was talking to. She rewarded him with a faint, knowing smile, just enough to make him look away. Men were easy. Always had been. A smile, a tilt of the head, and they filled in the rest of the story for you.
By the time the tree was behind them, the sun had dipped lower, throwing long shadows over the road. She could almost taste the shift in the air as the border drew closer—a different rhythm to the refugees' steps, a mix of dread and relief. Daiyu wasn't home, not for most of them, but it wasn't Baiguang either.
For her, it meant getting closer to her husband.
Her lips curved at the thought. She'd left him in the safety of Daiyu's walls, surrounded by soldiers and servants and all the trappings of power. Not that she trusted those walls. Power attracted trouble, and trouble had a way of finding him. She'd told herself she was coming back because she missed him, but the truth was simpler: she didn't like the idea of someone else whispering in his ear while she was gone.
The line ahead slowed again, this time at the checkpoint. Daiyu soldiers stood on either side, eyes scanning the crowd. They didn't ask questions unless something caught their attention—an accent, a weapon, clothes too fine to belong to a refugee. Yuyan lowered her gaze, keeping her back curved, her movements small. Let them see nothing worth noticing.
Her guards fell naturally into a looser formation, slipping forward and back in the line to blend without looking like they were guarding her. The maids kept their faces shadowed by their scarves, hands folded demurely over the baskets they carried.
When her turn came, the soldier's eyes swept over her without pause. The mule flicked its tail in irritation but kept walking.
And suddenly, she was through.
Just like that.
Yuyan straightened once they were beyond sight of the patrol, rolling her shoulders to shake out the false meekness. The road beyond was wider, the ruts less deep, and the horizon ahead promised the glitter of a city if she could get high enough to see it.
Her scribe nudged his mule up beside hers, murmuring in a low voice, "We'll be at the next village before nightfall, my lady."
She smiled faintly. My lady. It sounded better than "refugee."
"Good," she said, keeping her voice light. "And make sure the rooms are taken before the others arrive. I'm not in the mood to sleep beside anyone who smells like boiled cabbage."
The scribe dipped his head and fell back, already making notes in his little ledger. That was the difference between her and the others fleeing Baiguang—she still planned for comfort, still planned for control. She had no intention of becoming some pitiful shadow in gray.
After all, she wasn't fleeing anything. She was moving toward her destiny.
Daiyu's capital wasn't her city—yet. But her husband was there. And once she reached him, she would make sure the attention of every noble, minister, and courtier shifted back where it belonged.
On her.