Transmigrating into the Prince Regent’s Beloved Runaway Wife

On a hot summer day, the sunlight was hot and dry on the pavilions and city walls of the capital, flooding the city with white light.

The weather was hot, but many people still traveled, and it was clear that the capital was bustling with activity, showing unspeakable prosperity.

Meng Huan sat drinking herbal tea in the private booth of the teahouse. You Jin then fanned him, flapping until the powder on his face fell downward.

Meng Huan said, “Don’t fan anymore. Sit down and rest.”

You Jin let out an “ay”, sat beside him, picked up the herbal tea, and took a sip.

“The prince’s eyes can’t see, so how will he handle official documents in the cabinet today?” Meng Huan couldn’t help thinking about Lin Bozhou once he settled down, his eyes looking at the Imperial City not far away.

You Jin smiled. “Master doesn’t need to worry. Someone will read it to him.”

“Then what is the big deal that he must return to the court to handle when his eye disease isn’t even healed?”

You Jin smiled and said, “No matter how vast the sky and earth are, money distribution is the most important. It’s not strange that the prince worries about it.”

Meng Huan wanly took another sip of herbal tea and said, “All right.”

The young man propped up his head like a kitten that had waited too long for its master to open the door, tiny paws picking and pulling, losing all patience. “When… will… he… return from the court… ah~.”

The word “ah” was dragged out extra long.

“This old servant does not know.” You Jin patiently poured tea into his cup.

The weather was hot, and Meng Huan drank a lot, so he stood up a while later. “I’m going to relieve myself.”

You Jin quickly said, “This old servant will serve Master.”

His service was not really service, and he generally waited for Meng Huan outside a wall. After all, they really couldn’t let go of their worry.

Meng Huan did not refuse and let out an “mm.”

This was a small but relatively cool restaurant with its backside facing the sunlight. The plants were lush and green, and the latrine was behind the bamboo-woven door.

Meng Huan went in. It was dark and wide inside, presumably for the convenience of the guests who came here to use it.

When Meng Huan tied the sash, he heard a rustle of movement.

He was stunned for a second and felt something approaching behind him.

People usually had this intuition: the sudden feeling that someone was looking at them somewhere in the room. Although most of it was an illusion, it was still creepy and unnerving.

Meng Huan was a little confused and wanted to turn his head when there was a “click” behind him.

The word “fuck—” was choked in his throat, and a handkerchief covered his nose and mouth. The pungent smell of medicine penetrated his nose. Meng Huan’s shoulders went limp as if he had been punched, and he became dizzy.

His eyelids dropped. After being dragged out of the bamboo raft door, his eyes could still see, and he was conscious, but his body felt as if his strength had been taken away, and he could not exert any strength.

A face with high eyes and a deep nose was in front of him, with a clear outline, not quite like the looks of the Han Chinese. When Meng Huan went outside the bamboo raft door, he found You Jin fallen on the ground, the two guards also fallen, not knowing whether they had been stunned or killed.

When he saw this scene, an indescribable anger filled Meng Huan’s chest.

The man dragged him to the fence with such strength that he easily lifted him, and a hand reached out just outside the fence to catch him.

“Bang—” Meng Huan fell to the ground and let out a muffled grunt.

Immediately afterward, a black veil was placed over him, and he lost his vision.

He was apparently thrown into a carriage at random, his hands tied behind him and his shoulders hitting the wooden planks with the sound of the carriage’s wheels, making a thud-thud-thud movement. Meng Huan’s jaw, covered by hair strands, was bruised and in pain, but he had no strength to support himself to get up.

He was conscious the entire time.

He did not expect the book to have a kidnapping plot.

Who was the one kidnapping him? Lin Bozhou’s political enemies?

Why did they kidnap him? To blackmail Lin Bozhou?

…… And would something happen to him?

In the carriage, someone faintly spoke in a language he did not understand.

The carriage kept moving, and not knowing how long it took, the effect of the medicine passed. The sticky feeling in Meng Huan’s fingers gradually faded away, and he felt a resistance as he stretched his hand, but the pain of his wrist being bound by the rope was stronger.

A feeling of exhaustion rushed to his heart. Meng Huan still couldn’t believe it— the protagonist would also be kidnapped?

“Bang—”

Being unceremoniously thrown to the ground like a steamed bun was the kind of savagery and violence Meng Huan hated the most. He desperately forced himself to calm down and positively face what would happen next, but the thought of Lin Bozhou inevitably came to mind.

He was angry and speechless all the way, but when he thought of these three words, his heart inexplicably surged with aggression.

—Lin Bozhou had never even tied him up!

Overhead, a voice rang out. “Did you find the person who drew Anur’s portrait?”

“Yes, he is the one. The Han dynasty captured Anur, and he said he would rather die than reveal our whereabouts and intentions. He is a great hero but didn’t deserve to die.” The speaking voice was gruff.

Meng Huan felt he was lifted by something, revealing his proper face.

“The man who made Anur bleed should have shed equal blood. He, who caused Anur to be beheaded, his head should also be cut off.”

The sunlight swayed, and Meng Huan saw white snow before him as a figure approached, forcing a scimitar close to his throat, and his skin was suddenly flooded with sharp, stinging vibrations.

“Huh?” A slightly surprised youth’s voice rang out.

Meng Huan’s eyes finally saw him more clearly.

An Chui’s whip fell from his neck, his eyes drooped, and he held a scimitar in his hand. He pressed the back of the blade against Meng Huan’s thinnest veins, and the white skin was stained red.

An Chui had a smirk under his eyes. “It’s you, huh?”