Transmigrating into the Prince Regent’s Beloved Runaway Wife

After walking out of the Cui residence, Meng Huan realized that the original place where they were hiding was a self-built temple in the Cui residence. Elder Cui’s wife was devoted to Buddhism and had previously built it, but since her death, the temple had become increasingly abandoned.

The Cui residence no longer sheltered them, so they needed to find a hiding place.

But everywhere on the street were patrolling guards, wearing heavy armor, not letting up even in the rainstorm, searching intensely for people.

An Chui snorted, “ Motherfucker, really kidnapped a princess, ah? In all the time I’ve been in the capital, I’ve never seen so many soldiers.”

His gaze turned to Meng Huan in the cold, wet rain. In the torrential rain, Meng Huan’s dark hair was plastered to his fair little face, his lips pale, but his eyes were still bright, collecting under the long, thick eyelashes, black as crow feathers. He hung his head and said nothing in silence.

Not sure what came to An Chui’s mind as he said, “I hate Lin Bozhou very much.”

“……” Meng Huan adjusted his breathing, still drooping his eyes, with rain falling into them.

Who didn’t hate Lin Bozhou?

“My hatred is not the same as Han’s hatred. Cui Lang also hates Lin Bozhou, but the hatred is that he is holding the emperor hostage and holding sole power. I hate Lin Bozhou because he is capable and has cleaned up all the messes of your court in the past few years. The treasury is sufficient, and even free money is allocated for the military pay to Liaodong.”

He spat to the side, “Fuck!”

This was tantamount to creating an obstacle for them to attack Liaodong.

Meng Huan chose to remain silent as more words would make more mistakes.

But at this moment, he couldn’t stop An Chui from asking him, “He set aside so many people to look for you and seems to care a lot about you. What do you think?”

Meng Huan knew very well that saying good things about Lin Bozhou before him was tantamount to asking for trouble, so he coughed and said vaguely, “I’m the one he snatched into the prince’s residence on the street.”

“I know,” An Chui stared at him wryly and smiled, “so it’s the same as me saving you from the living hell?”

Meng Huan was silent. No words were spoken.

“It’s great to see that he can’t find you.” An Chui scanned the street and ducked behind a wall with light footsteps. Although he liked to speak without thinking, he was extremely observant.

Braving the rainstorm, they finally came to a house where an old man seemed to have been waiting for a long time and opened the door. “Come on in.”

“Bang…”

Meng Huan’s back was pushed hard, and he entered the door; his wet shoes fell to the ground, and a tingling sensation flooded his back. He stood in the simple house and looked around. An Chui and others finally relaxed, removing the wet layer on their bodies and drying their clothes by the fire.

For the time being, they could rest.

Meng Huan’s strength had long been exhausted. Knowing exactly his position, he held his wet arms, went to the corner, and sat down in a self-conscious crouch, silently wringing the water from his clothes with his fingers, trying to make it dry faster while reducing his presence.

They were talking.

The old man was puzzled by Meng Huan’s presence. “How does the prince plan to escape from the inner city? Disguising as a citizen and a merchant is feasible, but you still have to take him with you. People are checking everywhere, and as soon as he calls for help, he will immediately be discovered. Why don’t we kill him?”

Meng Huan’s finger lurched.

An Chui’s figure huddled in a worn chair, his clothes off, revealing half of his masculine back, his dark shadow shifting with the firelight, his face thoughtful

“No, his usefulness is much more important than a few of your lives. I would like you to die if I could, not him.”

His accompaniments looked slightly grim.

Someone boldly asked, “Then what exactly is the letter we are supposed to imitate?”

An Chui remained indifferent. “The fewer people know about this matter, the better.”

After he finished this sentence, however, he stood up from his cramped chair.

“……”

Meng Huan realized it was terrible, stopped wringing the water out of his clothes, took his fingers back into his sleeves, and hung his head down, looking like he didn’t dare say anything.

Overhead.

The dry letter paper and ink were taken out of his clothes compartment. “Clang!” With the crunching sound of a knife knocking onto the tabletop and smashing against it, An Chui looked down at him morosely. “You haven’t managed to copy the seal yet?”

Meng Huan already felt that if he said he hadn’t learned, his fingers would probably be cut off, so he nodded. “I can, but……”

“Then draw now!”

An Chui’s hands were on the knife, his bones clenched, and a hideous sense of oppression appeared.

Meng Huan swallowed the second half of the sentence back into his stomach as he sat at the table. His hands trembled because of the cold, and when his fingers picked up the brush, it trembled, staining the red ink mixed with water everywhere.

The cracks used in the Lin Bozhou seal to prevent forgery were so unique that it was impossible to re-engrave it, so they considered drawing the seal out. However, this was a delicate job, and when he saw Meng Huan’s trembling hand, An Chui knew that the seal would probably not be copied again today.

But Meng Huan still seriously lowered his head at the letter paper and carefully depicted.

“……”

An Chui cursed, “Fuck!”

He gritted his teeth and turned his head grumpily as he returned to the stove, physically and mentally exhausted and needing rest.