Jie An’s voice grew softer and softer.
A wave of dizziness washed over Xue Yunyi—
What did he mean by not knowing Wu Lang was sick?
The boy was burning up like that, yet Xue Qingzhi hadn’t only refused to treat him—she had even gone looking for excuses to punish him?
“Where is Wu Lang?”
Logically speaking, Wu Lang belonged to Ninghua Palace; it wasn’t her place to interfere. But she couldn’t just stand by and watch him die.
Jie An hesitated for a moment before carefully pointing toward the horse stable in the corner.
Xue Yunyi followed his gesture with her eyes, scarcely able to believe what she saw. Was that dilapidated shack meant for a person to live in?
Her expression grew complicated as she stared at the haphazard wooden planks surrounding the stable. After a long moment, she drew a deep breath and pulled a white jade vial containing Condensed Cold Pills from her bosom. She handed it to Jie An.
“Trouble Young Master Jie to give him this medicine. One pill will do.”
Jie An hurriedly set Flowing Snow aside and trotted forward, bowing deeply as he took the vial. “Your Highness need only command me. There’s no—no need to be so polite.”
Xue Yunyi replied, “This Palace knows you’re a scholar, Young Master Jie, forced down this path against your will. Your father’s ‘On Founding the Nation’ served as This Palace’s introduction to the study of statecraft. You could almost call him This Palace’s half-teacher.”
Jie An blinked, then snapped back to his senses, a flush of excitement rising in him.
He never would have imagined that the Eldest Princess even knew of an obscure figure like him.
“Jie An thanks Your Highness, on behalf of my father, for your praise,” he said, his face turning red, his words coming out in a stammer. “Please wait here, Your Highness. I-I’ll be right back.”
He was the least notable bastard son of the Jie family. With so many children at home, his father had little time for him, and he harbored no grand ambitions himself. All he wanted was to be a smooth-talking storyteller, earning his keep through his own talents. But his mother would settle for nothing less than him making something of himself. Since the Jie family offered no prospects, she pinned her hopes on his passably handsome face. Climb onto Xue Qingzhi’s ladder to the clouds, and a smooth official career would surely follow, wouldn’t it?
Jie An had no desire to debase himself like that—it shamed a man of letters—but he couldn’t withstand his mother’s threats of suicide. In the end, he had offered himself up. Fortunately, his voice had caught Xue Qingzhi’s fancy, allowing him to stay by her side. His days passed pleasantly enough, reading tales and reciting poetry for her amusement.
At first, Jie An thought this Second Princess was merely spoiled, not the tyrant the rumors painted her as.
That illusion had shattered the day a youth named Wu Lang was delivered to Ninghua Palace.
Though Jie An and Wu Lang were strangers, he couldn’t bear to watch the boy endure endless torment and humiliation day after day. Clutching the jade vial tightly, he thought how fortunate it was that the Eldest Princess had a kind heart. Otherwise, Wu Lang might not survive this time.
Jie An crept into the stable on light feet and approached the wooden bed. He shook Wu Lang’s arm gently.
“Wake up. Time for your medicine.”
Medicine.
The familiar word made Wu Lang curl in on himself instinctively, his pale lips pressing together in resistance.
He didn’t want to drink any more of those torturous drugs.
Once he did, he would swiftly lose his senses, reduced to a dog in heat, groveling shamelessly at Xue Qingzhi’s feet, begging for her favors.
The scent of medicine lingered in his nostrils like an inescapable demon, choking his breath with its grotesque grin. In his muddled mind, a novel thought surfaced.
Perhaps death was his best release.
Once dead, there would be no more pain, no more exhaustion.
No one in this world truly cared about him. Why had he struggled so desperately just to stay alive?
Wu Lang closed his eyes and rolled away in silence. He was so cold, so tired. He wanted nothing more than to sink into a deep sleep—ideally, to pass away peacefully in his dreams.
Jie An had no choice but to return and report to Xue Yunyi.
“Your Highness, he refuses to take it. Maybe the fever’s made him delirious—he won’t even respond when I call him.”
Xue Yunyi fell silent for a moment before taking back the white jade vial Jie An offered. She instructed Mo Ying behind her, “Push This Palace inside.”
Mo Ying hesitated. “Your Highness, it’s filthy in there. You really shouldn’t go.”
Xue Yunyi was always fastidious about cleanliness. The stable clearly hadn’t been cleaned in ages, and piles of slop and manure surrounded it. Even from a distance, the stench was overpowering.
Xue Yunyi only said calmly, “It’s fine.”
Knowing she couldn’t be dissuaded, Mo Ying stepped forward. She shifted a few obstructing planks aside before carefully pushing Xue Yunyi inside.
The air hung heavy with damp mold. Faint rays of sunlight squeezed through cracks in the wood, casting dim shadows over the bloodstained fabric of Wu Lang’s clothes.
Xue Yunyi covered her nose and frowned at the frail boy lying on the bed, barely clinging to life. He lay on his side, back to her, his whip-lashed back exposed—shredded snow-white gauze, sodden with crimson blood, stripped of its original hue.
A faint ache tugged at Xue Yunyi’s heart with each breath. Unable to bear the sight, she poured a Condensed Cold Pill into her palm and called softly, “Wu Lang.”
The figure on the bed seemed to stir, but there was no reply.
Xue Yunyi asked patiently, “Do you have the strength to sit up? You need to take the medicine first if you want to recover quickly.”
Wu Lang opened his eyes. For an instant, he wondered if he was hallucinating. Gritting his teeth against the bone-cracking pain, he slowly shifted his body and turned his face toward her.
A silk flower, pure white, fell into his dead-still eyes, sending faint ripples through them. Wu Lang froze, his dark eyes widening slightly. His gaze traveled upward, landing on a face as gentle and lovely as a lotus blossom.
The Eldest… Princess?
His mind exploded. Ignoring his wounds, he tumbled off the bed and knelt before Xue Yunyi, head bowed. In a hoarse voice, he said, “This Base Slave greets the Eldest Princess.”
The boy’s frantic flurry of movements creased Xue Yunyi’s brow. She hadn’t even spoken yet—why was he so terrified?
Xue Yunyi sighed softly and asked warmly, “Are you still feverish? Does your body hurt?”
Wu Lang stared blankly, confusion and fear flickering in his dark eyes. The Eldest Princess appearing in his wretched stable already felt like a dream. And now she was speaking to him in such a gentle tone, inquiring after his well-being.
Seeing Wu Lang gawking at her, Xue Yunyi felt a touch of helplessness. She leaned forward, reaching out to feel his forehead.
The familiar shadow fell across his face, and Wu Lang instinctively turned away, bracing for the pain.
Xue Yunyi’s hand froze in midair. She didn’t understand what had happened, but the slight furrow of her brows made Wu Lang flinch in terror. Within a breath, however, he obediently presented his cheek again, trembling as it met her palm.
“I’m sorry. This Base Slave shouldn’t have dodged.”
Xue Yunyi went still.
He had thought she meant to strike him. And yet, even so, he had overridden his instinct to flee pain, submitting so cautiously, so obediently.
Xue Yunyi’s lips parted, but her throat felt stuffed with cotton; no words came. The boy’s cheeks were covered in swollen red marks—not from slaps, but broad welts left by a ruler. She couldn’t imagine the agony of that heavy implement crashing into tender flesh. And now the boy who had endured it knelt at her feet, dark eyes glistening with moisture, watching her face anxiously, awaiting punishment.
A sour ache flooded Xue Yunyi’s heart. She said nothing as her palm settled on Wu Lang’s forehead, finding it slick with sweat.
Wu Lang’s body went rigid, not daring to move. Her palm was cool, like soft spring snow melting gently, clearing the fever-fogged chaos in his mind.
“It’s still a bit hot,” he heard Xue Yunyi murmur to herself. Then she extended her other hand, opening it to reveal the pill in her palm.
The pill was deep brown against the snowy white of her skin. Wu Lang’s lashes fluttered; he wanted to take it but didn’t dare. His hands were filthy, unworthy to touch the Eldest Princess—even the slightest contact would be a blasphemy.
“This Base Slave…”
His dry lips parted, words of apology on his tongue, but a soft, almost inaudible sigh interrupted him. Then gentle fingers, carrying a pleasant fragrance, pried open his mouth and placed the pill inside. He brushed her soft fingertip by accident, and his whole body stiffened as if shocked.
He held the pill in his mouth, not quite swallowing. Wu Lang looked up in a daze. Xue Yunyi had already withdrawn her hand. “This medicine works quickly,” she said softly. “Sleep soundly for a few hours, and the fever will break soon.”
Wu Lang hurriedly swallowed the pill whole and kowtowed to her in thanks.
“This Base Slave thanks the Eldest Princess for the medicine.”
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the hand resting on her knee, now stained with a smear of blood from his lips—a stark red against her pale skin. Panic seized him. Without thinking, he crawled forward on his knees and extended his still-scalded tongue, meticulously licking the stain from her hand.
“It wasn’t on purpose for this Base Slave. Please forgive this Base Slave, Your Highness.”
He had been drilled in this so many times, punished so many times; every movement stemmed from bone-deep fear. Xue Yunyi froze at the boy’s sudden action. She looked down at the wet trail on her fingertip, an odd sensation stirring in her chest.
The boy’s tongue was soft, like a kitten’s. His warm breath brushed her finger back, restrained yet… ticklish… and soothing.
Flustered for a moment, she turned her face away in discomfort and asked Mo Ying for a handkerchief to wipe her hand clean.
Wu Lang’s eyes darkened. Of course—the Eldest Princess must find him filthy and lowly. How dare he clean her up without her permission?
He hung his head like a child who had done something wrong, waiting in fearful suspense for what felt like ages. But the scolding he had braced for never came.
Xue Yunyi folded the cloth and used its clean side to gently wipe the blood from the corner of his lips. Wu Lang’s heart suddenly pounded, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he felt her hand brush softly over his swollen cheek. Her voice was as tender as a gentle spring rain falling upon his heart.
“Does it still hurt?”