Wu Lang could scarcely believe his ears. It took him a long while to convince himself to release his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table. Only then did he slowly turn his face.
What met his eyes was a room bathed in the soft, dim glow of candlelight.
Mo Ying closed the windows one by one, sealing them tight. The night wind made the windowpaper bulge and flutter, while the shadows of trees danced wildly outside. All the clamor of the world was shut away, leaving only the gentle patter of rain, lingering without end.
“Wu Lang?”
With no response for so long, Xue Yunyi raised her voice slightly and called out again.
Your Highness was calling him. He hadn’t misheard.
Wu Lang drew a deep breath. Finally, he broke free from that suffocating terror that had gripped his breath. He shuffled forward, stepping into the pool of light.
Xue Yunyi looked over at him and said warmly, “I was afraid you’d catch a chill from the rain. It wouldn’t do for you to fall ill like This Palace has. So I’ll have to trouble you to make do here for the night.”
Though her bedchamber had a few side rooms that could accommodate guests, she had filled them all with stacks of books. There was no time to clear them out now, so Mo Ying had simply fetched several thick mattresses and laid them out on the floor.
Wu Lang hurriedly replied, “It’s no trouble at all. To stay by Your Highness’s side and attend you through the night—this slave couldn’t be happier.”
The fine satin mattresses were stuffed plump with soft cotton, luxurious to the touch. Wu Lang knelt upon them in overwhelmed gratitude, murmuring his thanks over and over.
Mo Ying chuckled. “These are all mattresses Your Highness has used before. They may be a bit worn, but they’re made from the finest materials in the palace—far more comfortable than that thin mat in your room.”
Your—Your Highness’s mattresses?
Wu Lang bowed his head, staring at the embroidered pattern beneath his knees. For some reason, his face flushed red.
Mo Ying shot him a teasing grin before turning away. With quick efficiency, she arranged the teapot, spittoon, copper basin, towels, and other items. “Take good care of Your Highness. If anything comes up, come find me on the veranda outside. I’ll be on night watch tonight.”
Wu Lang quickly assented.
The chamber doors closed tight, and Mo Ying’s footsteps faded into the distance.
In an instant, silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint rhythm of breathing.
The moment Mo Ying departed, Xue Yunyi frowned and pulled Wu Lang’s wrist toward her, inspecting the palm he had scalded red with the porridge bowl.
“You don’t take care of yourself at all,” she chided lightly. “You’re already covered in injuries. If you scald it too, no amount of hibiscus ointment will heal it properly.”
Wu Lang froze for a moment, realizing that the Eldest Princess had noticed even such a minor detail. His cheeks warmed again.
“Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. This slave… this slave’s skin is thick and tough. It’s nothing.”
Xue Yunyi was about to chide him further when another fit of coughing seized her. Her chest and lungs seemed to shake with the force of it. Wu Lang forgot everything else, yanking his hand free to grab the spittoon and hold it before her.
Xue Yunyi steadied herself against the spittoon and coughed dryly for a good while, but nothing came up. Her throat ached fiercely. Wrinkling her brow, she didn’t want to strain her voice speaking. Instead, she waved Wu Lang off, gesturing for him to blow out the candles and rest in his clothes.
Wu Lang obeyed at once. The candle went dark, plunging the chamber into blackness. His breathing quickened for a moment. It took a long while for him to calm himself enough to lie down gingerly.
Your Highness was here.
Nothing to fear.
He tried to reassure himself with those words, but they did little to help.
Darkness closed in from all sides, soundless and impenetrable, wrapping him tight.
Drip. Drop. The water pattered against the glazed tiles and seeped into the cracks of the stone steps.
Wu Lang curled into a tight ball, trembling uncontrollably. This was the fear and agony he endured every night before sleep claimed him.
He was terrified of that pitch-black darkroom. He never wanted to return there.
The clank of shaking iron chains. The slap of a hand across flesh. Angry curses. The whimper of knees dragging over stone. The fiendish cackle of demons. All surged toward him in the familiar night. Even the leg that had once been broken began to throb faintly, as if reminding him that it had all been real—not mere imagination.
He arched his body sharply, mouth agape, gasping silently like a fish on the verge of death.
“Wu Lang.” The person on the bed had woken at some point—or perhaps had never slept. Her voice hoarse, she called out and sat up. “This Palace is thirsty.”
The air around his ears fell abruptly still. Those horrifying sounds vanished in an instant, leaving not a trace.
Wu Lang blinked in the dark for a moment before snapping back to himself. He scrambled up and fumbled to pour tea, handing it to Xue Yunyi.
She reached out and first touched the back of the boy’s hand, slick with cold sweat. Pausing, she couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you drenched in sweat?”
“This slave is fine,” Wu Lang said, his dark lashes fluttering. He didn’t know how to explain, his voice trailing off smaller. “This slave is just… just a little afraid of the dark.”
He felt ashamed admitting it, but the Eldest Princess merely said offhandedly, “Then leave a lamp burning.”
She took the teacup from his hand, sipped, and set it casually on the table. Then she reached for the firestarter, lit it, and personally touched the flame to the half-burned white candle.
“Are you still afraid now?”
Her voice was hoarse and lower than usual, yet it carried a unique gentleness—a calm, unhurried strength.
“N-No, not anymore.”
The flickering firelight rose, and Wu Lang stared, dazed, at Xue Yunyi’s pale face illuminated in its glow. His heart pounded in time with the dancing flame.
Xue Yunyi smiled faintly, lay back down, and closed her eyes.
Silence returned to the chamber.
Wu Lang lay down carefully, mustering his courage to turn on his side toward Xue Yunyi. He secretly breathed in the faint herbal scent lingering in the air. Her scent.
It soothed him.
That night, Xue Yunyi rose to retch several times, vomiting up much of the porridge she had barely managed to keep down.
Seeing how miserable she was, Wu Lang simply knelt at the bedside with the spittoon in hand to attend her. That way, whenever she needed to spit, she could simply roll over—far more convenient.
He knelt there through the night.
The next morning, Xue Yunyi drowsily opened her eyes and saw the youth still kneeling respectfully at the bedside, spittoon in hands. The dark circles under his eyes told her he hadn’t slept a wink.
Shock banished her sleepiness. Ignoring her headache, she pushed herself up against the bedframe. “You… you knelt like this all night?”
Wu Lang nodded. “Your Highness didn’t sleep well last night. You vomited several times.”
It wasn’t just vomiting, either. She coughed while clutching the bed now and then, breaking out in sweats. He wiped the perspiration from her face again and again with a damp towel, finally letting her rest comfortably for a bit—only for her to frown and murmur in her sleep moments later. He didn’t dare listen closely, but he vaguely caught her hoarse voice repeating “Empress Mother,” “Uncle,” and someplace called Chilly Province.
Remembering the night before, Wu Lang couldn’t help worrying. Night after night, old traumas haunted Your Highness’s dreams, keeping her from true rest. How could her health ever recover like this?
Xue Yunyi took the spittoon from his hands and lightly scolded him with a frown. “Silly boy, don’t you know what fatigue is? Go back and rest properly. In a bit, This Palace will have Mo Ying brew some medicine to ward off chills and send it to your room. After all, yesterday…”
She paused, coughing softly. “Don’t catch This Palace’s illness.”
Wu Lang understood what she meant, and his ears turned instantly red.
He stammered, trying to stay. “This slave is fine…”
“Sleep well and recover your strength. Come back to attend This Palace once you’ve rested.” Xue Yunyi saw right through the boy’s intentions.
With her promise secured, Wu Lang finally relaxed. He bowed and obediently withdrew.
Back in his side room, Mo Ying soon arrived with a steaming bowl of medicinal soup and a dish of cherry preserves. Wu Lang ignored the sticky-sweet preserves, lifting the bowl instead and downing the medicine in one go.
Zhao Xi pushed the door open, caught a whiff of the heavy herbal stench, and wrinkled his nose. “Are you sick?” he asked reflexively.
His own health had improved greatly; he no longer needed those bitter tonics for building strength.
“No.” Wu Lang licked his lips, expressionlessly draining the last of the bitter dregs.
“Then why are you drinking medicine?”
Zhao Xi was baffled, but he knew Wu Lang was never talkative—pressing him wouldn’t yield answers. Muttering vaguely, he went to the small table to fetch the hibiscus ointment.
Then, unusually, Wu Lang added, “The medicine is a gift from Your Highness.”
Zhao Xi froze by the bed, ointment in hand, even more confused.
Wu Lang had already shrugged off his clothes, baring his back—still scarred and unhealed—and the vermilion mark at his waist.
The crimson agate mark was striking. Zhao Xi spotted it immediately and gaped in shock.
He couldn’t resist leaning in for a closer look. It hadn’t been there the other day when he’d applied Wu Lang’s medicine. Who had added it?
Stroke by exquisite stroke.
Truly beautiful.
Before Zhao Xi could admire it fully, Wu Lang subtly tugged his lower garment up. The white sash shifted an inch, just covering the crimson agate mark.
Zhao Xi blinked, realizing—this meant no peeking?
He tsked irritably. “I’ve been applying your medicine for days. Except for that thing of yours, what part of you haven’t I seen? Now you won’t let me look?”
Wu Lang lowered his eyes and said nothing.
That was the mark bestowed by Your Highness—he didn’t want anyone else to see it.
Zhao Xi harbored some resentment and applied the ointment a bit too roughly, rubbing half of Wu Lang’s back bright red. But Wu Lang seemed oblivious to the pain. He murmured a quiet “thank you” and dressed as if nothing had happened.
Zhao Xi huffed and stormed out.
Wu Lang closed the door and slept deeply. When he awoke, it was already noon. He pushed open the window and stared for a long time at the palace maids coming and going as they worked in the back courtyard. After hesitating for quite a while, he finally mustered his courage, got out of bed for the first time, and actively pushed open the door to this side room.
His wounds had mostly healed. Moreover, the Eldest Princess did not seem to have ordered him not to move around in Azure Cypress Palace. Going to pick some flowers and herbs… that should be fine, right?
With that thought, Wu Lang boldly made his way to the back courtyard.
A few lush green vines climbed vigorously along the back wall of the side room. At the base of the wall lay a patch of tangled weeds and leaves, among which grew a few wildflowers with petals of white and purple intermixed.
This flower actually had a name. In folk custom, it was called Fairy Dream.
It bloomed most often amid dense vines, sprouting wherever its seeds fell. If one finely ground the petals and stems, dried them over a fire, and then burned them in an incense burner, it had a calming effect on the mind. When Madam Wu was alive, she had relied on this Fairy Dream every night just to fall asleep.
It was not some rare treasure, but the masters in the palace were too precious for that. The imperial physicians naturally would not prescribe such crude things to the nobility.
Yet Fairy Dream truly had remarkable effects for soothing the mind and aiding sleep—otherwise, Madam Wu would not have depended on it so heavily.
Wu Lang bent down and picked every last bit of the Fairy Dream growing at the base of the wall. Back in the side room, he sat on the edge of the bed and busied himself with it. After more than two hours of work, he finally produced a small handful of what could be used as Fairy Dream Incense.
Looking up, he saw that the sun had already set in the west; dusk had fallen.
He felt under his pillow for the candy box that Xue Yunyi had given him that day. It had originally held twelve pieces of plum candy. He had eaten three, and given the rest to Liu Yin and the others. Only the blue-glazed gilded candy box remained, which he had wiped inside and out many times over, cherishing it like a treasure and hiding it beneath his pillow.
Wu Lang carefully poured the prepared Fairy Dream Incense into the candy box, slipped it into his sleeve, and rose to his feet. He headed toward Xue Yunyi’s sleeping palace.
At this hour, Your Highness should be awake by now.
It was also time for him to pay his respects.
The bluestone path still held puddles from last night’s rain. A few broken magnolia branches lay across the ground, their snow-white petals clumped together and wilting in the water.
Wu Lang’s steps slowed involuntarily. The Eldest Princess cherished that white magnolia grove the most, and the servants in Azure Cypress Palace were always meticulous in their duties. He had no idea who would dare to break the Eldest Princess’s beloved plant.
The door to the sleeping palace stood half-open, with the faint sound of voices drifting from within.
“A few days apart, and Imperial Sister has fallen ill to such a state.”
“…I hear that Yuan Xiubai will arrive in the capital the day after tomorrow. Azure Serenity Pavilion has also been prepared. But in Imperial Sister’s current condition, I’m afraid she can’t even get out of bed?”
The woman chuckled lightly twice.
That familiar voice made Wu Lang’s heart jolt. His lips trembled uncontrollably, and his whole body shook. He instinctively stepped back.
Xue Qingzhi had already emerged from the midst of a cluster of palace servants. As she stepped over the threshold, she idly toyed with the red jade bangle on her wrist. Behind her, Qingdai held a freshly broken branch of white magnolia.
Qingdai spotted Wu Lang at once and hurried to whisper something in Xue Qingzhi’s ear.
Xue Qingzhi paused in her steps and looked over. Beneath the magnolia tree stood her little slave, his face full of terror—