Yun Jichu’s first instinct was to dodge.
Her survival instincts propelled her body faster than her mind could think. Terrified of having her neck seized, she quickly pulled back.
However, Helian Jin merely held his palm upward, neither too close nor too far away, as if he simply wanted to help her to her feet.
When she shrank back, Helian Jin paused first, then said softly in a tone devoid of any frustration, “Get up.”
His slender hand remained suspended at that careful distance.
Yun Jichu did not place her hand in his. Instead, she stood up on her own.
“Has the Empress Dowager given you any trouble?” Helian Jin withdrew his hand.
Trouble? If anything, she had failed in her attempts.
Yun Jichu shook her head. “No.”
Helian Jin nodded.
The two of them fell into a long silence.
For what must have been a quarter of an hour, Helian Jin neither read his book nor looked at Yun Jichu. He seemed lost in thought, staring off into the distance—as if waiting for her to speak, or perhaps content simply to share the quiet room in each other’s company.
Unsure of his intentions, Yun Jichu held her tongue.
“I’ve heard you’re skilled at painting. Today, Ah Huan picked a gardenia and placed it in a vase. If you paint it well, she’ll be delighted.”
Helian Jin’s gaze drifted toward the flower vase on the desk nearby.
Following his line of sight, Yun Jichu saw the gardenia in full bloom, elegant and serene.
A simple still life.
She glanced at the assortment of brushes and colored inks on the desk—everything she needed for painting was there. A spark of joy lit within her.
“This concubine will boldly give it a try.” Her voice carried a note of excitement.
Yun Jichu focused intently on her painting, unaware that Helian Jin’s eyes followed her every move.
He watched as she spread out a sheet of paper, ground the ink, dipped and mixed her brushes, glancing now at the gardenia, now at her paper as she sketched and shaded with precise, fluid strokes. She was utterly absorbed.
Gone was the fear she showed when he drew near, and the loneliness that clouded her when they were alone. As her brush danced across the page, it was as if a missing piece of her soul had returned. A faint smile played on her lips, and flecks of light sparkled in her eyes.
The morning light from the window caught her hair, giving it a soft glow. The pale blue gauze of her sleeves swayed gently with her movements. Finding them cumbersome, she set down her brush, rolled them up, and revealed a glimpse of her fair, luminous arm.
Helian Jin’s thoughts wandered back to the first time he had met Ah Chu.
The Prince’s Mansion had been bustling then, filled with maids planted by his Consort Mother, spies sent by Imperial Father, and undercover agents slipped in by Imperial Brother.
Helian Jin had little interest in matters between men and women. After dismissing yet another wave of maids, sleep had entirely evaded him. He left Cui Cheng to tidy the bedchamber and wandered the moonlit grounds to clear his mind.
That was when Ah Chu appeared.
In the deep night, she stumbled clumsily into his arms, then twisted her ankle. Upon learning he was the Prince, her face lit up with delight. By moonlight, she studied his features intently before pulling a jade pendant from her sleeve and offering it to him.
Helian Jin finally understood who had been sending him jade pendants every day through Cui Cheng.
Under the pale moonlight, the pendant looked dull and lusterless.
Helian Jin refused it resolutely—just as he had the previous sixty-three.
He couldn’t fathom why he remembered the exact number so clearly.
In any case, Ah Chu wasn’t upset. She sheepishly took it back, bid him farewell, and limped off into the shadows.
Many days passed.
Helian Jin encountered her frequently, most of those he could recall happening at night.
Sometimes she sat hugging her knees by the pond, gazing at the lotus lanterns rippling on the water. A hand would sneak from her sleeve to grasp his, only for him to pull away.
Other times, she bubbled with joy, chattering nonsense like something out of a dream—more vivid than any play: “Can I touch it? Just a little?” He would retreat silently.
But there were moments when she grew melancholic, leaning into his chest, tracing his abdominal muscles while wiping away tears, staring at the full moon overhead, lost in thought. He simply let her be.
So many times.
Yet so few.
After she vanished, the headaches ravaged his mind, stripping away his memories.
On sleepless nights under the cold moon, Helian Jin clung to those scant remnants to endure the endless dark—like a destitute family hoarding their last grains of rice, or frontline soldiers guarding their dulled blades.
They were his final lifeline.
Ah Chu had disappeared once before.
Helian Jin had searched everywhere to no avail.
But she reappeared on the third day.
He accepted three jade pendants that time because Ah Chu said they were from a make-up sign-in—extremely hard to obtain.
Divination slips?
What had prompted Ah Chu to draw them?
Was she trying to divine his feelings?
Helian Jin felt his heart pounding as if it might leap from his chest. He wished he could cut it open for Ah Chu to see—how it had long been filled to the brim with her.
He retrieved the sixty-three jade pendants from the corner, polished them meticulously, and stored them in a box.
That same box already held another seventy-eight he had recently received.
That night, Ah Chu lay in his arms as he poured out his heart to her time and again. She trembled and wept, calling his name over and over: “Helian Jin…”
Ah Chu said she loved the name Helian Jin.
But Helian Jin never heard Ah Chu call his name that final time.
Ah Chu had died five years ago, in the early summer.
Petals blanketed the ground. By the time he rushed back from the border, Ah Chu had already vanished.
Word was that she had fainted from qi exhaustion during her premature labor, and even after giving birth, she remained unconscious.
Where had she gone alone in the dead of night?
No one knew.
He searched high and low, but to no avail.
This time, Ah Chu did not go to draw lots. No more crude yet warm jade pendants would be placed in his hand.
Everything ended with the 1,400th jade pendant.
Helian Jin pulled his thoughts back. He straightened his robes as he rose from the bed and slowly approached Yun Jichu.
Yun Jichu sensed danger closing in. Her hand shook, and ink from the brush tip dripped onto the flower’s stamen, ruining the painting.
She set down the brush, lowered her head, and took a step back. “This consort’s skills are lacking.”
In truth, she was grinding her teeth in frustration but dared not let it show.
She had been painting just fine. Couldn’t he stop sneaking up to scare her?
Helian Jin held a small porcelain jar. Noticing her reaction, he halted his steps, stopping just one pace away. “Give your hand to Zhen.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Yun Jichu extended both hands, resigned to her fate.
What came was neither a brutal grip nor the stab of a blade. Helian Jin’s palm was icy cold as he gently took her hand and rubbed cool ointment onto her wrist.
He was applying medicine for her.
The ring of bruising on her wrist was from the injury he had inflicted in the Side Hall that day.
At least he had some conscience.
Yun Jichu’s heart eased slightly. Only then did she realize how tense she had been, her body rigid throughout. Now that she relaxed, her legs felt weak.
Helian Jin could sense her easing. He shifted his foot and took a step closer.
Yun Jichu reacted swiftly, retreating a small step without a sound.
Just then, the ointment was fully applied. Yun Jichu withdrew her hand and tucked it into her sleeve.
She avoided him like a venomous snake or scorpion.
Helian Jin gazed deeply at her. “Ah Chu, have you truly forgotten?”
Or was it simply to punish him—for returning late five years ago, for forgetting so many things over the years, or perhaps… for growing older and losing his wit?
That was why they met now as strangers.
Yun Jichu frowned and sneaked a glance upward, only to be pinned in place by Helian Jin’s scorching gaze. “This consort does not know what Your Majesty means.”
Helian Jin fell silent for a long while.
Sweat beaded in Yun Jichu’s palms.
Impersonating Helian Jin’s white moonlight and then slowly giving herself away would mean certain death. She dared not say a word out of turn.
Spare her, please. If she truly had to transmigrate into this game, could she not recover her old save file, return to her role as Princess Consort, and live out her days with the gentle, jade-like Helian Jin?
Not like this—a jumbled timeline, an uncertain future, and this inexplicable tyrant, forcing her to make choices with a knife to her throat time and again.
Yun Jichu mustered her courage, took a step back, and curtsied properly. “Your Majesty is still ill and needs rest. This consort shall take her—”
Before she could finish, Helian Jin let out a deep sigh, like grass and trees suddenly withering to death, his face drained of all color.
He turned and waved his hand. “Go then. Go.”
Whether it was an illusion or not, Yun Jichu saw Helian Jin’s figure sway. His pale fingertips, dangling from the edge of his inky black sleeve, trembled as if he were enduring excruciating pain.
Sure enough, before he could take two steps, he staggered and collapsed onto the short couch by the window.
He lay on his back, his face the color of gilded paper, his breathing erratic, the ends of his hair trailing to the floor.
He resembled a piece of fine porcelain. Yun Jichu suddenly thought of the ball-jointed dolls displayed in shop windows—beautiful, yet so fragile.
Was he dying?
Yun Jichu panicked at once and cried out, “Your Majesty!”
Palace servants flooded into Zichen Hall in an instant. Cui Cheng was so frightened his back went rigid, but he forced himself to steady his nerves and directed everyone to get to work.
The imperial physician took His Majesty’s pulse for a long time before hurriedly writing out a prescription and handing it to Cui Cheng. “Make haste!”
Yun Jichu asked urgently, “How is he? What’s the matter?”
The imperial physician replied, “His Majesty has long suffered from these agonizing headaches.”
Such severe headaches?
Yun Jichu sat on the embroidered stool before the short couch, gazing at Helian Jin with his eyes tightly shut.
How could someone as imposing and unyielding as a mountain peak appear so fragile?
For some inexplicable reason, Helian Jin lying there so quietly suddenly threw Yun Jichu’s heart into turmoil.
Even if he was merely data, he could fall ill, feel pain—even harbor emotions.
She had lingered in this world far too long.
Long enough for it all to feel real.
Cui Cheng carefully fed him the medicine one spoonful at a time. At last, the tight furrow in Helian Jin’s brow eased.
His eyes remained closed, but his lips moved faintly. In a hoarse, strained voice, he murmured something.
Cui Cheng did not dare lean in too close. He strained to listen, then looked up at Yun Jichu.
Yun Jichu met his gaze and pointed at herself in disbelief.
Me?
Cui Cheng nodded, lowered his head, and stepped aside. He glanced around; once the palace servants had all withdrawn, he followed them out of the Grand Hall.
No sooner had he stepped outside than he spotted two little children peering in through the window.
“Greetings to the Crown Prince, greetings—”
The two little ones whipped their heads around in unison. “Shh!”
Perhaps it was that inexplicable feeling from moments ago playing tricks on her, but Yun Jichu felt no fear this time. She shifted the embroidered stool closer to the low couch and leaned in, propping herself against it to listen at his ear.
The warm breath Helian Jin exhaled brushed into her ear, throwing Yun Jichu’s breathing into momentary disarray.
His voice was barely a whisper, like murmurs from a dream. “Ah Chu… Ah Chu, don’t go.”
Yun Jichu drew a deep breath, intending to straighten up and leave.
Before she could move, Helian Jin seemed to sense it and reached out, pulling her into his arms.
Yun Jichu lost her balance as he drew her close and tumbled straight into his embrace. He held her in a vise-like grip from which there was no escape.
Though Helian Jin had fainted from the pain, his strength was astonishing. Yun Jichu struggled several times but couldn’t break free, so she resigned herself to lying atop his chest.
It was exhausting—the gap in their power was simply too vast.
Uncertain whether Helian Jin could even hear her clearly, Yun Jichu tried negotiating in a gentle voice. “Your Majesty, I won’t leave. Could you please let go?”
But it seemed he only caught the words “let go,” for his arms tightened even further.
Yun Jichu began to struggle for breath. “Your Majesty…”
Just when she thought she might be squeezed to death, Helian Jin suddenly rolled over to face her. His chin came to rest on her forehead, and the pressure of his arms eased somewhat. It was just like any ordinary couple sleeping, with him holding Yun Jichu close.
Color had returned to his face, and his breathing was now long and steady as he slumbered peacefully.
Yun Jichu had no idea when she herself had drifted off. In her mind, she pictured herself as a fluffy little bear doll, clutched tightly by a Helian Jin who needed soothing to fall asleep—
Despite his near one-meter-ninety height, broad shoulders, and long legs, he hardly seemed the type who required a teddy bear to sleep.
This nap turned out to be remarkably restful. When Yun Jichu awoke, dusk had already fallen.
The light was dim, and she didn’t dare move. She blinked a few times to adjust her eyes before cautiously lifting her head.
As her gaze traveled upward, it suddenly met Helian Jin’s deep, fathomless eyes.
He was staring at her intently.
She had no idea how long he had been watching.