Her voice was soft and gentle, like a dream too unreal to be true. Wu Lang froze for a moment before snapping back to his senses. He hurriedly turned his back to her and whispered, “Y-You… you can climb on now.”
Xue Yunyi gazed at the boy’s overly slender back, the faint scars peeking through his damp clothes. Her brows furrowed slightly. She folded the umbrella first, then tentatively rested her wrist on Wu Lang’s shoulder.
“Can you carry This Palace?”
Wu Lang’s heart nearly leaped from his throat. Her hand was chilled and damp from the rain as it settled on him, yet his shoulder burned with shameful heat. A mere tilt of his head would let him glimpse those slender fingers, white as scallion roots. He yearned to turn and feel her gentle caress again, like last time—but he couldn’t. He didn’t dare. He wasn’t worthy.
Wu Lang swallowed hard, forcing his gaze straight ahead. In a hoarse voice, he replied, “This base slave can carry you.”
Xue Yunyi draped her other hand over him as well. With her legs useless, she leaned her full upper-body weight onto him. Wu Lang’s frame shuddered, but he quickly steadied his kneel, cradling the crook of her knees with exquisite care before rising steadily to bear her on his back.
She weighed next to nothing, like a delicate butterfly that had strayed into a rain-lashed forest, alighting briefly on his filth-streaked body.
Wu Lang felt her full, soft breasts pressing against his scarred back. That unfamiliar yielding warmth set every muscle in his body rigid, with nowhere to hide.
He knew he should beg for punishment. Even if unavoidable, he had offended the Eldest Princess. But their situation left no room for words—
His raw, abraded knees sent marrow-deep agony lancing through him with every step. Wu Lang clamped his lips to stifle a groan, but the sheen of sweat beading his forehead and the flush at his eyes’ corners laid bare his torment.
Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he forced a casual stride and headed toward the Buddhist Hall.
He could not—absolutely could not—let the Eldest Princess slip and hurt herself.
Clutching that resolve, Wu Lang labored onward. Xue Yunyi soon sensed the hitch in his gait; his leg seemed injured, making him limp.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” she asked.
“Replying to Your Highness, this base slave’s leg was broken once and never fully mended,” Wu Lang said. He paused, tension lacing his voice. “Are you uncomfortable? Forgive me—this base slave is worthless…”
In truth, his leg could have healed if Xue Qingzhi had allowed treatment. But she insisted he deserved only to kneel in her service, with no right to stand—so why waste effort on a shattered limb? Ever since, it ached chronically, flaring viciously at night and robbing him of sleep. He’d lie awake until dawn, wracked and sleepless.
Wu Lang pressed his lips tight, fighting to steady his throbbing leg. He refused to let even the slightest jolt unsettle her.
Xue Yunyi’s frown deepened. How could he recount such brutality so evenly—then apologize to her with that abject caution, as if he were the one at fault?
He hadn’t done anything wrong. Had he?
The Buddhist Hall smelled of damp incense ash. Wu Lang located a chair in the corner, squatted slowly, and wiped it meticulously clean with his sleeve before turning to ease her down. He dropped fluidly to his knees in a posture ingrained by habit, head bowed, awaiting her command.
The rain murmured ceaselessly outside, with no sign of letting up. This ancient hall felt like a hidden sanctuary, hushed save for their shared breaths.
In the end, Xue Yunyi shattered the quiet.
“Thank you. Without you passing by, This Palace would still be soaked in the downpour.”
Wu Lang blurted hastily, “It’s this base slave’s duty.”
As he spoke, raindrops trailed down his handsome, aquiline nose, dripping between his pale, thin lips like a bead of beguiling nectar.
Xue Yunyi couldn’t resist. She drew the silk handkerchief from her bosom and dabbed gently at him. Wu Lang jerked his head up in alarm, his face slick and sodden. She wiped it tenderly—right side, left, then downward—
“Your Highness? Your Highness, are you in there?” Mo Ying’s anxious cry echoed from outside the hall.
Xue Yunyi turned at the sound. The soft silk slipped from Wu Lang’s neck. His eyes shadowed with disappointment as he lowered them, stealing a furtive lick across his freshly wiped lips.
Mo Ying clattered up the stone steps. “Your Highness, how did you end up here? You gave this servant such a fright!”
Relief washed over her at the sight of Xue Yunyi unscathed. “The rain’s eased outside. Let this servant wheel you back? You’re drenched—you need dry clothes at once.”
Xue Yunyi nodded. “Very well.”
Two young eunuchs trailed her, rigging a ramp with practiced speed and wheeling the chair inside. Mo Ying lifted Xue Yunyi back into it with care, then chided the trailing palace maid to mind the umbrella closely—no more rain on her mistress.
Wu Lang knelt in silence, his breaths shallow, as if willing himself invisible.
Xue Yunyi sighed to herself. She likely wouldn’t return here. She hoped he could survive, thrive even—perhaps one day, she could free him from this cage.
After a long, wordless pause, her lips parted but formed no words. Softly, she bid Mo Ying to depart.
“This base slave respectfully sees off Your Highness.”
The boy’s hoarse murmur followed her, faint through the pattering spring rain—like the toll of some weathered temple bell. For an instant, Xue Yunyi fancied it a final farewell.
Her fingers tightened. She didn’t look back. Rainy days stirred the heart; an unbidden pang swelled within her—for Wu Lang, and for herself.
She had scored a victory today, but what of it? Her legs would never mend. No more galloping wild across the plains, no more eyes crinkling in carefree laughter.
Back at Azure Cypress Palace, the rain had ceased. Xue Yunyi donned fresh attire and settled by the latticed window, lost in the chatter of sparrows on the high branches. At length, she reached for the ebony wood box on the table, opened it, plucked out the glossy black pill, and swallowed it with a sip of tea.
“Mo Ying, walk with This Palace.”
Xue Qingzhi’s birthday banquet unfolded with great fanfare. The sudden shower only stoked the Emperor’s merriment, prolonging the revelry until dusk before dismissing the guests.
Wu Lang lay on the dilapidated cot in the stable, staring vacantly at the pale cobwebs draping the rafters. A rare half-day’s respite, yet sleep eluded him—he dreaded Xue Qingzhi summoning him on a whim.
Xue Yunyi’s fragrance clung to his senses from that silk handkerchief. He replayed their fleeting quarter-hour endlessly: her tender gaze, silken fingertips, pristine cloth, those numb legs cradled in his palms.
It was a tragedy, Wu Lang thought. Heaven’s injustice—to maim such a noble Eldest Princess.
He ached to help her.
He’d once pored over medical texts in secret from Madam Wu’s study, patching up the household servants with his rough-hewn skills. But those were crude fixes, unworthy of courtside scrutiny. And the Eldest Princess? The Imperial Hospital attended her— what business of a wretch like him?
Wu Lang’s lips quirked in wry amusement. He levered himself up, rolling onto his side for scant comfort, and shut his eyes.
Abruptly, the warped doors burst open. Ceiling straw and dust rained down. Wu Lang’s brows twitched; he bolted upright to kneel, peering warily at the threshold.
Xue Qingzhi advanced in a fury, her palm cracking across his face. Blood welled instantly at Wu Lang’s mouth.
“Shameless hussy! Born seductress! This Palace turns away for half a day, and you slink off to charm the Imperial Sister!”
Dizziness assailed him. Yanked by his neck chain, Wu Lang sprawled to his knees on unyielding stone—the crack of bone on rock echoed in his ears.
“This base slave… didn’t…” Pain blurred his vision; he clutched his knees, trembling as he whispered his denial.
Ah Xiao interjected swiftly from the side. “Princess, Ah Xiao saw it myself—how could it be false? Rain was pouring; he carried the Eldest Princess right into the Buddhist Hall and chatted with her awhile.”
“This Palace always knew—this base slave, nursing those filthy fancies for Imperial Sister. You loathe This Palace, dreaming she’ll whisk you free. So you whored yourself out, didn’t you?” Xue Qingzhi snarled through clenched teeth, coiling the iron chain tighter, inch by merciless inch, until Wu Lang’s face purpled with strangulation.
Speechless, he shook his head desperately. Escape? Yes, he craved it. But the Eldest Princess? Never a lewd thought. The deluge was merciless; he couldn’t abandon her to drench and chill. Yet in Xue Qingzhi’s telling, aid became seduction?
Explanations fell on deaf ears. Fresh from humiliation at Xue Yunyi’s hands, her mood festered. Ah Xiao’s tale ignited it. She loosed the chain—and drove her heel savagely into Wu Lang’s chest. “Traitorous cur! This Palace wasted mercy feeding a snake!”
The young man’s slender back slammed heavily against the bed frame. The dilapidated wood shattered into pieces, scattering across the floor. Amid the wreckage, a snow-white silk flower trembled as it fell—like a white lotus blooming in filthy mud, untouched by dust.
Xue Qingzhi stared at the silk flower, stunned for a moment. She felt all the blood in her body surging upward. She naturally recognized it as something belonging to Xue Yunyi. In the entire palace, only her imperial sister would carry such an ominous trinket.
“You actually dared to secretly keep something from my imperial sister,” Xue Qingzhi said, her anger turning to laughter as if she’d heard the greatest joke in the world. “A filthy thing like you thinks you’re worthy of dreaming about her? My imperial sister just has a soft heart like a bodhisattva. She’d take pity even on a stray dog by the roadside. Don’t think that just because you have a pretty face, you can catch her eye!”
Gritting her teeth, she shouted loudly toward the outside. “Guards! Drag him to the bedchamber. This Palace will make him see today what happens to those who dare betray me!”
The chamber doors were shut tight, but they couldn’t block the young man’s shrill cries of agony.
The iron chains clinked and rattled. Vines lashed across tender skin, splitting it open in bloody gashes. No one knew how many whips had broken. The little eunuch kept his head bowed, delivering fresh ones into the chamber again and again before retreating in fear.
“Your Highness, please… spare this base slave…”
Wu Lang’s eyes were unfocused. The unbearable pain left his mind blank, reduced to nothing but the instinct to survive.
Xue Qingzhi opened the wooden box containing the jade phallus. Her fingertip caressed the finest white jade pieces as she drawled, “Tell me, if my imperial sister saw you like this, do you think she’d treat you the same way as before?”
“This base slave knows his mistake… Please spare this base slave’s worthless life.” Wu Lang squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think of Xue Yunyi’s gentle face at a time like this.
“Knowing your mistake isn’t just something you say with your mouth.” Xue Qingzhi picked up the thickest jade phallus on the right. She wiped it with a cloth and paused for a moment, then suddenly changed her mind. She clapped her hands. A little eunuch entered with his head bowed, holding a porcelain bowl. Clear water soaked a thick, sturdy piece of ginger inside it.
Wu Lang’s eyes flew wide open. He vaguely guessed what Xue Qingzhi intended and shrank back in terror.
“This base slave will break…”
“Swallow it, and This Palace will forgive you this once.” Xue Qingzhi commanded with malicious glee.
Wu Lang shook his head desperately. That piece of ginger was even thicker than the jade phalluses he endured during his usual punishments. How could he possibly swallow it? And that place already bore plenty of injuries. The spicy ginger juice alone would be enough to torment him half to death.
“Not willing, hmm?” Xue Qingzhi lost her patience. She seized the young man’s slender ankle in a firm grip. “Then This Palace will have to get my hands dirty and do it myself.”
Qingdai led several palace maids in waiting outside the bedchamber. The hoarse screams from within made her heart tremble with fear. She had no idea what was happening inside. At first, the punished youth had begged for mercy with all his strength, but eventually, even that faded into silence.
Could they have… killed him?
Qingdai thought anxiously.
At last, Xue Qingzhi called for her. Qingdai pushed open the door and was hit by a thick stench of blood. When she took in the scene inside the chamber, she was so shocked she couldn’t utter a word.
Blood drenched the young man’s body. Thin beads of it kept welling from his back. Wu Lang lay on the floor with his eyes tightly shut, his brow furrowed in agony. He was barely clinging to life, like a ruined rag.
“Your Highness, what do you plan to do with him?” Qingdai asked carefully, watching Xue Qingzhi’s expression.
Xue Qingzhi wiped her hands as she glanced disgustedly at the broken youth at her feet. He’d been ruined. There was no point keeping him around anymore.
“Carry him out and dump him somewhere,” she ordered carelessly.
As evening drew near, scattered threads of rain began to drift across the sky.
Xue Yunyi had never realized just how vast the imperial palace was. An hour had passed, and her legs ached, but she hadn’t even covered half of it.
“Your Highness, aren’t you tired? It’s getting late. We should head back to the palace,” Mo Ying urged.
Xue Yunyi glanced at the sky. She figured nearly two hours had passed. She slowed her steps, feeling the stone path beneath her feet—so ethereal, so unreal.
She had once admired these palace gardens countless times alongside Empress Jiang. Now everything had changed. The palace paths stretched endlessly into the distance. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming loneliness. Within these square walls, aside from Mo Ying, she had no one truly close by her side.
Tree shadows slanted across the ground amid the damp rain mist.
Xue Yunyi looked up and saw the plaque of Ninghua Palace. Festive lanterns still hung above it, flickering dimly in the rain.
She frowned, instinctively wanting to go around it. But beneath a parasol tree by the wall, she spotted a blood-soaked youth.
Xue Yunyi froze for a moment, then hurried over. A refined face smeared with blood came into view. She gasped in shock, clapping a hand over her mouth.
She could hardly believe it. Just a few hours ago, this youth had carried her into the Buddhist Hall to shelter from the rain. And now, in a single afternoon, he looked like this.
Scarcely an inch of intact skin remained on Wu Lang’s body. Even the soles of his bare feet were whipped to a bloody pulp. Her hand trembled as she reached out to check his breathing. Fortunately, he still had some.
The guards at the entrance saw Xue Yunyi crouching there and kindly came over to inform her. “Your Highness, that’s something the Second Princess used up and threw away. You’d best stay away from him. He’s bad luck.”
He spoke casually, as if discussing a lifeless object. Xue Yunyi shot him a cold glare. Without any hesitation, and under the guard’s astonished gaze, she reached down and scooped Wu Lang into her arms.
She had ridden horses for years and could even lift the heaviest crossbows from Lin Yi’s army. Picking up a slender youth like this was effortless.
But Wu Lang’s body was far too light. So light it chilled her. He was like a kite with a broken string, broken and leaning against her. Crimson blood silently stained her snowy robes.
“Your Highness, you…”
The rain grew heavier. Mo Ying held an umbrella close, looking at the unconscious youth in Xue Yunyi’s arms. She hesitated to speak.
Xue Yunyi silently held Wu Lang a little tighter. With her last bit of time, she quickened her pace toward Azure Cypress Palace.
The dim light fell on Wu Lang’s pale face. Long, raven lashes cast a small gray shadow beneath his eyelids.
“Everything will be all right,” she murmured, gazing at the youth’s wounds all over his body. She seemed to be speaking to him, or perhaps to herself. “It won’t hurt anymore from now on.”