“Knock knock—”
A series of crisp knocks sounded at the door.
Wen Zhuo raised his hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth, his brow tightly knit, the fingers resting on Fu Ying’s shoulder twitching slightly.
Fu Ying bit down on her upper lip, not even daring to breathe heavily.
She looked up at Wen Zhuo, gesturing for him not to worry, and whispered in a lowered voice: “Young master, let me go take a look first.”
Fu Ying went around the screen, took a deep breath to make sure her voice would betray no trembling: “Who is it?”
“Young lady, it’s your subordinate.”
Upon hearing the low, familiar voice of a man reach her ears, Fu Ying let out a long breath, the great stone hanging in her heart finally settling.
She removed the Nuo mask, opened the door, and looked at the tall, handsome man standing outside.
“Ah Yue, is everything taken care of?”
Jiang Yue, a native of Yunzhou in the Northern Di, was the shadow guard who had protected Fu Ying ever since her birth. He usually stayed hidden in the shadows, never showing himself unless absolutely necessary.
Jiang Yue took off the bundle on his back and handed it to Fu Ying. “Yes, the clothing and medicinal powder the young lady ordered your subordinate to buy have both been brought.”
When he caught sight of the several dark, blackened bloodstains on her clothes, his expression suddenly changed, his eyes widening slightly.
“Young lady, are you injured?”
“No,” Fu Ying said, reaching out to take the bundle, explaining to him in a low voice, “It’s that person’s blood…”
Jiang Yue immediately relaxed, though his expression remained calm and composed.
Yesterday morning, under Fu Ying’s order, he had carried the unconscious Wen Zhuo back to the residence from that forest strewn with corpses.
Today, seeing the soldiers all kneeling together outside the courtyard wall, he knew that Shang Zhi’s side had already noticed something was amiss.
If she wanted to save this person, he had no objection and no standing to argue against it, he only hoped she would first ensure her own safety.
Jiang Yue bowed to Fu Ying: “Your subordinate will take his leave now. Young lady, please always keep your own safety in mind, or your subordinate will have no face… to answer to the master and the lady.”
Fu Ying nodded at him, her words gentle but firm: “Rest assured, I will.”
After Jiang Yue left, Fu Ying put the Nuo mask back on and bolted the door from inside.
Wen Zhuo, being supported by Fu Sang back onto the bed, saw her return safely, and the string that had been drawn tight in his heart suddenly loosened.
“Young master, the clothes I had someone buy for you have arrived.”
Fu Ying returned to the bedside, set down the bundle, and half-crouched beside Wen Zhuo. “You coughed up blood just now. Let me check your pulse first and see what the situation is.”
Wen Zhuo nodded slightly, watching as Fu Ying’s fair, delicate fingers pressed against his pulse, his gaze taking on a gentleness he himself had not even realized.
His attention was drawn to the several jarring red drops on Fu Ying’s white dress, and at once a deep, piercing guilt welled up in him.
She was like a snow lotus blooming in the northern land, pure and unblemished, while he was a demon crawling out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, covered in gore.
He had no way of knowing how she, a lone, delicate woman, had managed to face down that group of fierce, murderous officers, let alone come away from it unscathed.
He only knew that his presence had truly, like these few drops of crimson blood, stained her pure whiteness…
“Young master is in no serious danger.”
Fu Ying’s words interrupted his tangled thoughts. “I used acupuncture on you. What you coughed up just now was poisoned blood that had pooled in your lungs. You only need to rest quietly, and you will recover in a few days.”
“Miss,” Wen Zhuo said, still not much at ease, his eyes filled with apology as he looked at her, “I have… caused you trouble. In fact I am not usually like this, always only burdening others…”
Fu Ying froze in place for a moment, her long lashes fluttering up and down.
Yesterday, she had witnessed him, even while gravely wounded, wielding that magnificent, heavy saber with all his strength to cut down two or three assassins, she knew already that he was no ordinary man.
Yet he still took it so much to heart, even solemnly stressing this point to her.
How could there be such a sincere, transparent person in this world?
Fu Ying raised her lowered lids, and found herself caught in his apologetic gaze.
A jade crown bound up his head of black hair, fully revealing the contours and features of his face, his brows and eyes intense and deep-set, as though carved by knife and axe to perfection.
Such an outstandingly refined appearance stood out above all the men she had seen in her life, matching even her sworn brother, Shang Jue, acknowledged throughout the Northern Di as a beautiful man.
No, even surpassing Shang Jue.
“Young master worries too much.”
Fu Ying shook her head, then her tone grew grave: “It’s only… this lowly woman’s identity is entangled in many things the young master need not know. Just remember that you must be extremely careful and not let anyone else notice your presence, or this lowly woman will not be able to protect you either.”
Chen Shi’s uninvited visit just now had, though she had managed to defuse the crisis for the moment, still left her shaken.
If what Chen Shi had said was true, then the man before her was some high-ranking noble of Great Yong. Their identities were naturally opposed to one another, and this filled her with deep unease.
“I understand.”
Wen Zhuo had already guessed earlier that for her to have such an independent residence in this desolate place, Fu Ying could not simply be an ordinary commoner of the Northern Di.
Since she had cautioned him so, he would not press further. Once his shoulder wound had mostly healed in two or three days, he would simply slip away quietly.
Fu Ying took out from the bundle Jiang Yue had brought a full set of plain but clean men’s clothing. “Young master, your clothes… were bought in the largest size available. I’m not sure whether they will fit.”
Wen Zhuo’s build was extremely tall, by Fu Ying’s estimation, he was even over eight chi, no less impressive than the Northern Di people, who were themselves known for their height.
“To have new clothes to wear is already thanks to miss’s kindness, why would I be so particular?”
Seeing him remain so modest, Fu Ying quietly smiled to herself behind the Nuo mask, then unfolded an inner garment and came to Wen Zhuo’s side, meaning to drape it over him.
Her fingertips brushed accidentally against Wen Zhuo’s neck and shoulder, and his breath caught, as though a thin stream had leapt beneath his skin, winding its way down his back.
“Miss…”
A flicker of unease showed in his ink-black eyes as he gently blocked her arm with the back of his hand. “I’ve gotten your dress dirty just now, go change your clothes. I’m in no hurry…”
Strangely enough, though he had been dressed and cared for by palace servants since childhood, and such things were ordinary to him, now, faced with a young woman he had known for only a short time attending to his dressing, he instead found himself somewhat at a loss.
Fu Sang, standing to the side, saw Wen Zhuo’s embarrassment and quickly took the clothes from him. “Young lady, go change your clothes. Let me help the young master change. Young master has an injury on his shoulder, so don’t refuse, all right!”
Fu Sang smiled brightly and cheerfully, seeming quite pleased with herself. She had a sweet, lovely face, still with a touch of childishness, looking to be about twelve or thirteen years old.
Wen Zhuo secretly let out a breath of relief, at least with Fu Sang’s touch, the tide of feeling in his chest would not surge up so suddenly, without warning.
The following afternoon, though the wind was still bitterly cold, the heavy snow had stopped, and sunlight filtered through the clouds, wrapping the earth in a soft glow.
Wen Zhuo had taken his medicine, eaten a fair amount at midday, and rested for a short while. Upon waking, he found his whole body considerably more at ease.
At this moment, the main room was quiet and empty. Wen Zhuo, feeling his body stiff from long inactivity, got out of bed and paced slowly about the room.
The crimson gauze curtains were embroidered all over with blooming lotus flowers, and in the center of the room stood an ink-wash screen, painted with light vermilion landscapes of profound depth and mood.
It was, after all, the boudoir of a woman from a noble family, exquisitely and lavishly furnished.
As he walked past the screen, his eye fell by chance on a celadon inkstone sitting on the writing table beneath the north wall. Beneath the paperweight lay an ink-wash portrait, its ink not yet dry.
In the painting, an adorable little girl, jade-like and lovely, was taking wobbling steps, trying to throw herself into the arms of a smiling woman before her.
Behind the girl, a somewhat older man watched her with loving eyes, his arm stretched out to shield her. The figures’ brows and eyes were rendered with such delicate skill they seemed almost to leap off the page.
As the second son born to Empress Zhen Yi, Wen Zhuo had been deeply cherished by the Great Yong emperor, and since childhood had received guidance from a number of great masters of literature, calligraphy, and painting, excelling in both scholarly and martial pursuits, able to don battle armor and ride into war with sword and spear, and equally able to take up brush and ink, his strokes flowing like a dragon and snake.
Looking at this painting, though its brushwork did not reach the polished mastery of a famous painter, the sincerity of feeling in it was deeply moving.
In the upper left corner was a line of small, elegant script in the flowered-hairpin style, the writing delicate and graceful, yet the content full of sorrow—
“Missing Father: From now on I walk slowly through nine long nights, how many dreams before I see your face and voice again? Twelfth month of the Renxu year, your loving daughter, A Li”
……
Wen Zhuo stood stunned for a long while. Into his once-calm heart seemed to fall a great boulder, striking with a thunderous sound, his chest gradually tightening, his pupils trembling despite himself.
Fu Ying happened to return from outside just then, carrying with her the chill of wind and snow.
Seeing Wen Zhuo at the writing table studying her painting closely, she could not help but speak up: “Young master can already walk about out of bed, you’re recovering faster than expected.”
Wen Zhuo looked up at her, paused for a moment, and asked out of curiosity: “Did miss paint this?”
Fu Ying untied her cloak and hung it aside, answering: “This lowly woman painted it.”
He lowered his eyes, tinged with deep apology. “I lay in bed so long my joints truly ached, so I got up to walk about. I did not expect to come across miss’s painting of longing for a lost parent, I did not know…”
Fu Ying only shook her head, walked to the writing table, and let her gaze fall on the painting, filled with sorrow and desolation.
In the days since her father had passed, she had grieved too deeply, running a fever that would not break for a long while, confined to bed for over half a month, and had suffered from lingering health problems ever since.
Her mother had died of illness when she was young, and Fu Zhaoxing, grief-stricken, had never taken another wife. As his only beloved child, Fu Ying had naturally received all of her father’s care and affection, and their bond ran deep.
Her father had passed so suddenly that she had not been able to see him one last time, a regret she would carry for the rest of her life.
“Young master need not take it to heart. I am here observing mourning for my father, and think of him with sorrow every day. This painting was just made, the ink has not yet dried, which is why it’s spread out here on the table.”
Fu Ying explained despondently, her thoughts unable to settle back down, her voice beginning to tremble toward the end.
Wen Zhuo said with regret: “If your late father knew how outstanding you are, miss, his spirit in heaven would surely find comfort. Do not grieve too much and harm your health.”
“Is that so……”
Fu Ying gave a bitter smile and shook her head with a sigh, hesitating again and again, swallowing the words that had risen to her lips, her feathery lashes lowering, her eyes growing dim.
These words, meant to comfort her, instead plunged her into deep self-doubt.
Just now, downstairs in the hall, she had received a decree, and learned of a sensational event that had recently occurred in the Northern Di—
Shang Zhi had, one after another, granted titles to several of his children. Shang Jue, as the eldest legitimate son, had been named Crown Prince of the Northern Di, granted residence in the Eastern Palace, his glory boundless.
A thunderbolt out of a clear sky seemed to strike through Fu Ying’s mind, and she froze suddenly in place.
The elder brother who had grown up alongside her, who had once doted on her so dearly, was now to take her place, becoming the heir of the Northern Di.
The Fu clan had devoted themselves, body and soul, to governing the Northern Di’s foundation for nearly a hundred years, only for it, in her generation, to be forced into another’s hands.
What, exactly, was so commendable about her, that she deserved the “outstanding” that Wen Zhuo spoke of?
Fu Ying’s throat felt as though blocked by a great stone, and she felt a cold dampness spread across her face, before she realized it, tears were falling like a steady spring-night downpour.
Wen Zhuo could not see her face, but he could guess at how close to tears she must be behind the Nuo mask.
He had meant to comfort her, but it had backfired, stirring up her painful past instead.
Wen Zhuo was deeply remorseful, hating himself for the first time in his life for having said the wrong thing.
He, who had always held himself above others, found himself somewhat at a loss before this woman now crying like a pear blossom in the rain, utterly unlike his usual cold, decisive self.
He raised his hand, meaning to wipe away her tears, but just as his fingertips were about to touch her chin, his hand froze in midair, and after a moment’s hesitation, slowly withdrew.
Fu Ying noticed his gesture and realized she had lost control of herself far too much in front of another person. She sniffed, trying hard to push down her grief.
“I’m sorry, for losing my composure in front of the young master…”
Before she had even finished speaking, she found herself pulled into a warm, broad embrace.