Wen Zhuo’s long right arm circled her waist, and with a slight tightening pulled her against him.
Fu Ying’s eyes widened, startled in her heart, but she did not resist or pull away.
Wen Zhuo was tall and imposing, the top of Fu Ying’s head barely reached his chin, her ear pressed against his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat passed through his chest into her ear, steady and strong.
His embrace was like a warm net, generously enfolding all of her shattered pieces.
Feeling this warm support, the guard Fu Ying had kept armed around her heart these past days suddenly collapsed.
The day they first met, she had still been able to patiently guide him back from his despair. Now, though Wen Zhuo said not a word, she found herself in disarray, utterly routed.
Fu Ying no longer held herself back, burying her face deep in his chest, crying even harder, as though trying to pour out every last bit of the grievance she had suffered these past days.
Wen Zhuo remained silent the whole time, his palm gently stroking her thin back.
Given his standing, he had never needed to comfort another’s emotions, let alone use his own body to soothe someone.
But as her tears fell, he forgot all of that, thinking only of easing some of the sorrow in her heart.
After a long while, Fu Ying gradually calmed down. Her eyes stung with soreness and bitterness, but the tearing, tangled struggle inside her had eased considerably.
A warmth as gentle as flowing water spread all around her, and for just a moment, she wished time would stop, so she could stay sunk in his embrace like this.
“I lost my composure. Please forgive me, young master.”
Fu Ying slowly pulled away from his embrace, her voice thick with a nasal tone, the fierce grief of a moment ago washed away, restored to its usual soft calm.
“Although I don’t know what you have been through, sorrow and pain are only human. Letting it out will bring your heart much more ease.”
Wen Zhuo’s tone was calm, but he sincerely hoped from the bottom of his heart that she would not be so sad.
Fu Ying looked at his outstandingly handsome face, recalling the comfort just now that she had found herself craving so much, and clenched her fingers around the hem of her skirt: “Thank you, young master.”
Wen Zhuo nodded slightly, a faint, barely-there smile at the corner of his lips.
He lowered his eyes to the writing table, his gaze sweeping over the signature on the painting, his fingertip brushing over the elegant characters of “A Li.”
The thick ink had not yet fully dried, and a small smudge of blue-black ink stuck to his fingertip.
Wen Zhuo abruptly withdrew his hand, as though this name were a burning brand, deeply etched into the bottom of his heart.
At the hour of xu, night fell, and Chen Shi and a group of guards arrived outside the courtyard, lining up in a row, standing strict guard over the residence now sunk in thick darkness.
After Shang Jue was named Crown Prince, he appointed Chen Shi as Right Guard Commander of the Eastern Palace.
With the danger not yet eliminated, he worried over Fu Ying’s safety, and had specially sent Chen Shi to guard the residence and protect her.
Fu Ying neither agreed nor objected to this, as long as they did not enter the house, everything could keep up an appearance of calm on the surface.
After dinner, Wen Zhuo went to the inner room on the west side of the second-floor hall.
The day before, he had rested in Fu Ying’s own bed while unconscious, and felt deeply ashamed of having, like a magpie displaced from its nest, taken over her space.
Wen Zhuo sat on the edge of the bed, pressing his palm against his left shoulder, moving it up and down a few times.
This large movement pulled at the flesh more than he expected, and a tearing pain made him suck in a breath, his brows trembling.
Seeing that no blood was seeping from the wound, Wen Zhuo settled his mind, lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
In the hall, Fu Ying, seeing that the ink on the painting had dried, mounted it neatly onto a hanging scroll, slowly running her fingers over the smiling faces of the three figures.
Seeing from the water clock that it was already the third quarter of the hour of hai, she carefully rolled up the scroll and placed it inside the standing cabinet.
Once everything was in order, Fu Ying blew out the candle, changed her clothes, and went to sleep.
The room fell instantly silent, utterly still, with only the occasional crackle of the burning candle flame and the wild wind howling outside the window.
Living in this old residence full of memories, Fu Ying found it hard to fall asleep, tossing and turning for a long while before finally drifting into a shallow sleep.
Her sleep was not very deep, and by midnight she had begun to dream.
Fu Zhaoxing was riding out to hunt with her when she was young, and had also taken her to Nanyang, where he had her apprentice under the world-renowned physician Xu Ji.
Then, a dark shadow flashed by, and a sharp blade slashed at Fu Zhaoxing, in an instant his head was separated from his body.
……
“Miss, wake up.”
A voice, deliberately lowered, came from beside her ear, carrying an urgency as pressing as a fire at one’s eyebrows.
Fu Ying woke with a start, cold sweat pouring off her, her chest crushed under a grief as heavy as a great boulder, choking her badly.
In winter, all the windows were sealed tight, letting almost no light through. The room was so dark she could not see her own hand in front of her face, but she could faintly make out what seemed to be the outline of a person before her.
“Shh—it’s me.”
Fu Ying recognized Wen Zhuo’s voice and let out a breath of relief, though her face was full of suspicion.
Why, in the dead of night, had he suddenly appeared at her bedside?
Wen Zhuo, as though possessing some ability to see through everything in the dark, seemed to see through her confusion, and whispered to her: “There’s an assassin outside the door.”
Fu Ying came fully awake, her heart pounding wildly in her chest without stopping.
……
At the main gate, a faint creak of wood sounded.
The next moment, the door bar was lifted, the hinges turned, and with a “creak,” the door opened a crack, and the sound of wind and snow immediately became clear.
Cold wind mixed with swirling snow flakes surged into the room, bringing with it a bitterly cold chill.
A figure dressed in night-black clothing, only its eyes exposed, slipped sideways in, gently closed the door, then raised the large blade in its hand and crept, tiptoeing past the screen, into the main room.
On the bed, the thick quilt was mounded up, and the person inside seemed to be sleeping soundly, letting out steady, even breaths.
The masked figure stepped forward without a sound, and even the room’s already scant light shifted subtly with the movement.
Fu Ying curled her body beneath the covers, her head pressed against Wen Zhuo’s back, breathing deeply, trying to hold back her wildly pounding heart.
Wen Zhuo lay on the outer side, his eyes narrowed as though asleep.
He had already adjusted to the darkness and was carefully watching the movements of the figure ahead. One hand, held behind his back, gently held Fu Ying’s hands, his thumb lightly stroking the back of her hand, easing her fear and unease.
The masked man came to the bedside, raised his sharp blade, and struck down fiercely toward the head.
In a flash, Wen Zhuo flung the covers aside, sprang up abruptly, and drove a fist into the numbing point at the man’s elbow.
Caught completely off guard, the masked man’s arm went entirely limp under the tremendous force.
Before he could react, Wen Zhuo, gripping his dagger, drove it savagely into the man’s right eye.
“Ahh—”
The masked man’s face twisted, his hands clutching at his eye as blood poured without stopping, a heart-rending wail tearing from his throat.
Realizing his mission had failed, he endured the searing pain to pull something from inside his robe and hurl it forward with all his strength, then leapt like a fish, rolled once, and burst out through the door.
Seeing what he had done, Wen Zhuo, almost by instinct, covered his mouth and nose: “Miss, don’t breathe!”
But it was too late, once the door was thrown open, a fierce wind rushed straight at the two of them, and Fu Ying only felt some fine, powdery substance strike her face, unable to avoid breathing in a little of it.
The assassin’s escape made a tremendous commotion, and lights immediately came on throughout the courtyard, filled with noise and clamor and the sound of many voices.
With no time to worry about the powder, Fu Ying hurriedly put on her shoes and threw on her cloak. “Young master, hide yourself well for now. I’ll be right back, otherwise they’ll come search the house.”
She stepped straight out the door without pausing, the screen inside the room blocking off the light completely, leaving only the sight of her retreating back as she hurried away.
Wen Zhuo raised a hand as though to say something, but in the end swallowed back every word of concern.
In the courtyard.
Jiang Yue had the masked man by the throat from behind, his arms twisted back behind him, one foot pressed onto his thigh, pinning him to the ground unable to move.
A moment ago, he had been resting on the rafters of the west side room when he suddenly heard a great commotion coming from the second floor.
Seeing an assassin burst out through the door of Fu Ying’s room, he had rushed out and subdued him.
Chen Shi and a group of guards bearing blades and wearing armor came running at the sound, surrounding the two of them.
He glared furiously at the assassin, roughly yanking off the black cloth covering his face, and upon finding it an unfamiliar one, grew nearly mad with rage: “Who put you up to this, that you dared come here to assassinate someone?”
“Heh heh—”
The assassin’s right eye had been gouged into a bloody hole, and his other eye had already lost focus, but he still laughed coldly.
“You and Great Yong are in cahoots, aren’t you afraid of drawing trouble on yourselves? Just you wait, my master will sooner or later round up the whole nest of you thieving rats, without leaving a single one……”
Jiang Yue’s brow furrowed tightly, and his hand could not help but tighten, pressing down on the assassin’s already weak carotid artery.
“You scheming villain, what nonsense are you spouting!”
Chen Shi roared, unable to contain his fury, his blade pressed right up against the assassin’s face, as though it might chop off his head the very next moment.
“What happened?”
Fu Ying’s urgent voice rang out from upstairs.
Seeing this scene in the courtyard, she hurried across the thick snow piled on the corridor, running toward the stairs.
The assassin suddenly convulsed, blackened blood spilling from the corner of his mouth, his eyes bulging as though about to burst, and before he could utter his final sound, his breath left him.
“You strangled him to death? Acting so recklessly, are you trying to cover up something you don’t want known?!”
Seeing that the assassin had stopped breathing, Chen Shi, furious to the point of losing all composure, glared at Jiang Yue and shouted the accusation sharply.
“This subordinate cannot bear such a charge.”
Jiang Yue glanced at Chen Shi, released his hands, letting the assassin’s corpse drop into the snow, his tone calm and betraying no trace of agitation.
He had sword-like brows and bright, star-like eyes, dressed in a plain white robe, handsome and upright, his martial skill unusually deep, and even under such malicious suspicion he still carried himself with an air of untroubled ease.
“He had already swallowed poison just now, he wouldn’t have lasted the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. If the Commander doesn’t believe it, he can check with a silver instrument. Better put your blade away.”
After hearing Jiang Yue’s explanation, though Chen Shi’s suspicions were not entirely dispelled, knowing that the dead could not testify, he gave a cold snort and sheathed his blade.
Fu Ying, sensing that the two seemed to have had some dispute, hurried over through the snow and swept her eyes over the corpse on the ground. “What is this…?”
Chen Shi bowed to Fu Ying: “Fortunately, young master Jiang subdued the assassin just now, which kept Your Highness safe.”
Fortunately, it had only been a false alarm.
Fu Ying let out a long breath of relief in her heart, it seemed Chen Shi mistakenly believed it was Jiang Yue who had blinded the assassin, which spared her a great deal of trouble.
Chen Shi sent men to drag the corpse away, then took his leave.
Jiang Yue looked at Fu Ying with concern and asked, “Young lady, you weren’t hurt, were you?”
“I’m fine. In the dead of night like this, I’m troubling you all to guard me.”
Jiang Yue smiled faintly: “Not at all.”
Heavy snow was still falling, and a few flakes had settled on Fu Ying’s head. Jiang Yue reached out and brushed them off the top of her head, the motion natural and practiced.
Ever since Fu Ying’s birth, Jiang Yue had guarded by her side, having watched her grow up almost as if he had raised her himself. His feelings for Fu Ying ran deep, naturally like those between brother and sister.
Fu Ying felt a cold current spreading from her heart through her whole bloodstream, and she suddenly shivered: “Ah Yue, I feel so cold…”
“The night is bitterly cold, young lady, go back inside quickly.”
Fu Ying nodded.
Watching her go back upstairs, Jiang Yue’s expression could not help but grow grave.
The assassin’s final words before death seemed to carry some hidden meaning, one that made it impossible not to wonder further……
Fu Ying returned to her room and shut the door tightly, and the room was instantly plunged into darkness.
Seeing her return safely on her own, the tension in Wen Zhuo’s heart eased somewhat from before.
No lamp had been lit in the room, and he could not see Fu Ying’s face clearly. His dark eyes carried concern and worry as he asked anxiously, “Miss, do you feel unwell anywhere?”
He had no idea what that powder Fu Ying had just breathed in was, and it gnawed at him with worry.
“I’m so cold.”
Fu Ying wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing them back and forth, trying to generate a bit of warmth for herself.
She felt something was off.
She had felt cold outside a moment ago, which might simply have been the winter weather, but here, in this room with plenty of charcoal and warm and comfortable, why hadn’t the chill in her body faded even a little?