Si Huahuan’s mind was still a blur; she didn’t even know how she had managed to stand up.
She opened her mouth, struggled for a long time, and finally forced out only a dry, single syllable through her teeth: “Oh…”
She lowered her eyelids, her gaze wandering aimlessly with nowhere to settle. When it unintentionally swept over Xie Yun’s left hand, she froze.
There, on his fair back of the hand, was a glaring, bright red wound. Fresh blood wound its way down along his knuckles.
Yet he was still caught up in the shock and embarrassment of what had just happened, his gaze unfocused, completely unaware of his own injury.
Si Huahuan winced just looking at it. The sharp protrusion on the rockery had been extremely jagged. With such great force behind the impact, it must have hurt terribly. Just thinking about it made a phantom pain inexplicably shoot through the back of her own hand.
“Your hand…”
Xie Yun followed her gaze toward the back of his hand, looking confused. He stared at it for a moment, and only then, as if the pain caught up with him belatedly, did he instinctively curl his fingers inward.
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
Seeing him trying so hard to keep up appearances, Si Huahuan brushed the dust and grass clippings from her skirt, her movements somewhat stiff. “Alright, stop trying to act tough. The Imperial Medical Office isn’t far from here. I… I’ll take you there to get it treated.”
Even though the culprit was that big, fat dog of his, which had caused them to fall into such a mess and get so close that they had almost kissed — thank goodness both of them had high noses, or they wouldn’t have escaped that fate.
But at least, in that moment, he had indeed reached out without hesitation to shield her head, and had hurt his hand because of it. She supposed his merits and faults balanced each other out, barely.
Xie Yun pressed his lips together and hummed a low acknowledgment.
Jiao Jiao finally seemed to realize that the atmosphere was off. It stopped wagging its tail excitedly, instead moving closer to Xie Yun and looking at his injured hand with worried, little eyes.
Si Huahuan glanced at the pair — one acting like a loving father, the other like a dutiful son — and said, “Yao Huang, take him back first.”
“Follow me.” She turned around and began walking toward the Imperial Medical Office, her pace rather quick, not bothering to check if Xie Yun was keeping up.
Her back was held perfectly straight as she tried her best to maintain composure on the surface, while inside her chest, her heart pounded like a trapped rabbit, thumping rapidly.
As soon as Si Huahuan entered the Imperial Medical Office, someone offered to show her the way.
“Jiang Heshu.”
“Here,” a clear, gentle voice answered from behind a cabinet full of medicines.
Jiang Heshu stepped out, dressed in plain blue robes and holding a small medicinal pestle. He looked somewhat surprised to see her. “Your Highness, what brings you to the Medical Office in person?”
Si Huahuan asked, “Do you have any good wound ointment?”
Jiang Heshu stood up immediately. “Is Your Highness injured? As a matter of fact, I do have a jar of top-quality ointment here.”
Si Huahuan nodded toward Xie Yun, who had just stepped through the doorway. “It’s his hand that’s hurt. Looks pretty bad too.”
Jiang Heshu sat back down. “Ah, but I’m afraid I ran out of the good stuff a while ago.”
Xie Yun, who had just crossed the threshold: …
Was breaking a few of his cordyceps by accident really enough to make him hold a grudge this long?
Si Huahuan leaned closer to Jiang Heshu and whispered, “Did he offend you too?”
Jiang Heshu offered neither confirmation nor denial, but skillfully fetched clear water, bandages, and the medicine regardless.
“How did you manage to hurt the back of your hand like this?”
He asked casually, his tone even and calm, purely a routine inquiry from a doctor.
That ordinary, everyday question hit Si Huahuan and Xie Yun like a silent clap of thunder, exploding between them. The chaotic scene in the Imperial Garden just moments ago flooded back into their minds, vivid and clear.
The atmosphere in the room turned distinctly strange.
The only sounds left were the soft swipes of Jiang Heshu’s cotton cloth, dipped in water, gently wiping the blood from the back of Xie Yun’s hand, and the occasional chirping of birds outside the window.
Jiang Heshu waited for a moment. Receiving no answer, he looked up in confusion, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two people who were now both staring upward at the ceiling, backs of their heads facing each other.
Jiang Heshu: ???
Could anyone even hear him?
He didn’t stop his work, merely arched an eyebrow slightly and silently moved a little faster.
“Sss!”
An unexpected hiss broke the heavy silence.
Xie Yun flinched as if pricked by a needle, sucking in a sharp breath against the pain, his reflexes making him try to pull his hand back.
Si Huahuan instinctively turned back to look at his hand. “What is it? Does it hurt a lot?”
Xie Yun opened his mouth. The words “it doesn’t hurt” almost slipped out, but he caught them sharply on the tip of his tongue, swallowed them back down, pressed his lips tight, and finally murmured only two words: “…It hurts a lot.”
Jiang Heshu paused in wrapping the bandage. He lifted his eyelids, his expression as calm as still water as he swept his gaze over Xie Yun’s face — now animated by pain — and drawled, “Oh, so you *can* speak.”
“I was beginning to think the Marquis of Ming’an had bad ears and a broken voice as well.”
Xie Yun: …
Jiang Heshu tied a neat knot with practiced hands, cut off the excess bandage, and began packing away his things, signaling that the treatment was done.
From the corner of his eye, Xie Yun saw Si Huahuan suddenly turn her head away, her shoulders shaking rhythmically and slightly, for no apparent reason.
A bad feeling instantly rose within him. Slowly, he raised his newly bandaged hand up before his eyes.
He took one look, and his face turned black as the bottom of a pot.
His hand — long, slender, with clearly defined knuckles — was now wrapped in layers and layers of bandages, thick and tight, with only the very tips of his fingers peeking out. It was swollen and bulky, looking exactly like a large pig’s trotter fresh from the pot.
And to top it off, Jiang Heshu had tied an outrageously large, exaggerated bow right around his wrist!
The veins on Xie Yun’s temple throbbed visibly. He held up his “trotter” right in front of Jiang Heshu’s face.
“Jiang, Lin, Feng! You are abusing your authority to take revenge for personal grievances! Does this even look decent? Does it still look like a human hand?!”
Jiang Heshu tidied his medicine chest at a leisurely pace, not even bothering to look up, his tone utterly unperturbed. “The Marquis of Ming’an exaggerates. The wound is deep and under tension; it is liable to split open again. It is common medical practice to apply a thick layer of medicinal powder and bind it tightly to prevent further tearing. As for appearances…”
He gave a humorless smile. “…perhaps we can set that concern aside for the moment.”
The appearance of the giant trotter had completely swept away the awkwardness from earlier. Si Huahuan laughed silently until her eyes crinkled shut, flashing Jiang Heshu a look of pure appreciation.
Xie Yun shot Jiang Heshu a fierce glare, then quickly glanced at Si Huahuan’s brilliantly smiling face. In the end, he couldn’t even bring himself to say anything harsh.
He merely let out a heavy *hmph* through his nose, hastily stuffed his hand inside his wide sleeve, turned around, and stormed out of the Medical Office, his whole posture radiating indignation and grief.
He had walked away so fast that by the time Si Huahuan returned to Yong’an Palace, Yao Huang told her that Xie Yun had hurriedly left the palace with Jiao Jiao, looking rather displeased.
This made Si Huahuan laugh heartily all over again for quite some time.
*****
Somehow, that very night, Si Huahuan had another dream, and it was a direct continuation of the last one.
She was once again just a soul, floating in mid-air, unable to hear any sound.
She watched Si Huarong running outside. She followed his footsteps, wanting to see what he was up to. But just as she rushed to the palace gate, she seemed to crash headlong into an invisible wall and was bounced sharply backward.
Rubbing her dazed head, she could only watch helplessly as he walked further and further away, stamping her feet in frustration.
This was absolutely ridiculous!
Was it because her spirit couldn’t travel too far from her own body?
As she pondered this, Xie Yun, who was inside the hall, moved and began walking toward another direction outside.
Si Huahuan hesitated for a moment, then followed him, clinging to a thread of hope.
One step, two steps… The impact she had expected never came.
She had actually passed through the very spot that had blocked her earlier!
Why was that? She couldn’t follow her brother out, but she could follow Xie Yun.
Could it be… that she had died a wrongful death at Xie Yun’s hands, and had thus turned into a vengeful spirit bound to him, able to move only wherever he went?
Xie Yun walked all the way to the water prison. It was a damp, dark place, smelling of stale mildew. Submerged in the murky water was a man, his face half-covered by wet hair, making it hard to see clearly. Yet there was something familiar about him; she was sure she had seen his face somewhere before.
Before she could recall who it was, Xie Yun walked over. His boots stepped onto the wet stone floor, his face expressionless, calm as a sheet of frozen ice.
Si Huahuan was used to seeing Xie Yun smiling casually and carefree. She had never seen him wear such a cold, terrifying expression. She felt a chill run straight from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.
She watched Xie Yun bend down, his movements precise and elegant even then. He grabbed the man’s hair tightly, forcing his head upward, and said something to him.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, he suddenly exerted force and pressed the man’s entire head deep under the water.
A mass of bubbles gurgled up to the surface, churning violently, bursting, and rising again in greater numbers.
The man struggled fiercely, splashing water all over the hem of Xie Yun’s robe. Yet Xie Yun didn’t even blink an eyelash.
A long time passed — so long that she herself felt nearly unable to breathe — before Xie Yun lifted the dripping head out again, as casually as picking up a worn-out sack.
But he didn’t give the man any chance to answer questions. He pushed his head under the water again and again, only pulling him back up to the surface when he was on the very verge of drowning.
Si Huahuan was so shocked she clamped her hand tightly over her mouth, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
She could not reconcile this man — expressionless, controlling another person’s breath and life with such indifference — with the bright, spirited young man she had seen earlier that day.
A profound sense of unfamiliarity and pure terror washed over her.
When on earth had he become like this? In her past life, she had never noticed it at all.
It was terrifying! Right now, all she wanted was to escape from this cursed place immediately!
However, as she floated toward the prison gate, she was bounced back by an invisible barrier before she was even ready.
She sat there, stunned, thinking: It was basically confirmed now. She had indeed turned into a vengeful spirit bound to Xie Yun, capable of moving only where he moved.
She shrank back into a corner.
Every part of the cell was damp, filthy, and slick with moss.
Even though she was only a spirit now, unable to smell or touch anything, her disgust was undeniable. She drifted hurriedly further away from the cold, wet walls.
Xie Yun watched coldly as the man, now purple in the face, struggled and gasped for air. He waited until the man had coughed and recovered just enough breath, then leaned closer to the figure slumped by the water’s edge and asked something in a low voice.
The man in the water shook like a leaf in the wind. His lips moved several times, as if begging for mercy or perhaps trying to argue, but in the end, he only breathed out a few words in a faint, dying whisper.
As if having received the answer he wanted, Xie Yun straightened up. His face remained utterly calm, without the slightest ripple of emotion. He didn’t spare another glance at the man lying in the water, limp as mud, and turned to leave without looking back.
As soon as his figure disappeared, the force that had been restraining Si Huahuan loosened abruptly. Before she could react in any way, a familiar, powerful suction materialized out of nowhere, swirling around her like a whirlpool and dragging her in.
The world spun around her. She opened her eyes abruptly, waking up with cold sweat soaking her back, her heart beating frantically in her ribcage.
She could still see the dim light of the water prison lingering before her eyes, and those cold, emotionless eyes of Xie Yun.
She gasped, breathing in deep mouthfuls of air to ease the lingering sensation of suffocation.
Why? Why did she dream of these things?
Was this truly the forgotten past she had left behind, or… was it some kind of warning?
Was Heaven giving her a chance, through this vision, to change everything that was yet to happen in the future?