Wu Ping’an waited for Ji Yuwei to return, unsure how long he would be gone. With nothing else to do, she chatted idly with the servant brewing flower tea.
She didn’t mean to pry into Ji Yuwei’s affairs, but simply wanted to know where he had gone. The servant replied, “Answering the lady, this servant does not know. Please wait for a few sticks of incense.”
Wu Ping’an had no choice but to wait.
Yet she waited for a long time without seeing Ji Yuwei return. Several sticks of incense had already burned in the censer.
Wu Ping’an couldn’t help but ask, “Where should your master be right now?”
The servant hesitated before answering, clearly aware of Ji Yuwei’s whereabouts.
Worried that Ji Yuwei might not intend to let her leave, Wu Ping’an was just about to rise and depart when a young page hurriedly rushed in from outside.
With a panicked expression, he addressed Wu Ping’an, “Lady Wu, please come with this servant. The master has fainted.”
“What happened?” Hearing this, Wu Ping’an followed the page at once.
On the way, the page said with a worried face, “Lady Wu may not know, but my master has had weak qi since childhood. Although his spellcraft is exceptional, he has never been as utterly exhausted as he was that night. Now, because Lady Wu mentioned extracting breath, he used spellcraft again despite his barely recovered health. He couldn’t hold on and vomited blood before fainting.”
Wu Ping’an’s heart skipped a beat at these words. “How could he vomit blood?”
The page continued, “Breath is the foundation of a person. Extracting a small amount is harmless, but the breath on Lady Wu’s body is Dead Person’s Qi, and it clings to you, unwilling to leave. For the master to extract it all, he must use a Secret Technique. But his old injuries haven’t healed, and he used spellcraft again. Earlier, the master was also fighting monster beasts outside. Fainting now is actually fortunate—I fear the master might perish.”
These words were too shocking and frightening. She had thought extracting breath was easy, never imagining it would nearly harm Ji Yuwei. Yet he hadn’t said a word.
Wu Ping’an also realized that even if Ji Yuwei had told her, she likely wouldn’t have believed him. He must have thought the same, which was why he hadn’t spoken.
She hurriedly followed the page through the Apricot Grove, having no time to admire the elegant scenery at every step along the way. Exiting the Water Pavilion, she rushed to the courtyard where Ji Yuwei was.
At that time, the courtyard was in chaos with pages and physicians bustling about—some busily decocting medicine, others engaged in Divination, and still others gathering herbs. Countless bottles and jars filled the courtyard, evidence that Ji Yuwei regularly took medicine.
The page led her directly past these people, through several doors, straight to the bedchamber.
Ji Yuwei’s bedchamber was spacious. Upon entering, she saw several characters written in vermilion ink with gilded strokes hanging on the door curtain: ‘Weibei You Chun, Yi Nan Ji Xue.’ Above them was inscribed ‘Life Qi.’ Beside it stood a large vat with clear water where lotus flowers bloomed. The walls were also adorned with four pieces of Golden Flower Paper, all bearing the same handwriting, clearly written by the master of this chamber.
Wu Ping’an hastily glanced over those beautiful, strong-boned characters, her gaze falling directly on the young man leaning against the couch frame, his collar wide and black hair loosely draped.
A servant kneeling on the footstool was holding a bowl of medicine. Just as Ji Yuwei reached out to take it, his pale fingertips not yet touching the bowl, he heard the sound from outside.
Ji Yuwei lifted his apricot-water-like eyes. Seeing her, his colorless lips curved into a bitter smile. “Lady Wu, please wait for Yuwei a moment. I’ll come as soon as I finish the medicine.”
The youth should have been youthful and vibrant, but now he leaned weakly by the couch, still mindful of the promise he had made to her. His frail state was heartbreaking. Wu Ping’an couldn’t help but think that no matter how exceptional his spellcraft, he was, in truth, only an eighteen-year-old youth.
Seeing him no longer as bright as before, Wu Ping’an stepped forward and said, “Wait a little longer.”
Ji Yuwei was surprised. “Didn’t you very much wish to leave?”
Then, he comforted her: “As I mentioned to you before, since childhood, I have been frail and weak, so taking medicine is a common occurrence. It will not hinder my ability to help you extract breath.”
Wu Ping’an also did not know whether his words were truly meant to put her at ease. She truly could not bear to see someone already so ill still having to help her.
Since the breath extraction could indeed be performed, she was not in a hurry for the moment.
After weighing her thoughts internally, Wu Ping’an spoke: “There’s no need. Let’s wait until you are better.”
She thought Ji Yuwei would readily agree, but unexpectedly, he set down the medicine and waved for the servants to leave.
He sat up, kneeling, his jet-black hair cascading over his pale, stark robe. His gentle and kind eyes, pale and fragile, looked at her as he beckoned softly: “Lady Wu, come here, sit here.”
Wu Ping’an hesitated, pausing for a few breaths, but still walked toward him and sat on the wooden stool beside him. Just as she was about to ask if he needed anything, she saw him cover his mouth and cough lightly.
Wu Ping’an picked up the bowl of unfinished medicine and handed it to him: “Drink the medicine first.”
“No need to worry, I am already fine.” Ji Yuwei shook his head. When he lowered his hand again, a damp, flushed blush spread beside his cheeks, and his gaze when looking at her was enchantingly soft.
“Please forgive me for having the servants leave and asking you to sit alone by the bed. What follows may also be impolite.” His eyes held apology, their shape fox-like. He took the medicine bowl from her hand and set it aside, his gaze restrained and proper, fixed on the collar of her garment.
“I know this greatly troubles you. Last time, I even caused you to fall into peril. It is only right that you wish to leave. I will now extract the lotus’s breath for you. Please loosen your garments.”
Wu Ping’an had not expected him to extract the breath now. Just as she was about to refuse, the young man raised his hand.
His palm hovered above her collarbone. He gazed at her face—coldly beautiful, stunning—her bones so symmetrical they carried an eerie, chilling aura. His thin lips repeated: “Loosen your garments.”
Wu Ping’an looked at him a few times, feeling that not only was he angry, but he was also struggling to contain his emotions.
In the end, she still removed her upper robe, revealing her bound chest.
Ji Yuwei said nothing more, focusing his energy into his palm.
He did not touch her skin, yet Wu Ping’an’s chest felt intensely hot. The breath from her mouth and nose seemed to flow down her throat toward his palm. Apart from a sense of suffocation, she felt none of the pain she had experienced in the cave.
Finally, after who knows how long, Ji Yuwei lowered his hand, his body weakly falling forward.
Wu Ping’an instinctively caught him.
Now, stiffly, she breathed in the medicinal scent on him. On her shoulder and neck was the warm, damp breath from his murmuring speech. She was at a loss—should she push him away or let him lean for a while?
“Just a little more. Allow me to rest against you for a moment before continuing.”
His voice was very soft, giving Wu Ping’an the illusion that he might vanish into nothingness, dissipating like mist at any moment.
And her feeling was not wrong. After speaking, Ji Yuwei fainted.
The young man’s body went limp as water, his cool lips sliding down the side of her neck. If she had not noticed early and promptly supported his chin, they might have slid further down from her chest.
It wasn’t so much about stirring ripples, but rather that it felt very strange.
She had never been in love, nor had she ever been so intimately held by a member of the opposite sex. Although Ji Yuwei had held her or taken her hand several times before, that was during escapes for their lives.
Wu Ping’an helped the unconscious Ji Yuwei onto the pillow, fastened her collar, and called for someone outside to attend to him.
Outside, there was a flurry of commotion. Wu Ping’an retreated to a corner where she would not be in the way, watching the completely pallid Ji Yuwei on the bed as if she were transparent.
She couldn’t describe her feelings at this moment, because the youth Ji Yuwei was truly different from what she had imagined.
Before this, she had thought Ji Yuwei was pretending to be unwell because he didn’t want to let her go. When she followed others inside and saw his pale complexion was genuine, she had still harbored doubts about him, which was why she agreed when he insisted on extracting breath.
She never expected he was truly ill.
Wu Ping’an felt ashamed for judging him with personal prejudice.
Perhaps she had been too preconceived, viewing him as a dark, neurotic, and malicious villain who would later disrupt the world, and thus believed she should suspect him with the most malicious intentions.
In reality, perhaps because the book only focused on the male and female leads and didn’t extensively describe the villain, he might have had some unspeakable reasons for developing such a twisted personality.
Regardless of what he might become in the future, the current Ji Yuwei was an untainted, kind-hearted youth. Moreover, in this dynasty, he was also a member of the ruling class, a scholar-official. Offending him and forcing her to stay would be something no one dared to question, leaving her in a difficult position.
Wu Ping’an returned from Apricot Grove, thinking along the way that she was just an ordinary person with nothing worth his efforts to keep her. Once Ji Yuwei recovered, she could extract the remaining breath. There was no rush anyway.
Meanwhile, in Apricot Grove, the physician had just finished taking the youth’s pulse. Looking up, he saw Ji Yuwei was already awake.
The youth wore loose inner garments, his chest fair-skinned, lazily leaning against an embroidered pillow as he stared coldly at the physician. “How is it? Why did the pulse-taking take so long?”
Startled by his sudden gaze, the physician recalled the fates of other doctors he had heard about and immediately knelt, kowtowing repeatedly while pouring out a stream of flattering words. “Your vitality and blood are clearly better than before, showing signs of rejuvenation and vigor. You are strong and healthy, destined for a long life.”
Such blatantly false words couldn’t possibly deceive anyone. Ji Yuwei frowned and cast a cold sidelong glance at the trembling physician. “Get out.”
The physician scrambled and crawled his way out.
Watching him clumsily roll on the ground as he fled, a faint spark of amusement flickered in Ji Yuwei’s listless eyes, only to vanish instantly as he suddenly coughed up blood.
Once the coughing started, it was hard to stop.
He lowered his hand, gazing down at the blood in his palm.
Even if he appeared healthy on the surface, illness struck swiftly and receded just as quickly. No one knew how short-lived he truly was—he should have died at birth, yet he had lived to eighteen. Every day, he wondered how many times those people secretly mocked him as a short-lived wretch in their hearts.
Hah.
Ji Yuwei picked up a silk handkerchief nearby, took a bronze mirror, and carefully wiped the blood from the corners of his lips. Watching his cheeks gradually regain color, he recalled the look Wu Ping’an had given him earlier and couldn’t help but laugh.
Truthfully, he didn’t know what he had done to make Wu Ping’an, a stranger to him, so wary. Yet no matter how guarded she was, she still possessed a human heart.
All hearts made of flesh are soft.
Her pitying gaze, her trusting gaze—though utterly laughable—were more interesting than listening to those useless fools lie.
Ji Yuwei smiled, his gaze, which should have been focused on the wound by his cheek, instead lingered on his lips.
For no reason, he recalled the sensation of brushing against Wu Ping’an’s neck.
Skin like congealed jade.
Curiosity gleamed in his eyes as he extended the tip of his tongue, not feeling it lewd, and swept it across the seam of his lower lip, moistening it until it glistened.
He tasted nothing, but in the bronze mirror, he saw his eyes were damp, the Guanyin red mole between his brows exuded allure, and his cheeks were even rosier than before.
That red was different from her usual complexion—an odd shade of red, like pleasure, yet also like a feverish flush.
He thought, this must be Wu Ping’an’s unique trait from the Divine Realm. She was truly one of a kind.
Author’s Note:
The Mountain Ghost was already □□, yet she still thought she had just wet herself (shrugs).