Cuihua had long seen him in far more disheveled states.
When she had first picked him up from the roadside, he had been covered in blood, his body riddled with wounds.
During his recovery, it was she who undressed him day after day, changing his bandages and wiping him clean.
Later, unwilling to remain confined to bed, every unsteady step he managed to take was him dragging his crippled legs, falling and getting back up again before her eyes…
It was precisely for this reason that although her heart ached for him now, she was not flustered by the blood on his body or the indignity of his fall. Seeing that he could not get up on his own, she hurried over with quick, graceful steps, crouching down without hesitation to carefully examine where he was hurt.
The blood on his right palm came from the shattered porcelain, while his knees, which had taken the brunt of the fall, had benefited from the smooth floors of the princess's residence—no skin was scraped, only two patches of bruising had formed where he had landed.
Though there was no resident physician in the residence, a full array of medicines for both internal and external use was readily available.
Cuihua immediately summoned nearby servants to fetch the medicine, while she expertly helped him over to the bed, took clean water to wet a cloth, and began cleaning his wounds.
From the moment she had stepped through the door in that nightgown, Pei Huaiche's gaze had found it difficult to look away from her. Now that she was this close to him, his Adam's apple moved slightly as he averted his eyes and said in a low voice, "There's an outer robe of mine in the cabinet by the wall. You… put it on. As a princess, it wouldn't be proper for the servants to see you like this."
But Cuihua did not move. The ones she had called over were all maidservants—knowing how thin her clothing was, which servant would be foolish enough to bring a man over?
And if she knew this well, then this man, always so meticulous in his thinking, would certainly not misjudge the situation either.
His request for her to cover up was simply because he himself could not bear to see her dressed this way—though the jealousy in his heart had yet to subside, his gaze could not help but linger on her, his emotions in turmoil, anger rising with nowhere to vent.
This was exactly the effect Cuihua wanted, so of course she would not easily comply with his wishes: "Even if they disapprove, they wouldn't dare show me a sour face. Do you think anyone else can treat me the way you do?"
Pei Huaiche tried to pull back the hand she was wiping clean: "I have never shown you a sour face either."
But the moment he made to retreat, his fingertips were gently caught by hers, and as if in punishment, she lightly tapped the back of his hand: "Still spouting nonsense with your eyes wide open? You're doing it right now. You know how much it pains me every time you add another wound to your body, yet you refuse to take better care of yourself."
Pei Huaiche's long lashes lowered, unable to refute her.
After all, at least up to this moment, she had shown more concern for his life and well-being than he had himself—whether he was hurt, whether he was in pain.
But then he was reminded of his imperial nephew, who, upon first hearing that he had been wounded in battle, had choked up and asked whether he could give up the throne. If it required his blood and injury to secure the seat beneath him, then he would rather not be emperor at all, and simply be his obedient nephew.
Pei Huaiche was not unaware that as the young emperor gradually grew older, having always lived under his protection and restraint, a rift had indeed formed between them.
Nor was he unaware that his own merit had overshadowed his sovereign, to the point that all the civil and military officials deferred only to him, and no minister dared to bypass him to discuss state affairs privately with the young emperor.
Yet he had never been willing to believe that this bond between uncle and nephew could truly be corroded by power into a life-and-death jealousy—that the young emperor he had raised with his own hands would not only want him dead, but would also want him to die disgraced, burdened with the false charge of plotting rebellion.
It had been a long time since he had recalled these past events. Two years ago, when Cuihua had unreservedly placed her whole heart before him, she had indeed gradually warmed the coldness in his heart.
But was a similar ending about to repeat itself before long?
At this thought, when he looked at her again, an extremely complex emotion had melted into his gaze.
Covetousness, resentment, obsession intertwined—yet he could not, as he had when his nephew had chilled his heart, turn his grievance into disgust. Even when he later heard that the young emperor had posthumously rehabilitated his name and honored him, he had only found it absurd and laughable, no longer deigning to probe whether there was any genuine guilt or remorse behind it.
And since he could not blame her, he allowed her to carefully apply the medicine and bandage his wound properly.
Then she ladled out a bowl of warm pork rib congee, scooped up a spoonful, tested the temperature against her own glossy lips, and then gently brought it to his mouth.
Seeing that he was willing to obediently eat, Cuihua's lips curled slightly as she remarked softly, "I used to think you had a young master's constitution but a village laborer's fate. Now it seems I underestimated you—you were born with nobility in your destiny, it just came a little late."
Pei Huaiche choked on her words: "Are you trying to say that you are the noble benefactor in my destiny?"
Cuihua's apricot-shaped eyes curved into crescents as she shamelessly agreed: "We are each other's noble benefactors. Before I met you, the best life I could imagine was expanding my tofu stall into a shop, finding my father a son-in-law to marry into the family, and having children who would take the surname Liu."
Pei Huaiche doused her enthusiasm with a deadpan expression: "Do you think the Empress would allow you to make a public appearance running a tofu shop, or permit your children to abandon the imperial surname Li for Liu?"
Cuihua's hand paused as she was handing over the porridge, as if she had only just thought of this, yet she still argued stubbornly: "Mother Empress gave me so much silver. Can't I just open a shop with my skills and hire someone to run it? As for the child's formal name not being allowed to be Liu, can't we privately give him a childhood name with the surname Liu?"
Pei Huaiche lowered his head and silently ate his porridge.
At this moment, his heart was a mix of joy and worry. What pleased him was that his young wife's composure in the face of imperial authority was indeed stronger than his imperial nephew's. What worried him, however, was that her calmness seemed more like it came from a lack of foresight.
If Cuihua were to live her whole life in the countryside as a village girl, her bit of cleverness would naturally be more than enough.
For instance, when she had first recruited him as a live-in son-in-law, she had frankly admitted that it wasn't entirely out of kindness or lust for his looks—she simply couldn't bear to part with his face.
She had told him: "My father is gone, and my family is poor. Unless I become a concubine to some wealthy household in town, I couldn't marry into any decent family. Besides, among the eligible young men in this village, every family has a pile of brothers and sisters-in-law. Without my natal family to back me up, I'd have to swallow my pride for half my life before I could become a mother-in-law myself."
She said that although she was a poor man's daughter, she was the jewel of her father's palm and couldn't endure grievances from others. So it was better to recruit a live-in son-in-law like him, who had no one to rely on. The days might be harder, but at least it would be peaceful.
But how could this little cleverness, which was barely enough to protect herself in the countryside, possibly suffice in the imperial court where everyone harbored their own schemes?
This was precisely why Pei Huaiche had resolved to accompany her to the capital.
Having experienced his imperial nephew's betrayal, how could he still not know how easily people's hearts could change?
Yet just as he couldn't simply abandon his imperial nephew when entrusted with the task of guardianship, and choose the easy and safe path, how could he bear to watch this young woman who had once unreservedly given herself to him sink or swim alone in the treacherous depths of the palace?
Spoonful by spoonful, Pei Huaiche quietly finished the entire bowl of porridge.
Then he raised his freshly bandaged hand and, without allowing any argument, gripped her snow-white slender wrist.
Cuihua's eyes shimmered with rippling light. She cast him a half-reluctant, half-willing sidelong glance and allowed him to draw her onto the couch: "Didn't you just say you weren't feeling well and had no strength to serve the Princess?"
Him, no strength? Even if he had no strength elsewhere, that particular place certainly felt full of strength when touched.
Pei Huaiche neither confirmed nor denied: "Since the Princess personally fed me porridge, how could I dare to disappoint her kindness?"
Outside the window, the night was deep and dark. When Cuihua extinguished most of the candles, only a single silk lantern remained burning faintly, casting the intertwined figures on the arhat bed onto the wall as lingering, swaying dark silhouettes.
Because of Pei Huaiche's leg condition, in their past intimate moments, it was usually Cuihua who was on top, straddling his waist.
He naturally couldn't bear to let her do all the work, especially during prolonged bouts of passion. Toward the end, he would always support her waist with his hands, using the strength of his arms to help her rise and fall.
But tonight, he went against his usual pattern. He gently pressed her into the brocade cushions, fetched a wooden pillow to prop up his crippled leg, and relied entirely on the strength of his waist and abdomen, taking full initiative with a force that left her no room to evade, igniting the surging tide of passion that night into a blazing flame.
His freshly bandaged right hand still carried the bitter scent of medicinal herbs. His scorching fingertips, separated from her skin by only a thin layer of fabric, burned into her flesh like a branding iron, yet trembled with restrained control as they traced from her hair, scattered like clouds of ink, all the way down to her jade-smooth nape, each touch sending wave after wave of fine tremors through her.
Cuihua felt every inch of skin he touched tingle with numbing pleasure. Her breathing grew rapid, and in her dazed intoxication, she failed to hear the extremely faint sigh that escaped his throat.
It wasn't until the third watch drum sounded that the waves of passion in the room finally subsided.
He had clearly pushed himself far too hard. His breathing was heavy, and the dark tide in his eyes lingered long without receding, like storm clouds pressing down upon a city.
Cuihua was also left limp and boneless from his exertions. When she had mustered a bit of strength and tried to rise to clean them both up, she was shocked to see that the white silk wrapped around his right hand had long since come loose and slipped down to his wrist, revealing the blood seeping through beneath. And the wooden pillow he had propped under his knee had further bruised his already battered and swollen knee into a shocking patch of red and purple.
Cuihua's heart stung with pain. She was both distressed and annoyed: "Have you lost your mind? Do you really want to die on top of me?"
But Pei Huaiche only looked at her and smiled, his eyes deep and unfathomable. If he was destined to be cast aside by her eventually, he would rather his end come like this—at least it would carve a mark in her heart, making her remember him for the rest of her life.
The next day at noon, after Cuihua had fed the lunch to Pei Huaiche, whose leg and hand were both injured, she rubbed her sore and limp waist as she returned to her bedchamber.
What she didn't know was that after that night, Pei Huaiche's standing in the Princess's residence had quietly risen another notch.
After all, just from the traces on the clothes they had changed out of, the servants could discern what had transpired between them the night before. Whether it was Cuihua's torn nightgown or the hours she had lingered in his room, both were enough to prove that this "Master Huai," though ill and crippled, was not lacking in the ability to keep their Princess pleasured until dawn.
So when faced with someone who could so easily whisper in the Princess's ear all night long, who would be foolish enough to try to provoke him and bring trouble upon themselves?
But the servants' private thoughts were something Cuihua and Pei Huaiche had no time to concern themselves with at the moment.
Pei Huaiche remained trapped in a restless haze of agitation, too distracted to pay attention to anything else. Cuihua, meanwhile, had been quietly brewing a surprise based on what she had learned in recent days—something she wanted to give her husband, who had been confined to their home for two years due to his leg affliction.
On this trip back to the palace, she had not only been reunited with her mother, the Empress, but had also gained a pair of twin younger sisters born to her mother and the succeeding male consort.
The fourth sister, Li Chan, was refined and learned, excelling in qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting, as well as poetry and prose—a young woman of considerable renown despite her youth.
The fifth sister, Li Yuan, had a natural talent for business. Though only twelve and not yet of age to establish her own household, she had already used her monthly allowance to acquire numerous shops throughout Xiangjing, and could recite from memory which goods were sold on every street and alley.
Cuihua got along well with both sisters, and it was from her fifth sister that she learned several woodworking shops in Xiangjing sold wheelchairs specifically for those with leg disabilities.
She had known of such devices before, but having long lived in a remote village on the border of Yuan, she rarely encountered them. Moreover, the rural roads were rough and uneven—she had to walk carefully every day just pushing her cart to town to sell tofu—so even if she had managed to obtain one, it would have been of little use.
Now, however, things were different. Not only was Xiangjing the capital of Liang with wide, smooth roads, but her own princess residence was so vast one could race horses inside—a wheelchair would have no trouble moving about freely.
The moment her fifth sister mentioned it in passing, Cuihua's mind was made up. As a princess with no shortage of silver, she would spare no expense to get her husband the most satisfactory wheelchair available.
After returning to the residence and settling in yesterday, she had given instructions to the steward.
The steward handled matters thoroughly, saying that within a few days, shops with samples would send several wheelchairs over. After "Master Huai" tried them and chose one to his liking, it could be custom-made as needed.
Matters concerning the princess residence were not something the woodworking shops dared to take lightly. That evening, just as Cuihua was about to go find Pei Huaiche for dinner, the steward returned to report that two shops had already delivered three wheelchairs, and asked whether they should be brought out immediately for "Master Huai" to try.
Cuihua's eyes sparkled as she smiled lightly. "Tomorrow morning, then. The garden looks better in the daytime—I'll push him around myself."
In the past, with both his hand and leg injured, Pei Huaiche could neither bind a splint nor support himself on crutches, and would have been confined to bed for days. But now Cuihua was a princess with more silver than she could spend, and she had the means to make arrangements for him and ease his predicament.
At dinner, Cuihua, who could never hide what was on her mind, had joy written all over her face. Seeing him eating with his right hand wrapped up like a zongzi yet still maintaining his refined elegance, she couldn't help teasing: "Whose handsome young master is this? Why not come back to this princess's residence? I'll give you wealth and honor, mountains of gold and silver too."
Pei Huaiche cared nothing for wealth and honor or mountains of gold and silver. If he could choose, he would rather Cuihua remain a simple village girl—just as she had once promised him: one house, two people, three meals across four seasons, sharing the morning sun and evening snow together, growing old hand in hand.
His injured hand gripping the ebony chopsticks paused, his sleeve slipping down to reveal a slender wrist. A self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'm a cripple with both legs severely disabled. Having followed you into this grand residence, I fear I'll be trapped within these high walls and deep courtyards for the rest of my life. What use would wealth and gold be to me?"
Cuihua barely suppressed the excitement that nearly burst from her lips. Her bright eyes shone beautifully as she ignored his furrowed brow and directly picked up a plump chicken leg, placing it in his bowl. "Then eat this chicken leg quickly—it'll strengthen your legs. A person should always hold onto some hope. Who knows, maybe you'll wake up tomorrow morning and be able to walk as fast as the wind."