Shen Xi’s fingertips had just touched the brocade quilt covering her bed when she heard familiar footsteps approaching from afar, growing closer before suddenly halting at the stone steps outside.
“Young lady—it’s the young master who’s returned,” Tianxiang said, carrying a bundle of clothes over. Hearing the sound, she quickly curtsied. “This servant will go open the door first.”
Shen Xi murmured an acknowledgment, raising her hand to smooth her robes. The white fabric was elegantly understated, crafted from fine Hangzhou silk that shimmered with a warm luster in the soft light filtering through the corridor. She had just finished fastening her robe when she heard Tianxiang’s respectful voice from outside the courtyard door: “Greetings, young master.”
Next came Shen Mo’s deep voice, slightly hoarse from travel: “Has Xiao Xi woken up?”
“The young lady just woke and has changed into fresh clothes—she’s inside now.”
As she spoke, the door creaked open, and Shen Mo’s tall figure appeared in the doorway.
He wore black riding attire, and the jade belt at his waist bore traces of dust, clearly indicating he had just hurried back from elsewhere. Upon entering, he instinctively brushed the dust from his shoulders, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed on Shen Xi sitting beside the bed.
Shen Xi usually favored bright, vibrant colors and rarely wore plain hues. Now, the moon-white Hangzhou silk draped around her like a veil of soft light, making her already fair skin appear even more translucent—as if fine mutton-fat jade had been steeped in moonlight. Her haggard features, set against the muted fabric, stirred a tightness in the heart of anyone who looked at her.
Shen Mo paused mid-step, his eyes lingering on her as his voice softened: “Xiao Xi—how are you feeling?”
Shen Xi rose and took two steps forward, her voice gentle: “The physician just left. He said it’s only a minor cold—rest well and I’ll be fine.”
Shen Mo’s brows furrowed slightly as he flicked her forehead lightly: “Look at how pale you are! How could you be so careless as to fall into the pond? You scared me half to death—I rushed all the way back from the border fortress.”
His familiar concern warmed her heart, sending a tremor through her; her eyes suddenly grew hot with tears.
In her past life, she had never seen her elder brother one last time before she died. He had been framed on charges of “colluding with the enemy,” accused of hiding enemy tokens at the border fortress—tokens that were clearly planted by others. He was then ordered to be assassinated, and his ashes were never brought back to the capital… Now, seeing him standing before her, alive and well, dusty from travel yet asking after her welfare, all the pent-up grievance and fear surged forth at once.
She lowered her lashes, her voice carrying a barely perceptible catch: “I’m fine, Brother. The physician said I’ll recover after taking medicine for a few days.”
No sooner had she spoken than Shen Mo reached out to ruffle the top of her hair, his tone half-chiding: “Fine, my foot! I’ve told you time and again not to play by that pond, but you never listen…”
“Shen Mo—you dragged me all the way to the Shen residence in such a rush just to make me stand here and watch you two dote on each other?”
A cool male voice drifted in from the doorway, carrying a hint of wry amusement that cut off Shen Mo’s words precisely.
Shen Xi turned at the sound, and her gaze froze for a moment when it met the figure leaning against the doorframe.
Yun Zhao was leaning casually against the doorjamb, dressed in a dark robe with subtle patterns that accentuated his broad shoulders and upright posture. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his black eyes were particularly striking—though they reflected the morning light in the room, they held no warmth, instead seeming covered with a layer of impenetrable frost. Yet this cold demeanor blended perfectly with the noble elegance that surrounded him.
Only then did Shen Mo remember he had company at the door. He turned and chided: “You really do pick your moments to interrupt.” Gesturing at Yun Zhao with his chin, he added: “Come in—did you expect me to invite you formally?”
Yun Zhao straightened up then, his dark robes sweeping past the lintel in a clean, fluid arc.
As he stepped slowly into the room, his eyes met Shen Xi’s unexpectedly—she was still turned toward the door, the moon-white collar of her robe making her neck look as slender and delicate as porcelain. Those eyes that usually held bright, lively smiles now looked at him with a touch of confusion.
The frost in his gaze seemed to melt for a split second, but the warmth vanished just as quickly. He averted his eyes calmly and said to Shen Mo: “On the way here, you said she’d fallen into the water—I thought it would be more serious.”
Shen Mo shot him an indignant look: “So in your eyes, my sister only counts as being seriously hurt if she breaks an arm or a leg?”
Shen Xi pondered this quietly to herself. In her past life, when this Prince of Nanchi, Yun Zhao, was with her brother, he had always worn a cold expression and rarely spoke. After she entered the palace, he had grown even more taciturn—whenever she happened to meet him and greeted him warmly, he had barely bothered to acknowledge her, leaving her feeling as if she were pressing her face against cold stone. Yet now… she looked at the man before her, still aloof but having come to see her with her brother, and a flicker of confusion stirred in her heart. She had no recollection whatsoever of him visiting the Shen residence when she fell into the water in her past life.
Lost in thought, she was jolted when Yun Zhao spoke suddenly to Shen Mo: “Since it’s only a cold, I’ll take my leave first.”
Shen Mo blinked in surprise: “Leave already? Won’t you sit down for a cup of tea first?”
Yun Zhao’s tone was calm and even: “I have matters to attend to at the palace.”
As Shen Xi watched his retreating back, the dark robes brushed past the threshold, carrying with them a faint, cool scent. It inexplicably reminded her of a palace banquet years ago, when he had stood in the corridor amidst a crowd of people… also in dark robes, standing alone as if the bustle around him had nothing to do with him.
“Your Highness—wait a moment.” The words slipped out of Shen Xi’s mouth before she could think.
Yun Zhao’s footsteps faltered slightly; he turned his head to look at her, his black eyes giving no hint of emotion—as if simply waiting for her to continue.
Feeling slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, Shen Xi smoothed her sleeves and said: “Thank you for coming to see me today, Your Highness.”
No sooner had she finished than Shen Mo chuckled teasingly beside her: “Did you hear that? My sister is thanking you.”
Yun Zhao made a soft sound of acknowledgment and turned to leave, his steps neither fast nor slow. Even the rustle of his robes against the corridor railing carried an air of unhurried composure.
Shen Mo scoffed lightly: “That temperament of his—cold as ice, year after year.” Seeing Shen Xi staring blankly at the doorway, he added: “What are you looking at? Do you think he’s suddenly changed his ways?”
Shen Xi pulled her gaze back and shook her head, though the strange feeling in her heart would not fade.
Noticing her furrowed brows, Shen Mo reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear: “Either way, he’s always this icy when he comes. Might as well not have him here—so he doesn’t freeze you too.”
His words drew a small smile from Shen Xi. Her eyes then fell on a string of bodhi beads hanging by the bed—her maternal grandmother had obtained them before she passed, saying they could calm the mind, and Shen Xi had kept them with her ever since. She suddenly recalled catching a glimpse of a similar string hanging at Yun Zhao’s waist when he turned to leave, each bead perfectly round. She remembered he had always favored jade accessories in the past—when had his tastes changed?
“Brother—does His Highness believe in these things too?” she asked, pointing at the bodhi beads.
Following her gaze, Shen Mo smiled: “That string was left to him by his mother. They say when he was fighting in the northern frontier, an arrow pierced his armor, and it was this string of beads that blocked it, saving his vital organs.” He paused before adding: “He never takes it off—it’s his memento of her.”
Shen Xi felt a small stir in her heart. She had never known Yun Zhao shared such a deep bond with his mother; in her past life, she had only seen him as a cold, aloof nobleman, never imagining he had this side to him.
“That’s quite rare,” she murmured softly.
“Isn’t it just?” Shen Mo sighed. “His mother passed away early, and his father is rarely in Nanchi. He’s been cold by nature since he was young—only really talks to me.” He looked at Shen Xi. “You know—don’t keep avoiding him from now on.”
Shen Xi did not reply, her fingertips gently caressing the bodhi beads by the bed, their surface warm and smooth to the touch.
A breeze slipped through the crack in the window, setting the beads swaying and sending out a soft, tinkling sound.
Tianxiang entered carrying a bowl of freshly warmed ginseng soup. Seeing the pair talking, she spoke quietly: “Young lady—drink this while it’s hot, to restore your strength.”
Shen Mo took the bowl and handed it to Shen Xi, then said: “Xiao Xi—rest easy here. I have some matters to attend to in the front courtyard; I’ll come see you again later.”
Shen Xi nodded in agreement, watching Shen Mo depart before her eyes drifted back to the doorway. The sunlight outside the corridor was just right, casting a warm glow over the bluestone slabs.