No need to lift him.
He was a man. Aman had carried Zhao Ye like this before.
It always made him feel like he was the woman in this situation—but in reality, it was Aman. The roles seemed reversed.
Aman realized why it felt off. Her strength was too great—lifting Zhao Ye was like carrying a child.
She scratched her head, embarrassed. “I got it. I’ll remember.”
“Did you weave this?”
Aman had gone out to forage before finishing her mat, and now saw that Zhao Ye had completed almost two-thirds of it in the yard. The mat was neat, with tightly interwoven bamboo strips and no uneven edges.
She had taught him today. Weaving a bamboo mat wasn’t difficult—mostly repetitive motions, something nearly every household could do.
“Yes. I’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”
Bamboo crafts weren’t valuable. No matter how skilled one was, these household items were usually self-sufficient, so they couldn’t be sold for money.
“Good.”
Aman poured the simmered medicinal water into the wooden bucket for Zhao Ye to soak in, then went to the small kitchen to prepare dinner.
She couldn’t forget the meat buns from lunch—tomorrow she’d have to buy more.
She had brought back plenty of purslane; two meals wouldn’t finish it. She boiled it, drained it, and spread it evenly on the newly woven round bamboo sieve.
Once dried, it could be stored for winter soups.
Even though it was summer, Aman always planned ahead—just in case emergencies arose.
Besides purslane, she had picked some broomweed to mix with flour for pancakes tomorrow.
Tonight’s dinner: sweet potato with coarse rice, stir-fried purslane, and a simple flour porridge soup—a surprisingly hearty meal.
By night, the flickering candlelight and the soft sounds of Aman cooking reached Zhao Ye’s ears. Outside, insects chirped—a quiet, serene moment.
Yet when he looked down at his paralyzed legs, that serenity vanished.
He squeezed his legs hard. No sensation.
No pain—just like dead flesh. His legs seemed lifeless.
He squeezed harder, as if he wanted to rip the flesh from them.
[Ding——]
The system alarm blared, red lights flashing violently.
[System Error—]
[Please Repair Immediately—]
At the same time, the progress bar’s threshold numbers began dropping rapidly.
Aman dropped her spatula, startled, unsure what was happening—but soon realized it was Zhao Ye!
“Zhao Ye!”
She froze, heart pounding, her scalp tingling, body chilled.
The young prince, originally soaking in the wooden bucket, had submerged himself completely—as if trying to drown himself in the medicine.
Aman acted quickly, pulling him out of the water.
“Aman?”
Zhao Ye was soaked, hair plastered to his gaunt, hollowed face—almost ghostlike.
For a brief moment, he thought: relief… just relief…
“You… you…” Aman’s tears fell instantly. “You promised me you’d live properly!”
“Why would you try to die again, Your Highness? You promised me!”
She cried like a helpless child, tears streaming like broken pearls.
“Ah… my head itches,” Zhao Ye said quietly.
Aman’s tears and sobbing stopped abruptly. “What?”
He felt embarrassed—but Aman had seen even worse of him before, so he didn’t care.
“My head probably has lice. I wanted to soak it.”
Lice? Head itch?
So he hadn’t been trying to drown himself—he wanted to soak his head in the medicine!
“You scared me! I thought you were trying to die because you were out of your mind!”
Zhao Ye: “…”
“Sorry for making you worry.”
He really deserved to be scolded.
Aman, tears running, quickly rescued him from the bucket.
He had gone in naked; he came out just the same.
Zhao Ye seemed to be getting used to this life.
“If your head itches, just tell me. I’ll wash it for you—but don’t scare me like that. I was terrified.”
Aman was genuinely scared. When the system alarm went off, she saw the threshold dropping—who knew what would happen if it reached zero?
Now, when she checked, it was back to normal.
“Mm.”
“I won’t do it again.”
When had a prince ever been so obedient? Now, only in Aman’s hands was he so compliant.
Aman washed his hair, again and again. Though she had done it a few days ago, his hair was too long. Cleaning the scalp didn’t guarantee lice-free hair.
After dinner, Aman had Zhao Ye rest his head on her lap, bringing the candle close. She parted his hair and removed the lice carefully.
She remembered her grandmother doing the same for her as a child.
Growing up in the countryside, Aman had been ordinary, raised by her grandparents. Lice were common; it was easy to catch them.
“I had lice when I was young. My grandmother did this for me too,” she said.
“But for you, a noble-born young master, I suppose this is your first time. Don’t feel burdened,” she added, aware of his pride. Zhao Ye had fallen from being the crown prince—his heart must feel heavy.
Zhao Ye listened quietly as Aman chattered. Outside, insects chirped; the night was still, candlelight warm.
His heart calmed, and he even fell asleep with his head on her lap.
Aman’s legs went numb.
The next morning, before dawn, Aman headed out. The butcher’s shop had its lights on; she quickly stoked the fire and boiled water.
“Ah, you really came! Boss Tu must think highly of you, giving a little girl like you work.”
Everyone teased Aman, but she replied while pouring water into the big iron pot, “I earn with my own skill. If you can earn, so can I.”