Aman went to the pork stall. At this hour, the meat was freshest—by the time the market was closing, good cuts would be gone.
She didn’t buy too much; with the hot weather and just her and Zhao Ye, even half a pound of pork was enough for a meal.
Carrying the meat happily, she headed home—but as soon as she reached the gate, her heart leapt into her throat.
The courtyard gate she had locked was broken from the outside. The wooden door was already fragile, and now it had been damaged beyond use.
The iron lock lay on the ground.
“Ha ha ha ha!”
“The cripple! He’s really a cripple!”
“Bah! You exiled traitors from the capital! It’s because of you that we can’t live well!”
“Beat him! Kill him!”
Aman rushed inside and found the yard in chaos—broken bowls, overturned pots, smashed barrels.
The noise came from Zhao Ye’s room. Aman dashed in and saw a group of men surrounding him.
They dragged him by the hair, tore at his clothes, poured filth over him, punching and kicking a defenseless man.
“Look at this golden boy! Once in the capital, feasting at our expense, now worse than a stray dog!”
His hands, which had once reviewed countless memorials, were plunged into dirt. Even the children in the house picked up stones and hurled them.
Pebbles struck his brow, but he remained calm—no hoarse breaths, no cries.
Aman charged forward, ramming the man at the front with all her strength.
“Get away! All of you, back off!”
She raised a sickle, her face fierce. Though small and thin, at that moment, she cast a shadow over Zhao Ye, blocking the glaring sunlight—like a streak of dazzling color on the palace tiles long ago.
“Oh? So a little maid was exiled too!”
“Sent to Ningzhou? No one here lives well!”
“We’ve seen many exiled nobles from the capital. Which one hasn’t stepped over the blood and flesh of the common people?”
Their resentment ran deep. They grabbed wooden sticks to teach Aman a lesson. She didn’t know martial arts, but she had brute strength.
Aman dove into the nearest man’s abdomen. The tall, broad man flew back, crashing onto the courtyard floor.
“Try to come any closer, and I’ll kill you all!”
When Aman was in the Crown Prince’s mansion, she was quiet—everyone only knew her strength. No one realized this calm girl hid such a fiery spirit.
Her eyes burned with a feral intensity.
“We were exiled, yes—but who’s to say one day we won’t return?”
“Even the officials don’t dare let us die here. How dare you come and cause trouble? Come on, if you have no fear of death!”
Her words shocked them.
Indeed. If they had committed capital crimes, they’d be dead already.
They had a spacious courtyard and even a little maid protecting Zhao Ye. Some exiled nobles from the capital had returned before.
If they were to return to power, what fate would these commoners face?
“Go! Get out of here!”
Adults and children alike fled.
Aman dropped her sickle and ran to Zhao Ye.
“Zhao Ye!”
She had been frightened too; so many strong men could have easily overpowered her.
She didn’t know if they came looking for trouble or were incited to kill Zhao Ye.
Aman didn’t understand court intrigues, but she knew one thing: human hearts were unpredictable.
Zhao Ye, once Crown Prince, had governed with diligence and compassion. He had never mistreated servants.
The common people in the capital once praised him as a wise and kind ruler. How could such a man commit treason or misuse military funds?
Since time immemorial, imperial struggles had been bloody. Aman quickly surmised Zhao Ye had been framed.
The people condemned him as soon as the virtuous ruler fell. Everyone followed the crowd.
“You’re okay, right? It’s my fault. I should have returned sooner!”
Aman almost cried. These damned villagers were brutal. Zhao Ye’s nose bled; his hair, just washed yesterday, was now matted with filth.
“Aman…” Zhao Ye’s voice was hoarse. His eyes were hollow and numb. “It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”
No one blamed him—only himself. He had been caught in the eagle’s trap, dragging Aman and the former Crown Prince’s household down with him.
Even his once-friendly acquaintances were imprisoned.
They wanted his life—they would not easily let him go.
“Aman?”
He struggled to open his eyes, seeing her red-rimmed from tears. She lifted him onto the bamboo mat she had woven yesterday and ran to fetch water from the well to clean him.
Her small body hid boundless strength.
“Aman,” Zhao Ye called again. “It really isn’t your fault. I don’t feel pain.”
Her water touched his chest. Aman noticed the shoe prints across his sunken torso, her heart sinking.
Those bastards… she had worked so hard to keep Zhao Ye alive. If they had killed his will to live, what would she have done?
Was she to be consumed in this cruel feudal world too?
She would not waste her life in Ningzhou!
And if Zhao Ye died, would the system punish her too?
“I’ll return earlier next time,” Aman sniffled, thinking how hopeless this world had become.
What wrong had Zhao Ye done?
What wrong had she done?
She had been dragged into this world, punished, implicated, bound to Zhao Ye—without anyone asking her consent.
“Aman…”
He looked at her tears streaming down her face.
Aman felt a sudden chill on her cheeks, surprised to see Zhao Ye raise his rough, cracked hand to wipe away her tears. She froze.
“Your hand… you can lift it so high now?”
Aman’s heart surged with joy.