“This is wonderful!” Aman cried with joy as she cleaned Zhao Ye up. “I even went to the market today and bought a new razor. We don’t have to use anyone else’s. I can shave your beard properly!”
“And I brought back a lot of food from the butcher’s today, plus I bought meat!”
“Zhao Ye, tonight we’re finally having meat!”
Aman chattered happily, as if the terrifying scene from earlier had never happened. Even Zhao Ye couldn’t help but be infected by her mood.
“You’re incredible, Aman,” Zhao Ye said.
Aman puffed out her chest proudly. “I think so too!”
She truly felt proud—she had gotten Zhao Ye from the capital to Ningzhou, from the cold of March to the scorching heat of July. Only she knew the hardships endured along the way.
Zhao Ye had come close to death countless times, and Aman had pulled him back each time.
“So we’ve made it through all that. Zhao Ye, from now on, let’s live well, alright?”
Aman was still scared herself, afraid that the psychological shock from their trials might be too much for the young prince. If he suddenly lost hope, she would be doomed too.
So she had to constantly remind him to keep fighting—ensuring he stayed alive.
“All right.”
“You promise?”
“Mm,” Zhao Ye nodded.
Aman’s joy almost burst forth. “You mean… no matter what happens, you’ll live well and won’t think of dying?”
“Yes. I will live well.”
He realized he must live.
If he didn’t, what would happen to Aman?
If he died, wouldn’t it be exactly what those people wanted?
If they wanted him dead, he would live all the more.
Aman wanted him to live—so he would.
“Don’t move. This razor is sharp. Don’t let me nick your face—can’t have you scarred. No one would want to marry someone with a ruined face.”
“…”
Zhao Ye lay still on Aman’s lap. Her hands were skilled; shaving his beard was as smooth as trimming pig bristles. Soon his face was clean, not a trace of stubble remaining.
Finally, Zhao Ye’s face looked like a proper person again.
Though the once majestic and handsome features were long gone—sunken cheeks, gaunt frame—one could still glimpse the noble, serene visage of the past.
Deep black eyes, long eyebrows, and prominent browbones…
For a fleeting moment, Aman felt as if she were back in the Crown Prince’s mansion, reading by lamp light—he had always looked this good.
When bored, the maids used to gossip secretly about the prince. They’d say he was handsome, gentle, and generous, giving bonuses to all servants during festivals.
Even the strict housekeepers received silver coins from him—making everyone more conscientious in their work.
“So handsome!” Aman wiped his face. “When we served in the mansion, everyone said the Crown Prince was good-looking.”
“Though thinner now, with care you’ll gain back your strength.”
Zhao Ye smiled faintly. “Mm, Aman takes good care of me.”
“Of course I do! Look, we’ve only been in Ningzhou a few days, and I’ve already gotten you meat!”
For ordinary peasants, pork was a luxury. Even in a year, they rarely ate it. Most pigs from the butcher’s were pre-ordered by nobles for feasts.
Ningzhou was huge, and most were poor. Daily slaughter was mainly for officials, rich households, gentry, or minor clerks. Only those with prior arrangements got meat; otherwise, leftover meat might be sold at the market—but that was scarce.
Aman had never realized how scarce meat was in ancient times until she experienced it herself.
From birth to age eight, she had barely tasted meat. A single spoonful of meat soup was considered a blessing.
Being sold to the Crown Prince’s mansion felt like a better life—though not all servants enjoyed such luxury. The mansion was among the best, and Zhao Ye’s kindness made life easier for them.
“You’re amazing, Aman.”
Zhao Ye’s spirits lifted as he watched her smile. The gloom in him dissipated, replaced by warmth.
After cleaning Zhao Ye, Aman dressed him in the clothes she had washed yesterday. The heat had dried them overnight, leaving them warm and sun-kissed.
“Look!”
“This is the food I brought back for you. Eat quickly—I already had some at the butcher’s house.”
Aman opened the food box she had woven herself—perfect for bringing daily meals.
Inside was tightly packed sweet potato mixed with coarse rice, minced meat with pickled vegetables, and steamed wild greens. She even made two separate wild vegetable soups.
Even with limited oil and fat from the butcher’s household, she made sure Zhao Ye had enough.
She couldn’t help being protective—he was so thin, nearly just bones, as if all his flesh had vanished.
“The butcher’s boss?”
“Yes, the owner of the butcher stall. He’s a kind man and has a wife—the locals call her ‘po-yi’ here in Ningzhou.”
Aman found it interesting and shared everything with Zhao Ye. In this ancient world, idle chatter was harmless entertainment.
“He’s surnamed Tu?”
Zhao Ye leaned back, holding the bowl Aman handed him. It was heavy; she had pressed it down, fearing he might not have enough.
“Yes. I heard from the butcher’s staff—his name is… Tu, Tu Honglie.”
Aman took a moment to recall the name.
Zhao Ye’s pupils constricted sharply.
Tu Honglie…
His grip tightened on the chopsticks. His hand, already thin with veins visible, tensed further.
“Aman,” he said, “you must be careful on your own.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I always carry my sickle when I go out. If danger comes, I’ll use it to chop them!”
Aman meant every word.
Ningzhou was chaotic. The county magistrate did nothing but collect taxes, leaving the people to suffer.
“I only need to work at the butcher’s in the morning. Later, I’ll bring lunch back for you. As for that gate…”
Aman glanced at the broken door and sighed in resignation.