Aman was indeed hungry, but their supplies were scarce—they had to ration everything carefully.
“I-I’m not hungry yet. I found lots of wild fruits along the way today. My stomach is full!”
She patted her belly. Back in the prince’s mansion, Zhao Ye would often reward her with food.
Mostly small pastries, occasionally some smoked meat. The maids would gather carefully, savoring every bit.
The sweets the nobles ate were delicate and sugary—sugar was a luxury, ordinary families rarely indulged. Even a single candied hawthorn stick was precious, shared among children at home.
“Really?”
“Really!” Aman said earnestly.
But Zhao Ye asked, “Then what wild fruits did you bring back? I’ve never tasted them.”
“I-I ate them all on the way…”
“Liar.”
He saw through her clumsy lie.
Back then, every maid in the prince’s mansion had been well-fed, plump and lively.
Now, in just four months, Aman had grown so thin. It was his failure—he couldn’t even protect the maids in his own household. Their lives were lost because of him.
And the only one left, Aman, now had to share in his suffering, living in the cold, desolate Ningzhou.
Wasn’t that cruel?
Aman suddenly didn’t know what to say.
“I-I really am not hungry…”
“Aman,” Zhao Ye’s dark, deep eyes fixed on her. His entire body was shriveled, like a dead tree.
His hair and beard had grown long, almost obscuring his facial features.
Aman didn’t have tools to shave him, or she would have—he looked too disheveled, nothing like the once-stately, elegant crown prince.
Every time she looked at him like this, her heart ached.
What could she do? She was soft-hearted by nature, and Zhao Ye had always been kind—always treating his servants well.
His voice was hoarse, likely damaged during the journey. It had once been gentle and soothing, like spring wind brushing the skin.
“I now have to rely on you,” he said.
“You must eat more. I cannot move yet—everything depends on you.”
He didn’t know how he managed to say it, but every word was sincere, honest.
He truly needed Aman now.
Aman’s throat tightened. She held a bun in her hand.
“Then I’ll eat two, and you eat one?”
“Otherwise, I won’t eat either. Let’s all starve.”
Her little trick couldn’t escape Zhao Ye’s sharp eyes.
“Okay.”
In that moment, Aman thought she saw him smile. It was brief, flickering in his eyes, gone before she could fully capture it.
She started talking casually again, “Today, the old doctor was very kind. He gave me a lot of herbs.”
“He said even severed tendons can recover.”
Aman stuffed a bun into her mouth, the aroma of the white flour too tempting to swallow quickly. She was tired and hungry after a full day’s journey.
“Oh, right,” she suddenly remembered, her bright eyes fixed on Zhao Ye. “Try moving your fingers.”
“The old doctor said if your fingers can move, you can recover. But he can only come to treat you after your body is strong enough. I think he’s a really skilled doctor!”
Even in this rural area, talented people existed. Hidden gems, waiting to be discovered.
Aman didn’t have much confidence herself, but she had no choice—might as well try everything. It might work.
“Zhao Ye, try moving your fingers.”
She looked eagerly at his hands. They were thin, skin stretched over bones and veins, stiff and lifeless.
Aman tried massaging his knuckles to loosen them.
“Try again.”
Zhao Ye strained to lift his hand, but it barely moved. His muscles had atrophied. His arm hung limply, unable to move.
“Aman… it’s useless,” he said, the light in his eyes dimming.
Aman gritted her teeth. “It can work!”
“Maybe… maybe you’re too weak because you haven’t eaten enough. Eat this bun, and we’ll try again tonight.”
She left the last bun for him and ran outside, upset, to gather firewood.
“Zhao Ye.” She called again.
“I’m here.”
“I’m going to brew medicine for you. Try moving your hands yourself. Tonight we can soak them—maybe it’ll help.”
How did a once-healthy man end up like this? His own father, the emperor, had broken his legs and hands—how could he bear it?
“Okay.”
Zhao Ye’s voice came from the room. Aman inhaled deeply and began preparing the herbs. She had dug several pits in the yard, designated for cooking and brewing medicine.
The surrounding houses were sparsely inhabited. Occasionally, a neighbor glanced in, muttering a few words, and left—never intruding. That was perfect.
Outside, Aman’s busy clanging and bustling filled the air. She had to tidy the messy yard, brew medicine, and prepare meals.
Zhao Ye quietly watched her. The clatter was normally jarring, even harsh, yet he found it comforting, soothing—a feeling he had never known.
It was as if all his pores were opening, letting the warmth in.
As expected, Aman found a wooden tub in the house. Not too big, not too small—it would work for soaking. But it was a bit loose and likely to leak.