Secretly, Jiang Chengyuan slipped the ring from his finger. Just as the bandits were jeering about making Yun Shuyue their “captive bride,” he flicked it unexpectedly. The ring struck the scar‑faced bandit’s wrist right on the nerve, and the short blade clattered to the ground.
In that split second, as Yun Shuyue was pulled backward, strong hands caught her shoulders. A cry of pain rang out—the scar‑face had fallen into the gorge, clinging desperately to a vine, dangling in mid‑air.
The surrounding bandits, seeing their chief tumble, faltered in confusion. Soldiers pressed the attack. Suddenly, a voice shouted: “Release the arrows!”
Yun Shuyue, though spared, felt no relief. She shook off Jiang Chengyuan’s grip and hurried toward the carriage. At the cry of “Release,” she saw with her own eyes a sharp arrow flying straight at him. Her body moved instinctively—she stepped in front of him again.
A powerful force pierced through her shoulder. Pain exploded, and she was hurled backward by the impact. Jiang Chengyuan, deflecting the rain of arrows, caught her, but her shoulder was already soaked in blood. His usually cold eyes flared crimson. Holding her tightly, he leaped with her into the mist‑shrouded gorge. Her long hair whipped across her face in the rushing wind, tickling uncomfortably. The shriek of arrows scraping the cliff walls rang in her ears. Then, her mind went blank, and she closed her eyes.
When she awoke, seven days had passed.
Opening her eyes to the pitch‑black cliffside, Yun Shuyue nearly thought she had arrived at the underworld. Only when she saw Jiang Chengyuan grinding herbs with a stone did she murmur faintly: “My lord, don’t tell me you died too?”
After seven tense days, hearing her voice again finally eased his taut nerves.
Yun Shuyue thought bitterly that if he had died, it would have been heaven’s retribution for refusing to save her at first.
Jiang Chengyuan answered: “I didn’t die. You didn’t either. But you may have to suffer a bit.”
He placed the crushed herbs on a broad leaf, came to her side, and reached to open her collar. In truth, there was no need to undo anything—these past days, her neckline buttons had rarely been fastened. A simple shift aside was enough to apply the medicine.
At first, the wound needed medicine three times a day before the bleeding finally stopped.
Yun Shuyue clutched her collar stubbornly, refusing to let go, glaring at him.
Though they had shared a room and bed before, it had always been proper—sleeping fully clothed. But applying medicine that was different.
Her arrow wound lay just below her front shoulder, awkward to reach. She tried to sit up and manage it herself, but the slightest movement sent searing pain through her body.
Seeing the wound reopen and bleed again, Jiang Chengyuan’s gaze softened: “Madam, you and I are family. There’s no need for such scruples.”
No need? She thought bitterly. Who knows how long this so‑called family will last? Yet in her condition, self‑treatment was impossible. Her pale fingers loosened, and at last she let go.
Turning her head aside, she felt the chill as her collar was lifted, and the icy touch of medicine pressed against the wound. Even with all her strength, her eyes reddened.
Jiang Chengyuan noticed the change in her body. Looking closer, he realized she was crying. Flustered, he asked: “Madam, does it hurt?”
That single question broke the dam. Her pent‑up grievance surged forth. She turned her head suddenly, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears and anger, fragile enough to stir pity.
“Does it hurt? Why don’t you try it yourself?” she sobbed.
Jiang Chengyuan fell silent. Lowering his head, he gently blew on the wound, then closed her collar again: “This was my oversight. I let you be injured. If you’re angry, vent it as you wish.”
Yun Shuyue’s mind spun in chaos. In the original story, when had Jiang Chengyuan ever spoken to her in such a humble, apologetic tone?
She had thought she knew the book’s plot inside and out, entering this world with a “golden finger.” Yet now, the storyline was veering farther and farther away, leaving Yun Shuyue in uncertainty about her future.
In the original tale, Jiang Chengyuan was the one who was injured. But now—she was the one wounded. Thinking this over, her weakened body drifted back into sleep.
Beside her, Jiang Chengyuan lit a bonfire. The flames cast his tall, upright silhouette against the dark cliff wall. He lowered his head, studying the girl lying on the grass mat, his expression thoughtful, his eyes filled with unexpected tenderness.
Earlier, when she had been awake, Yun Shuyue felt chilled. Now, with the fire burning, her curled body relaxed. Jiang Chengyuan laid his outer robe over her. Seeing her tightly furrowed brows gradually ease, he exhaled in relief.
In her dreams, Yun Shuyue muttered fitfully: “Jiang Chengyuan, you bastard… you clearly… you…”
Her sleep‑talk came in fragments, sometimes faint, sometimes sharp.
“It’s all your fault… Who wanted to come to Rong County? Why did I have to come…”
“It hurts, it hurts so much… Mother, Shuyue hurts…”
“Shuyue… wants to go home…”
By the time soldiers found them, her wound had healed halfway, though any movement still tore painfully.
At last, they arrived safely at Rong County’s yamen. Stepping down from the carriage, Yun Shuyue saw the ragged disaster victims crowding the streets. Only then did she realize the severity of the crisis: people starving, clothed in rags, children wandering so thin their ribs protruded starkly. Her heart trembled.
Outside the yamen, the gathering crowd swelled until the gates were blocked. Soldiers stood guard before Jiang Chengyuan and Yun Shuyue, wary of desperate victims storming the supplies.
Jiang Chengyuan repeated softly: “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”
Yun Shuyue turned and rolled her eyes at him. Ever since her sword wound, a rebellious anger had simmered inside her. Especially when she saw Jiang Chengyuan, she couldn’t suppress it. Pretending polite distance, as before, was now impossible.
After hearing her mutter in dreams inside the cave, Jiang Chengyuan assumed she was still angry at being brought to Rong County: “Once you’re better, I’ll order someone to escort you back to the capital.”
Before arriving, Yun Shuyue had indeed planned to find an excuse to return early. But when she saw so many orphaned children among the victims, her resolve shifted: “My lord, I’ll rest on my own. Since the grain has arrived, please start the kitchens and distribute porridge quickly.”
Just as her pain nearly overwhelmed her, two children staggered toward them—one about four or five, the other only two or three. Their pale faces were drained of spirit, hollow with hunger.
Yun Shuyue stopped and spoke to a nearby soldier: “Please, bring those two children over.”
At the yamen gates, the crowd of victims was too dense for such little ones to squeeze through alone.
Soon, the soldier returned with them. Yun Shuyue crouched down, her wan face softening into a gentle smile: “You’re so young—why are you out here alone? Where are your parents?”
The older boy, trying to sound grown‑up, replied: “Our parents starved to death. From now on, I’ll take care of my little brother.”
The younger child looked at her timidly: “Sister, are you hungry too?”
His thought was simple—seeing her pale and weary, he assumed she was starving like them.
Hearing they had no family left, Yun Shuyue rose and took each child by the hand, leading them toward a side room of the yamen. At the corner, she instructed Chen Ping: “Bring me some food for them.”
In the blink of an eye, more than ten stoves were lit. It was the first day, and already late, so only porridge could be served to fill stomachs. By morning, once the county magistrate prepared the household registers and verified them with the Prime Minister and Ministry officials, grain and silver could be distributed family by family.