CXD - 17

Late at night, Jiang Zhiyi returned to the Yaoguang Pavilion with a heart full of unspoken grievances.

Upon entering, she saw two maids sound asleep on the heated platform in the warm chamber. Oblivious to their surroundings, they slept so deeply that her sense of frustration only deepened.

Reflecting on the silent journey back home with Yuan Ce earlier, Jiang Zhiyi crossed through the warm chamber alone and entered her bedroom. She removed her cloak, collapsed onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling above, her mind tangled in complex emotions. The congratulatory words from earlier echoed in her ears once more.

What did he mean by congratulating her for passing some test? Even if she had made mistakes before, couldn’t he have been straightforward and asked her clearly instead of subjecting her to such a hurtful trial—going so far as breaking the token of trust between them?

Was it really appropriate to put someone’s heart through such tests?

If not for her unwavering sincerity, purity, devotion, and resilience—if she hadn’t been so steadfast—she might have ended up feeling conflicted and distrustful instead!

Thinking about all the undeserved suffering she endured during this time, coupled with his casual congratulations, two conflicting voices began clashing in her head.

One was carefree, saying: “It’s all just a misunderstanding! A-Ce Gege didn’t like anyone else!”

The other voice bristled with anger, protesting: “How dare he judge me, a princess, so arrogantly! Unforgivable!”

Lost in these thoughts, she wasn’t sure how much time passed. The accumulated exhaustion weighed heavily upon her like a mountain, and she drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Asleep, her limbs felt leaden, her mind clouded and confused. In her dreams, her body alternated between shivering from cold and burning with feverish heat.

When she finally awoke, her eyelids were too heavy to open. All she could hear was a cacophony of sounds around her.

Footsteps, murmurs, the clinking of spoons against bowls—sometimes loud, sometimes soft.

“It’s all my fault,” one maid lamented. “No matter what the princess said last night, I should’ve stayed here. It’s because of me that she caught a chill and developed such a high fever…”

“I heard Lord Fang recovered from his illness and can leave his room now,” another whispered. “Why has our princess fallen ill instead? Could it be true what that old remedy says—that when one person recovers, another weakens?”

“Didn’t we already debunk that remedy?”

“The underfloor heating is so warm—how could the princess possibly catch a cold indoors?”

The superstitious whispers of the two maids grated on Jiang Zhiyi’s nerves even in her weakened state.

She wanted to shout at them: Stop bringing up that accursed older cousin of mine! Hadn’t they considered the possibility that while they slept soundly, their princess might have been scaling rooftops under Chang’an’s chilly night winds?

But she lacked the strength to speak or even open her eyes. All she could do was listen as someone moved in and out of the room, repeatedly replacing the damp cloth on her forehead.

Eventually, silence fell. She no longer heard any noise.

Half-dreaming, half-awake, a sudden wave of cold swept over her. Shivering, she curled up tightly. Then she felt the bed dip slightly, followed by a warm hand gently cradling her neck. Calloused fingers brushed lightly against her earlobe, grazing the delicate skin behind her ear.

Though rough, the touch was gentle enough not to hurt but rather sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. She trembled involuntarily, causing the movement of those fingers to pause momentarily.

Moments later, warmth spread from behind her ear, slowly seeping into her body, flowing through every limb until it carried her away into a floating, dreamlike state.

It felt as though she were suspended in a bubbling hot spring, steam rising all around her, opening her pores and drenching her clothes with sweat. She imagined herself transformed into a slippery fish swimming freely deeper and deeper into the water, feeling increasingly stifled until, gasping for air, she broke the surface.

Jiang Zhiyi opened her eyes slowly, breathing softly. Blinking at the ceiling above, she reached up to touch her flushed cheeks, then turned her head to look around.

Deep into the night, aside from the sleeping maid keeping vigil by her bedside, there was no one else in sight.

She licked her dry lips, listening intently to the steady thumping of her own heartbeat amidst the stillness of the night.

The weather remained gloomy for three consecutive days, during which Jiang Zhiyi rested in bed. By evening on the third day, her fever finally subsided completely.

After several days of sleeping fitfully without regard for day or night, she woke up in the lamplight. With the help of her maids, she sat up, feeling stiff all over, as though her bones refused to stretch properly.

Guyu and Xiaoman attended to her—one massaging her shoulders and back, the other assisting with washing and grooming. Like a marionette controlled by strings, Jiang Zhiyi allowed them to tend to her needs. Once she regained some strength, she finally found the energy to make idle conversation.

Recalling the strange, hazy dreams she’d had over the past few days, she casually asked, “You two must have worked hard these past few days. Did anyone come to visit me?”

Xiaoman replied, “Lord Fang came the day before yesterday, bringing some medicine he claimed helped him recover from his own cold. Don’t worry, Your Highness—we didn’t let him enter the courtyard, nor did we accept anything.”

Guyu nudged Xiaoman lightly.

Couldn’t you tell who she was asking about? Why bring up that cursed man unnecessarily!

Jiang Zhiyi gave a faint “oh” and asked, “Anyone else?”

“No one else…”

Jiang Zhiyi pursed her lips, leaning back against the pillow behind her waist. Lowering her gaze, she fell silent.

Guyu and Xiaoman exchanged glances, both easing their movements.

Guyu ventured, “Your Highness, after I finish brushing your hair, shall I prepare a hot bath for you?”

Jiang Zhiyi lowered her eyes but said nothing.

Xiaoman chimed in, “Your Highness, you’ve only consumed liquids these past three days. Is there anything specific you’d like for dinner tonight? I’ll inform the kitchen.”

Still, she couldn’t coax the princess to respond.

While Guyu pondered what else to say, her hand paused mid-stroke. “Hmm… why is Your Highness’ skin red behind your ear? What happened here?”

After bathing and having dinner, Jiang Zhiyi sat in front of her dressing table. Pushing her hair aside, she instructed the two maids to hold mirrors in front of and behind her so she could examine the reddened marks behind her ears.

This discovery startled all three of them, prompting them to summon the physician immediately.

The physician chuckled, reassuring them, “Don’t worry—it’s not disfiguration. Her skin is simply delicate, and these are traces left by moxibustion. They’ll fade naturally in a few days.”

Relieved yet bewildered, the trio exchanged puzzled looks.

Moxibustion? No one had performed moxibustion on the princess!

Judging by the depth of the marks, the physician deduced that it wasn’t done just once but repeatedly over the past three days. This treatment had likely accelerated her recovery by promoting sweating and improving circulation.

Yet, none of the attendants recalled seeing anyone perform moxibustion during their shifts beside the princess’ bedside.

Guyu and Xiaoman began whispering ominously again, but Jiang Zhiyi quietly suspected the truth.

There was only one person capable of entering the estate unnoticed.

So… it hadn’t been a dream…

Staring at the red marks in the mirror, they seemed to blur outward like watercolor paint, spreading across her ear and staining her cheeks. The fever that had just subsided seemed to flare anew within her.

Her gaze flickered briefly before darting away. Moments later, unable to resist, she stole another glance in the mirror, touching her neck tentatively.

Those sensations had been real.

He had truly been here.

And he had cared for her three nights in a row…

The two maids stared in shock as her face turned crimson. Their arms grew weary holding the copper mirrors, trembling slightly.

Snapping out of her reverie, Jiang Zhiyi cleared her throat softly and waved them away. “That will be all. You may leave tonight; no need to keep watch. Tell the guards outside the door to retreat to the courtyard gate.”

“Your Highness, surely…”

Jiang Zhiyi cut them off. “With so many people watching over me, how am I supposed to give others freedom to come and go as they please?”

Chastened, the two maids withdrew.

Pressing her heated face, Jiang Zhiyi glanced at the sky. Rising, she paced back and forth in the bedroom, occasionally stopping by the rear window or studying the candle flames on the lantern tree. Exhausted from restless movement, she eventually returned to lie down on the bed.

But mere moments later, she got up again, smoothing her nightclothes and arranging her hair in front of the bronze mirror.

Climbing back onto the bed, Jiang Zhiyi chose a poised position, carefully pulling the quilt over herself. Folding her hands elegantly atop her chest, she closed her eyes.

The night deepened as the hours dripped by. Having slept excessively during the day, she found herself wide awake now. Counting silently, she went from one to a hundred, then reversed back to one. As the night wore on, impatience crept in.

Everything was ready—but would he really not come?

Just as she was about to open her eyes to check the time, a cool breeze blew in, accompanied by a faint click.

Her barely cracked-open eyes snapped shut tightly.

At the doorway, a furtive figure stepped over the threshold, peeking cautiously at the seemingly sleeping form on the bed. A grin spread across his face as he turned to quietly close the door behind him.

The fragrance of the princess’ chambers was intoxicating, unlike the vulgar scents of brothels…

Fang Zongming breathed deeply, savoring the aroma as he tiptoed further inside.

Having narrowly escaped death himself and endured house arrest alongside his mother, gaining no benefit despite bearing blame, he refused to walk away empty-handed tonight!

With security reduced significantly in the Yaoguang Pavilion and his frail cousin lying ill, the timing was perfect—heaven-sent, even—

Before he could finish this thought, something flashed in his peripheral vision—a fleeting shadow slipping through the rear window.

Fang Zongming froze mid-step, hesitating as he turned his head. His gaze landed on a pair of tall boots, traveling upward until it met a pair of dark, unreadable eyes.

How had someone appeared so suddenly?!

Fang Zongming sucked in a silent breath, turning to flee. But before taking another step, he stopped short.

Wait… someone coming through the rear window?

Could it be… a kindred spirit? What auspicious occasion was this?

Standing frozen, Fang Zongming wracked his memory. The face he’d glimpsed fleetingly was both familiar and unfamiliar.

Familiar because it resembled one of his former classmates from the academy. Unfamiliar because years had passed since he’d last seen it.

…Shen Yuan Ce?!

Startled, Fang Zongming whipped his head around for another look. Before he could react, the intruder moved like a ghost, and in the next instant, a sword pressed against his throat.

Eyes widening in terror, Fang Zongming raised his hands high, knees shaking uncontrollably.

From the bed, Jiang Zhiyi listened as footsteps approached, halted, then resumed briefly before falling silent again. Unable to maintain her elegant composure any longer, she cracked open one eye to peer at the scene unfolding.

In that moment, she bolted upright with a startled cry.

“Ahhh!”

Why was that vile creature here?!

Pulling the quilt higher, Jiang Zhiyi trembled, retreating to the corner of the bed.

Turning his head, Fang Zongming stammered, “C-Cousin… don’t be afraid! This Shen Yuan Ce sneaked into your chamber late at night—clearly up to no good! Let me handle him!”

Pale-faced, Jiang Zhiyi gasped urgently, “What are you doing here?! Get out!”

Both Yuan Ce and Fang Zongming glanced at each other simultaneously.

Suspiciously eyeing the unsheathed blade at his neck, Fang Zongming pointed a surrendering finger at Yuan Ce. “Did you hear that? My cousin asked you a question—what are you doing here?!”

Yuan Ce twirled his sword, knocking down the bed canopy hook. The curtains cascaded down softly. Spinning the sword back, its flat side struck Fang Zongming squarely in the abdomen.

Gasping wordlessly, Fang Zongming collapsed to his knees. From above, a chilling voice rang out: “She’s asking you —”