Walking once again through the dark, narrow passageway, the cool wind chilled to the bone. Yao Ying shivered slightly and pulled her cloak tighter.

Bisuo walked ahead holding a lamp. Glancing at her hair dampened by the secret passage’s moisture, he said softly, “His Majesty is unwell, depressed, and unable to find relief. I didn’t know how to comfort him, so I took the liberty of inviting you. I apologize for troubling you.”

Yao Ying looked down at the path beneath her feet and said, “It’s no trouble. The Master’s health is what’s important.”

She remembered Tanmoluojia’s fate… She hoped he could live well. If she could change Li Zhongqian’s fate, she should be able to change his too.

“General, what troubles the Master so deeply?” Yao Ying asked quietly. Tanmoluojia was profound in Buddhist dharma and saw through worldly affairs with neither joy nor sorrow. He shouldn’t be troubled by ordinary worldly concerns.

Bisuo said, “Perhaps it’s because of the busy court affairs lately, and the pressing military situation. His Majesty has been working tirelessly day after day, overwhelmed with worry.”

Yao Ying’s brows furrowed slightly.

Bisuo made up some excuses casually before falling silent, his eyes on the lamp in his hand while his peripheral vision remained fixed on Yao Ying.

Since Tanmoluojia was the Buddha’s son and couldn’t properly receive her late at night, she had donned a cloak and followed him through the secret passage into the temple without asking questions. Fearing word would spread, she hadn’t brought a single guard.

Such inconvenience didn’t bother her at all.

A woman of her outstanding beauty needed only a casual glance to captivate hearts and minds, making even the tribe’s most vigorous warriors blush and willingly risk their lives for her. Moreover, when she cared for someone, she did so wholeheartedly and with pure sincerity—who could resist that?

If Tanmoluojia had never met her, never known such a woman existed in the world, that would have been fine.

But he had met her, known her, and even spent time with her daily. Naturally, he couldn’t help developing a desire to possess her exclusively.

Having seen light and warmth, one could no longer endure darkness and loneliness.

Yet Luojia was also clear-minded enough not to be confused into possessing a Han woman as the Buddha’s son.

If he did, he would invite eternal condemnation, and Princess Wenzhao would surely be viewed as a witch who brought disaster to the nation, cursed and hated by fanatical followers, constantly having to guard against their revenge.

No woman could bear such pressure.

So Luojia couldn’t even speak words to make her stay. Only in his unclear consciousness after she left could he quietly call her name.

Bisuo’s heart was heavy. He wanted Luojia to feel better, yet feared his current actions would only entangle him deeper until one became dead inside and the other’s reputation was in tatters.

There was no perfect solution in this world…

He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake.

Bisuo stopped and pushed open a hidden door, pointing his lamp forward. “His Majesty is inside.”

Yao Ying looked toward the dim lamplight. The passage led to a meditation room with low-hanging felt curtains. Several weak candle flames flickered, faintly illuminating the outlines of furnishings inside, with golden light trembling on the woven carpets covering the floor.

“The physician has been here. The medicine is on the table. Please remind His Majesty to take it,” Bisuo said, standing outside the hidden door.

Yao Ying made a soft sound of acknowledgment and walked inside. The room was warm and stuffy; she quickly began to sweat and removed her cloak. Passing the long table, she saw her letter and box that had been delivered, a pot of steaming medicinal soup, several packages of herbs wrapped in silk, a large plate of iced fruits, and a bowl of yogurt sprinkled with sour plums.

Incense smoke curled up in the inner chamber. She lifted the curtain to look inside. The room was simply furnished with a long couch, two long tables, a candle, a Buddhist sutra, and a charcoal brazier.

A figure lay motionless on the couch, eyes tightly closed, face slightly flushed, covered with a thin blanket. A stove burned in the inner chamber, making it very warm. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and with the blanket turned back, his monk’s robe sleeve was exposed.

Yao Ying approached quietly, bent down, and pulled out the half of the thin blanket bunched under his arm. She spread it out to cover his exposed shoulder, her fingers accidentally brushing his shoulder—it was sticky with sweat.

Not only was his head sweating, but his whole body had a layer of perspiration.

Yao Ying looked around and found a copper basin. She wrung out a cloth and gently wiped the sweat from Tanmoluojia’s forehead and cheeks.

As the warm cloth touched his skin, the sleeping man’s eyelashes trembled slightly and slowly opened, his gaze falling into Yao Ying’s autumn-water-like eyes.

He looked at her calmly, dark circles under his eyes, his jade eyes clear and cool.

Yao Ying’s movements became gentler.

He was indeed exhausted. During the day, he had walked so far for her affairs, worsening his condition. In such hot weather, they still had to keep a stove burning by his bedside.

After wiping his face and shoulders, she hesitated before saying softly, “Master, let me help you sit up so we can wipe your body too. You’ll sleep more comfortably.”

Tanmoluojia’s lips pressed together slightly, saying nothing.

His features were deep-set and handsome. Usually, when his face showed no expression, he looked cold and dignified. When serious, he had an inviolable sacred aura. Now as he lay looking at Yao Ying, though ill, his bearing remained majestic.

Yao Ying took his silence as agreement and supported his shoulders, helping him lean against the couch’s railing. She had cared for the drunken Li Zhongqian and the injured Xie Qing before—both tall, strong men—so caring for Tanmoluojia was no challenge.

Once he was settled, she released him, wrung out the cloth again, and gently pressed it against his neck, slowly moving downward.

The warm, smooth cloth gently wiped his exposed collarbone. As a corner of the cloth slid into his robe, he suddenly raised his hand and gripped Yao Ying’s wrist.

Yao Ying looked up at him. His expression was calm, his gaze cold, his palm holding her wrist damp with sweat.

“Master?”

Yao Ying called to him questioningly, wondering if he had failed to recognize her again.

Tanmoluojia looked down at her for a long moment. His right hand gripped her while his left hand rose to undo his monk’s robe one-handed. He took the cloth from her hand and began wiping his own body.

Seeing he didn’t want her to touch him, Yao Ying immediately lowered her head and tried to step back, but his grip tightened, not allowing her to move.

Yao Ying thought to herself: It seems he’s still not fully conscious.

Tanmoluojia held Yao Ying with one hand while wiping himself with the other. Throughout the process, his jade eyes gazed at Yao Ying, his gaze severe.

Yao Ying could neither help him nor withdraw, so she could only turn to stare at the candle on the long table.

After the candle flame flickered several times, Tanmoluojia finished wiping himself, covered his robe, and leaned back on the couch. Only then did he release Yao Ying’s hand.

Yao Ying rubbed her wrist. Though he was ill, his grip had been quite strong.

Tanmoluojia closed his eyes, then opened them a moment later, his gaze sweeping over Yao Ying.

“Why haven’t you left yet?” he asked softly, his voice revealing deep exhaustion.

Yao Ying said, “Master hasn’t taken his medicine yet.”

Tanmoluojia seemed surprised that Yao Ying would answer him. He raised his eyes and gazed at her for a moment.

The woman sitting before him with a slight smile was her.

The next instant, Tanmoluojia’s brow twitched, his body stiffened, and his pupils slowly dilated. A flash of astonishment crossed his eyes, like starlight suddenly igniting in the still night, then gradually fading away, leaving only surging dark clouds in the desolate expanse.

He had always been calm and composed; his bewilderment lasted only an instant.

Yao Ying blinked, studying his expression carefully.

Their eyes met, their breaths intermingling.

Knowing Tanmoluojia had recognized her, Yao Ying raised an eyebrow. “Master, it’s me. General Ashina brought me here. Who did Master mistake me for earlier?”

Tanmoluojia said nothing, his figure motionless as if in meditation.

Seeing he didn’t want to answer, Yao Ying didn’t press further. She rose and walked to the long table, poured a bowl of medicine, and returned to the couch, holding the bowl: “Master, please take your medicine. It becomes bitter when cold.”

Tanmoluojia’s gaze rested on her face.

In the flickering candlelight, she wore the same light brown plain robe from the main hall earlier. Her long hair was tied up with a translucent jade lotus hairpin that gave off a warm luster. Though wearing no makeup, her youthful beauty and snow-white complexion remained striking.

At dusk, the hall had been packed with monks, and countless devotees watching outside. Under the stern gaze of the Buddha statue, with the abbot’s harsh questioning, she had been formally expelled from the royal temple.

He had walked to stand before her, looking down at her as she playfully winked at him, her expression relieved.

She could now be free of the identity of Matangi.

From beginning to end, they both knew Matangi was just a pretense.

Yet in that moment, he had developed a deluded wish that all her lies were true.

She revered him and trusted him like an elder, believing his heart was free of worldly dust, without any selfish thoughts… She was wrong.

He had indulged in her unconscious intimacy.

He wanted her to stay, to remain by his side, to go nowhere else.

He coveted her companionship.

Therefore, he could not ask her to stay.

“Master?”

A bitter medicinal smell wafted over as Yao Ying held out the medicine bowl toward Tanmoluojia.

Tanmoluojia came to his senses, slightly startled as his thoughts gradually cleared. He took the bowl but didn’t drink, setting it aside and extending his hand toward Yao Ying.

Yao Ying froze, looking at him in confusion.

Tanmoluojia lowered his head and, through his sleeve, lifted her wrist and rolled up her sleeve, carefully avoiding touching her skin.

Her delicate wrist was white as congealed cream, with a faint red mark where he had gripped it earlier.

“Does it hurt?”

He heard his voice, steady and composed, though waves surged in his heart.

The question he hadn’t dared ask in public, he finally asked now.

Yao Ying shook her head: “It’s fine, it’ll fade soon. I usually bruise easily from small bumps, not even needing medicine.”

Now she was used to bumps and falls—as long as her face wasn’t scarred, it was fine.

Tanmoluojia said nothing, looking at her other hand. Again through his sleeve, he lifted her wrist and pushed back her sleeve.

This time his movement remained gentle, but his manner was somewhat forceful, allowing no refusal.

Yao Ying was bewildered for a moment.

Tanmoluojia held her hand, his right hand trembling almost imperceptibly.

This hand must have been hurt while avoiding the crowd earlier. Several blue bruises had formed—against her snow-white delicate skin, the marks were startling in the lamplight.

Today the common people had only thrown harmless fruits.

Tanmoluojia’s gaze grew deep.

Yao Ying followed his gaze and was startled herself. Remembering the incident in the square, she withdrew her hand and covered it with her sleeve. “I must have bumped it somewhere. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

She picked up the medicine bowl Tanmoluojia had set down. “Master, please take your medicine.”

Tanmoluojia took the bowl and tilted his head back, his movements elegant though not slow, quickly finishing it.

Yao Ying handed him a cup of water to rinse his mouth, then remembered the box she had brought. She picked it up and opened it, taking out a leather pouch.

“Master, I bought this on my way back to the holy city. It’s perfect for getting rid of the bitter taste.”

She smiled and sat back down by the couch, untied the leather pouch, took Tanmoluojia’s hand, and made him open his palm, placing a clean cloth in it.

His palm was slightly cool. Tanmoluojia looked down. In the lamplight, a handful of crystal-clear, amber-like sugar pieces of varying sizes fell onto the cloth in his palm. The sugar pieces were full and round, with bright colors.

A faint sweet fragrance spread out.

“Someone happened to be selling these today, and I remembered Master often eats them,” Yao Ying said. “I asked the physician—rock sugar can nourish and strengthen, quench thirst, relieve pain, and doesn’t conflict with the medicine Master is taking. This is the first batch of rock sugar this year. When I bought it, there were still twigs and leaves inside. I cleaned it all out. Master, please try some.”

Tanmoluojia was silent for a moment, then picked up a slightly yellow piece of rock sugar and put it in his mouth.

The rock sugar was fine and soft, rich and fresh upon entering his mouth. A slightly sour sweetness exploded on his tongue, slowly filling his mouth and sliding down his throat. Then, the lingering fragrance permeated his lungs, sweetening down to the deepest part of his unruffled heart. He could almost feel his blood surging, his stiff limbs tingling slightly.

Yao Ying watched Tanmoluojia eagerly: “Is it sweet?”

He looked at her and nodded.

“Sweet.”

Very sweet.

Yao Ying said with a smile: “In my homeland, rock sugar is a tribute item.”

Rock sugar formed from secretions on camel thorn plants. In the past, the Western Regions often presented it as a tribute to Chang’an. When she was buying fruits today, she saw several pouches of rock sugar, rarely as large as small grapes, and bought them all. She gave one pouch to Li Zhongqian and planned to give the rest to Tanmoluojia, as he often ate rock sugar and must like it very much.

“Unfortunately, I lost one pouch in the crowd at the palace gates…” Yao Ying said with regret.

Tanmoluojia’s heart trembled slightly, remembering that when he saw her earlier in the day, Li Zhongqian hadn’t been by her side. When Li Zhongqian hurriedly arrived later, he seemed to be holding several leather pouches.

When surrounded by citizens mocking and cursing her, had she been thinking about the rock sugar he used to eat?

He sat lost in thought for a moment, then gathered up the cloth and placed the uneaten rock sugar by his pillow. His gaze fell on Yao Ying’s hands as he said softly, “There’s medicine over there.”

Yao Ying looked where he pointed and found a silver shell box. Opening it released a pure medicinal fragrance.

“Where should it be applied?”

Yao Ying asked after washing her hands, holding the shell box.

Tanmoluojia said nothing, directly taking the box from her hands. He sat up straighter, dipped two fingers in the ointment, and gestured for her to roll up her sleeves.

Yao Ying started, “I’m fine.”

She had thought the medicine was for applying to his leg.

Tanmoluojia looked up at her, his complexion somewhat better than before, speaking gently but firmly: “Apply some medicine, it will heal faster.”

Yao Ying could only sit down and roll up her sleeves.

Tanmoluojia leaned forward, first cleaning her wrist with a cloth, then gently applying the ointment.

His calloused fingertips touched the wounds tenderly. The ointment was cool, causing a subtle stinging pain in the bruised areas. Yao Ying couldn’t help but inhale sharply, a shiver running through her body.

Tanmoluojia immediately looked up at her, their gazes flashing like lightning. His brows furrowed slightly: “Does it hurt?”

He asked, but without waiting for her answer, his touch had already become lighter, soft as clouds.

Yao Ying stared at Tanmoluojia in a daze, shaking her head.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said softly, her face warming as another strange feeling welled up in her heart.