Tuoba Sanniang escorted Dou Jing back to his own residence, while Wei Xun carried the exhausted Bao Zhu back to her bedroom.

To implement her revenge plan as quickly as possible, she had launched into action with swift determination before her body had fully recovered. That day at Prince Qi’s mansion, she had forcibly used a massive bow that exceeded her arm strength, causing muscle spasms and strains that made it difficult to lift both arms even now. The bowstring had caused lacerations that nearly severed her hand tendons. This made even the simplest daily activities extremely difficult – her hands trembled severely, and she couldn’t even hold a teacup steady to drink water.

Previously, when coercing Dou Jing, the heavy makeup Bao Zhu had used to conceal her sun damage had been applied by Wei Xun with a brush. Now removing the makeup also required his assistance. He used a cloth dampened with rice water, carefully wiping away the lead powder on her face bit by bit. The peeling dead skin came off with the foundation, revealing the tender pink new flesh underneath. Her skin tone was mottled and uneven, with varying depths of color, no longer possessing its former smoothness.

Wei Xun felt deeply pained, yet he comforted her: “It’s better than yesterday. The new skin underneath is almost healed.”

Bao Zhu absently hummed in response, her empty gaze fixed ahead, her thoughts seeming to drift somewhere far away. She had previously treasured her appearance greatly, always remembering to wear a veiled hat when going out to shield herself from the sun, enthusiastically purchasing rouge and powder, and adorning herself with fresh flowers. Though she lacked gold and silver jewelry, she still thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of beautifying herself.

But since returning from her kidnapping, she had never looked in a mirror even once, as if she no longer cared about her appearance at all, or perhaps she was unwilling to face the unfamiliar person in the mirror.

Of course, she had also never shed another tear.

This matter made Wei Xun extremely uneasy. As Qiu Ren had said, her physical injuries were all superficial wounds that would heal without medicine – it was just a matter of time. What truly made his heart ache were those hidden wounds deep in her heart that the eyes couldn’t see. The humiliation and fear, anger and despair she had endured during her captivity had transformed a bright, lively girl who could cry and laugh into someone entirely different.

Within this scarred body burned a raging flame – a kind of resolute ruthlessness, an unwavering determination that seemed capable of burning both herself and her enemies to ash.

Wei Xun deeply understood her current state, not even daring to leave to personally execute the task of kidnapping Dou Jing. Instead, he had incurred debts of gratitude, finding troublesome people through roundabout means to handle it for him. His heart was filled with unknown fears, terrified that if he left, she might encounter some accident, or that when she had needs, no one would be able to respond in time, plunging her once again into desperate helplessness.

After finally removing all the cosmetics from her damaged face, Wei Xun asked: “It’s all clean now. Would you like to look in the mirror?”

Bao Zhu shook her head, lowering her gaze to look at her own hands. After contemplating for a moment, she asked: “Can you remove the color from my fingernails?”

Wei Xun immediately got to work, repeatedly trying with rice water and bath beans, then patiently soaking them in hot water. But the balsam flower juice hadn’t merely been applied to the nail surface – it had penetrated deeply into the texture, making it impossible to remove easily.

“Try scraping it off with the rhinoceros horn blade,” she said. Her expression of disgust was as if her hands were stained with something putrid and nauseating.

Wei Xun didn’t carry out this command, explaining: “That would cut off your fingertips.”

Helpless reality was always unpleasant, and Bao Zhu fell silent again.

Wei Xun secretly speculated that although this nail-dyeing method had been created by the Noble Consort, when she had her nails dyed, it certainly hadn’t been of her own volition but rather under coercion. That’s why she felt such revulsion toward this vivid red color and desperately wanted to remove it. He knew that there must be many invisible wounds, like this pigment, staining and clinging to her body, impossible to eradicate.

“When new nails grow out, they’ll replace the old ones,” he gently coaxed.

“That’s too slow. I can’t wait,” Bao Zhu raised her head, urgency and anxiety showing in her eyes. After calculating mentally, she said: “The impeachment letter sent to Chang’an, then the orders returning to Luoyang… fifteen days, at most twenty days, there will definitely be results.”

Wei Xun affected a cheerful tone: “By then you’ll be mostly recovered too. We can stroll around the South Market, buy some travel supplies, and continue our journey.”

Bao Zhu didn’t respond. When Wei Xun turned to wash the cloth and deal with the cosmetic-tinted water in the basin, he suddenly heard a barely audible whisper drift from the bed: “I can’t walk anymore…”

That voice was so light it seemed a gentle breeze could scatter it, yet it struck heavily against Wei Xun’s heart. The water in the basin trembled slightly, creating ripples.

He opened his mouth, wanting to tell one of the jokes that used to cheer her up, but now it felt like a fish bone stuck in his throat – he couldn’t get it out. She had persisted for so long, burning everything, and now only exhausted embers remained. How could she not be tired?

Since Bao Zhu had awakened, Wei Xun had gathered courage to ask if he could continue staying on the footstool to keep her company. Bao Zhu hadn’t refused, only making one strange request: that he retrieve silk socks from their luggage to help her put them on.

But at night, when he reached out to hold her hand, she no longer gripped back with her former warmth.

She had exhausted all her strength and was simply waiting day by day for the conclusion.

In the oppressive darkness, Wei Xun lay with his eyes open, restless and uneasy. When that day finally came, would she feel relieved?

Yang Xingjian went out daily to gather information. The changes at Prince Qi’s mansion were indeed as the princess had predicted. On the surface, Dou Jing still remained stationed at the mansion under the pretense of searching for the real culprit, but he had subtly altered the distribution of troops. He declared there were accomplices to the assassin within the mansion, using this as an excuse to forbid anyone from stepping outside the mansion gates, effectively imprisoning all the masters and servants within the high walls.

After Prince Qi’s death, there should have been a grand funeral ceremony. The magistrate’s arrangements naturally infuriated the princess consort. But Dou Jing employed his usual slippery eel tactics when handling troublesome affairs, making excuses and delays, putting things off again and again while waiting for the final verdict from Chang’an.

As for those escaped slaves, the authorities no longer had the energy or interest to pursue them, allowing them to return home on their own or leave Luoyang to seek other means of survival.

All parties spent their days of observation and waiting in unbearable anxiety and torment.

As time passed, Bao Zhu’s vitality gradually recovered, but her emotions showed no signs of improvement. She lay motionless on the bed for long periods, occasionally getting up to write a few characters with her brush, but immediately burning them afterward, keeping no drafts. Wei Xun was deeply troubled, his nerves constantly taut, watching her every word and action, every gesture and movement with intense vigilance.

On this day, Wei Xun asked what she wanted to eat as usual, and the answer remained the same: “The same as everyone else.” Wei Xun helplessly emerged from the room, arranged for Shisan Lang to go out and buy food, and was preparing to fetch water to wash his hands when suddenly, a subtle sound of breaking came from the bedroom.

Though light, that sound struck like thunder. Wei Xun rushed into the room to find Bao Zhu sitting blankly in front of the bed, a broken tea bowl on the floor. Her hand that had been cut by the bowstring still had lingering tremors and occasionally couldn’t grip things steadily. Wei Xun hurriedly said: “Don’t move, I’ll clean it up.”

He bent down to pick up the fragments one by one, then carefully checked the corners under the bed to ensure nothing remained. He then carried the fragments outside and threw them into the kitchen’s garbage pile. Wei Xun was about to leave when, for some reason, a sudden surge of inexplicable alarm and unease struck him, making him alert.

As a martial arts prodigy with naturally keen intuition, Wei Xun didn’t dare be careless. He quickly circled the house inside and out twice, even checking the rooftop, but found no suspicious traces. The crisis wasn’t coming from outside.

Returning to the kitchen again, his gaze fell on the sharp porcelain shards in the garbage pile. Wei Xun’s heart suddenly stirred, and his ominous premonition grew stronger. He quickly gathered all the fragments together again, using leftover rice from yesterday to piece them back together, fragment by fragment.

The original outline of the tea bowl gradually became clear, but indeed a piece was missing.

Wei Xun’s heart raced with anxiety. He ran back to the bedroom, rushed to Bao Zhu, and opened his hand urgently demanding: “Give it to me, quickly!”

Bao Zhu sat quietly on the bedside, looking at him with complete indifference, not a ripple in her eyes.

Wei Xun’s eyes reddened with urgency. Unable to control his emotions any longer, he shouted harshly: “You can’t die with that thing! The edge isn’t sharp enough – you’d make many wounds, and the flowing blood would quickly coagulate. You’d only suffer needlessly!”

Bao Zhu slowly lowered her eyelids, seeming to take his words to heart. After a moment, she reached under the pillow, found the last porcelain fragment, and gently placed it in Wei Xun’s hand. Wei Xun immediately clenched his fist tightly, instantly crushing the fragment to powder that trickled through his fingers, while cold sweat had already soaked his back.

“You wouldn’t watch me suffer, would you?” Bao Zhu looked up at Wei Xun, pressing him step by step. “When the time comes, you’ll lend me the rhinoceros horn blade?”

Wei Xun retreated step by step, feeling instantly submerged by the bitter tide rising in his chest, completely unable to breathe. He finally remembered why Bao Zhu hadn’t cried or made a fuss the previous time: when she was humiliated at Anhua Gate, realizing she could never return to the palace, she had harbored thoughts of death. When she cleaned her defilement at Cuiwei Temple, she had also shed no tears.

Now, she was desperately waiting to wash away her shame with her enemy’s blood, and then planned to end her life. Crying was because one’s heart still expected some response from the world, but when all hope was extinguished, tears lost their meaning. He had thought her fortunate return this time, never expecting that she had actually suffered fatal damage – after her identity, power, and status were all stripped away, her remaining pride had been shattered.

But this time, he could no longer use “selling your corpse for a ghost marriage” as an excuse to frighten her.

“You promised to write me a betrothal document…” Wei Xun pleaded in an extremely weak voice, his throat hoarse, tears spinning in his eyes.

“We’ve held hands and slept together side by side. I think we no longer need a betrothal document. Youzhou is too far – I really can’t walk anymore.” A flash of tenderness appeared in Bao Zhu’s eyes, but it quickly returned to calm determination. “You are the most reliable person, the one I trust most. There are a few matters I want to entrust to you. First: This time, confirm that I’m truly dead before closing the coffin. I’m very afraid of the dark. Second: The journey is long – don’t bother transporting me back to Chang’an. Just find any place on Mount Beimang.”

She lowered her head to look at her hands, visible hatred in her eyes: “Finally, be sure to pull off all ten of these fingernails and throw them far away. Don’t leave them on my body.”

Wei Xun realized she was making final arrangements. Tears finally burst forth, his chest heaving violently, his throat seeming gripped by invisible iron tongs, choking him so he couldn’t speak.

He endured his grief until Shisan Lang returned, ordered his junior to watch the bedroom, then desperately sought out Yang Xingjian. He told him Bao Zhu’s words exactly, his voice full of helpless despair.

“What should we do? She’s having thoughts of suicide!”

Yang Xingjian listened carefully to the final words. His reaction was completely unexpected – he showed no surprise, as if he had long anticipated this day would come. His expression remained calm as still water as he said quietly: “Indeed so. Imperial nobility has fierce temperaments. Having suffered such extraordinary humiliation, she would never consent to live on. In the past, our lord always kept a dagger under his pillow, also for self-destruction. That the princess has endured until now for revenge already shows extreme fortitude. This isn’t suicide, but noble self-respect.”

Having said this, Yang Xingjian stood up, reached to straighten his head wrap, carefully smoothed the wrinkles from his robes. Suddenly his eyes became bright, and he stretched his shoulders that had been crushed by various misfortunes along the journey, raising his head proudly: “Since the princess has made up her mind, I naturally cannot let her travel alone. With a few days remaining, I can compose an exquisitely brilliant final poem worthy of being passed down through the ages.”

He abandoned his walking stick, leaving the dumbstruck Wei Xun behind, and walked toward his room with his hands behind his back, taking slow, leisurely steps while chanting intoxicatedly: “‘A lifetime’s glory and withering are no different, a hundred years of sorrow and joy return to emptiness.’ Yes, this is exactly the right temperament, this kind of character!”

Author’s Note: “A lifetime’s glory and withering are no different, a hundred years of sorrow and joy return to emptiness” – From “Viewing the Wall Painting of Nine Contemplations” by Tang Dynasty poet Bao Ji

Anyone who has raised birds knows that breaking out of the shell requires enormous physical energy consumption. After hatching, birds have a period of weakness requiring special care and attention.