Shen Lingzhen looked back at him in astonishment: “Are you delirious from fever? I’ll go get someone to examine you.”

A trace of indiscernible loneliness flickered in his eyes as he released her hand: “No need. You should go back.”

She left hurriedly. Due to this inexplicable episode, though she still worried about his injuries afterward, she only had the maid inquire on her behalf and never dared set foot in his bedroom again.

Three days later, Huo Liuxing forced himself to get out of bed and came to apologize to her.

He had reverted to that subordinate who called himself “this humble officer” and addressed her as “you” formally. His speech no longer contained that day’s impropriety.

He said: “That day this humble officer walked to death’s door. When I first awoke my mind was confused, and I committed many offenses. Please forgive me, Miss Shen.”

Hearing him say this, how could Shen Lingzhen blame him in the slightest? With the awkwardness resolved, she looked him up and down, asking if he still felt unwell anywhere.

He said resting a while would make it better, then told her that night’s matter had been investigated. The other party was a group of mountain bandits. The reason they abducted her was seeing her protected in the center by everyone, guessing her identity was extraordinary and could be exploited—it wasn’t premeditated, nor had any political purpose.

He also said: “This humble officer has a request. The bandits broke into the imperial tomb because a group of soldiers neglected their duties. If this matter reaches the capital, these men will inevitably meet a bad end…”

Before he finished, she understood his meaning and nodded in agreement: “Don’t worry. The imperial tomb wasn’t damaged, and I suffered no losses. Since their purpose was unrelated to politics, this matter needn’t alarm the capital. I’ll keep it secret for everyone. It’s just a pity your merit in saving me, and all these injuries, won’t earn any reward.”

He shook his head: “Your safety is the greatest reward for this humble officer.”

Shen Lingzhen’s breath suddenly caught. She didn’t know if she was seeing things, but she felt his eyes looking at her seemed to be smiling.

Yet he seemed determined not to let her discern clearly, quickly withdrawing.

After this incident, it became difficult for Shen Lingzhen to maintain that so-called “minding their own business.”

She was someone who repaid kindness. Although this favor originated from a subordinate protecting his charge, Huo Liuxing’s status was there—she couldn’t treat him as an ordinary soldier and take for granted that he would risk his life for her. So even though propriety prevented excessive private contact, she constantly paid attention to his movements.

His injuries needed time to fully heal. So she always personally supervised the brewing of his medicinal soups, afraid the servants might carelessly make mistakes. Discovering the weather had turned cool, she immediately had someone remind him to add clothing. Hearing him cough a few times, she nervously asked if he needed to summon a physician.

Once, because his injuries weren’t fully healed, he stood guard all night and collapsed from exhaustion. She was terrified and, disregarding propriety again, entered his bedroom.

When he woke to see her, he sighed softly: “Do you remember what this humble officer told you when you first came here?”

She didn’t react immediately.

He continued: “This humble officer, like the soldiers outside, is an ordinary person who cannot escape the mundane. If I grow accustomed to drinking lychee syrup water, then suddenly one day can’t drink it anymore, I’ll suffer too.” As he spoke, he closed his eyes heavily. “You should leave. Stop caring about this humble officer.”

She stood rooted in place, saying after a pause: “After I leave, I’ll find a way to ask my imperial uncle to pardon you and let you return to the capital too. Would that work?”

He seemed to laugh at her naivety: “Do you think this humble officer truly came here because of a crime? This humble officer never harmed the Crown Prince, and the Emperor knows I’m innocent. My mistake was taking this identity.”

Shen Lingzhen’s nose stung hearing this: “Regardless, you’ve shown me kindness. When I return, I’ll try asking Mother to help you.”

It was as she rose to leave that Huo Liuxing raised that topic again, directly addressing her as an equal “you.”

He said: “What about you? After your mourning period ends, you’ll have to marry, correct?”

She furrowed her brow slightly, answering: “Imperial commands are hard to defy. Naturally it will be so.”

He smiled and said no more.

Shen Lingzhen inexplicably felt alarmed by his self-mocking smile. After returning, the more she thought about it, the more something felt wrong.

Last time he’d asked if she’d ever thought the person she should marry might be him.

This time he said his mistake was taking this identity.

Analyzing it over and over, she formed an incredible idea: Could it be that he wasn’t truly the prince of the previous dynasty, but the Huo family’s second son who’d been switched to Bianjing?

These two were born in the same year, month, and night, both carried Huo family blood, and might even resemble each other somewhat—the conditions for a switch existed.

Looking at how cold-hearted her imperial uncle was, it made complete sense that the Huo family would sacrifice their own son to replace the little prince and come to Bianjing to suffer.

She was horrified by this idea for an entire day. The next day she found an opportunity to tentatively ask Huo Liuxing, only to hear him flatly deny this absurd speculation.

But she clearly detected the truth from the struggle in his eyes.

She knew Huo Liuxing couldn’t admit it—admitting it would be deceiving the emperor, would mean the death of the entire Huo family. So she pretended not to notice his slip, and in her shock, brushed it off saying it must have been her wild imagination.

Playing this on the surface, when seeing Huo Liuxing again, her heart felt different.

She found herself unable to stop looking at him, each glance lasting long, a voice constantly reminding her that this was actually who her betrothed should be, this person right before her eyes was the one she should marry.

This person was tall and upright, exceptionally brave, and very handsome.

More importantly, he had once risked his life to save her.

——

The weather turned cool, gradually entering deep autumn. Huo Liuxing’s injuries finally healed, but the attention Shen Lingzhen placed on him became like spilled water that couldn’t be retrieved.

She went from staying cooped up in her room all day to arranging an hour daily to leave her courtyard and, across a river several zhang wide, watch him from afar training troops, watch him magnificently teach everyone military tactics and martial arts.

Once, a soldier accidentally twisted his arm while practicing with a spear. She was stunned by his painful cries, but saw Huo Liuxing calm and composed, pressing one hand on the man’s shoulder blade and grabbing his arm with the other, with a “crack” setting the bone back in place.

She exclaimed in admiration and, momentarily forgetting her status, actually began applauding him.

The entire field of soldiers turned to look across the river, including Huo Liuxing.

Her cheeks burned. She clapped lightly twice more, pretending to admire the scenery, and said to the maid beside her: “The weather is so refreshing today.”

The maid laughed dryly, reminding her in a small voice: “Miss, this isn’t refreshing, it’s cold…”

Embarrassed and at a loss, she then heard Huo Liuxing bark sternly from across the river: “What are you all looking at?”

The soldiers obediently turned back around. She covered her face and ran off, pulling the maid with her.

When encountering Huo Liuxing afterward, she felt both embarrassed and genuinely admiring of his skills. Hesitantly she praised him, saying she greatly admired his bone-setting technique.

He seemed to have completely forgotten about it. After recalling for a moment he nodded, then was about to go on patrol.

She called him back, asking if he could teach her too.

He asked what to teach.

She said anything would do, then stammered: “Before when you were injured, I couldn’t do anything… I was thinking, if I encounter such danger again in the future, if I could have some skill, perhaps it would be better…”

Huo Liuxing seemed to find it inconvenient. But before he could refuse, she quickly gestured: “That bone-setting technique of yours is very useful! I’ll just learn that one thing, all right?”

Perhaps amused by her exaggerated movements, he finally relented: “You can’t learn that. This humble officer will teach you how to bandage external wounds.”

She followed him joyfully to the courtyard.

Huo Liuxing called a soldier over and, using the man’s arm, demonstrated for her—teaching her how to tie a hemostatic knot, how to finish a bandage strip, how to wrap an injury neatly.

After explaining several times, he unwrapped the cloth and had her try it herself.

She felt somewhat awkward, asking if she should bandage this soldier.

He realized the impropriety and dismissed the soldier.

Her heart pounded, thinking he would extend his own arm, but saw him point to the maid at the side: “Then practice on them.”

How strange. At that instant, she actually felt disappointed.

But she still obediently complied, practicing over and over for half the day until she finally mastered the technique.

Hearing him say she could graduate now, but still hoping she would never need to use this skill, her joyful expression couldn’t be hidden.

The maid said it had been a long time since she’d seen her smile so happily.

She quietly sighed too, thinking yes, it was clearly such a small thing.

Like later, on a certain night with a bright moon in the sky, she pushed open her bedroom window to see Huo Liuxing alone practicing swordplay under the moon. Or like a certain day when cold waves struck, she lay in bed for half the day feeling unwell and heard him outside the door asking her maid if she was ill.

These were all very, very small things, yet could inexplicably make her happy all day long.

Unfortunately not long after, she truly fell ill.

The buildings here weren’t like Duke Yingguo’s mansion—there were no heated walls. She caught a chill and lay in bed for several days unable to rise. Initially thinking it was an ordinary cold, later when the physician examined carefully, he discovered it was connected to the chronic illness she’d developed before.

The maid wanted to send her back to Bianjing, but she refused. Duke Yingguo’s mansion then sent cartload after cartload of the finest charcoal as if money were no object, plus expensive Sichuan pepper, having them pound it into paste to plaster pepper walls for warmth.

To facilitate remodeling the walls, Shen Lingzhen was moved to another room. Three days later she heard that the work that should have taken at least half a month, Huo Liuxing had led a group working without sleep for three days and nights to complete—she could move back immediately.

Feverish and confused, she gripped the maid’s hand, earnestly having her go thank him on her behalf. After giving instructions she fell asleep again.

Because of illness, she spent more hours each day in confusion than clarity. It was like this that during that time, she often dreamed of Huo Liuxing, dreamed of that heart-stopping night.

In her dreams, she imagined what his feelings would have been when he rushed to save her, guessing whether his desperate fight might have had even the slightest reason in viewing her as his betrothed.

Every time she thought this, the terrifying flashing swords in the dream all disappeared.

Only the crescent moon remained. Under the moonlight, he tightly held her hand, leading her running and running, as if running to the ends of the earth, the corners of the sea.

His palm was broad and warm, the sensation in the dream abnormally real.

But at the end of the dream, he always released her hand.

She clutched him refusing to let go, but he forcefully peeled her fingers away one by one, murmuring: “I’m sorry…”

At that time, sleeping in confusion, she didn’t know that this “I’m sorry” was precisely Huo Liuxing whispering in her ear, ringing the warning bell in advance.

——

Winter departed and spring arrived. Shen Lingzhen temporarily regained her health and could finally leave that pepper room to get some fresh air outside.

But she rarely saw Huo Liuxing anymore.

He no longer practiced swordplay under the moon, no longer inquired after her well-being, and no longer trained troops where she could see. Even the occasional encounters they’d had before no longer happened.

At first she thought she’d used up all her luck during her illness. As time went on, she suspected he was doing it deliberately.

Finally on a day of bright spring sunshine, she saw him from afar carrying his sword about to go out. Seizing the opportunity, she called out to him and hurried over.

He stopped and waited several counts. Perhaps seeing her running unsteadily, he strode toward her instead.

She looked up at him breathlessly. The words she’d organized momentarily wouldn’t come out, and what emerged was a direct question—asking if he was avoiding her.

He seemed to freeze, asking back: “Avoiding you? Why would this humble officer avoid you?”

She was stumped by the question.

He continued: “This humble officer has recently been busy leading troops to cultivate nearby fields. This is something done every spring. If I’ve been neglectful and remiss toward you, please forgive me.”

Shen Lingzhen suddenly understood. Her previous firm intuition dissolved into nothing under his righteous manner and watertight explanation.

She thought shamefully that he was devoted to the people’s livelihood while she was fretting over such trivial matters—it was truly inappropriate.

After that, Shen Lingzhen settled her heart, painting and practicing calligraphy, reading and embroidering, no longer disturbing him. Days passed uneventfully until midsummer, the day she was to return to the capital.

It was a day just after rain, the humidity thick, like her mood—sticky and heavy.

But she detected no abnormality in Huo Liuxing, as if the day of her departure was just another ordinary day in his life.

He didn’t even bid her farewell, only having someone notify her when Duke Yingguo’s mansion’s grand procession of carriages and horses came to fetch her.

Thinking this might be their last meeting, she should still leave him with a few words. She took the initiative to find him and happened to see him standing under a flourishing tree, releasing a bird.

She asked what this was about.

He said the bird’s wings had been soaked by rain and it had fallen to the ground. He’d brought it back to care for it for a day. Now it was lively again, so he was releasing it.

She casually asked what kind of bird it was.

He looked at her and smiled: “It’s a cuckoo.”

A cuckoo that called “better go home, better go home.”

A cuckoo that urged people to return home.

Shen Lingzhen suddenly felt there were no words left to say.

Like the endings of those dreams—never good endings. During this year at the imperial tomb, she had half-dreaming, half-waking treated him as her betrothed. But outside the imperial tomb, he was still the prince of the previous dynasty. She couldn’t marry him.

She also smiled with feigned ease, saying: “Then it’s gone, and I’ll be going too.”

He nodded, and just as when they first met, bowed to her with cupped hands: “The mountains are high and waters far. Miss Shen, take care on your journey.”

Shen Lingzhen waved at him, turned and boarded Duke Yingguo’s carriage, and returned to the capital.

Later, she kept thinking that if that had truly been their last meeting, it actually wouldn’t have been bad. Though not perfect, at least the farewell was decent and beautiful.

Unfortunately, their story didn’t end there.

That person who’d lain dormant in obscurity for decades was no ordinary pond fish. Just like his name “Liuxing” yet he took the revealing character “Yu” with its hidden meaning of “advancing forward” as his courtesy name.

One day he would walk out of this imperial tomb.