Back at White Cliff Palace, Chi Hu politely asked someone to escort Ji Yingying to rest. When she looked back, she saw the wounded Sheng Fengze being surrounded by a large group as he entered his chambers. The stewards and maids were running around the courtyard like headless flies. She suddenly felt guilty. In their eyes, even a single drop of Sheng Fengze’s blood was a matter of grave importance.
“Miss Ji, please go rest,” seeing her staring blankly toward the chambers, Chi Hu’s tone softened somewhat. At least she had some conscience, making his master’s wound not entirely in vain. He still needed to arrange for people to probe the reactions in Taihe City and couldn’t waste more time with Ji Yingying. Chi Hu persuaded her further, suggesting that with so many people attending to him, she needn’t worry. Simply staying in the palace would fulfill his master’s wishes.
“Please tell His Highness I will visit him later,” Ji Yingying hesitated, then bowed to Chi Hu before following the maid.
Sheng Fengze had stabbed himself for her sake; she should thank him in person.
Understanding Sheng Fengze’s intentions, Chi Hu didn’t throw her into the dungeon as an assassin. He had the maid take her to guest quarters, though he stationed two soldiers at the courtyard gate.
The sunlight cast the eaves’ shadows on the ground as Ji Yingying lay quietly by the propped-open window, suddenly feeling weary.
Since entering Nanzhao, she had no control over her fate. Before, she was just a dye mistress coveted by Du Yan and Zhao Xiuyuan. Now she had become an assassin who attempted to kill Nanzhao’s prince. Staying alive wasn’t simple. As for death, she couldn’t bring herself to end her own life.
Thinking carefully, she seemed to have many wishes. She wanted to return to her girlhood in Sandaoyan when even being scolded by her mother for sneaking into the dye house brought joy. She wanted to see Yang Jingyuan again. She wanted to participate in another brocade competition, to hear the silk merchants praise her newly dyed Huanhua brocade. Avenging her mother, brother, and sister-in-law had become an unreachable dream. She didn’t even know where her path led.
Ji Yingying buried her face in her arms, letting her sleeves absorb her falling tears.
The courtyard gate was forcefully pushed open with a bang. The soldiers at the door grumbled as they tried to block the way: “Miss Aning…”
Aning had come? Ji Yingying hurriedly wiped her tears, looking up to see Aning appear at the window radiating killing intent. She drew the small knife from her waist and pointed it at Ji Yingying, shouting: “You still have the face to cry? I should have killed you long ago!”
Startled by her, Ji Yingying instead became calm: “Then do it quickly, before your master stops you from killing me.”
Aning froze, biting her lip and stamping her foot: “You want my master to tire of me, don’t you? Even if master tires of me, I must still eliminate you, you harbinger of disaster!”
Only a low wall separated the two women. Aning took two steps up, bringing the distance between them to less than half a foot. Ji Yingying closed her eyes. Death was death. She didn’t dare to commit suicide, so letting Aning kill her would do. At least she had preserved her honor and could face Yang Jingyuan. Mother, brother, sister-in-law, and Matron Ji were all waiting for her. Since she was useless and couldn’t avenge them, she might as well join them.
Seeing her completely lacking the will to resist, Aning’s knife-wielding hand began to tremble. Just one thrust forward and the silver blade would pierce Ji Yingying’s body. Then she would never again make her master suffer and grieve for her sake.
In the shadows, Ji Yingying’s face was pure white, her eyelashes wet with tears, gleaming black. She rarely showed such a fragile appearance.
Such affected behavior!
Aning gritted her teeth and viciously thrust the knife forward.
She seemed to hear a swoosh, then her arm erupted in pain. The stabbing motion of her knife changed direction with her body’s pain response, transforming from a thrust to a chop, striking the window frame instead.
Aning let out a low cry, seeing a feathered arrow had pierced her arm. She pressed her wound and turned around to see Sheng Fengze standing at the courtyard gate, wearing a cloak, his exposed chest wrapped in blood-stained white cloth. He had rushed over upon hearing the soldiers’ report while his wound was still being treated. Aning’s lips trembled as tears fell in large drops.
Sheng Fengze handed the bow to Chi Hu beside him and walked in.
“You wanted to kill me, didn’t you?” Aning suddenly couldn’t hold back and blurted out.
Chi Hu felt sympathetic and stepped forward, wanting to plead for her. Sheng Fengze turned and glanced at him once, and Chi Hu’s words stuck in his throat as he sheepishly lowered his head.
Sheng Fengze walked straight into the room and silently looked at Ji Yingying.
He had walked right past her as if she were invisible. Aning’s eyes widened as she watched the two facing each other in silence through the window, her heart growing numb with pain. Since she entered the palace to serve at age twelve, he had been her everything. Aning gripped the arrow shaft tightly and snapped it with a crack.
“Aning…” Chi Hu called her name softly, his eyes urging her to leave quickly. The master’s arrow only struck her arm—it was merely a warning. He worried Aning wouldn’t know what was good for her and would push things until she exhausted Sheng Fengze’s patience.
Aning covered her wounded arm as tears poured down like rain. She fell to her knees with a thud and cried out hoarsely: “Master! Even if you kill me, I must say it! She is a Tang general’s wife! How can she be worthy of master’s…”
Chi Hu stepped forward swiftly, his hand striking Aning’s neck, cutting off her words. He quickly picked her up, not daring to look at Sheng Fengze, and ran out while stammering an explanation: “Women have limited understanding, I will teach her a proper lesson.” He fled faster than a rabbit, his words unfinished before he was already outside the courtyard.
“I don’t blame her. Your Highness shouldn’t mind it either.” Only a fool wouldn’t see Chi Hu’s feelings for Aning. Because of her, Sheng Fengze would severely punish Aning. His subordinates would all harbor some resentment. Ji Yingying felt she owed Sheng Fengze too much. She couldn’t owe him anymore.
If he hadn’t arrived in time, Aning’s knife would have truly pierced her chest. She didn’t want to live anymore. He suddenly remembered their first meeting at the Zhao estate—if not for him, she couldn’t have escaped Zhao Xiuyuan’s clutches. Yet she had still cursed at Zhao Xiuyuan as fiercely as a mother wolf. He felt he had glimpsed Ji Yingying’s fragile inner heart at that moment. She was so afraid, yet had never shown it. Sheng Fengze suddenly felt his heartache.
How could he have forgotten? When Nanzhao attacked Tang, she watched her mother, brother, sister-in-law, and newborn nephew die before her eyes. When she dyed those colorful fabrics, she must have poured out what little hope and color remained in her heart. Her heart must be gray and black now, even living must feel exhausting.
Sheng Fengze opened his arms and embraced her, feeling Ji Yingying’s instinctive struggle as her body stiffened. He pressed her head down, resting his chin on her soft hair, murmuring: “Trust me, I will ensure you return safely to Great Tang.”
Her face pressed against his chest, Ji Yingying smelled the strong scent of blood. Her tears suddenly burst forth as she pounded his chest, crying out in a sharp voice: “I will never forgive you! My mother, brother, and sister-in-law are watching from heaven! My husband will surely lead Tang forces to raze Nanzhao! You are an executioner! I will never forgive you!”
Her heart had wavered because of him. After he held her hand to stab himself, Ji Yingying’s heart ached so much she wanted to wail aloud. She didn’t want him to save her again and again, didn’t want his kindness. She only wanted to hate him, to return to Tang, to go back to the home where her mother and brother had lived.
How could she let another man’s image imprint on her heart? How could she face Yang San Lang?
Ji Yingying cried uncontrollably—how could she go on living?
Sheng Fengze released her and quickly turned to walk outside. Each breath pulled at his chest wound, every inhale bringing sharp pain. He understood her meaning; never had he understood her heart more clearly than now.
When he could have loved her, he hadn’t. Now that he wanted to love her, he could never love her.
No, it wasn’t that he couldn’t love her. It was that his love made Ji Yingying want to die. What could wound him more deeply than that?