The hanging curtain stirred; pearls and jade beads rustled softly. His footsteps turned into the inner chamber, his silhouette falling clearly now upon the bed curtain.

I lay on my side watching him, my heart beating in quick, fluttering jolts — anxious, and yet adrift in uncertainty.

He stood still and silent, looking quietly at me through the thin gauze curtain.

The sheer gauze curtains of this May weather were soft and light — the kind that blurs what lies behind like wisps of mist and haze.

I looked at him and could make out only a vague shape; he looked at me, and likely could not discern my features.

The serving maids slipped quietly out, and the room settled into hushed stillness, suffused with the scent of medicine.

He raised a hand and hesitantly brushed his fingers against the gauze curtain — but did not lift it.

I was at a loss for what to do. My heart was beating faster and faster, and without warning my palms were damp with sweat.

“I owe you an apology.” He said suddenly.

His voice was low and measured — and yet it stilled my breath entirely. I held it and listened for what would come next.

“Princess Consort, I know you are already awake… I have wronged you. If you are willing to give me the chance to make amends, say so; if you cannot forgive me, Xiao Qi will accept the blame without protest — I will not disturb you further. Once your injuries have healed, I will immediately have someone escort you back to the capital.”

A single sentence, stirring a thousand waves. I listened in silence, yet within my heart the wind and clouds were already roiling — a stifling pressure, as before a great storm’s arrival.

Before I could question or reproach him, he had already declared himself guilty; that single phrase, I have wronged you, touched the aching tenderness buried in my heart, and a thousand tangled emotions knotted together in one place. And yet — I had not even had time to think through how to face him, how to face the entanglement of grievance and debt between us, and he had already laid out the choices for me in advance. I needed only to choose: to speak, or to remain silent — which was to choose forgiveness, or to leave.

How very simple.

Was it truly so simple?

Through the gauze curtain, I looked steadily at him, unable to distinguish the tangled ache in my heart — to know whether what I felt was hatred or something else.

He stood before the bed, hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing, not looking at me.

The room was still; the light fell in mottled patterns; only the lingering thread of incense smoke coiled and drifted.

What a decisive, what a overbearing man — either forgive, or leave; he allowed no room for ambiguity. I should have been furious — yet as it happened, the choice he offered was exactly what I myself had thought of. Either forgive, or hate — I had never considered a third path. In this one moment, we were in such perfect accord.

He had stood there for a long while, waiting for my choice, waiting for me to open my mouth and call out to him, or to remain silent.

Watching his blurred silhouette, a thousand surges of feeling came and went — and at last dissolved into a wordless sigh.

He turned, looked back toward me — and even through the gauze curtain, I could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down.

For a moment I was winded. Caught under his gaze, I forgot to breathe and forgot to speak.

A moment’s stiff silence — then without a word, he turned sharply and started to leave.

“Xiao Qi.” The name left my lips before I could stop it.

Only when I spoke did I realize how hoarse my voice had become — weak and barely audible, hard to hear even by my own ears.

He had not heard me. His long strides were already carrying him toward the outer room; he was about to turn behind the folding screen.

I was vexed. Summoning all the breath I could, I called out, “Stop.”

His silhouette paused. He turned back, startled. “You — told me to stop?”

That single utterance had drained what little strength I had, and the pain it pulled from my chest injury left me unable to speak for a moment.

He came striding back, and with a single motion swept the gauze curtain aside.

The light flooded in suddenly. I narrowed my eyes against the brightness and looked up — and my gaze fell straight into a pair of deep, dark eyes. These eyes — these very eyes: at the cliff’s edge they had shaken me to my very soul; in my delirium they had passed before me again and again, seeming to penetrate life and death itself, to hold all joy and sorrow within them, offering me endless strength and stillness.

Now those same eyes were darker still, their depths unfathomable, as if shrouded in a heavy fog.

Our eyes met — and both of us were momentarily dazed.

“Don’t move.” He frowned and pressed down on my shoulder, then turned his head to call for the physician and the serving maids.

The physician, the medical attendants, and the maids came hurrying in. The room was suddenly full of people — fetching medicine and pouring water, taking my pulse and offering wishes for my recovery — voices on all sides offering words of blessing.

I imagined I must look dreadfully wretched just then. I turned my head inward, not wanting him to see me.

The physician took my pulse for a moment and pronounced me greatly improved, offering repeated congratulations. A medical attendant brought the medicine; two maids stepped forward to help me sit up.

Then I heard him say, “Give the medicine to me.”

He sat sideways at the edge of the bed, with great care helped me up, and let me lean against his chest.

An unfamiliar yet powerful masculine scent enveloped me. Through the fabric of his clothing, I could faintly feel the warmth of his body.

“Is this comfortable?” He supported my shoulder and looked down at me with a warm, attentive gaze.

My face immediately grew hot. In a fluster I lowered my eyes, not daring to look at him. This bout of illness seemed to have made me so timid — I bowed my head, suddenly feeling silently irritated. Why should I fear him? And then a stubborn pride rose up within me; I lifted my head abruptly and met his gaze directly.

So this was what he looked like… features carved as if by an axe, bold sweeping brows, deep-set eyes, thin lips — an authority that needed no anger to assert itself.

“Seen enough?” He looked at me, his amusement unconcealed. “Seen enough — now drink your medicine.”

Even the tips of my ears burned. My face was very likely quite red already, so I simply looked him over from head to foot with complete openness.

“How do I seem?” He watched me with a slight smile.

I turned my head away and said lightly, “Not three heads and six arms, as I’d imagined.”

He burst into open laughter, brought the medicine bowl to my lips, and watched as I drank — while at the same time gently patting me on the back; his touch was extremely light, and extremely clumsy.

I drank the medicine with my head bowed. At my back I could feel the warmth of his palm, and something in my heart — I didn’t know why — went soft, as if a place within it had quietly given way.

The medicine was bitter and astringent. I finished it with a frown and immediately turned my head. “Honey water.”

“I beg your pardon?” He looked up in surprise. And I too froze in surprise… In the old days at home, my mother knew I hated bitterness; every time after I had taken medicine, she would always immediately bring me honey water sweetened with snow lotus nectar. I lowered my head and thought of my mother, and of my father and brother. Tears welled up without my willing it.

The tears fell and splashed onto the back of his hand.

Through all the dangers of that journey, even at moments when my life hung by a thread — I had not shed a single tear. And yet now, in front of him, I was crying for no reason at all.

He was silent. He set down the medicine bowl and reached out to wipe my tears away.

His fingers touched my cheek. I shivered — then lowered my head, and allowed his rough, calloused palm to move across my face.

“It will be all right.” He said softly. “Good medicine is bitter. Sleep, and when you wake, your injuries will be much improved.”

The bitter taste of the medicine still lingered in my mouth — yet my heart no longer ached so sharply. I was beginning to feel, slowly, warm and steady.

“Sleep now.” He settled me back against the pillow, took hold of my hand, and a small, soft warmth seeped through from his palm… I was a little dazed — not knowing if it was the medicine taking effect, or a momentary illusion — and before my eyes, blurry, I seemed to see Zidan as a child, as he had been in those early years, leaning over the side of my bed, rising up on the tips of his toes, stretching out his hand to feel my forehead, and pressing his face close to my ear to say softly, “Sister A’Wu, get well soon.”

My nose stung. I opened my eyes to look at him — but Zidan’s face gradually blurred, and through it, dimly, emerged Xiao Qi’s features.

At this moment, whose hand was resting on my brow, and whose hand was it that held mine so tightly…

Over the days that followed, I spent most of my time sunk under the effect of the medicine and slept through the days. The internal injuries and old ailments seemed to gradually improve.

In the occasional brief moments of clarity, I would find myself hoping to hear news of Xiao Qi from the serving maids.

And yet he had not come — not once, since the day he left. He had not come again.

Only a general by the surname Song came each day on his orders to inquire of the medical attendants, reporting back to Xiao Qi on my condition.

The serving maids said His Highness was busy with military affairs… I received this in silence, unable to make out the murky flavor in my heart — to tell whether it was disappointment or not.

Perhaps I should never have had such expectations to begin with. Perhaps nothing had truly changed — he was still himself, and I was still myself.

Once I was clear-headed, there were two things I most wanted to know. First — had word of my escape already reached the capital? Had my parents’ worries been put to rest? Second — had Helan Zhen’s faction been brought to justice? On that day, Helan Zhen had lost his arm and fallen from the cliff — the harrowing sight was as vivid as if it were before my eyes. At that moment on the cliff, I had leapt down with him — my heart had held nothing but the hatred that longed to perish together with him. I must have hated him — that hatred was real. The humiliations of that entire journey had all been visited on me through him.

Even now the bruises where he had throttled my neck and gripped my arms had not yet faded; the internal injury from his palm strike had still not healed.

In the feverish nightmares of my delirium, I would sometimes see that forlorn figure in white — blood-soaked, plunging toward a bottomless abyss. From so high a cliff, with one arm already cut away… it could only mean, at this point, that nothing remained of him but bleached bones.

And yet I remembered the physician’s words: “Fortunately, this palm was used at less than three parts in ten of its full force — otherwise…”

A palm thrown in a fury — and yet he had used less than three parts in ten of his full force. I did not know why he had held back, and I did not know whether in that moment any trace of conscience had stirred within him. These questions, I would never have the answer to — yet whenever I thought of that palm, of all that had happened that day, the hatred I had once sworn when I pledged to kill him had faded, unnoticed, and left behind only pity and a lingering sorrow.

I remembered that so many people had died that day.

First had come the slaughter in the drill-yard — the imperial envoy had perished on the spot; then there had been the pursuit and killing on the mountain plank-way, with Xiao Qi cutting down three men by his own hand — arrows piercing through throats, a severed head, a cut-off arm, hot blood… In all my years of life, I had never witnessed such scenes, had never even imagined them.

And yet when I witnessed it with my own eyes, I did not faint. I was not even thrown into panic or helplessness.

In the old days at the Imperial Hunting Park, during the deer hunt, the first deer to be brought down was shot by my brother and presented before the Emperor. The Crown Princess, Xie Wanru, had looked at the fallen deer — and at that single glance had fainted. His Majesty had expressed admiration, saying the Crown Princess was kindhearted; but my aunt had been dismissive.

It would seem, then, that I must be deeply unkind.

An imperial court envoy had colluded with foreign enemies to abduct the Princess Consort, attempted to assassinate Prince Yuzhang, and met his end in failure… An incident of this scale would have sent tremors through the court. The capital must already be in upheaval. How would Xiao Qi report the matter to the throne? How would my father respond? And how would my aunt handle it?

Though my mind had been hazy, my inner thoughts had remained clear and lucid — turning the events over and over, before and after, I sensed something murky lurking beneath, as if some weighty, far-reaching connection lay hidden within it all. Yet I knew nothing; I had been kept in the dark from all sides, by all of them at once.

Since Xiao Qi would not come, I could only ask the medical attendants and serving maids around me.

Yet every last one of them could only ever reply with one of two phrases: either “This servant obeys,” or “This servant does not know — this servant deserves death.”

Every one of them held their breath and kept their voices lowered, regarding me with the wariness one might show a tiger or a wolf. It was hard to imagine how strictly Xiao Qi governed his household.

Only one round-faced, bright-eyed little maid had a livelier spirit — being younger, she would occasionally keep me company in conversation, though even then she would only answer when spoken to.

In my restless boredom, I thought of Jin’er more and more.

After the ambush in Huizhou, we had been separated, and I did not know whether she had remained in Huizhou or had already been sent back to the capital.

Night had fallen. Leaning against the headboard with a book, I had just begun to grow drowsy, eyes drooping — when outside I heard a chorus of voices bowing in submission.

Amid the clinking of armor, boot-steps rang into the inner chamber, and Xiao Qi’s voice sounded from outside the folding screen. “Has the Princess Consort retired for the night?”

“Reporting to Your Highness: the Princess Consort is still reading.”

His sudden arrival caught me unprepared and left me flustered, uncertain how to compose myself. In my haste, I set down my book, closed my eyes, and feigned sleep.

“What is this about?” Xiao Qi’s footsteps stopped outside.

“Reporting to Your Highness, this servant was just about to apply medicine for the Princess Consort.”

“Withdraw.” Xiao Qi paused a moment, then added, “Give the medicine to me.”

All the serving maids withdrew from the inner room. The quiet chamber grew so still that every breath could be heard with perfect clarity.

The bed curtain was lifted, and he sat down at the edge of the bed, close beside me.

I kept my eyes shut — and still I felt the weight of his gaze pressing upon me.

A coolness at my shoulder: the coverlet was lifted aside. He parted the collar of my inner robe, and his fingers touched the site of my injury at the shoulder and neck.

The contact of his fingers with my skin — in an instant, I jolted with a tremor. All the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head at once; both my cheeks burned with fire. At my ear I heard his low, amused voice: “So someone blushes even in sleep?”

My eyes flew open. His gaze scorched me — from my cheeks to my whole body, everything felt as if it were on fire.

Flustered and embarrassed, I shrank away from his hand and pulled the coverlet up to hold as a shield against my chest.

He laughed out loud, his gaze sweeping over me with unabashed boldness — then suddenly he stilled and reached out to catch my wrist.

I uttered a soft cry of pain without thinking: the bruised, purplish wound on my wrist hurt sharply where he had gripped it.

Xiao Qi released me. The laughter left his face, and he gave me a level look. “Did they use torture on you?”

“Only flesh wounds — I didn’t suffer much.” I pulled my hand back and looked up — only to see that his gaze had turned cold as frost, his killing intent sharp as a blade.

I startled. The words I had been about to say were swallowed back, as if frozen by the coldness in the air.

“Let me look.” With no change of expression, Xiao Qi suddenly drew me toward him and swept my robe aside.

I was so stunned I froze. Under the chilling severity of his gaze, I even forgot to resist.

In the swaying lamplight, my skin was suddenly bare before his eyes. With only a small, thin undergarment to cover me, it might as well have been nothing at all.

Seeing no further injuries on my body, the furrow between his brows finally released. He drew my robe back into place and said levelly, “Good, nothing else. If he had used torture on you, those seventeen men from Helan would not have been left with whole bodies.”

He spoke with casual indifference; I heard it and felt my very soul go cold. After a stunned moment, I asked in a low voice, “Those Helan death-sworn riders — you tracked them all down?”

I remembered that on that day, he had promised Helan Zhen that no part of his forces would give chase.

“Such a band of common brigands — why trouble the whole army.” He said calmly. “The Turk troops had long since been stationed at the border. They would never have let them through.”

“But is Helan Zhen not the son of the Turk king?” I asked, surprised.

Xiao Qi smiled. “That is so — but unfortunately, the Turks also have another capable and battle-hardened prince: Hulan, Helan Zhen’s cousin and the Turk king’s nephew.”

“No wonder you knew Helan Zhen’s plans.” The pieces fell into place for me. The grey-clad man who had followed them all the way could only realistically have tracked their movements — he could not necessarily have known Helan Zhen’s full scheme. The real informant had been someone from within their own ranks: the one who had sold out Helan Zhen was his own kinsman, Prince Hulan, his rival for the throne.

In that instant, a chill that reached to my bones passed through me.

Helan Zhen had believed the imperial envoy was his inside man — never imagining that Xiao Qi had long since joined hands with Prince Hulan.

Every ring had been a calculation; every step had concealed a killing trap. Whoever miscalculated a single move would be utterly destroyed.

Xiao Qi, Helan Zhen, Xu Shou… what a terrifying web they had each been living within.

I stared at Xiao Qi in a daze, and the more I looked, the more unfathomable his eyes became — nothing could be read in their depths.

He looked back at me steadily, then suddenly smiled. “Are you afraid of me?”

A moment ago those eyes had been cold as frost — and now it was as if deep snow was beginning, slowly, to thaw.

Was I afraid of him? Long ago, when I had watched from afar as he led three thousand iron-clad cavalry through the Zhaoyang Gate, there had been fear, yes, in that moment.

But now — so close to him, having passed through life and death together, having watched with my own eyes as he cut men down in front of me… did I still fear him?

I raised my gaze to meet his, and all the memories of the past came floating up at once, bringing with them a hundred mixed flavors.

“No,” I said. “I hate you.” I looked at him directly.

His gaze sharpened — and then he smiled. “That is fair. I am indeed quite hateable.”

Not a single word in his own defense or to excuse himself. He simply admitted it, just like that. For a moment I was at a loss for words.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” I bit my lip; at heart, I felt a little deflated. Things had come to this point — I might as well give us both a way out of this impasse.

“What is it you want to know?” he replied — with a question of his own.

A surge of anger rose in my chest. I glared at him — then glanced over and saw that his smile was open and unguarded, and that his whole person radiated a kind of incandescent brightness.

On the night of our wedding, when he had left without a word, he had always owed me an explanation.

I did not care what he could make up for. But that explanation — it was a matter of my dignity, and the dignity of my family.

Three years of brooding over it… of all the things that had refused to let me go, this was the most insufferable — this one unresolved indignity.

I looked at his smile, and my anger turned in on itself and came out as a cold smile. Slowly, I said, “I owe you something. I am returning it to you now.”

Xiao Qi gave a slight start, his smile unchanged. “What is that?”

I leaned toward him, raised my chin, and smiled — then suddenly swung my hand and landed a slap.

That crisp, clean slap, delivered with every ounce of strength I had, struck him squarely on the left cheek without the slightest deviation.

He received it in a daze, making no attempt to dodge, his blazing gaze locked on me.

For a moment both of us were frozen — and then gradually a reddening imprint of fingers appeared on his face, along with an expression that was not quite a smile.

“This was yours by rights on our wedding night, and yet somehow I owed it to you this long.” I tilted my face and looked straight at him. My palm burned with pain — but my heart felt utterly free, so satisfied that I could have laughed aloud.

“My thanks. Now we are even.” The corner of his mouth curved; his smile deepened. He took hold of my smarting palm, turned it over and looked at it — and upon seeing the red, swollen patch across it, immediately gave a helpless laugh. “Old wounds not yet gone, and now a new one added.”

I tried in vain to wrench free, and then I noticed that his gaze had slid from my face and downward — straight toward my chest. Only then did I realize with a jolt that my robe had come half open, and that a large expanse of snow-white skin was in full view before his eyes.

“You are shameless!” I was so mortified I wanted to vanish from the earth — yet both my hands were controlled by him, and I could not pull away even a fraction.

He sighed, looped one arm around me, and picked up the salve with the other. “If you keep squirming, I’ll have no choice but to take off all your clothes to apply the medicine.”

I believed he was perfectly capable of saying so and doing so. When struggling proved futile, I had no choice but to bite down hard on my lip and force myself to stay still.

He dipped his fingers into the salve and applied it carefully to the external wounds on my shoulders, neck, and wrists. The wounds had already begun to heal and were not very painful — but his fingers lingered on my skin, slowly working the salve in with a gentle press, stirring a tingling, numbing sensation… and all the while he watched me with that half-smile.

The maids who applied the medicine for me had never caused this much trouble. He was tormenting me deliberately.

I glared at him, too vexed for words.

He looked at me with an expression of pointed meaning, then said, “Such a fierceness… and just as well. It is her fate to have married into a military house.”