Even with the mafei herb and ice packs numbing things, Chen Baoxiang still felt the pain — fine beads of sweat had broken out across her forehead.

She hadn’t caught what Physician Sun had said. She only felt that the room had grown rather quiet all of a sudden.

Someone drew aside her clothing and began tending to the arrow wound at her collarbone, then cut open her trouser leg and carefully sutured the blade wound on her calf.

Each pull of the thread brought a dull, grinding ache through her skin and flesh. Blood ran down her ankle in a steady drip.

She let out two muffled groans and buried her face deeper into the pillow.

“It’s all right now.” Someone sighed softly — so faint it was impossible to tell whether the words were meant to comfort her or to comfort himself.

Chen Baoxiang murmured an acknowledgment in response. She was on the verge of passing out from the pain, yet she forced her eyes open, suddenly remembering something: “Put the leftover gauze away — don’t throw it out. It’s sixty copper coins a roll. Very expensive.”

Zhang Zhixu’s hands were covered in blood. He had just been about to wipe them on the gauze beside him, and at those words, his fingertips froze mid-air.

At a time like this, she was worrying about the gauze?

Laughter rose out of exasperation. He called out: “Jiuquan, go and get her twenty rolls of gauze to keep on hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

The person in the bed went to sleep with a contented ease. Zhang Zhixu sat by her side and watched, brow furrowed, faintly lost in thought.

Sun Sihuai finished writing out the prescription for the internal medicine, gave Biqing instructions on how to manage the recovery over the coming days, and prepared to take his leave.

“I’ll see you out.” Zhang Zhixu finally rose.

Sun Sihuai walked along, glancing at his apprentice from the corner of his eye. The young man seemed to have something weighing on his mind — so distracted, in fact, that he nearly stumbled over the doorstep.

“What is it?” Sun Sihuai steadied him. “Something on your mind?”

“No.” Zhang Zhixu deflected instinctively. But before he had taken two more steps, he could not hold back. “Master.”

“Hmm?”

The young man beside him wore an unusually wistful expression. “Let’s say you meet someone and you feel you’re on very close terms with her — but she won’t tell you anything. What would you do?”

Sun Sihuai glanced at him sideways, and said with wry amusement, “What can you do? If she doesn’t want to say, that just means she doesn’t feel as close to you as you think.”

“No, that’s not it.” Zhang Zhixu quickly clarified. “The relationship really is close — she asks you for help with everything, which is completely different from how she is with others. She says you’re not an outsider to her.”

“Oh — if you’re already not an outsider, then what am I still fretting about?” Sun Sihuai gave him a look.

Zhang Zhixu lowered his eyes. He kept rubbing at his own sleeve cuff, and after a long, halting pause, he finally said: “It’s just this feeling that you’ve poured your whole heart out for her, and yet she doesn’t seem to care that much for you.”

“Who is this person? Surely someone exists who doesn’t like even you?” Sun Sihuai asked, feigning ignorance, thoroughly amused.

Meanwhile this young man, convinced he had hidden things quite well, maintained a perfectly serious expression and said: “You wouldn’t recognize the name even if I said it, Master.”

Sun Sihuai suppressed the urge to laugh for quite some time.

He cooperated by putting on a thoughtful expression, stroked his beard, and said: “Your master’s view is that matters of the heart require mutual affection. If the other party has no interest, then one must know when to cut one’s losses.”

“She’s not entirely uninterested either. She treats me quite well sometimes.” Zhang Zhixu pressed his lips together. “It’s just that she has more important things to attend to. She simply doesn’t have much thought to spare for me.”

“If she doesn’t have thought to spare for you, how can you say she treats you well?”

“She — she gave me her most precious thing. She didn’t give it to anyone else, but she was willing to give it to me.”

Sun Sihuai stumbled, his eyes going wide. He was just about to say something — when he saw his apprentice produce a small pouch and weigh it in his palm. “Twenty-three taels and five qian. She gave it all to me.”

Sun Sihuai: “…”

Silently cursing himself for having a dirty mind, he wiped a hand over his face and said, laughing: “All that fuss over a little money.”

“Master, you don’t understand. This isn’t money — it’s…” He let it go. “Never mind. I understand, and that’s enough.” He relaxed the furrow in his brow, tucked the pouch carefully away, then thought a moment more. “She worries about me, too. She’s afraid of me worrying about her, which is why she’s always keeping things from me.”

“Right. And she doesn’t completely disregard me either. Of all the people around her, she’s closest to me. I have no grounds to make things difficult for her simply because I can’t figure out my own feelings.”

With each word he spoke the crease between his brows smoothed a little more. He drew a long breath at the end, then clasped his hands toward Sun Sihuai. “Thank you for setting my mind at ease, Master.”

Sun Sihuai: “…” Perhaps he ought to be clasping hands toward a mirror — it was hardly his master who had set any minds at ease.

He couldn’t help but feel quietly amused. This apprentice of his had been like an emotionless block of wood for so long that he had assumed the boy would stay that way his whole life. He had not imagined that once his feelings were awakened, he would turn out to be this entertaining.

No different from any of those other lovesick fools in the end.

“Take good care of her. Your master will be on his way.” He waved his hand. “Come visit when you have time.”

“Take care, Master.” Zhang Zhixu clasped his hands and watched him over the threshold, then stood in the doorway for a moment before turning to go back inside and keep vigil.

·

When Chen Baoxiang woke the next day, she saw Zhang Zhixu still there.

The man was wearing an expensive soft gauze robe, its wide sleeves gathered and tied with sleeve bands. His profile was lit by the morning sun streaming through the window, beautiful as a figure who had stepped out of a painting.

Sensing her eyes open, he glanced sideways. “You’re awake.”

The memory of him scolding her mercilessly the day before drifted back into her mind. Chen Baoxiang blinked a few times and said in a hoarse voice: “I was wrong.”

Why did she lead with an apology right out of the gate.

Zhang Zhixu felt an uncomfortable pang in his chest. Looking at how thoroughly she’d been scolded — really, it wasn’t her fault.

He handed her some tea, then steadied the splinted hand she had wrapped up, and said: “This injury of yours needs at least a month of recovery. Well, now you’ll finally have all the time in the world to talk to me.”

“But Ningsu said you’ve been busy lately, always out in the countryside.” She blinked. “I might have time, but you don’t.”

“I’ll always have time to come by at least once a day.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “What — you don’t want to deal with me?”

“Of course not. I was just about to bring it up.” She shifted her position, drew a sharp, soft breath, then grinned. “You just weren’t on the mountain — you didn’t get to see what a beautiful battle I fought.”

She eagerly launched into an account of the situation on the mountain, then broke it down strategically, and found that every single decision she had made had been the best and most correct choice possible — which made her look all the more pleased with herself.

Zhang Zhixu listened attentively, offering affirmation and praise at intervals, and only reached out to hold her still when she tried to wave her arms around for emphasis.

“Commissioner Chen is quite formidable,” he said. “Next time, could you be even more formidable — and not get injured this badly?”

As he said this, both his hands were pressing down on the wooden splint over her hand. He had leaned toward her and was barely an inch away, close enough that their breath mingled together.

Chen Baoxiang’s heart gave a sudden soft squeeze.

She looked up at him, the corners of her eyes curving gently. “Worried sick?”

“Yes.” He lowered his gaze.

A quiet, weightless syllable — like a petal spinning in the wind.

For a brief moment, Chen Baoxiang thought this person was truly very endearing. He had been driven to such fury by her not long ago, and yet here he was, obediently saying he had worried about her. His knuckles had gone pink, and the corners of his eyes were tinged with red; he leaned close to her with eyes downcast.

It seemed that no matter what outrageous thing she did, he would first be stunned, and then try his best to accept it.

Truly too easy to push around.

“Zhang Fengqing.”

“Hmm?”

“Kiss me.”

“?”

“I have a feeling there’s more trouble ahead.” She sighed, then said with complete naturalness, “You need to kiss me, or I won’t have the strength to face it.”

The man before her shot her a look of indignation, glaring at her — and without a single word, Chen Baoxiang already knew what he was thinking.

— After everything that happened before still hasn’t been properly settled, you have the nerve to make this request?

He flicked his sleeve and turned to stride out, footsteps wide and purposeful.

Chen Baoxiang lay where she was and began counting silently in her head: ten, nine…

The man who appeared to be well on his way out the door suddenly stopped, bit down on something, turned back, braced his hand on the bed frame, leaned down and to the side, and pressed his lips firmly onto hers.

Chen Baoxiang’s eyelashes fluttered, and she burst out laughing.

“What are you laughing at!” He drew back with a cold glare.

“Next time, start counting from three.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Chen Baoxiang said with satisfaction. “Next time — next time I definitely won’t get injured this badly again.”