Cui Jinzhi shouldered through the guards, stumbling nearly at a run, and rushed forward to throw his arms around Li Shu.

The guards had not expected Sir Cui to be so deeply devoted; one by one they quickly averted their eyes, pretending they had seen nothing.

Li Shu was caught entirely off guard, pulled flush against Cui Jinzhi’s chest. His arms locked around her with crushing force, as if trying to press her into his very bones.

He seemed to have… never held her this tightly before.

The sensation was too unfamiliar. Li Shu was uncomfortable.

She pushed hard against Cui Jinzhi, finally wrenching herself free from his arms, and immediately stepped back.

Li Shu turned slightly aside, reached up quickly, and tucked the jade ornament hanging at her neck deeper into her collar.

Cui Jinzhi had been pushed away, but at this moment he could not even register her distance. He only fixed his eyes on Li Shu, staring and staring.

Thank heaven. She was still alive, standing right in front of him, whole and safe.

Cui Jinzhi did not blink, as if she were a phantom that might vanish in the next instant.

“Are you injured? How serious is it?”

His eyes were hollow, unfocused — nothing in the world around him existed except Li Shu.

Her robes were torn to ribbons. What skin was exposed was covered in scrapes — great swaths of raw, alarming red, bearing the texture of flesh and blood.

Cui Jinzhi immediately stripped off his official robe, tore the shredded outer garment from Li Shu’s shoulders in one swift motion, and draped his own robe around her, drawing her firmly into the shelter of his arms.

Li Shu began to struggle again; Cui Jinzhi asked, “Did I hurt you?”

He took her pulling away for pain, and loosened his hold just slightly — enough for Li Shu to slip free.

Cui Jinzhi reached out still wanting to support her, but Li Shu took another step back. Then she spoke her first words of the day: “I’m fine.”

Her tone was thoroughly cool.

Cui Jinzhi’s outstretched hand hung suspended in the air. He lowered his gaze and only then saw Li Shu’s two hands — they were injured so gravely that raw flesh and bone were visible.

Cui Jinzhi seized her wrists, his voice gone completely hoarse. “Does… does it hurt?”

It was as if he could only manage that one question; he hated the poverty of words.

Every finger was connected to the heart — of course it hurt. But the worst of the pain had already passed through the night. By now Li Shu only felt a dull numbness in both hands, with barely any sensation.

That was not a good sign.

Cui Jinzhi had seen many injuries; he could naturally tell how severe the wounds on Li Shu’s hands were.

His expression changed in an instant. He clenched his teeth and bellowed, “Quickly! Get the sedan chair over here!”

If the wounds were not treated in time, her hands would be ruined. Not just writing — even ordinary gripping might become extremely difficult in the future.

The guards wished they could grow wings. They flew to bring the sedan chair.

Li Shu was just about to walk over and sit herself down, but Cui Jinzhi bent and scooped her up horizontally, then settled her steadily into the chair.

“Carry her smoothly! Not even the slightest jolting!”

He commanded in a cold voice.

The ones carrying the chair were the two most powerfully built guards among all those present. Hearing this, they could only cry inwardly.

The mountain path was this rugged — how was it possible for there to be no jolting at all?

But looking at Sir Cui’s face, gone a rigid iron color, who among them dared complain?

Sir Cui was unlike other officials — others who held rank carried themselves with stately authority and great official bearing, while Sir Cui had a certain unrestrained quality of young men from distinguished families, a kind of effortless ease even in official settings.

Yet if someone truly provoked his anger, the consequences were unimaginable.

He was sometimes like a fox wearing a smile — all grace on the surface.

A row of guards led the way forward; another row followed as guard from behind. Several hundred people in all, yet every one of them was completely silent, terrified of making a sound that might disturb the Princess.

Li Shu’s sedan chair moved through the center of the crowd. The guards truly did carry her with exceptional steadiness — not the slightest jolt throughout.

The rain had stopped. The light of dawn filtered through the thin mountain mist and slowly revealed itself, falling on Li Shu’s face — it felt rather like… the firelight of last night.

All that had happened the night before was like a dream. Greeting the morning light now, Li Shu almost began to wonder whether she had truly spent the night with Shen Xiao in that cave.

She looked down, and saw that both her badly wounded hands were coated in a green liquid — a reminder that last night had been real.

A faint smile drifted across Li Shu’s face.

She hadn’t known before — so that was the sort of person Sir Shen was.

Where was he now, she wondered.

Cui Jinzhi walked close beside the sedan chair, one hand resting on its frame to ease any jolting for Li Shu.

He glanced up and caught sight of Li Shu gazing at her own palms, a smile of extraordinary tenderness on her face.

What was she thinking of, to smile that way?

He had not seen her smile like that in years — several years.

Just now, when he had moved to embrace her, she had worn only an expression of desperate avoidance.

Her hands were coated in a green liquid — he recognized the intensely bitter smell of fresh coptis root.

Li Shu knew nothing of medicine. And besides… both her hands were wounded that badly; there was no way she could have ground up medicinal herbs to apply to herself.

There had been a fire in that cave, and a wooden frame for drying clothes.

It seemed she had… been tended to by someone last night.

Where was that person?

Cui Jinzhi, struck by the thought, suddenly spoke. “Little Sparrow…”

Li Shu turned her head. “Mm?”

Cui Jinzhi looked at Li Shu. “Last night — was there someone who helped you?”

He smiled slightly. “When we return to the mansion, I will certainly reward him handsomely.”

Li Shu heard this, and her gaze paused for just a moment.

She looked at Cui Jinzhi, who had been walking alongside the sedan chair the whole way, on a mountain track made extremely slippery by the night’s rain. He was soaked through from head to toe, face and hair smeared with mud — he had clearly taken no small number of falls while searching for her.

He was always the elegant young master of a distinguished family, and had never been in such a sorry state before.

When he had rushed forward to embrace her just now, she had felt clearly that his body was trembling. He had never been in such a panic before, either.

Li Shu took all of it in, and then simply turned her head away, no longer looking at Cui Jinzhi. She faced forward, her voice indifferent. “There was no one. Last night I was alone.”

Following the mountain road, they finally arrived at Qianfu Temple.

Word of the Princess’s rescue had been sent ahead. Qianfu Temple was all bustle and activity — the maids had tidied the side rooms immaculately, the bathwater was ready, the vegetarian meal was prepared, clean clothes were laid out, bandages and ointments were all in order, and the medicine for warding off chill and damp had already been brewed.

Whatever the Princess desired could be provided at once.

When the sedan chair arrived at the outer gate of Qianfu Temple, the old abbot was standing at the entrance to receive her.

Even for one who had transcended the five passions and relinquished all earthly things, the abbot felt that he had been put through every emotion the night before — terror and panic, hopelessness and helplessness, and then the overwhelming joy of relief when word arrived.

If the Princess had truly come to harm… judging by Sir Cui’s demeanor, everyone in their temple would likely have been made to pay with their lives.

The old abbot watched the sedan chair approach and was just about to step forward to beg the Princess’s forgiveness when the prince consort’s phoenix eyes, carrying a chill like ice, fixed upon him and forced him back where he stood.

Only then did the abbot notice that the Princess had fallen asleep against the side of the sedan chair.

The guards gently lowered the chair to the ground. Li Shu did not wake. Cui Jinzhi stepped over the chair, slipped one hand behind her back and the other beneath her knees, and lifted her up sideways into his arms.

His hands were perfectly steady. He stepped forward into the gates of Qianfu Temple.

The old abbot quickly cleared out of the way.

Qianfu Temple was the Princess’s private temple, maintained and supported entirely at her own expense. And so the abbot knew Li Shu quite well.

The Princess was a very practical person, interested only in tangible benefits she could grasp in the present — she had never believed in Buddhism, in good and evil, in the afterlife, or any of those intangible things. Other private temples had abbots who lectured their patrons on the dharma every day; only at their Qianfu Temple had the monks recited nothing beyond the sutras for the deceased.

The one time she had shown the slightest glimmer of superstition was not long after she married Cui Jinzhi, when she had come specifically to draw a divination lot.

It was for a question about marriage.

She drew the lowest lot.

She did not ask anyone to interpret it. She only let out a bitter laugh and murmured, “This must be my fate.”

She excelled at strategy and was sharp-minded, meeting every situation with full control.

That was the one moment she had shown that some things lay beyond her power.

The old abbot had known then: the Princess and the prince consort did not live in happiness together.

The sedan chair was smooth enough, but even the steadiest of rides could not entirely prevent a faint swaying on the way up the mountain. That swaying, far from being unpleasant, was rather soporific — and as Li Shu sat there, her eyes slowly drifted shut.

But before long she became aware that the comfortable rocking sensation had disappeared, replaced by a warm, solid body she was now resting against.

Li Shu noticed the difference, and her drowsiness scattered in an instant. She opened her eyes — above her was the sky, washed clean by rain, and then the sharp line of Cui Jinzhi’s jaw. He was looking straight ahead as he walked, holding her with perfect steadiness.

Yet being carried in Cui Jinzhi’s arms left Li Shu feeling wholly uncomfortable everywhere. She immediately shifted in his hold.

Cui Jinzhi quickly stopped and looked down at her. “You’re awake?”

Li Shu said simply, “Put me down. My legs aren’t broken.”

Cui Jinzhi started to protest, but Li Shu’s eyes were cold and indifferent. He was quiet for a moment, then carefully and gently set her down.

Only now did Li Shu see clearly that she was already standing outside the separate courtyard.

Last night’s heavy rain had given the courtyard a thorough washing; the green bricks everywhere shone with a bright, clean dampness.

The courtyard was full of maids bustling about, but one figure knelt bolt upright in the very center — soaking wet, as though she had been kneeling all night, yet still did not move.

That was Hong Luo.

A maid caught sight of Li Shu and called out joyfully, “The Princess is back!”

Everyone who had been busy stopped their work. Several of the senior maids quickly came over and reached out to support Li Shu.

Hong Luo heard the others call out “Princess” and spun around. The moment she saw Li Shu, a brightness flared in her eyes — and then tears immediately streamed down her face.

Hong Luo crawled forward on her knees toward Li Shu, weeping as she moved, her knees dragging the whole way across the ground.

She knelt at Li Shu’s feet, wanting to kowtow — but Cui Jinzhi’s official boots stepped over, and Hong Luo heard his voice, icy cold, call out: “Take her away!”

If the Princess fell from a cliff, the first one to be punished was Hong Luo!

And every guard who had accompanied Li Shu to Qianfu Temple — not a single one would escape accountability!

When the mistress met with trouble, the blame fell on the servants who had not looked after her properly.

Cui Jinzhi had been occupied all night searching for Li Shu; his fury had only now fully risen.

Cui Jinzhi’s attendants heard the command and came to drag Hong Luo by the arms toward the exit. Hong Luo was dragged away weeping, but did not dare beg for mercy.

The mistress had fallen from the cliff — whatever the reason, as the servant she was wrong.

Li Shu’s expression immediately went cold. She raised her voice: “Stop!”

“Who ordered Hong Luo to kneel?”

Cui Jinzhi: “I did.”

Li Shu heard this and turned her face toward him. Her tone was frigid. “Cui Jinzhi — have you forgotten? Hong Luo is my servant, not yours.”

“My people are mine to deal with. No one else may touch a single hair on their heads.”

He punished Hong Luo?

By what right did he punish Hong Luo?

Did he even know why she, Li Shu, had fallen from that cliff?