Chapter 11

Han Yue stood silently in place, her slender figure remarkably upright despite her slight build. Her hearing was keen; if Wang Quan glanced back or tried to hide behind the red wall, not the faintest sound would escape her notice.

Once Wang Quan had truly walked far away, Han Yue turned her head, her tone as stiff as before. “What’s going on?”

Yun Ting knelt on his heels, gently moving his stiffened knees. Even the slightest movement sent scorching pain radiating through his joints, as if seared by fire. He strained to steady the trembling veins on the back of his hand but could not control his rapid breathing.

Han Yue half-squatted, extending her forearm, weakly clenched into a fist, toward Yun Ting. He did not look up, propping his palm on the ground as he slowly rose. “Does the princess have any instructions? This servant will attend at once.”

The jagged edges of the stones dug into his flesh, leaving pits of various sizes.

“It’s nothing.” Seeing him hunched over in pain, Han Yue wanted to help but he insisted on standing by himself. She withdrew her hand awkwardly. “Go treat your wounds nearby first.”

“My lowly status forbids me from lingering long in Fengming Palace,” Yun Ting said, eyes downcast, seemingly avoiding something due to his disheveled state.

He hurried to leave, but the soreness from kneeling too long and numbness in his face intertwined. His legs gave way, and his barely supported body collapsed again.

Quick as a flash, Han Yue grabbed his wrist, lifting him up.

At the contact, Yun Ting clenched his palm tightly, then slowly relaxed.

Han Yue helped him to the largest banyan tree in the courtyard and sat him down. “The princess won’t be coming.”

The ancient banyan’s branches had long since rotted, leaving only massive, intertwined roots. They resembled an old-fashioned duster in the hands of the earth deity, exuding a faint scent of sandalwood incense from a Taoist temple.

As a member of the Shadow Guard, Han Yue always carried some soothing and hemostatic ointment, though in small quantities.

“This is a medicine to invigorate blood and dispel bruises,” she said, pulling a square tin box from her sash. She peeled back the thin, delicate outer layer to reveal a sticky, beige ointment resembling glutinous rice paste.

The princess had rejected the apothecary’s usual bruising remedies, wary of scarring on the face, so she specially commissioned Doctor Du to prepare several boxes of this ointment for her.

“My body is already damaged; I can manage my own treatment. There’s no need for such precious medicine,” Yun Ting said, feeling his heartbeat, he pushed her wrist away with his clean elbow, urging her to put it away quickly.

Han Yue, straightforward by nature, disliked his hesitance. She grasped the back of his hand, straightening his curled fingers, and patted the ointment onto his skin. “Nonsense! Even if damaged, you’re still a person.”

Han Yue rarely touched others directly. Unlike Zhi Xue and Ning Chun, who were eloquent and charming, even this rare comforting word from her carried a hint of awkwardness.

Yun Ting brushed the gravel from his palm, wiped the dust off his sleeve, and carefully opened the tin like handling a precious jewel. He took a thin layer of ointment with his fingertips.

His entire right cheek was numb; he couldn’t see the exact wound but applied the ointment to the area where he had struck himself — the most severely injured spot.

His application was like pouring high-proof liquor directly onto an exposed wound.

An indescribable sting flared up instantly, draining the color from his trembling lips.

His fingertips lost control, smearing ointment onto the prominent wing of his nose.

Han Yue finally could not bear it; she wiped the blood foam from the corner of his mouth with a coarse cloth handkerchief and gently cleaned the ointment that had spread beyond the wound. “This medicine stings at first. Bear with it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she took the small box again, swirling her index finger in the ointment before applying it to the purple bruises near Yun Ting’s temple.

Yun Ting turned his head slightly, avoiding her touch.

“My lowly status makes it improper for you to trouble yourself,” he said softly, biting his lower lip, his expression darkening.

Han Yue paid no heed to his words. Raised among boys, she had no usual feminine boundaries between men and women.

She shifted her feet slightly to examine the wounds on his face.

Their proximity suddenly tightened; Han Yue’s focus was fixed on his right cheek.

Beneath the large bruises, overlapping finger marks were visible.

Yun Ting was involuntarily drawn in, almost seeing the transparent fuzz on a girl’s nape. He inhaled sharply, holding his breath.

Han Yue seldom performed such delicate tasks. Seeing him twitch slightly, she worried she had pressed too hard. “With a face like this, how can you still serve before His Majesty?”

“My master said I don’t need to go to the Loyal Advice Hall for now,” Yun Ting replied, enduring the pain as the muscles in his face twitched faintly.

“Why?” Han Yue asked, confused. “Isn’t he your master? Why treat you this way?”

Yun Ting fell silent, staring at the ground. His eyelids twitched slightly at her touch.

He knew it was because of his face.

But without this face, he would never have been able to attach himself to the rising Wang Quan, nor have the chance to approach the emperor.

“All right.” Although many areas remained unevenly coated, Han Yue felt embarrassed to continue. “If I get a chance to enter the palace again, I’ll bring you more of this medicine.”

“No…” Yun Ting leaned forward to refuse, but Han Yue had already tightened the tin and casually placed it in his arms.

Yun Ting cupped his hands to receive it; their fingertips brushed.

Having trained with sword and martial arts for years, Han Yue’s palms were rougher than those of other girls her age, lined with scars of varying depths.

Startled, Han Yue slapped her thigh and hurried away. “I’ve stayed too long. I must go. Take care of your wounds; don’t worry about anything else.”

Yun Ting wanted to speak, but Han Yue turned, dusting her skirt, then swiftly followed the footprints along the wall to catch the two young eunuchs carrying the sedan chair.

He watched her slender back merge into the bustling capital city, her movements carrying the strength of a soldier. He felt dizzy.

The spring breeze still carried a damp chill. New leaves of the banyan pushed away the yellowed, withered ones, swirling down in the eddying wind, like a spring day many years ago when a little girl learning to speak squinted her beautiful almond eyes and called out crisply, “Brother Yun Ting.”

—

The long street was meticulously cleaned by the guards; the warm wind stirred no dust. The passing servants were as silent as if mute, the emptiness filled with an unsettling air of solemnity.

Qing Wu tapped her fingers on the armrest; the four sedan carriers halted simultaneously.

They stood at a fork in the road, almost able to see a somewhat dilapidated archway in the distance. Without further orders from the princess, the four dared not move.

“Princess, shall we take a look?” Ning Chun offered to assist, her hand lingering in the air.

Qing Wu’s face had recovered but she scoffed expressionlessly, “What’s there to see? No.”

The sedan carriers then took the other path with steady steps.

—

The corridor was narrower than the imperial path they came from. As palace maids and eunuchs passed by, they turned their backs and knelt against the wall, loudly proclaiming the princess’s longevity.

Qing Wu’s lips drooped slightly, suddenly irritated. “Lower the sedan.”

Without warning, she spoke, lifting her ornate skirt and stepping down from the soft sedan chair. “Accompany me outside.”

Ning Chun hesitated briefly, then helped Qing Wu and walked steadily forward.

The sedan carriers exchanged glances but, receiving no orders, dared not return empty-handed. They followed behind, carrying the empty sedan, ready if the princess needed it.

Meanwhile, at the end of the long street, another group coincidentally emerged from the palace. They chattered noisily, louder than crows in the garden.

“This time the lord has accomplished great merit; perhaps the county lady will soon become a duchess,” the crowd surrounded a gaudily dressed butterfly-like girl, her heavy rouge masking her true complexion, making it impossible to guess her real age.

The girl was proud and disdainful, ignoring the women around her, leading her household troops ahead. Every glance and expression was calculating, clearly the favored daughter of a high-ranking official.

Just as she stepped out of the palace, she encountered a grand carriage parked in the open space, with maids and coachmen standing guard outside. Someone sat inside.

The noblewomen recognized whose carriage it was and knew not to provoke such a person. They immediately masked their flattery and dispersed in a swarm.

Only the official’s daughter, with a victorious air, led the gift bearers on a detour straight toward the carriage.

Qin Susu knew no one inside could see, but she half-crouched at a distance, offering a perfunctory bow. “Princess, what brings you to the palace?”

Unexpectedly, no one inside responded.

Qin Susu’s heart wavered; she regretted provoking so rashly.

But then she thought of her father’s merit on the front lines, and how she had proudly placed the emperor’s gifts before the carriage to show off. If she fled now, wouldn’t she always be inferior when they met?

Zhi Xue, aware of the spoiled girl’s temperament, spoke to stop her. “Miss Qin, the carriage holds the princess’s esteemed guest.”

Qin Susu lowered her head, curiosity piqued.

She had heard that the much-pampered Princess Rong Zhao recently took a secretary, raised like a noble treasure in the mansion.

Though jealous of the princess’s birth and wealth, she had to admit the princess’s appearance and aura were unmatched.

Rong Zhao was like a jewel bestowed by heaven, embodying the supreme honor of the royal family.

But even someone as cherished as Rong Zhao would be guarded carefully. What must this secretary look like?

Qin Susu’s interest grew. She shook off her entourage and unconsciously approached the carriage, stopping five or six steps away. She could vaguely see the elegant contours beneath the thin veil and couldn’t resist the urge to lift the curtain.

Zhi Xue glanced back at the still carriage, silently hoping Master Pei would behave and not reveal his face.

Miss Qin was not so easily swayed.

“County lady, think twice,” she warned Qin Susu, subtly reminding her to recognize her place.

After all, a mere county lady dared to confront the princess’s carriage?