Chapter 24

On the weed-covered ground, the Princess’s heat toxin flared up…

The cave was dark and damp, while outside, the vegetation grew wildly. The torrential rain poured down, obscuring vision. Zhao Rongzhang focused her five senses, intently observing the movements in the direction of the procession. By chance, she felt an itch on the back of her hand. When she touched it, it felt wet and slippery. Looking closely, she saw a strange insect as large as a fist and nearly cried out. She frantically shook her arm until half her body went numb before confirming she had shaken it off. She had never seen such a disgusting thing before. She stomped on the insect repeatedly, not even sure if she had hit it, only stopping when she felt her soul return to her body. This was no time to worry about insects. The Princess hunched over, careful to avoid touching the surrounding stone walls and muddy surfaces again, and continued to look outside.

The distance was too great to see much clearly. But the location Little Mute had chosen for this cave was strategic—sandwiched between two hills, high in elevation, with steep slopes on all sides. Even birds would hardly notice such a place, yet from within, one could keep an eye on every direction.

Not far away, the dense layers of lush trees occasionally bent and snapped back rapidly. At first, Zhao Rongzhang thought it was due to the strong wind, but upon closer inspection, she noticed the angles and frequency of the bending branches varied greatly. She realized there were people hiding in those trees. A cold sweat broke out on Zhao Rongzhang’s body as she watched those people leap out or drop down like insects, all heading toward the procession in pursuit. Their numbers were so dense they could only be described as swarming. In an instant, her mind raced through all the possible people who might want to assassinate her.

Perhaps they were Zhao Jue’s men, or perhaps they were the relatives of those unfortunate souls she had encountered. Maybe they were local magnates she had offended in recent days… But how could there be so many? She had prepared for the possibility of an assassination attempt, but the scale was so vast, almost like a swarm of locusts sweeping through, far beyond what she could have anticipated. The marriage alliance procession had guards, but compared to the assassins, their numbers were far too few. The nearest Shoucheng was still fifty li away—even a fast horse would take at least two hours to bring reinforcements back and forth… This assassination was a meticulously planned masterpiece. The specifics couldn’t be guessed entirely; she would have to wait for Little Mute to return.

The heavy rain lasted a long time, turning the sky dark and the earth gloomy. Zhao Rongzhang crouched in the cave until her waist and knees grew sore and numb, forcing her to lean against the cave wall to endure. The sky grew increasingly murky, and the daylight faded. The chirping of insects and birds, which only appeared in the evening and at night, began to sound, indicating that a long time had passed. Little Mute still hadn’t returned.

She didn’t know if Ming Luo was safe or how many of the accompanying palace maids, physicians, and craftsmen had been killed. If this news reached the capital, what an uproar it would cause. After such prolonged tension, her emotions felt like a slackened bowstring. Zhao Rongzhang mentally prepared for all possible outcomes and devised corresponding plans—such as how to rescue Ming Luo if she were captured or injured; if Ming Luo were killed, how to contact her informants herself; whether to return to the capital or head directly southwest; whether to rush to Shoucheng first and have someone investigate the matter thoroughly…

All outcomes were still acceptable. Plans could still be made. Fate would not spiral completely out of control, so she didn’t need to remain mired in tension. Within an hour, Zhao Rongzhang had completely calmed down. She began to reflect on why she had almost completely failed to detect this assassination attempt—was it a failure in the intelligence network, or had they grown complacent along the way, overlooking some crucial detail? Or perhaps her thoughts and ideas were still too much like castles in the air, easily and brutally swept away by the storms of reality the moment they touched the ground…

By the time the rain gradually ceased, the sky had turned a deep indigo. The mountain wilderness was quiet, quiet in the absence of human voices. Yet it was also too noisy, noisy with the ceaseless cries of countless insects and birds. Surprisingly, a bright, clean moon appeared in the sky—this moon was exactly the same as the one she had seen every night from the palace in the past. Back then, she could hardly have imagined she would ever find herself in such a wretched state as today.

Zhao Rongzhang suddenly realized: Little Mute had been gone for so long and still hadn’t returned. Was she going to have to spend the night here?

Had he died?

“Ribbit—croak—” A frog’s call echoed crisply and loudly inside the cave. Zhao Rongzhang reacted swiftly, clamping a hand tightly over her mouth, but still let out an involuntary, short shriek.

Damn that Little Mute!!! If he dared to make her spend the night in this godforsaken place, she would have him sliced into a thousand pieces!!!

No sooner had she sworn this inwardly, every pore in her body still screaming “terrifying, terrifying” and “disgusting, disgusting,” than the branches and leaves concealing the entrance rustled faintly. Zhao Rongzhang, nerves on edge, bit into the flesh of her palm and hid against the side of the cave, staring at the trembling leaves, desperately trying to discern whether it was an insect or a snake.

It was neither. The leaves were pushed aside and lifted by a few jade-carved fingers, and a warm, metallic scent of rust invaded the cave. A pair of large, dark eyes blocked most of the light from the entrance. Zhao Rongzhang would never mistake Little Weapon. The moment her heart settled, her mouth had already formed the words she wanted to curse him with. The mute’s hand reached over and gently touched her shoulder and waist, his dark pupils shifting several times as if to confirm whether it was her and whether she was still in one piece. Zhao Rongzhang slapped his hand away. “What took you so long?!”

Little Mute’s round eyes instantly stopped moving, fixed on her gaze. He lowered his dark eyes, his hands stiffly gesturing, but halfway through, he remembered that it was pitch dark here and the Princess couldn’t see. The Princess was more irritable than ever. “Get out first! This place is disgusting and filthy!”

The cave was extremely small. Guan Xuan had to suspend most of his body outside to poke his head, chest, and arms inside. He felt for the Princess’s shoulders and arms, first encircling them, then wrapping his arms around her waist. His familiarity with her body made all his movements fluid and seamless. But unlike the urgency of the daytime, which left no room for hesitation, this silent and heavy moment left a gap in his thoughts where hesitation could form. His movements became unnatural; when he lifted the Princess into his arms, his hands touched her as if she were fragile porcelain, only daring to brush against her hair. He shielded the top of her head and carried her out of the cave.

The Princess was in an exceptionally foul mood, anger overriding everything else. Holding her in his arms felt like cradling a bundle of gunpowder that might explode at the slightest jolt or bump. Guan Xuan wanted to hold her tightly but didn’t dare to grip too hard. He quickened his pace, trying to distract himself from the tension within.

The Princess had already begun cursing, first damning that wretched Zhao Jue, then Ren Ping for aiding the villain, followed by those pretentious, damned eunuchs, then those shameless scoundrels who had offended her, then the corrupt officials and local tyrants she had punished, and even the Turks thousands of miles away. Even Prince Su received a few curses, and the late emperor did not escape either…

The Princess had never been alone for so long in her life, especially not in an entirely unfamiliar wilderness. These past hours must have been agonizing for her. Guan Xuan tightened his arm around her during a moment of shifting his footing, and the sensation and warmth of the Princess had never felt so clear and reassuring to him. Perhaps the Princess had exhausted herself from cursing, or perhaps she had entered the next emotional stage—shifting from anger to pensive sorrow—and fell silent. Guan Xuan’s anxiety grew, but he still tried to run farther, pushing his senses to the limit until he spotted a shimmering silver ribbon of water. It was a stream illuminated by moonlight. Guan Xuan tightened his grip on his own shoulder, holding the Princess tightly against his chest with one arm, his fingers gently cradling the back of her head. With his other hand, he blocked and parted the branches as they descended, the rustling leaves scraping against their ears before he finally landed softly on the ground.

As soon as they landed, the Princess’s arm still draped over his chest, she began cursing again: “I’m dizzy to death!” She could barely stand steady.

Guan Xuan gently held her by the shoulder, steadying her. Zhao Rongzhang rubbed her forehead and sat down. Guan Xuan nervously tried to help her up again, but she had already plopped down unceremoniously. Guan Xuan knelt on the ground, using his sleeve to wipe the dew off the grass, brushing it twice before gently lifting the Princess. The Princess grumbled a few complaints, wrapped her arms around his neck, and shifted her weight onto him.

The Princess cursed the sky, cursed the earth, cursed the disgusting bugs, the damned toads, and the mosquitoes that buzzed incessantly but were impossible to swat. Everything infuriated her to the point where she wished she could set the world on fire.

Listening to the Princess’s still vigorous cursing, Guan Xuan gathered two large bundles of wild branches and dry leaves from beneath the trees and bushes, then took out a fire striker in front of the Princess to start a fire. Once the fire was lit, Guan Xuan pushed through the thickets and bushes, sniffing carefully as he searched anxiously. Just then, the Princess’s cursing abruptly stopped. He immediately turned around, only to hear her shout, “Where the hell did you go? Come back!”

Guan Xuan’s heart raced with urgency. His eyes swept quickly around the surroundings before he turned and leaped back to the Princess’s side. The Princess had stood up, her back to the firelight, her brows furrowed like ripples on water. Guan Xuan gazed at the Princess, watching her for a moment before a wave of sourness rose in his nose. His heart ached, and seeing her only made it worse. He couldn’t bear to look, yet he couldn’t bear to look away. His eyes fell on the Princess’s hands, which occasionally scratched her arms or patted her legs. He carefully pinched the corner of her sleeve.

The Princess did not pull away. He changed from pinching to holding her hand, his eyes lifting to meet hers once more.

The Princess extended her wrist toward him, her face still wearing its usual look of impatience. “What?”

Guan Xuan’s fingertip touched the princess’s fingertip. Her nails were trimmed round and neat, with a healthy sheen, and her fingertip was warm. He felt increasingly distressed inside, though he didn’t know why. He gently, ever so gently, grasped her palm and the fleshy part between her thumb and forefinger, then channeled a surge of inner force, transmitting a vibration through his palm. Zhao Rongzhang only felt a subtle coolness erupt from Little Weapon’s palm, and in an instant, her internal organs were enveloped by a wave of warmth. Then the surrounding air stirred, and the grass and leaves rustled softly—a gust of wind seemed to sweep out from the two of them. Zhao Rongzhang suddenly felt that all the buzzing dead mosquitoes circling her body had been shaken to death, and her ears were filled with quiet.

The princess’s mood improved greatly. Little Weapon lightly released her hand, his eyes lowered slightly, and he gestured to her: “Not going far. I’m looking for herbs.”

Was he injured? Zhao Rongzhang didn’t ask, letting him go.

Zhao Rongzhang picked up a stick, tending to the fire, watching the flames and feeling annoyed. After adding two more pieces of firewood, she turned her head to ask where he had gone off to again, only to see that nimble, swallow-like figure already leaping back from behind the trees. This “swallow” had something white dangling from his mouth, and his arms were bulging with who-knows-what. In a couple of breaths, he drew near, and Zhao Rongzhang saw that he was holding a rabbit by its ears in his mouth. The rabbit dangled by its front paws, already dead. In his arms were a bundle of dry firewood and a pile of wild fruits gathered in his clothes. He even carried a fish over two feet long. His dark, round eyes gleamed with a wild, bright light in the night. Like this, Little Mute looked even more like a cat.

Zhao Rongzhang leaned against the tree trunk, picking up the pouch of wild fruits Little Mute had washed by the water, lazily eating them as she watched him chop branches, set up a fire rack, and place a bamboo tube filled with water over it to boil. Then he took the rabbit and fish to the river. Zhao Rongzhang tilted her head to look, only able to see his broad, thin back and the faint, decisive movements of his hands. When he returned, the skinned rabbit and scaled fish were skewered on branches and placed over the fire to roast. He poured the hot water from the bamboo tube into another fresh one, half-kneeling as he offered it to her.

Zhao Rongzhang took it, blowing on it slowly before drinking. The water boiled in the bamboo tube tasted exceptionally clear and sweet. She took a sip, glanced at it—the edges of the bamboo tube had been deliberately smoothed, smooth and not sharp to the mouth. The wild fruits were also delicious, sweeter than what she ate in the palace.

Eating and drinking, Zhao Rongzhang felt content again, slouching against the big tree as she watched Little Mute roast the rabbit and fish. Little Mute’s eyes were fixed intently on the flames. Zhao Rongzhang asked, “Where’s Ming Luo?”

Little Mute’s gaze paused on the fire before lifting to her. He didn’t speak or move. Zhao Rongzhang frowned. “Dead?”

Little Mute hesitated, shaking his head.

Zhao Rongzhang sighed in relief. “Then where is he? Didn’t you see him? What about the others? Could it be that not a single survivor remains? Or were they all captured? So many guards—they were Great Zhou’s guards, tasked with escorting us to the Turks. Even if the enemy was formidable, they couldn’t have been defeated like this, could they? If so, my Great Zhou truly is doomed.”

Little Mute stared at her, his gaze growing stranger and stranger. It had been like this since he appeared in the cave earlier, and now it was intensifying. Zhao Rongzhang felt annoyed, finding it detestable, and demanded, “Are you going to speak or not?”

Little Mute’s pupils shifted, his hands hesitating as he slowly began to gesture. He first signed out a sentence: “The assassins are from the guard army.”

Zhao Rongzhang scoffed, “Hmph. Zhao Jue—not satisfied with sending me off for a marriage alliance, he wants me dead on the road too?”

It then occurred to her that the guard army accompanying the marriage alliance procession might have been colluding with them from the inside, which would explain why she had received no prior warning and noticed nothing amiss before the incident.

However, Zhao Rongzhang frowned. For Zhao Jue, wouldn’t the Imperial Guards and the Eastern and Western Depots be more useful? The guard army was subject to local jurisdiction and not so easy to mobilize. Moreover, the assassins who attacked today were clearly elite among elites, and their numbers were substantial. Had they all been dispatched to ambush the marriage alliance princess? With so many people, achieving such secrecy—to the point where even Guan Xuan only sensed them when they were close—was no ordinary feat. When did Zhao Jue gain such capability and cunning? How could her informants have caught no wind of it?

Local powerful families certainly lacked such capability. Zhao Rongzhang’s heart skipped a beat as she arrived at the most exceptional, yet most plausible, answer.

The Grand Empress Dowager.

Both the dowry list and the marriage alliance procession had been personally arranged by the Grand Empress Dowager. Although Zhao Rongzhang had used all her resources to infiltrate her own people into the ranks, and overall held control in her own hands, the entire framework of the personnel system still belonged to the Grand Empress Dowager. And only the Grand Empress Dowager would disdain using the Imperial Guards or the Eastern and Western Depots, yet wield immense authority over the guard armies across the regions.

Guan Xuan watched as the princess’s disdainful sneer gradually darkened. A few strands of hair at her temples were disheveled, sweat clinging to her cheeks. Her fair, noble face was smudged with patches of dirt and dust.

The fish was roasted. Guan Xuan offered it to the princess, who snatched it and was about to eat when he gripped the scorching branch, pointed to his slightly parted lips, and made a pained expression.

Zhao Rongzhang brought it close to her mouth, puffing out her cheeks and frowning as she blew on it repeatedly. Watching her like this, Guan Xuan pursed his lips slightly, his eyes growing moist.

He had pursued and fought his way through, killing over a hundred, but the enemy had clearly anticipated and planned for it, with reinforcements continuously pouring in along the way. His primary duty was to protect the princess and obey her commands; his usual tasks involved assassinations. Dividing his attention to protect others was not easy, nor did he wish to. The princess’s people had been scattered—some killed, some captured, with none able to escape. Most of the princess’s authority and the informants she could mobilize were within that procession. What would the princess do now?

The rabbit was also roasted. Guan Xuan handed it to the princess, who ate with a rabbit in one hand and fish in the other. The princess was a pampered royal, raised with strict etiquette, yet she had always been one to overstep boundaries. Even in normal times, she paid little heed to dining decorum, let alone in such circumstances. Whether it was elegant or not, she couldn’t care less.

The princess glanced at the remaining few fruits. “Eat them.”

Guan Xuan held the fruits and ate them, one bite at a time. The princess finished the fish, leaving about half of the rabbit, which she tossed to him. “Eat.” Guan Xuan took it and ate it as well.

The Princess ate her fill and had him roast another bamboo tube of water to drink. Guan Xuan gestured to the Princess that she could bathe by the river. Zhao Rongzhang looked at the river with disdain—when had she ever bathed in anything but perfumed water? The thought of fish possibly swimming between her legs while she washed made her sick. She wouldn’t bathe. Tomorrow she would find a good place to stay, where she could take a clean bath. She was exhausted; she needed to sleep.

Guan Xuan went to the stream and cut reeds, laying them down in a thick layer. He took off his own clothes, spread them out neatly on top. The Princess was quite disgusted, but she didn’t care anymore—she lay down and fell asleep. The Princess slept very soundly; perhaps she was asleep the moment her head tilted. Guan Xuan knelt beside her and gently touched her arm. The Princess, annoyed, opened her eyes and glared at him.

Guan Xuan rubbed his palms together, showing her the crushed and spread-out medicinal herbs in his hand. The Princess asked, “What?” Guan Xuan tried hard to convey his meaning: “For the mosquito bites.”

The Princess’s brow relaxed again. She pushed up her sleeve and extended her arm to him. On her fair, lotus-root-like arm were scattered three or five red bumps. Guan Xuan bit his lower lip, blinked rapidly to dry his eyes, and carefully applied the herbs from his palm to each one.

Cool and soothing, quite comfortable. The Princess was satisfied and lifted her leg for him to apply more, then turned over so he could treat the one on her back. Guan Xuan rubbed them one by one. The summer night after the heavy rain was damp and hot, making everything feel moist—his heart and eyes were damp too. The Princess truly slept very well; in just the time it took to turn over, she was already asleep. Guan Xuan couldn’t hold back his tears; one fell with a soft pat onto the Princess’s back. He quietly, carefully wiped it away.

Guan Xuan plucked large magnolia leaves and phoenix tree leaves, weaving them into two fans. He made the fire smaller and knelt beside the Princess, gently fanning her. Inner force was channeled into each movement of the fan, repelling the annoying mosquitoes and driving away the noisy birds, beasts, and insects. The summer night grew tranquil, a bright moon gradually shifting westward.

The Princess slept peacefully like this for nearly three hours. In the latter half of the night, she suddenly began frowning and tossing frequently. She was too tired, too sleepy, barely able to turn over. Yet she seemed genuinely uncomfortable, rubbing her knees together, lying on the grass and letting out low moans.

Guan Xuan initially thought it was due to the heat and immediately used his inner force to send cool energy to her, but the Princess remained unwell, growing even more distressed. Guan Xuan couldn’t bear to see her like this. Biting his lip, he examined the mosquito-bitten spots, thinking to crush more herbs and apply them. When his finger accidentally brushed the Princess’s shoulder, she tilted her head and unconsciously nuzzled against the back of his finger.

In the flickering firelight, Guan Xuan’s gaze shifted softly, settling on the Princess’s dust-covered cheek.

The Princess’s heat toxin had flared up.