Chapter 25: Doing That Was Only to Detoxify Her…
In this desolate wilderness, unfamiliar and filthy. The Princess was noble—her shoe soles had never even touched dust—yet tonight she had to lie unconscious on a patch of ragged weeds, her clothes half-wet and half-dry, half-undone and half-concealed, patches of her luminous skin smeared with greenish plant juices, her entire being in disarray. This alone was distressing enough to witness, but now she had also developed heat toxin, unable to sleep peacefully, making Guan Xuan’s heart ache even more. What should he do for the Princess?
He bit his lip, nudged her arm, desperately wanting to wake her, but she unconsciously grasped his fingers. Guan Xuan dared not, quickly pulling away. Two rosy flushes bloomed on the Princess’s cheeks, her lips slightly parted as she breathed, her body writhing restlessly, yet showing no signs of waking. He wished fervently that the Princess would wake and play with him, dirty him, make him wretched, do whatever she pleased, play with him to death. But he could not rouse her.
Having endured the torment of passion poison himself, he knew all too well what kind of agony this was. At this thought, Guan Xuan’s mind went blank, as if a heavy mallet had struck his head—a loud, jarring impact that left him dizzy yet brought sudden clarity. One bout of passion poison had tormented him so much he wanted to resent her—how had he never considered that the Princess endured such suffering day and night? Had he thrown a tantrum with her over that bowl of medicine?
Guan Xuan could barely keep from biting through his lip. Seeing the Princess like this, an unfamiliar pain pierced his heart incessantly. He wished someone could pick the Princess up, wipe her face clean, dress her properly, relieve her suffering, soothe her emotions, hold her close, letting her sleep peacefully and comfortably until dawn. The Princess had grown up surrounded by abundant love—a mother’s love, the imperial family’s love, the people’s love… She was born to possess all this; she should forever be enveloped tightly by such love, should be held tightly in moments of despair. But another thought, equally profound, arose. He did not want such a person to exist. He did not wish for it.
He removed the cleanest layer of his own clothing, turned it inside out, and wrapped the softest part of the grass inside it, then bundled it around the Princess’s body, trying to make it tighter, even tighter—he wanted the Princess to be embraced. But he could not bring himself to do it, could not muster the strength. He was too lowly; his clothes were the same, unworthy of providing warmth for the Princess. Uncomfortable and weak, the Princess shifted and scattered the grass bundle, as if rejecting it. Guan Xuan had no choice but to give up.
He must fulfill his duty as a toy, as “medicine.” Guan Xuan knelt closer, lowering himself until the bridge of his nose nearly touched the dampened layer of soft silk. Suddenly remembering they were in the wilderness—if it got dirty, the Princess would have nothing to change into tomorrow—he drew his face back, gently untied it, folded it neatly, and placed it in a clean spot. Kneeling back, he cupped and held, leaning in to take it into his mouth, his nose, lips, tongue, and teeth all sinking deeply into it, serving with profound intensity.
…
The Princess whimpered and twisted, her strength considerable. Guan Xuan knew it must be taking effect and did not choose to end it lightly. Sucking harder, the grass leaves trembled; her moans rapidly overlapped in an extremely short time, soon becoming so breathless she could hardly make a sound. Only then did Guan Xuan lift his nose away.
The Princess was exceedingly abundant, and Guan Xuan’s face was almost entirely submerged, his chin dripping incessantly. The root of his tongue was numb and tingling, nearly devoid of sensation, and his chest felt so stifled he nearly suffocated. He gasped roughly, looking at the Princess’s state. Her sleeping posture had completely lost control, like a flower blooming beyond the wall—simply bursting forth with fervor, heedless of propriety.
Guan Xuan stared, his breathing taking a long time to settle.
After being thoroughly satisfied, the Princess should have felt better. Guan Xuan licked her clean with large strokes and retied the soft silk for her.
Zhao Rongzhang slept soundly, breathing freely, and woke naturally to find a fan woven from several kinds of leaves blocking her view. Behind the fan was the kneeling figure of the youth, his waist narrow and legs long, his lines imbued with a sense of strength. Feeling profoundly empty, she stretched lazily and brushed the leaf fan aside, only to have her eyes stung by the light. The fan immediately returned to shield her. Rubbing her eyes, Zhao Rongzhang snatched it away. The heat toxin’s fiery nature had not yet subsided, leaving her feeling soft and itchy all over. But lacking the energy, she couldn’t be bothered to do anything, merely raising a hand to rub her own chest. Little Weapon’s eyelashes trembled slightly before quickly lowering. Zhao Rongzhang snorted disdainfully.
“I need to rinse my mouth and wash my face. Fetch water for me. And food—I want to eat,” Zhao Rongzhang said lazily, leaning against the tree as she urged, “Hurry up.”
There were no tools for fetching water at all. Guan Xuan did his best, cutting the thickest bamboo he could find and filling three thick bamboo tubes with water. One he brought to the Princess’s lips, letting her rinse her mouth, while the other two he carefully tilted to allow her to scoop water and splash her face. The Princess’s hair reached her waist, so thick it was hard to grasp in one hand. Ordinarily, she had hundreds of palace maids and eunuchs attending to her personally, with over a dozen dedicated solely to grooming, so she never found it troublesome to manage. Now, however, it was a nuisance—covered in bits of leaves and weeds, with no comb to tidy it, it lay long and loose over her shoulders, hindering her movements. The Princess simply gave up on combing it, casually gathering it all up and tying it back.
Little Weapon caught several sparrows and a wild goose, bleeding, scalding, and plucking them by the stream. He tore the wild goose into three pieces and returned to skewer and roast them. The sparrows were small and cooked quickly. Zhao Rongzhang chewed the tiny bird skulls with particular novelty, finding them crisp and fragrant, and ate them one by one. She took a few sips of bamboo tube tea, chewing the meat as she studied the cat, finding him unexpectedly mysterious. This fellow knew an astonishing number of medicinal herbs and could even gather seasonings, mashing and smearing them on the meat to make it exceptionally flavorful when roasted. He was so skilled at preparing food, yet did he truly have nothing he enjoyed eating?
The Princess broke off a goose wing, eating slowly as she stared at the cat, her expression thoughtful yet serene. Seeing this, the cat took out his knife and cut the remaining two roasting pieces into smaller portions, skewering them separately to make it easier for the Princess to eat later. As he worked diligently, the Princess suddenly spoke, asking a question that made his heart race. Guan Xuan’s knife slipped, nearly cutting his thumb. The Princess asked, “Why didn’t you take me last night?”
Guan Xuan’s fingers went weak, and he dared not meet the Princess’s eyes. How could the Princess ask such a question? Of course, he could not violate her. He was hers to play with; his body, under her control, could not assert the slightest autonomy. He answered her fully in his heart, but with one hand holding the knife and the other the meat, there was no opportunity for him to “speak” it in time. The Princess, however, laughed. “Have you ever wanted to?”
This question was easy to answer—either shake his head or nod. Guan Xuan knelt rigidly in place, his eyelashes trembling as if about to take flight, his neck stiff as wood. The Princess finished the goose wing, satisfied, wiped her hands clean on his clothes, and took a sip from the bamboo tube before lazily saying, “Tell the truth.”
Guan Xuan revered the Princess, but there had indeed been two moments when sinful thoughts about her had crossed his mind. The first was when he was forced to take the passion poison, and the second was last night, when he saw the Princess covered in bits of grass, lost in passion as he pleasured her. The former was out of hatred—hatred so intense he wanted to “perish together” with her. The latter was purely due to his own base, lowly nature, with thoughts as bestial as an animal’s. The so-called hatred had long since vanished; the fact that he wasn’t treated as a human had nothing to do with the Princess. And that fleeting wicked thought last night only confirmed it—he truly was an animal.
Guan Xuan felt even more distressed. He was a lowly beast, utterly unworthy of holding the Princess when she was disheartened or sad. He desperately wished someone could embrace her, but that someone could never be him. Under the Princess’s teasing, probing gaze, Guan Xuan’s eyes gradually reddened, and he nodded as if in repentance.
Little Mute was too amusing. Zhao Rongzhang knew that he rarely truly and willingly complied with her desires, which made it difficult for him to let go—especially after the incident with the passion poison, which had planted a seed of resentment toward her in his heart. His resentment occasionally left her unsatisfied, but more often than not, it only heightened her excitement. Like now, for instance—he resented her, wanted to throw a tantrum, yet still had to admit that his body could desire her in such a way. How utterly pathetic. He must surely be aware of it himself. Zhao Rongzhang, amused by his demeanor, grew even more unrestrained in her words. She asked, “Does using your mouth not count?”
Guan Xuan was stunned. He lifted his dark, moist eyes and stared intently at her, looking as if he were about to burst into tears at any moment. He still held the knife and the roasted bird, gesturing frantically. Zhao Rongzhang watched leisurely, understanding his explanation: she had been suffering too much from the heat toxin, and he only wanted to ease her pain, to detoxify her.
Zhao Rongzhang knew he wouldn’t lie—this was the truth. But that didn’t stop her from toying with his emotions. She cut him off directly and asked, “Did it feel good?”
The roasted bird and knife in Guan Xuan’s hands froze mid-air. He stared at her blankly for a moment, his eyelashes drooping, his head lowering, his ears turning as red as if they were cooked. The Princess’s question was too sharp. All his frantic explanations just now had become feeble excuses. The Princess laughed loudly—a mocking laugh, ridiculing him for being capable of such things while pretending otherwise all along.
Only then did Guan Xuan realize that the Princess had been fully aware of his inner turmoil these past days. She knew about his “resentment” toward her but simply didn’t care. Guan Xuan further understood that her questioning was merely a deliberate game to toy with him. Unable to hold back, he gestured at her with a mix of grievance and anger, “Why ask these things?”
Zhao Rongzhang bit her lip, leaned forward, propped her chin on her hand, and smiled faintly. “I’m thinking about whether to let you do it.”
Guan Xuan froze as if dead, turning into a block of wood once again.
Zhao Rongzhang finished the entire bamboo tube of water but still felt thirsty. Eating too much roasted meat only made her crave water more. This question had been on her mind for more than just a day or two.