Chapter 47 (Revised)

The princess spoke as she pulled him…

Zhao Rongzhang seemed to know when to stop: “I’ll go back! I’ll go back with you!”

But the Ming County Official was not easily convinced: “Is Your Highness trying to deceive me?”

“This is your territory. My only Shadow Guard has been severely wounded by you. I cannot deceive you.”

“Then what is Your Highness still unwilling about?”

“Of course, I’m unwilling to die!”

“Your Highness, if Taihou truly wanted your life, she would not have gone to such great lengths or set up such an elaborate scheme.” The Ming County Official did not elaborate further. He waved his hand, signaling everyone to calm down from the fight. As the crowd retreated, he stepped forward and bowed, making a gesture of invitation: “We, your humble servants, will escort Your Highness back to the capital.”

Seeing that the assassins were no longer approaching, Zhao Rongzhang secretly breathed a sigh of relief. She then asked the Ming County Official, “You’re not planning to trick me into coming down and then have me hacked to death, are you? You must show me an absolutely safe exit.”

“There is a small door over there,” the Ming County Official pointed to a narrow staircase on the east side of the third floor, where a faint light shone through the entrance, “so small that only one person can pass through at a time. I will have someone wait outside, not allowing anyone to approach even half a step.”

Although Zhao Rongzhang could not trust this man’s words at all, if they continued to standoff like this, Little Mute would exhaust his strength, and they would be in even greater danger. It was better to test whether this exit was real or fake and adapt to the situation as it unfolded.

Zhao Rongzhang gave Guan Xuan a look, and in the next moment, Guan Xuan disappeared from everyone’s sight with her in his arms.

The Ming County Official hurried after them and entered the door. The young girl sat on the boy’s arm, her face tilted sideways, her eyes glaring at him. This so-called exit had no way out—only the roaring waves of the great river stretched endlessly before them.

A place where, even if she had a trick up her sleeve, there was nowhere to use it.

The Ming County Official smiled and asked, “Is Your Highness satisfied?”

The princess remained silent for a long time before she, too, smiled and said, “Satisfied.”

Little Mute could no longer choose the route, so she would choose it for him. She exchanged a glance with Little Mute, her lips moving slightly.

The boy showed no hesitation or pause. He flipped over and leaped downward, like a sharp black shadow, completely disappearing from sight and plunging into the river churning with snow-white waves.

Although Little Mute did everything he could to reduce the impact and slow their descent, the moment Zhao Rongzhang’s body slammed into the water’s surface, she was struck with intense pain by the force of the current. Fortunately, most of her body was shielded tightly by Little Mute, so the pain was not unbearable.

But the water that rushed into her senses next robbed her of all perception. Water choked her lungs, suffocating her mouth and nose, a despair far worse than the pain on her skin.

In moments of panic and fear, people instinctively cling tightly to whatever they can hold onto. Zhao Rongzhang clung fiercely to Little Mute, her head and face pressing forward aggressively, trying to steal his breath. The riverbed was littered with rocks, the current swift and violent, and the depths were too dark to see. The situation was as complex as a battlefield. No matter how hard she tried, with her eyes unable to open and her ears unable to hear, she could not distinguish where Little Mute’s nose or mouth was.

Just as she was growing frantic, the back of her head was pushed firmly. Her lips met something soft, her teeth were quickly pried open, and then her mouth was tightly sealed. She was suffocating, so uncomfortable that she felt she would die from lack of air. Her survival instinct and her inherently greedy nature made her want only to take and seize. She opened her throat and unapologetically inhaled the breath from his mouth.

She swallowed twice, and a palm gently lifted her chin. This forced her to relax her clenched teeth. The tongue opposite pressed down on hers, pushing deep. Already tense and fearful, being handled like this left her struggling for breath. Zhao Rongzhang almost wanted to bite off his tongue, but before her anger could surge, steady breaths were delivered to her, one after another, unhurried and calm.

Little Mute cradled her face, calmly and patiently sharing his breath with her, one mouthful at a time.

He was her lifeline. Zhao Rongzhang clung tightly to him, never before had she felt such dependence and need for him.

In the torrent, no matter how strong one is, they are ultimately insignificant. Little Mute was swept against scattered rocks several times by the current, the impacts heavy enough that even Zhao Rongzhang felt the pain. Whenever there was a chance to break the surface, Little Mute would always lift her face up first.

…

Little Mute did not let her stay in the water for too long. Zhao Rongzhang couldn’t endure it much longer either. The longer she soaked, the greater the fire in her heart grew—so great she wanted to fill this river, to lift the largest rock and hurl it into the capital, crushing and drowning all those detestable people!

Two hours later, Little Mute found an opportunity, held her, and broke free from the rapids, swimming with her to shore.

There was a small fishing village nearby, where villagers fished and tended ducks. Little Mute deliberately took a detour, avoiding populated areas, and came ashore by a sheltered slope.

A sparse grove stood by the bank. As soon as they reached land, Little Mute sat her against a tree, cut branches to conceal her, and without a word began to strip off her clothes. Soaked, Zhao Rongzhang was cold and weak all over, unable to care what he was doing. Little Mute grabbed the mud- and grit-covered garments, plunged them into the water, and swiftly shook and rinsed them. After cleaning them, he returned and laid them under the blazing sun, using his inner force to dry them.

The Princess frowned, leaning against the tree, shivering with cold. Guan Xuan wanted to hold her close, but as he approached, he saw droplets falling from his own body and remembered he was still wet. He began to pull off his own clothes, but halfway through, a sharp pain shot across his back, reminding him of the arrows embedded there.

He dried the Princess’s hair, then built a fire in front of her. The flames grew strong, radiating warmth.

The Princess adapted quickly to her surroundings. He wove a rough mat from reeds and grass, coarse and crude, yet she pulled it tightly around herself, driven only by an urgent need for warmth. His Princess—how had she ended up in such a wretched state again, facing circumstances even worse than a month ago?

With crossbow arrows still in his body, movement was difficult. The wounds had to be treated. Guan Xuan sat behind and to her side, keeping watch over her as he began to pull out the arrowheads. The shallow ones had already fallen out or been knocked loose during the struggle, leaving wounds half a finger deep. The deeper ones had been driven in further by impacts, some lodged at angles, their tips floating beneath the flesh, making them difficult to remove.

After a moment’s thought, he decided the only way was to pull them out forcefully. The flesh would heal on its own afterward. Guan Xuan began.

“Wait.” Guan Xuan heard the Princess call to him. “Come here.”

Though Zhao Rongzhang lacked common sense, she knew a little about medicine. She understood that if he handled it this way, even if he didn’t fear the pain, there was a risk of hitting an artery. If blood gushed out, he could die. Little Mute might be as dense as wood, but he wasn’t actually made of wood—he had a body of flesh and blood, and he could die.

Little Mute approached, his body dripping wet. Zhao Rongzhang looked at his silent face, the damp and youthful features of his brows and eyes, and thought of the breaths filled with his warmth that had been passed to her in the water. Her heart softened a little.

Little Mute knelt on one knee. The sun cast their shadows together, and with a reach of her hand, Zhao Rongzhang could touch his face. She told him to turn his back to her.

Through the trembling of the crossbow bolts, Guan Xuan sensed the princess’s movements and strength.

Some of the wounds had been soaked white by the water, so pale they almost lost their original color. These arrowheads were each lodged in critical places, and his back was so thin. Zhao Rongzhang gently touched the torn flesh.

She pushed aside the obstructive grass blanket, sat up straight, and gripped one of his shoulders. Her thumb pressed beneath the lowest arrowhead while her other four fingers wrapped around the shaft. She reminded him, “Press the acupoints to stop the bleeding.”

Truthfully, when bleeding was unavoidable, pressing any acupoints would be useless. Still, Guan Xuan pressed two of them.

The princess pressed against his flesh, exerted force with her wrist, and slowly pulled out the crossbow bolt. No blood spurted out, and the princess quietly sighed in relief. She tilted her head to look at Little Mute’s face. He remained as docile as ever, his dark lashes lightly lowered.

Zhao Rongzhang gained more confidence and proceeded to pull out several more bolts in the same manner. Finally, only the deepest and most dangerously positioned one remained. This one was almost lodged near his heart.

Zhao Rongzhang hesitated. “Does it hurt?”

Guan Xuan shook his head.

Zhao Rongzhang carefully observed Little Mute’s complexion. Perhaps due to his innate constitution, even after losing so much blood, his lips remained strikingly red.

This foolish cat couldn’t even tell whether he was in pain, making it difficult for her to accurately gauge the danger of this crossbow bolt.

“Press the acupoints again,” the princess ordered.

Little Mute complied.

Zhao Rongzhang took a deep breath, firmly pressed the flesh around his wound, gripped the base of the crossbow bolt, and slowly, bit by bit, pulled it out.

This body truly seemed to feel no pain. Aside from tensing his muscles with her movements, there was hardly even a tremble. Zhao Rongzhang looked at Little Mute’s docile and silent profile and asked again, “Does it hurt?”

Little Mute still shook his head.

But Zhao Rongzhang recalled how he had looked when he cried. Just last night, he had wept with his head buried in her shoulder.

Once the arrowhead loosened, Zhao Rongzhang seized the moment and pulled it out in one swift motion.

Blood gushed out, and she immediately pressed to stop it, anxiously cupping his chest. Fortunately, after the initial surge, the flow slowed again. Zhao Rongzhang let out a long sigh of relief. She wiped the sweat from her brow and asked the foolish Little Cat, “Does it hurt?”

Little Mute had already turned around and was gathering the crossbow bolts from the ground, his expression still blank, clearly about to shake his head again. Zhao Rongzhang didn’t release his hand but instead wrapped her arms around his waist. She looked at him with an equally expressionless face. “Does it hurt?”

Little Mute hesitated, then shook his head.

Zhao Rongzhang pressed on, “Does it hurt, or doesn’t it?”

Little Mute gestured, trying to convey it more clearly. Midway through, the princess frowned. “What would it cost you to say it hurts?!”

As she spoke, she pulled him into her embrace. The back of his neck tingled as the princess pressed his head into the crook of her neck.

Her voice, resonating from her chest, vibrated into his. “Does it hurt?”

Guan Xuan lay upon her, feeling himself a thing both light and soft, as if a mere breeze could carry him away. He had to be exceedingly careful, to maintain his own weight, lest he slip from the Princess’s embrace.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gave a slight nod.

Any wound that can heal is not truly a wound; any pain that can be dissolved is not truly pain. Heaven first creates the souls of all things, then crafts vessels to contain these souls. It is the vessel that feels pain, not the soul, not him. Only the living feel pain, and he was merely living. Guan Xuan did not consider such things worthy of being called pain.

To weep over the damage of the flesh was too weak, and weakness never leads to good outcomes, especially in such a dangerous world. The Princess cared deeply about his physical sensations, so she asked him repeatedly if he was in pain.

After he gave the correct answer, the Princess held him, her hand patting the small of his back, silent and still.

It was a fierce afternoon, the trees scorched to the brink of death, cicadas crying out in long and short bursts, while humans and beasts alike dozed in the shadows. They clung to each other.