Chapter 49: Chapter 49 (Revised) Heart, Scheme, Cat.
The cat held onto his clothes, which had only been pulled down to his shoulders, and looked up at her. Zhao Rongzhang stood up, wrapped her arms around his waist, and turned his back toward her, saying with annoyance, “There’s no golden wound medicine here for you! If you dare leave an ugly scar, I won’t want you in the future.”
Guan Xuan turned his face back, feeling somewhat uneasy. He already had scars on his body, but thanks to golden wound medicine and other imperial-use medicines, the marks were not deep.
The Princess spoke harshly, but her movements were gentle, like a cloud drifting over his wound. On the ground, the shadows of the Princess and him overlapped, difficult to distinguish. The wound tingled, and Guan Xuan suddenly felt a little shy.
The wound was large, and her meticulous care took too much effort. Guan Xuan turned back and made a gesture to her: “It’s fine.” Although being abandoned by the Princess would sadden him, he might not live long enough to be discarded by her. If a scar remained, so be it—it didn’t matter.
Before Zhao Rongzhang could say anything, the cat brushed her hand away, grabbed the fabric of his clothes, and tore it downward. The sound made anyone who heard it tense up as if their own flesh were being torn. Zhao Rongzhang instantly grew furious and slapped his arm with a “smack.”
The cat stopped moving and silently looked up at her. This was the first time the Princess had hit him.
Zhao Rongzhang was so angry she wanted to speak, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. He didn’t feel the slightest bit pitiful, yet he looked at her with such pitiful eyes. Zhao Rongzhang shook the herbal medicine off her hands and scolded, “Can’t you understand what pain is?!”
The cat quickly “said,” “It doesn’t hurt.”
The scent of his blood lingered in the air, yet he claimed it didn’t hurt.
Zhao Rongzhang’s anger was tinged with helplessness. In truth, when facing him, she often felt helpless. What could one do with a dumb cat who didn’t understand human words? Zhao Rongzhang shook the herbal medicine from her embrace, shook him off, and walked toward the riverbank.
The river wind howled as it blew. She had only been standing there for a short while when the cat followed her. She lifted the hem of her skirt and continued walking forward, but the cat still followed closely, stopping whenever she stopped.
Seeing that they were moving farther and farther from the campfire, Zhao Rongzhang flicked her skirt and turned around, looking at the cat with irritation.
The cat was still holding the blood-soaked clothes, the cold moonlight shining on his injured shoulder.
Zhao Rongzhang angrily walked past him and headed back.
When they reached the campfire, Zhao Rongzhang washed her hands with a cloth soaked in hot water, grabbed a handful of herbal medicine, rubbed it to extract its juices, and continued treating the cat’s wound.
The firelight was dim, making it hard to see clearly, but the sensation and warmth beneath her palm were vivid. Warm, indistinct, startling. She applied the medicine again and again until the fresh scent of the herbs finally managed to mask the smell of his blood.
Once the treatment was done, Zhao Rongzhang lowered her head to wash and dry her hands. As she was drying them, her chin suddenly felt cool and soft. Zhao Rongzhang lowered her gaze and saw the cat’s beautifully curved eyelashes. He held her shoulders, and his light, warm breath brushed against her.
Kissing her suddenly at this moment—who knew what it meant? He just pressed against her in a daze.
Zhao Rongzhang was still angry, but her earlier helplessness had been replaced by even more tenderness.
She lay down, resting her head on her arm, and looked up at the night sky, only then realizing how beautiful the stars were tonight.
The cat was holding her. It was unclear whether he wanted to hold her or be held by her.
The Princess was gazing at the stars, and Little Mute was gazing at the Princess. He liked her very much and couldn’t bear to part with her. He would never forget how she had kissed his cheek, never forget how she had caught fish for him, never forget how carefully and gently she had cleaned his wounds. Human lives were as lowly and fragile as those of beasts, but the Princess was different—she was more important than this world, nobler than the sun and the moon. Even after he died, he would not leave her.
“Tomorrow we’ll follow the river south to Jiangnan,” the Princess said, looking up at the night sky. “My people are everywhere in Jiangnan. I’ll thrive there like a fish in water.”
The next day, Zhao Rongzhang and Little Mute went into the woods together, chopping and gathering plenty of wood and bamboo poles to prepare for building a raft.
But wood and bamboo alone weren’t enough to make a raft. Zhao Rongzhang pulled out many flexible vines, but Little Mute disagreed with using them, saying the vines were too tender and couldn’t withstand soaking in water. Little Mute pried a Gold Bead from a hidden weapon and went to the nearby small fishing village.
Zhao Rongzhang refused to give up and tried weaving the raft with vines on her own, but the vines kept snapping halfway through. Frustrated, she grabbed the broken vines and whipped them against the ground, stirring up dust and wasting what little strength she had left. Tired and hungry, the Princess sat on a pile of wood, grumbling irritably. Just then, a thick bundle of rope was tossed down in front of her. Zhao Rongzhang looked up—it was Little Mute, back from the village. Besides the rope, the young man carried a bundle of meat in one hand and a set of pink-blue clothes under his arm.
Seeing the meat, Zhao Rongzhang was pleasantly surprised, but her mood was sour, and her words came out as complaints: “How are we supposed to eat it? Skewer and roast it again?”
Little Mute lowered his eyes and smiled, hanging the meat on a tree branch before eagerly helping the Princess change into the new clothes. The Princess was actually completely focused on the meat, putting on the clothes haphazardly here and there. Guan Xuan wanted to see what didn’t fit, but she couldn’t wait for him to inspect her, staring at the meat and questioning it instead. She said meat wasn’t suitable for roasting—if the fat dripped into the fire, it would be a waste. Only boiling or stir-frying would do, but they didn’t have a pot, so they really shouldn’t have bought meat.
Guan Xuan listened silently. The Princess now actually had a concept of waste, learning to be meticulous and even calculating down to the fat of a piece of meat. The Princess was a princess—she should have lived a carefree life, happy and comfortable forever.
Guan Xuan gathered a small fire, set up a wooden frame, and went to the river to wash a tile fragment. Zhao Rongzhang grew curious: “What do you need that for?”
Little Mute didn’t answer, meticulously cleaning the tile until it was almost reflective. Once washed, he placed it over the fire, then took out a dagger and sliced the meat into thin pieces. Zhao Rongzhang laughed: “You’re not planning to stir-fry meat on that thing, are you?”
Before long, Zhao Rongzhang fell silent. The tile grew scorching hot, and as soon as the meat touched it, it sizzled with oil, smelling wonderful.
Guan Xuan carved a pair of chopsticks and handed them to the Princess with both hands. She took a bite—the meat was fresh, perfectly balanced between lean and fat, and even without salt, it was so delicious she couldn’t tell east from west. Zhao Rongzhang, delighted by the meal, didn’t hold back her praise: “What a clever cat.”
Guan Xuan washed some wild vegetables and roasted them in the oil left from the meat, which the Princess also finished off.
Zhao Rongzhang was just thinking how nice it would be to have some rice when, like magic, Little Mute pulled a plump, white steamed bun from his robe and placed it on the oily tile.
It smelled even better. Zhao Rongzhang took a bite of the steamed bun—soft on top, crispy on the bottom—and felt utterly content. In that moment, she was even willing to be an ordinary commoner.
Zhao Rongzhang ate half and left the other half for Little Mute. She covered her face with a leaf and dozed off in the sunlight. With a full stomach, she fell asleep quickly and woke up just as fast. After her nap, she felt reenergized. Stretching her limbs, she picked up the hemp rope and continued weaving the raft.
By noon, the raft was finally finished. Little Mute burned everything that could be burned and threw everything else into the river, ensuring no trace of the two of them remained. Only then did he push the raft into the water.
Standing on the raft she had woven with her own hands, Zhao Rongzhang was excited and proud. Gazing at the scenery, her mood was indescribably wonderful. However, this good mood vanished completely in less than half a day.
During the day, the raft offered no shelter, and the scorching sun made her irritable. At night, the wind picked up—cold and dangerous. The turbulent currents battered the raft as if it might capsize at any moment, tossing it so violently that it felt like her insides were about to be shaken out. Sleep was impossible.
Even more annoying was the heavy rain that started on the third day. The river surface churned with bubbles, as if boiling. Zhao Rongzhang stubbornly believed that Jiangnan was not far away and insisted they should speed ahead despite the storm. Little Mute disagreed. Crouching before her, he tried to reason with her, explaining that he could use the rainy time to build a small boat with a canopy, which would be much faster.
Zhao Rongzhang refused to listen. “We’re already slow, and now you want to stop and go? Are you just trying to avoid rowing? If you won’t row, I will.”
She stood up to snatch the oar from his hands.
The heavy rain beat against her face, blurring the world around her. Little Mute lowered his gaze to look at her. The Princess was drenched from head to toe, a pitiful sight.
Little Mute scooped her up in his arms. Zhao Rongzhang tried to resist, but once he held her, she couldn’t even free an arm. Holding her tightly, he used the water’s force a few times to propel them ashore.
Zhao Rongzhang was extremely annoyed, furious enough to curse him. Little Mute only pressed his face close to hers, shielding her from the rain. Feeling the warmth of his hand on her back, she realized he was writing something. He was repeating a single word: “Hurt.”
For some reason, Zhao Rongzhang calmed down a little. “Who’s hurt?”
“The wound hurts. The rain makes the wound hurt.”
Zhao Rongzhang couldn’t keep her face stern. When the wound was freshly treated two days ago, it should have hurt, but it didn’t. Now that the scab had formed, he suddenly knew how to complain? Clearly, he was deliberately acting pitiful and spoiled.
Crafty Little Mute.
Even though she was fully aware of his scheming, Zhao Rongzhang gave up her stubbornness and let him carry her ashore.