Chapter 52 (Revised) He Kissed Her.

The distant mountains seemed to grow taller and darker amidst the undulating waves. The already dim sunlight grew even thinner. Not far from the sun, a translucent crescent moon was imprinted upon the misty clouds, faintly visible, rising and falling with the shifting gaze. A heavy, medium-sized boat approached from the opposite direction, moving slowly, flying no flags, its canvas folds and edges tinged with a scorched yellow.

No one stood at the bow or along the rails. Guan Xuan couldn’t discern much, only that the boat’s shape felt familiar. Twisted, distant memories stirred in the corners of his mind, like a lingering, undying specter.

Guan Xuan paddled toward the boat.

The boat was heading east. The sun behind it seemed to grow farther away, the sail casting an ever-lengthening shadow over the bow. Clinging to the gunwale with the barely conscious Princess in his arms, Guan Xuan seized the moment and slipped into that shadow.

Water cascaded from their bodies the moment they landed. Cradling the Princess’s slender back, Guan Xuan sat down against the corner of the boat.

The mast towered high, the canvas flapping loudly. The interior of the cabin was a blur. Guan Xuan pressed close to the Princess’s eyes, nose, and forehead, wiping away the water from her face and hair. The water was cold; she was burning up. Guan Xuan couldn’t let her go, couldn’t leave her side.

The cabin was crowded, filled with people of all sizes—some sitting, some squatting, some lying down. Men and women alike wore straw sandals and patched clothing. None posed any threat.

Leaning the back of his head against the hull, Guan Xuan looked up at the uneven sky. The fading dusk revealed a pale blue hue. He loved the sky.

His body felt heavy, soaked with the detestable water. He no longer had the strength to dry the Princess’s clothes. Guan Xuan wrung out her sleeves and skirt, squeezing handful by handful. The water trickled along the thin planks toward the cabin, catching someone’s attention, who cast a glance their way.

Once wrung dry, Guan Xuan removed his own clothes and used his body heat to warm the Princess. Without any barrier, the transmission of inner force would be faster.

Someone emerged from the cabin, the last remnants of sunlight turning into this person’s shadow. Guan Xuan lifted his gaze, his dark pupils coldly meeting the newcomer.

It was an elderly woman with graying hair at her temples, who peered over with concern, only to flinch at his icy stare.

The old woman took two steps back but did not leave.

The remaining sunset glow once again fell upon the Princess. Guan Xuan lowered his eyes, holding the unconscious girl, gently patting her back.

The old woman caught sight of the wounds on the young man’s body, her heart filled with pity. Compassion for a child could always outweigh fear—how could a pitiful child be frightening? She asked, “Did you just come from Huaihua Village? Why not go inside? It’s windy here; it’s warmer at night with more people. Where are your parents? Is this your sister? Why did you bring her to gather lake crabs?”

The young man seemed not to hear, still meticulously smoothing the corners of the girl’s clothes and strands of her hair. He worked with great care, even carefully tucking stray curls behind her ears with his fingers.

“It gets very cold on the river at night. This boat still has a day and a night to go before entering the Lou River. Aren’t you cold?”

The young man remained silent, his expression blank. The old woman asked this and that but received no answers. Shaking her head, she finally walked away.

The sky had completely darkened, with stars scattered around the dim moon. Guan Xuan had given all the warmth he could to the Princess, yet her body still burned with fever. Despite having been submerged in water for so long, her lips were chapped. He kissed her, moistening them with his saliva.

Guan Xuan drew a dagger from the narrow pouch at his thigh, wiped it back and forth across his arm, and cut his palm. Blood welled up, and he pressed it to the Princess’s lips. The heavy metallic scent made the girl unwilling; she furrowed her brows and turned her face away. Guan Xuan rubbed the back of her neck, refusing to let her escape.

His ability to survive for so long was largely due to his unique constitution. Back in the Shadow Pavilion, someone had noticed that no matter how rampant the diseases within the pavilion were, he, even as a child, always managed to endure them. This led to the belief that his flesh and blood held miraculous effects against plagues and poisons.

They wanted to devour him, so he killed them all.

No one had ever tasted him, so it remained unknown whether his flesh and blood truly possessed such properties. Guan Xuan hoped they did. Even within the palace, with the finest physicians crowding the bedchamber, it was uncertain whether they could save someone suffering from a high fever, let alone here—a place where even the sky seemed pale. The Princess had endured too much suffering, which was why even someone as robust as her had fallen ill. The stronger a person’s constitution, the harder it was for them to recover once they fell ill. Guan Xuan feared the Princess would remain in such agony, that she might die like this. That could not happen.

The old woman reappeared, carrying a dim lantern, stumbling as she walked. Behind her, many pairs of eyes followed the lantern’s trail. The entire boat had only this one lantern, which she had brought out.

“We’ve cleared a spot inside. Go in, it’s so cold out here,” the old woman said, handing over a somewhat thick blanket. Seeing the young man unmoved, she bent down to peer at the girl in his arms. “She’s sick, isn’t she? She shouldn’t be exposed to the wind.”

This corner was sheltered from the wind. Guan Xuan wiped the blood from the Princess’s cheeks and the corners of her lips, leaving only a trace at the center of her mouth. He leaned in and kissed it away, giving her his warmth along with it.

He showed no hesitation, startling the old woman. A gust of wind blew from the opposite side, causing the boat to sway and the sails to creak. The young man simply held the unconscious girl, comforting her as one would a child. The sight was not only pitiable but also deeply concerning.

She gave up, placing the lantern on the ground, shaking out the blanket, and draping it over the girl, covering him as well. She tucked it in firmly and scolded sharply, “So stubborn! What are you being stubborn about? She’s fallen ill before we even reach Yangcheng Lake. In a couple of days, we’ll be diving into the lake day and night to harvest crabs. What will you do then?”

After tucking in the blanket, the old woman picked up the lantern and turned to leave. But as she took a step, she glanced back and saw, under the swaying dim light, the young man’s eyes were frighteningly dark.

She clutched her chest, let out a sigh, and returned inside.

His blood truly had an effect. By the latter half of the night, Guan Xuan clearly felt the Princess’s body temperature dropping. He tucked the blanket even tighter, kissing her face, her temples, and the corners of her eyes, wishing she would wake up.

Not long after, the Princess’s skin began to sweat, her breath no longer scalding, and her limbs gradually relaxed. Guan Xuan nestled close to her, thinking how wonderful it would be if he could stay by her side, relying on her, for a lifetime.

Dawn broke, the wind ceased, the waves calmed, and the morning sun dyed the flowing water a single hue.

The boatman on duty changed shifts, glancing cautiously at them as he passed by. The old woman brought over two bowls of thin, pale rice porridge, offering one to the young man before placing them on the ground. “Hurry and feed her. Otherwise, she’ll faint from hunger.”

Guan Xuan lowered his gaze, letting his eyes rest briefly on the two chipped bowls before looking back at the old woman. He made a simple gesture toward her, not caring whether she understood his meaning, as his attention had already returned entirely to his Princess. Treating her like an infant in swaddling clothes, he tenderly brushed a bit of her face free from the blanket, wiped the rim of the bowl clean, and pressed it to her lips.

The old woman finally caught on. “Child, can you not speak?”

The Princess remained asleep, and the boat rocked, making it impossible to feed her. Guan Xuan took a sip into his own mouth and passed it to her.

No wonder he hadn’t been conscripted for war. The old woman’s sympathy for these two children peaked, her eyes stinging with tears about to fall. Harvesting lake crabs was the hardest of hard labor—every noble wanted a taste of the female crabs in September and the male crabs in October. Especially the palace, demanding shad fish from April to June and lake crabs from August to October, leaving no rest all year round.

The court requisitioned labor, with each county rounding up people for corvée duty. With war imminent, where were enough able-bodied young men to be found? When there weren’t enough, they offered meager copper coins to recruit the old, weak, sick, and disabled.

Even if meager, it was better than nothing. For those scant coins, these old, weak, sick, and disabled people willingly boarded these boats, hoping that soaking in the lake for two months might yield enough money to treat family illnesses or repay debts.

Thinking of herself, she wondered—an old woman like her, going alone to harvest lake crabs, would she end up drowning in that lake?

As soon as she opened her eyes, Zhao Rongzhang saw Little Mute’s expressionless face. Though his face showed no emotion, his eyes seemed on the verge of tears, gazing at her softly and gently.

She looked up at the sky, then around her, her voice hoarse. “Where is this?”

The world swayed—were they still on the boat?

“You’re finally awake. We’ve just entered the Lou River. In a little over an hour, we’ll reach Yangcheng Lake.”

The voice was unfamiliar and aged. The Princess turned her head to find the speaker and immediately relaxed her guard. A withered old woman posed no threat.

Yangcheng Lake was in Suzhou, and the Lou River was the fastest and most convenient waterway into the lake. They were already within Jiangnan.

Zhao Rongzhang sat up, holding her forehead. With just that slight movement, Little Mute grew tense, unsure whether to loosen or tighten his grip around her waist. Once she had steadied herself, Zhao Rongzhang nudged him, wanting to stand and look around on her own.

The old woman was talkative, seizing the chance to ask, “Where are your family’s adults? With looks like yours, why come to harvest lake crabs? This Young Master is strong and clever. Even if he can’t speak, he could apprentice under a carpenter or blacksmith, or work as an accountant in a tavern or pawnshop. Life would be manageable.”

Coming out to harvest lake crabs was truly unwise. Nowadays, able-bodied young men were either conscripted for war or drafted to build palaces or walls, leaving few young men remaining. At his age, fortunate enough to avoid war and corvée duty, he’d be sought after for any kind of work.

The Princess had no energy to deal with this chatty old woman. She kept calculating in her mind—which route would be more hidden and safer, which town would allow her to contact her informants more quickly… and where was Ming Luo?

Using her mind so intensely right after waking made the Princess’s head ache, and her stomach hurt as well. She leaned over the boat, bending to ease the discomfort in her abdomen, only to be pulled back into Little Mute’s embrace.

Just then, a bowl of milky-white soup appeared before her, its fishy aroma rushing straight to her brain. The Princess stared at the fish soup in the old woman’s hands, her feelings incredibly complex. She wanted to vomit—they had eaten too much fish on this journey, almost every day. Yet she also wanted to take it and drink it all in one gulp, because she was so hungry, desperately hungry.

In the end, hunger triumphed over nausea. The Princess took the bowl with both hands, closed her eyes, pressed her lips to the broth, and swallowed it all without leaving a single drop.

The old woman smiled. “It’s good that you can eat. Looks like you’re fine now.”

The Princess wiped her mouth. “Isn’t there anyone in charge here? Why is someone as old as you here too?”

“Ah, you’re asking me? Why are you here? So young, and a girl at that. Isn’t it all because we have no choice but to find food? You were persuaded to join midway, weren’t you? This boat was rented by several villages together to take us to Yangcheng Lake. Once we arrive, we’ll be under the management of the crab farmers there. As soon as we get there, we’ll have to start catching crabs right away. Ten good, plump crabs can be exchanged for one coin. Let me tell you, you have to be quick and nimble, or others will snatch them away.”

Zhao Rongzhang had no interest in listening. Of course, she had no intention of catching crabs—she would never do such dirty, exhausting work. Once they docked, they would leave. She had already mapped out the best route in her mind.

The little girl’s aloof demeanor, though pretty and adorable, was hardly endearing. The old woman, displeased, no longer felt like talking to her.

After the old woman left, Zhao Rongzhang turned her gaze back to Little Mute. His eyes remained gentle and soft. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the area beside his nose, under his eyes.

The boat docked, arriving at the Yangcheng Lake the old woman had mentioned. The boatman called for everyone in the cabin to gather their belongings and come out, though these people had little to carry. The most enviable possession was a pair of shoes with thickly padded soles—soft enough that when their feet became waterlogged and pale, they wouldn’t chafe the tender flesh of their soles.

Everyone hurriedly disembarked. Zhao Rongzhang also stood up, blending into the crowd with Little Mute as they followed along. Up ahead, the old woman kept sighing, her steps slow. Zhao Rongzhang was growing impatient when, suddenly, the old woman stiffened, stood motionless, and then collapsed backward.