Chapter 64

Old Doctor Wu applied several more acupuncture needles to Guan Xuan and wrote a prescription, instructing someone to quickly brew the medicine and feed it to him. For the first month, he needed daily acupuncture, medication, and wound dressing changes until all the wounds healed completely. Once his injuries had recovered and his blood was replenished, they could begin cleansing the evil toxin, allowing his five senses to gradually return.

Although the process was extremely tedious and involved many pains that ordinary people could hardly endure, being able to live—and live as a normal person—was already an extra gift from heaven. Zhao Rongzhang felt he was still very fortunate.

However, Guan Xuan himself knew nothing of this rare fortune. Unable to see, hear, or speak, his world was nothing but emptiness. As Old Man Wu removed the silver needles one by one, his breathing became choked, and his limbs wanted to move but couldn’t. Zhao Rongzhang looked at his beautiful, vacant eyes and the wounds that bled profusely with every struggle, unable to suppress feelings of pity and heartache.

After everyone left, Zhao Rongzhang gently took his hand. The young man immediately calmed down, slowly blinking his unfocused eyes as the tension in his brow eased. At this moment, even comforting him with words was impossible, so Zhao Rongzhang could only hold him close once more.

Guan Xuan didn’t know which layer of hell he was in. He only knew that those who had committed too many killings and sins would not meet a good end after death. Some would be thrown into boiling oil, rolled over iron spikes, or have their tongues torn out. He had been mentally prepared—prepared to enter the rumored eerie and terrifying Netherworld Hell, prepared to see familiar evil ghosts and be viciously pounced on and torn apart by them…

He never expected that he would be unable to see or hear anything. Yet the pain in his body was etched into his soul, every inch of it vividly felt. His soul carried the wounds from his life, undiminished in the slightest.

There was only one fortunate thing, uncertain whether it was an illusion or a mirage—he could smell the Princess’s scent and feel her warmth.

It was completely her, the real her.

He recalled a saying he had heard in the Shadow Pavilion while alive: humans have three souls and seven spirits; the souls ascend to heaven, while the spirits descend to earth. If a person suffers a sudden fright or accident, their spirits may wander off. These lost spirits, with nowhere to rely on, would drift underground.

Had he brought down the Princess’s lost spirit with him?

Here, she was far too good to him. She would gently hold him, soothingly kiss his ear, filling his heart with such happiness that he even began to doubt whether his sins were truly that grave. Perhaps this place was also a layer of the Pure Land.

But he couldn’t, out of love for the Princess, selfishly wish for her company in this painful hell or greedily try to keep her here.

Guan Xuan’s heart grew heavy with sorrow. Before his death, he had thought about clinging to her side for all eternity, continuing to eliminate evil for her as a loyal jealous ghost or evil ghost. He never imagined he would fall directly into this place and lose most of his senses. And what kind of hardship or danger had the Princess encountered to have lost her spirit?

He had to help her.

Guan Xuan greedily allowed her to embrace him, letting her kiss him for a while, until finally, at the right moment, he struggled to lift his wrist, which had almost lost all its strength, and wrote two crooked characters on her back: “Go back.”

Zhao Rongzhang didn’t dare move from the moment his fingers began to stir. She was surprised that he had regained consciousness and could even express himself. When she deciphered the two characters, she felt a surge of frustration—where did he want her to go? But then she thought, could it be that he wanted to return somewhere?

This was the moment Zhao Rongzhang loved and pitied him the most, and she would not lose her temper with him. She offered him all her patience, coaxing and comforting him, slowly and carefully writing in his palm: “I won’t leave. We’re not going anywhere. I’m here, and it’s safe.”

This moved Guan Xuan, who believed they were in hell, immensely. He couldn’t help but bury his face in her embrace. Seeking confirmation, he wrote: “Are you really the Princess?”

Zhao Rongzhang stroked his face. “Yes.”

“Go back,” Guan Xuan wrote. “The living cannot come here. Go back.”

Each stroke was written with great difficulty. Zhao Rongzhang looked at him with sudden understanding, finding it amusing yet feeling even more heartache. Did he think he was already dead?

Unable to see, hear, move, or speak—wasn’t that no different from death?

“Aren’t you afraid?” Zhao Rongzhang didn’t plan to reveal the surprising truth to him immediately. She wanted to understand his feelings better. “Is this place terrifying?”

Guan Xuan smiled faintly and shook his head. Good deeds bring good rewards, evil deeds bring evil consequences. He was in hell because of his heavy sins, and this principle of cause and effect gave him peace. Losing sight and sound might be uncomfortable for now, but he would adapt. He could no longer see or feel the beautiful and lovely things in the world, but he also didn’t have to see or hear the ugly and bloody ones.

In death, there were no obligations, no need to struggle to survive. This place might not be as terrifying as some of the places he had been in life.

He was actually so calm.

Zhao Rongzhang’s eyes sparkled mischievously, and she decided to tease him: “I won’t leave. I love you, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

She immediately observed his reaction.

Guan Xuan’s body trembled slightly, and his lips parted a little. He blinked his empty, unfocused eyes for a long time before shaking his head.

She loved him. Feeling her fingertips write these three words on his body, his soul trembled uncontrollably. Could the Princess really love him?

Did she truly love him?

But he had died with too much regret. If she truly loved him, would she have let him leave her side so easily? Would she have been so stingy with even a hug? Would she have allowed him to die like that?

To her, he was always more of a tool than a person. She would never love him.

This long-standing reality didn’t diminish his love for her; it only made him sober. He doubted this was the real Princess, or perhaps only a part of her.

He tried to push her away but couldn’t, so he wrote messily: “I don’t want you to stay.”

Zhao Rongzhang kissed his cheek. “Do you have a choice?”

A servant outside the room announced that the medicine was ready. Zhao Rongzhang had it brought in.

She glanced at the medicine, then at the young man on the bed, lost in his thoughts about “hell.” Feeling playful, she offered no explanation. Instead, she picked up the medicine, scooped a spoonful, and brought it to his lips.

Upon smelling the scent, the young man hesitated only for a moment before obediently opening his mouth. Zhao Rongzhang fed him spoonful by spoonful. She had never cared for anyone before, not even thinking to prop him up to feed him properly. In her haste, much of the medicine spilled, and she even made him choke.

Zhao Rongzhang wrote in his palm, “Do you know what you’re drinking?”

He shook his head.

Testing whether he realized he was still alive, Zhao Rongzhang wrote, “Do you still want me to leave?”

Guan Xuan grasped her fingers and wrote softly on the back of her hand, as if whispering in persuasion, “The mortal world needs you. I am already dead.”

As if afraid she wouldn’t leave, he added, “When I died, there was no pain, no resentment. I love you, and my heart has always been happy.”

Zhao Rongzhang withdrew her hand, set down the medicine bowl, stood up, and remained still for a while.

With such severe injuries, it was impossible not to feel pain. No resentment? Perhaps not entirely. His love for her was genuine, but his heart may not have always been happy.

In any case, he would eventually realize this was still the mortal world, not hell. Zhao Rongzhang left the bamboo hut, stood before the door for a moment gazing at the tall, straight emerald bamboo, then turned and went to rest in the backyard.

After bathing and having a simple meal, Zhao Rongzhang dozed off on the couch by the window. She hadn’t lain down for a proper sleep in a long time, but there were more important matters she needed to confirm and arrange one by one.

Su Tan and Su Shuang’an entered and stood respectfully before her. With her eyes closed, Zhao Rongzhang asked each question in turn: “When will Ming Luo and the others arrive here? We still need to cooperate properly with Prince Su. Has he made any gestures? What are the recent movements in the court? How likely are we to win the war in the north?”

The two answered one by one, saying that Ming Luo would be escorted here before nightfall. Prince Su had sent a letter requesting cooperation, its wording sincere enough, promising to grant her a princedom if she was willing to assist. The court remained in chaos like a swarm of headless flies. Originally, the Grand Empress Dowager could barely hold things together, but she couldn’t withstand Zhao Jue’s defiance and repeated public opposition. The war in the north was already tilting six parts toward defeat, leaving little room for optimism.

“Hmph. At a time like this, he’s still making empty promises,” Zhao Rongzhang commented on Prince Su. “Greedy, arrogant, and brainless. Tell him I want troops. Without sufficient sincerity, there’s nothing to discuss.”

He must be harboring thoughts of discarding allies once their purpose is served. On the day the world is divided, there would be no princedom—only a death sentence. Coincidentally, Zhao Rongzhang held the same intentions toward him.

As for the war in the north, Zhao Rongzhang still hoped the court could hold out a little longer. She wasn’t yet formidable enough.

With all important matters properly arranged, Zhao Rongzhang finally relaxed and fell asleep.

She slept until noon the next day before rising, refreshed and energetic. Just after rinsing her mouth, a servant reported that Guan Xuan was in a poor state—refusing medicine, not allowing anyone near him, and with multiple wounds reopened.

Zhao Rongzhang hurried to the bamboo hut but paused just before entering. She pushed open the door and saw him curled up, fresh blood soaking through large patches of the snow-white fabric on his chest and back. His entire being radiated visible agony.

Zhao Rongzhang strode to his side. Suddenly, she felt even more grateful he hadn’t died. If he had truly perished, alone in the Netherworld Hell, it would have been too painful, too pitiful.

Cradling the back of his neck and head, she pulled him into her embrace, forgetting he couldn’t hear, and whispered repeatedly, “I’m here, I’m here.”