Chapter 5.1

The two of them held each other’s gaze for only a moment before Xie Yan looked away first.

Supported by Changlin, he sat down at the edge of the empty doorway. His washed-out white garments were covered in mottled bloodstains, and years of rarely moving about had left his complexion with a sickly pallor. He rolled up his trouser leg, his slender hand scooping up clear water to rinse away once more the filth from wounds that had already become a mangled mess of blood and flesh.

He repeated this again and again. The basin of clean water quickly turned to bloody water. The medicine from last time had already run out, so Xie Yan had no choice but to wrap the wounds directly with white cloth.

Su Jiao remained sitting where she was, staring at the blood and filth covering him and his cold, silent expression, feeling somewhat dazed.

This marriage of theirs had indeed been personally bestowed by Emperor Jia. The imperial decree had been issued on the very day Xie Yan had again offended and overstepped at the ancestral temple. Emperor Jia, enraged, had punished him by ordering him to kneel in the Buddhist hall, and in the same breath had hastily found the daughter of a fourth-rank minister to betroth to him.

From the bestowal of the marriage to the wedding itself had been a mere three days. Such a careless and rushed affair had been the object of endless ridicule and mockery among the imperial household. For the Su family, however, it had come like a surprise gift fallen from the heavens. Su Jiao’s father had sent her off into the bridal sedan without hesitation, so decisively that it had even driven her mother to take to her sickbed in fury.

In her past life, Su Jiao had come to Yongning Hall timid and afraid. Later, when Xie Yan ascended the throne and became Emperor, there was naturally no longer any such absurd talk of separation. Now that she had been reborn, the few words exchanged with Emperor Jia had awakened her to a truth she had never seen through in her previous life.

An Emperor’s word weighs a thousand gold. The marriage of a prince was a matter of great complexity — how could it ever be so easily changed?

The more she turned it over in her mind, the more stifled she felt. She simply turned her face away, rose, went behind the screen to rest, and refused to look any longer at Xie Yan’s insufferable face.

The sound of the pearl strings swaying on the curtain made Xie Yan look up. He caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing before him.

He pressed his lips together. His already cold and severe brow grew even a few degrees more frigid.

Xie Yan never could have imagined that he would find himself back five years ago.

And of all days, on the very day of his wedding.

The bleak and desolate Yongning Hall. The cold and imperious royal father seated high above. And a new wife who, in his past life, had just driven him to his death — and now appeared before him again.

The wound on his knee throbbed with a raw, seeping pain. Xie Yan looked around. A palace bare as four empty walls, a lone guard, and in the courtyard not a single servant aside from Changlin.

His already sullen expression grew colder still.

To say nothing of things further off — he had only just learned from Changlin that the reason he had barged out of the Buddhist hall was out of concern for Su Jiao. And having come out after being punished with kneeling, this person had not offered so much as a word of concern. On the contrary, just as he remembered from his past life, she had upheld her timid and reticent nature from five years ago, and had been so frightened by the sight of his wounds that she had retreated behind the screen.

A flash of irritable gloom crossed his brow. Xie Yan pressed his lips together, rose, and followed her behind the screen.

Su Jiao had only just wrapped herself up on the bed when she turned her head and found a handsome face looming large before her.

“Why did you follow me in here?”

“There is only one bed in this room.”

Xie Yan dropped the words with cold indifference.

Su Jiao widened her eyes and looked around. In this wretched room, apart from a table, there was nothing but the bed. Sure enough, there was not even an extra chaise longue to be found. She choked on whatever she had been about to say and swallowed it back down.

Xie Yan braced himself against the edge of the bed and climbed up onto it. He removed his blood-stained outer robe, and beneath his snow-white inner garment, the faint outline of a lean and firm waist and abdomen could be dimly seen.

The mattress beside her dipped under his weight. A cool, clear scent swept over her in an instant. The breath of a young man intermingled with hers. It had been a long time since she had shared a bed, and Su Jiao found herself, unusually, a little ill at ease.

She instinctively shifted toward the other side, forcibly steadied herself, and closed her eyes.

Both husband and wife had not slept well since being reborn, and the moment they touched the bed, they each fell asleep.

Until dusk deepened on all sides. Su Jiao was enveloped in a scorching heat and felt a sudden suffocation, jolting awake from her sleep.

A handsome face was pressing close to hers. Xie Yan lay sleeping pressed tightly against her side, his blazing heat transferring through their inner garments to her body, and he was still sleeping soundly and sweetly.

Su Jiao’s anger rose sharply, and she was just about to shove him away when her hand touched his arm — and was stopped cold by the startling, searing heat.

She looked again through the dim candlelight and saw that Xie Yan’s face was flushed, fine beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead, and even in sleep his breathing was somewhat labored.

Without a second thought, Su Jiao pressed her hand to his forehead, and her heart plummeted.

She threw on her robe, got down from the bed, and called out toward the door.

“Changlin, go at once to the front and have the guards report to His Majesty. Tell him that His Highness’s wounds are severe and that he has fallen into a fevered stupor.”

Changlin acknowledged urgently and hurried out.

But it was not long before he returned with an ashen face.

“His Majesty gave the guards strict orders early on. No imperial physician may be summoned to Yongning Hall.”

How could that be?

The wounds on his body had never been properly dressed with medicine. He had then gone and knelt for another hour or two, the wounds tearing open again and again, washed over and over. By now the high fever was certainly the result of infection.

There was no medicine inside Yongning Hall, so there was nothing she could do — but if the high fever did not break, this could very well be life-threatening.

“Go again. Say that His Highness’s wounds are severe — actually, forget it. I’ll go myself.”

Anxiety flashed across Su Jiao’s brow. She strode quickly over the threshold, and had barely run to the palace gate when a sharp swordpoint swept horizontally across her path.

“No one within Yongning Hall is permitted to leave.”

“The Third Prince is gravely ill and urgently needs an imperial physician.”

Su Jiao pushed the guard aside and tried to pass.

“His Majesty’s standing order: no imperial physician is to be summoned to Yongning Hall.”

The guard’s voice was cold once more.

“Regardless of life or death.”

Su Jiao was shoved back by the guard and stumbled, those words leaving her speechless for a long while.

She thought of the second time she had seen Emperor Jia on the day of the palace upheaval in her past life. His aged eyes had been filled with complex emotions toward this son of his. And then there was that imperial edict. She had always believed before that Emperor Jia must have harbored some degree of affection for this son — yet the years in Yongning Hall, the disregard for his injuries in today’s punishment by kneeling, the full knowledge that a high fever following festering wounds was extremely dangerous, and yet the order to have the outer gates sealed tight — his attitude spoke for itself without a word.

The heavy palace gates shut with a resounding clang. The black mass of guards seemed to seal off the whole of Yongning Hall — no way out, no way in.

Su Jiao stood where she was, a chill creeping over her.

Never before had she understood so clearly in a single moment: Xie Yan of the seventeenth year of Zhaoning was truly a prince of the cold palace — cast aside like a worn-out shoe.

The hourglass rolled on in silence. By the third watch crow of the rooster, lanterns were already being lit on all sides outside Qianqing Palace in preparation for the morning court.

Eunuch Feng appeared soundlessly behind Emperor Jia.

“The guards reported that Yongning Hall sent twice last night for an imperial physician.”

Emperor Jia’s expression did not change. He gathered his dragon robes and walked out.

“His Highness’s wounds are not light. If the high fever cannot be stopped, it could take his life. You clearly—”

“Feng Yi.”

Emperor Jia cut him off in a cold voice.

Outside Qianqing Palace, the night was still deep. The summer breeze seemed to chill as well with those words of his.

“If, in all these years, he hasn’t the ability to endure it, then leaving Yongning Hall would be no better than death.”

****

“Still no use! His Highness’s whole body is still burning hot.”

The hours crept by one by one. Changlin was beside himself with anxiety as he continued, following Su Jiao’s instructions, to repeatedly wipe down Xie Yan’s body.

“If only His Highness hadn’t barged out of the Buddhist hall and been punished with extra kneeling on top of everything, it surely wouldn’t have gotten this bad.”

As he spoke, he could not help but glance toward Su Jiao again.