Within the gradually cooling hot spring, Zhao Shu slowly opened her eyes, her forehead drenched in cold sweat.
Outside the window, the sky had gone completely dark, with only a faint wash of moonlight slanting into the room.
Frowning, she drew another labored breath. The icy stiffness in her limbs had still not fully faded, so she simply turned the bronze beast-head faucet once more. Then, wrapped in her damp clothes, she went to the medicinal cabinet on the first floor and fetched a roll of silver acupuncture needles.
After sterilizing the needles over the heat, she stepped once more into the gently warm pool, immersing her body whose joints still felt frozen.
She could not keep suppressing it.
She could hardly remain soaking in hot water forever.
Casting an uneasy glance toward the window, she finally steeled herself and slowly removed her clothing piece by piece.
The disguise paste and chest bindings were neatly placed atop her damp garments. Holding her breath, she rehearsed the sequence in her mind as her fingers searched for each acupoint.
The last time she had used this acupuncture technique had been nine years earlier, when her elder brother, after searching everywhere for renowned physicians, had taught it to her as a means of preserving her life.
Every season, medicine was delivered promptly from the palace. As a result, she had only needed to use this technique once, when she was eight years old. Several of the major acupoints lay around her heart and navel. A deviation of even a fraction of an inch meant the difference between life and death.
…
After the time it took a stick of incense to burn, the silver needle pouch beside the pool had been neatly rolled up again.
The last trace of icy rigidity within her chest finally dispersed. Zhao Shu collapsed weakly against the white jade steps, her arms resting on the edge of the pool.
She had survived the danger at last.
Staring into the mist-shrouded waters, a miserable smile curved her lips.
For twelve years she and her royal father had served as living vessels for medicinal experiments. Every season they took the medicine and had their blood drawn once. Aside from the very first time, she had never again suffered an attack like this.
She had long since forgotten what price had been paid for the overwhelming favor, privilege, and honor she once enjoyed.
Back in Zhao, the palace had claimed that the State Preceptor’s medicine was difficult to refine. Now that she thought about it, perhaps it had simply been another method devised to ensure her death.
If she were to die, she did not know what grand scheme Zhao intended to accomplish under that pretense. Nor did she know…. what expression her royal father would wear upon hearing the news.
Perhaps… he had expected it all along.
If she died now, the only person left to mourn her would be Qi Ying.
No tears remained in her eyes. She merely leaned weakly against the edge of the pool, her slender back looking unbearably fragile. Unbeknownst to her, outside the tower, the last trace of daylight disappeared beyond the lake’s surface, and a tall, solitary figure slowly crossed the floating wooden walkway.
…
Ying Wuji was turning over the relationship between Zhou and Zhao in his mind. He was meticulous by nature, always planning three moves ahead for every one he took. Having endured hardship since childhood, he preferred to contemplate affairs of state without attendants disturbing him. Thus, he came alone, bringing no followers.
But the moment he entered the tower, he noticed the wet footprints scattered across the floor.
Without a second thought, he concluded that another assassin had swum across the lake and accidentally entered the building.
His hand settled upon his sword hilt as he silently lightened his footsteps and climbed the spiral staircase without making a sound. Following the trail of water to the second floor, he found exactly what he expected, not a single lamp was lit.
His eyesight was exceptionally keen. Even through the painted folding screen of mountains and rivers, he could sense someone standing behind it.
In these troubled times, he arched a brow and inwardly mocked Prince Yi’s incompetence. Relying on the skill and courage honed upon countless battlefields, he made no attempt to summon help. With a light push of his toes, he shot forward like a bolt of lightning. His sword flashed as it split the folding screen apart, its razor-sharp point thrust directly toward the shadow behind it.
A weak cry of alarm struck his heart like a blow. His sword point stopped barely three inches from the slender side of her neck before he forcefully withdrew it. Twisting his body, he barely managed to steady himself at the edge of the pool.
“What are you doing here? And without even lighting a lamp? Have you grown tired of living?” Having nearly skewered her throat with that strike, the teasing tone he usually wore was nowhere to be found. His voice carried genuine anger as he strode toward the nearby table in search of a fire striker.
“Y-you… don’t light the lamp!” The instant he turned away, Zhao Shu jolted fully awake from her shock. She immediately sank deeper into the water and, with the last of her strength, dragged the pile of belongings from the poolside into the water to hide them.
Ying Wuji, however, moved faster. Before she had even finished speaking, the bronze floor lamp by the window had already burst into flame.
A warm glow spread through the room, casting pale silhouettes upon the walls. The light was gentle rather than bright.
Seeing him begin to approach, she spun around in alarm and pressed herself tightly against the pool wall. “D-don’t come over!”
Ying Wuji was still irritated by the danger of moments before. Taking two strides toward her, he demanded angrily, “Why shouldn’t I come over?”
By the dim solitary lamplight, he finally caught sight of a stretch of snow-white back glistening above the water. His gaze darkened, and his tone unconsciously softened. “As a servant, instead of properly attending your duties, you’ve come to enjoy your master’s bath…”
“Please… could you go outside first?” Her panicked plea carried the edge of tears. Ying Wuji glanced at her and finally stopped several paces from the pool.
Before him, her raven-black hair was damp with droplets, her shoulders as slender as willow branches. Beneath the water’s surface, vague outlines hinted at an even more captivating form.
Without realizing it, his throat tightened. He hurriedly averted his gaze and said coldly, “We’re both men. What’s there to look at?”
Even as he spoke, he remembered that the last time he had tried to help this person change clothes, Zhao Shu had claimed to suffer from a disfiguring skin disease and disliked letting others see it. So he did not step any closer.
Instead, he turned and walked out into the outer room.
The folding screen had been split apart, so the “outer room” was separated only by a hazy gauze curtain. Ying Wuji sat down upon a long couch, suppressing the fleeting thoughts that had crossed his mind. As he waited, he casually questioned her about the situation inside the Zhao royal palace.
Taking advantage of the conversation, Zhao Shu’s trembling hands worked beneath the water to untangle her clothes. Everything had become hopelessly twisted together, especially the chest bindings, nearly half a zhang in length. The more anxious she became, the slower she managed to straighten them out.
After answering him perfunctorily a few times, she sensed his growing impatience. He paced back and forth outside in silence, as though he might walk back in at any moment.
If he came in again, he was unlikely to give her the same patience to continue arranging her things.
The disguise paste had become difficult to handle after being soaked through. Clenching her teeth, Zhao Shu decided to gamble. She abandoned the disguise entirely and, moving as fast as she ever had in her life, wrapped the chest bindings tightly around herself.
“Your royal father abandoned you in favor of another heir. How could you not have noticed even the slightest sign?”
“My royal father always doted on me… No one can predict the turns of fate.” She had no heart to dwell on the meaning behind his question. She merely finished binding her chest and hurriedly pulled her damp clothes back on.
Listening to the sound of flowing water within, the image he had glimpsed earlier involuntarily resurfaced before Ying Wuji’s eyes. Lowering his gaze, he gave a light cough, then casually asked another of the questions he had already prepared.
As she answered him, Zhao Shu prepared to step out of the bath. Only when she reached the last jade step did she suddenly realize that the attendants’ clothing in the residence was all made of fine silk. Once soaked, it concealed nothing of one’s figure.
Over the past two years, her body had matured. Even with her chest tightly bound, she still needed properly fitting clothes to disguise her shape.
Beyond the gauze curtain, the approaching footsteps grew quicker.
In her haste, she darted to the cabinet at the very back of the bath chamber and casually pulled out a man’s inner robe, slipping it on in a few swift movements.
Sure enough, she had barely draped it over herself and had not yet tied the sash when the man outside finally lost patience and came in. “How can putting on a robe take longer than it would for a young lady?”
Without waiting, he immediately asked, “Are you well acquainted with Zhao Ruhui?”
Zhao Shu’s wrist trembled. She had just managed to tie the sash before turning slightly to the side. “He is my sworn elder brother. He comes from a collateral branch of a minor noble clan in northern Jin. But we’ve never really gotten along. The relationship exists in name only.”
Ying Wuji merely gave a faint hum, his gaze sweeping downward toward her legs.
She wore no trousers beneath the robe, her bare feet standing upon the thick carpet.
The inner chamber was even darker, yet he could still make out the dainty lotus-like feet and calves as smooth and shapely as lotus roots. A young woman’s figure differed from a man’s, and the loose robe only made her seem even more ethereal and delicate, as though carved from jade.
Looking at her once again, he vaguely felt that the lowered brow and the corners of her eyes seemed especially different today.
She was even wearing his sleeping robe.
And yet she still acted as though she feared and rejected him.
For reasons he himself could not explain, irritation and restless agitation suddenly welled up inside him, twisting into an uncomfortable knot. With a cold snort, he rebuked her. “So much for calling yourself an imperial descendant. You’ve learned nothing except the tricks and affectations of the women in brothels.”
His words carried a deeper meaning. Taken to their full implication, he was accusing her of deliberately staging today’s entire scene.
Recalling his sudden, seemingly casual questioning, Zhao Shu, who had only just escaped death, felt humiliation, fear, and shame crash together within her. Her chest tightened, and in a quiet voice she replied, “If you already believe me to be such a person, then why bother trying to pry information about the Zhao palace from someone as worthless as me?”
Thinking that her days might already be numbered, her eyes reddened as she reached out to shove him aside and leave. But her body was still weak. The moment she hurried forward, her legs gave way beneath her.
Ying Wuji had been carefully studying her expression all along. Caught off guard, he himself stumbled against the threshold. Without thinking, he turned to catch her. The two became entangled and crashed to the floor together. The man ended up beneath her, and his back struck the raised door sill with a heavy thud.
