The imperial hunt concluded abruptly due to the Seventh Prince's severe injuries, and the procession returned to the palace before dawn.
For two days and two nights, the Seventh Prince's chambers were illuminated by candlelight. Maidservants carried basins of blood water out, and the scent of medicine mingled with the metallic tang of blood, detectable from a considerable distance.
The imperial physicians had been on their feet for two days straight, and had finally managed to pull the Seventh Prince back from the brink of death.
In the flickering lamplight, a thick scent of medicine permeated the air.
Even in his unconscious state, the intense pain made his sleep restless. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his face was ashen.
His head was clouded with a dull ache. He felt as though he had been lost in a long dream, the scenes of which he could barely recall. He only felt as if his heart was being gnawed by countless ants, whether from the pain in his body or something else, he couldn't tell.
He groggily opened his eyes, his vision blurred. With great effort, he turned his head and saw shifting figures.
Someone called his name softly in his ear.
"Shen Yaojin?"
"Shen Yaojin?"
The familiar yet resonant voice made Shen Yaojin's head feel even more muddled. Strangely, hearing this voice brought a sudden warmth to his eyes.
He parted his lips, wanting to say something, but utterly lacking the strength. His mouth remained half-open, limp.
Warm tears spilled from his eyes, disappearing quickly into his hair.
By midnight, Shen Yaojin's fever surged, becoming dangerously high. He babbled incoherently. The imperial physicians sighed, delivering their grim prognosis: if the Seventh Prince did not make it through the night, he might never wake again.
Shen Yue flew into a terrible rage, berating the physicians until they were thoroughly castigated. Her emotions rarely showed, but in that moment, she was so angered her eyes welled up.
Shen Yaojin's face burned, his complexion ashen. His injuries were grave; several pieces of flesh had been torn from his leg, leaving a bloody, gaping wound that exposed bone.
Even with the wound bandaged, a faint smell of blood still emanated from it if one drew near.
This foolish boy, always so boisterous and seemingly inexhaustible, had never been like this. His breathing was so faint, it was like that of a dead man.
Shen Yue pressed her temples, her fingertips turning pale. She held her breath and took several deep inhalations. It was strange. He was just a fool; if he died, he died. He had only himself to blame for his misfortune, so what was the big deal?
Yet, looking at the pale, paper-like Shen Yaojin on the bed, she felt an inexplicable pang in her heart, as if she had just swallowed a monstrously bitter snake gall, leaving an unshakeable bitterness in her mouth.
The night sky was dotted with stars, the moonlight mixing with the distant, brilliant lights, creating an indistinguishable tapestry of light and shadow.
Shen Yue slowly approached, her shadow slender.
Shen Yaojin was delirious with fever. Perhaps it was the searing pain from his wounds, but his eyes were tightly shut, yet tears streamed down from the corners of them.
Shen Yue reached out and wiped the tears from his eyes. The slightly cool touch was something Shen Yaojin clung to desperately. He suddenly grabbed her hand, his grip tight as if seizing hot iron, without a trace of looseness.
It was so cold.
His face was slick with sweat. He pressed his face into Shen Yue's palm, a palpable sense of dependence emanating from him. When he felt the hand's owner about to withdraw, he was seized by an inexplicable fear, and tears began to flow in earnest.
"Don't leave me, Fourth Brother."
"It hurts so much..."
"I'm going to die from the pain..."
The breath he exhaled was scorching hot. His voice was hoarse and choked, his sobs wracking his body in small tremors, his back quivering slightly.
It seemed someone sighed helplessly in his ear, and then he felt someone nearby gently coaxing him. The voice was incredibly tender, and it felt as though the pain in his body lessened.
***
Golden sunlight streamed through the gaps in the dense pine needles, casting shafts of light, both thick and thin, illuminating the forest path shrouded in wisps of mist like fine veils.
The bathhouse was enveloped in steam, a rich aroma filling the air.
Shen Yue leaned against the edge of the bath, her head thrown back. Her skin was cool and pale, showing no blush even in the warm water. Beneath her thin skin, the bluish veins were delicate and beautiful.
Her eyes were closed, with dark circles beneath them, and an unconcealable weariness etched between her brows.
After a long while, Shen Yue's breathing gradually stabilized.
The mist formed a thin veil, the fragrance luxuriant, as if in a fairyland, dreamlike and enchanting.
Fu An approached silently, skillfully picking up a clean robe hanging nearby. He came to Shen Yue's side, wrapped her in the robe, and easily lifted her. He did not glance at anything he shouldn't, his steps steady.
Her eyelashes fluttered. Shen Yue didn't even need to open her eyes, sensing a familiar presence, she allowed herself to be held without reservation.
Shen Yaojin's fever had broken, but he remained in a deep coma. Shen Yue had been personally tending to him these past few days, to the point where she had exhausted herself and caught a cold. Fearing she might infect Shen Yaojin, she had stayed away.
What she had initially thought to be a mere common cold, she had not expected it to worsen.
On the wooden table sat a bronze qilin censer, quietly releasing smoke in swirling patterns.
Huo Dao entered with medicine. He rounded the screen and his gaze immediately fell upon the figure reclining on the soft couch.
She propped her chin with one hand. Her skin was fair, her lips red. The tear mole beneath her eyelid was like a touch of cinnabar. A light, blue-green robe was draped over her shoulders, her hair falling lazily across them.
Huo Dao's movements were silent, his entire presence like a noiseless shadow. He approached Shen Yue, half-crouching, and tightened the thin robe that was starting to slip.
Her long, dense eyelashes trembled slightly. After a moment, she opened her eyes.
Huo Dao's pupils shifted. His gaze landed on Shen Yue's pale face, and his lips moved.
"Drink your medicine."
The bitter taste of the medicine was a torment. Shen Yue lowered her eyes, the red mole strikingly vivid.
Shen Yue was extremely sensitive to bitterness and detested taking medicine since childhood. Every time, Fu An would specially prepare a small plate of preserved fruits for her.
Huo Dao, clearly, did not know this.
Shen Yue picked up the bowl of medicine. Adopting the principle of "a short pain is better than a long one," she drank it down in one gulp.
Huo Dao's gaze remained fixed on Shen Yue, unmoving. Even after Shen Yue had finished her medicine, his stare remained unreserved.
Being looked at with such an invasive gaze would make anyone uncomfortable, let alone Shen Yue, whose temper was not exactly mild.
She lifted her eyelids, her expression exceedingly cold.
"What are you looking at?"
Huo Dao did not seem to consider his gaze offensive. His eyes were deep and shadowed, placid and unfathomable.
*Slap—*
Her face was slapped askew. Huo Dao's pupils contracted slightly. He turned his head, glancing sideways, and saw the reddened skin at the corner of Shen Yue's eyes and her icy demeanor.