“Young Master, the prince is no longer in danger. Why don’t you rest for a while? It’s almost dawn, and you should also change out of your blood-stained clothes. I can take care of things here,” Youxiang said as she entered the room carrying a large tray. She saw Murong Qiufeng sitting motionlessly by the bedside, holding the master’s hand, his white robes stained with a large patch of blood and his expression weary. Unable to bear it, she tried to persuade him.
Dawn was approaching, and the young master had been sitting there, stiff and unmoving, for most of the night. She worried that when the prince woke up, Murong Qiufeng might collapse from exhaustion.
But Murong Qiufeng remained unresponsive, his gaze fixed on the sleeping Shangguan Ye.
In truth, Shangguan Ye’s injury wasn’t as severe as it seemed. Although the dagger had pierced deeply, it hadn’t hit any vital organs. Moreover, Murong Hao had lost his senses at the time, causing the blade to enter at an angle, making the wound appear more frightening than it actually was. The white powder that had touched the wound was a form of Mind-Numbing Incense, which dissolves upon contact with water. Inhaled in small amounts, it would cause mild disorientation, but entering an open wound allowed it to spread through the nervous system, inducing a deep sleep.
“When will he wake up?” Murong Qiufeng suddenly asked after a long silence, just as Youxiang was about to urge him again.
Startled, Youxiang quickly replied, “It’ll still be quite a while. The dosage of the incense was heavy, and with his weakened state, it will take at least five more hours for him to wake. Please, Young Master, rest for a bit. If you fall ill from exhaustion, the prince will be worried.”
Her words were reasonable enough, but Murong Qiufeng’s expression shifted. He closed his eyes with a deep sense of helplessness. *He almost died because of me. This fool… why did he do it? Was it worth it?*
*Was it… worth it?* A voice in his heart answered clearly: *Yes.* All his previous doubts vanished. He remembered the fear and despair he’d felt in that moment, and compared to that, everything else seemed trivial. Morality, rules, and obligations—nothing mattered as much as the man lying there. At that moment, his heart was crystal clear: *Even if I lost the entire world, I wouldn’t want to lose him.*
*Ye, wake up soon. Haven’t you been waiting for my answer? Wake up and listen to it.*
Seeing his pain, Youxiang’s heart ached. She was happy that the two had finally made emotional progress, but not at the cost of his health.
Suddenly, she had an idea. “Young Master, the demon has returned. Uh… I mean, Qian Baihuan is back.”
Murong Qiufeng snapped out of his daze and finally looked at her.
Relieved, Youxiang hurriedly continued, “And he brought someone back—Zhao Xiru. She’s being held in Murong Hao’s courtyard, waiting for the prince to wake and decide her fate. Why don’t you go and interrogate her on his behalf?”
She didn’t like the idea of Murong Qiufeng interacting with that girl, but anything was better than watching him sit here, draining himself both physically and mentally.
Murong Qiufeng’s expression turned cold. He glanced at Shangguan Ye before pressing his lips together and nodding. *I should help him with something instead of always being protected.*
As he stood, his legs gave out from sitting stiffly for so long, nearly causing him to fall.
Alarmed, Youxiang rushed to support him. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, just numb,” he said. “How did you capture Zhao Xiru? Was it today?”
His mind raced. His brother had been controlled by that strange whistle sound, and the only one capable of such a feat was Zhao Xiru. Could it really have been her?
His eyes grew cold with disappointment. *I’d treated her like a sister, but that doesn’t mean she can hurt those close to me. I value life and avoid violence when I can, but I have my limits.*
“Zhao Xiru was no match for that demon,” Youxiang replied. “She was lured out and captured.”
She didn’t tell the whole truth: Zhao Xiru had panicked upon hearing of the incident at the Prime Minister’s residence, assuming Murong Qiufeng had been hurt, and tried to rush over to see him. This impulsive act allowed Qian Baihuan to capture her easily. Now she was locked away, sobbing in regret and cursing the man who had manipulated her: Song Yicheng, the son of the Duke of Zhao and the mastermind behind it all.
Zhao Xiru had refused to reveal much else, sitting silently in a corner, crying. Youxiang felt pity for her—just a child, used as a pawn by her own father. No wonder she was so drawn to someone like Murong Qiufeng, who seemed to radiate warmth to those left cold by life.
Leaving Youxiang behind to care for Shangguan Ye, Murong Qiufeng changed into clean clothes and went to the courtyard.
The place had once been his brother’s residence but was now being used as a prison, a bitter reminder of their blood ties. At least his father was safe.
Guards surrounded the courtyard. At the stone table in the center, Can Yang and Qian Baihuan were drinking wine, seemingly unbothered by their master’s injury.
They weren’t unconcerned—they simply knew his resilience. Shangguan Ye had suffered worse injuries in the past, even surviving three arrow wounds while enduring freezing conditions for three days. Compared to that, this injury was minor.
Meanwhile, on the rooftop, a black-clad figure with a sword lounged silently, letting the cold wind hit his face. It was Shun, who had been sent to protect the Prime Minister’s household. Shangguan Ye hadn’t worried about his safety, trusting Shun to handle things. The injury had been an unforeseen mishap.
Shun regretted not pulling Murong Qiufeng away in time. Shangguan Ye had instinctively shielded him without thinking about the danger. It was the first time he’d ever thrown himself in harm’s way for someone else—an instinct born not of duty, but of love.
