“What kind of wound is that…exactly?”
Jiang Kui couldn’t help asking, “Why does someone have sword wounds but no sword scars?”
Doctor Shen heaved a long sigh, gazing at the curling smoke from the medicine brazier. After a long while, he said slowly: “Because Little Chen’s mother was killed by the Frostsword.”
A child born to a mother slain by the Frostsword bears the sword’s wounds – extremely cold qi that repeatedly ravages the meridians, the chill gradually seeping into the body like a chronic disease, becoming a persistent hidden trauma over many years.
“Prince Wuyan’s mother…also died under the Frostsword?” Jiang Kui asked softly.
“Yes. I’ve seen her corpse,” Doctor Shen sighed. “This isn’t my story to tell. If one day he wishes to tell you himself, let him speak of it to you directly.”
“Alright.”
Jiang Kui nodded to him, then asked softly again, “Then that child Little Chen…”
Won’t live past twenty either?
“The child’s condition is much better than His Highness’s. I’m doing my utmost to heal his wounds.”
Doctor Shen’s voice was heavy. “When I found the babe, he was still swaddled. By then I had treated His Highness for years and gained ample experience.”
“In truth…His Highness insisted on testing medicine on himself first.”
His knuckles underneath his sleeves tightened unconsciously. “All these years, every new formula was tried on him first. Only successful ones were then used on the child… He endured extremely potent effects himself. After multiple trials on him allowed the medicine’s potency to mellow, I would decoct gentler medicine with the adjusted formulas for the boy…”
“His Highness said he wouldn’t live past his coming-of-age ceremony anyway, but hoped a child who shared his fate could live healthily past a hundred.”
He heaved another heavy sigh.
The girl beside him closed her eyes lightly for a moment, suppressing the stir of emotions. She recalled that during their short stay here in winter, “he shut himself inside and never left…”
Yet whenever that person emerged from the room, it would always be with a tranquil smile.
“I was testing medicine on him then,” Doctor Shen said softly.
“Would it have pained him greatly?” she asked gently.
“It would. Testing medicine…is agony,” Doctor Shen answered heavily.
“But morning and night then I gave him acupuncture treatments, so he slept more and showed some improvement. Later when he went on a long trip and returned…” His words stumbled to a stop.
“He drank nonstop afterward,” Jiang Kui murmured. “But they weren’t wine jugs. It was medicine, wasn’t it?”
Doctor Shen nodded to her. “Medicinal wine I specially formulated for him. With effects similar to herbal soaks. I told Luo Shiyi those wines would last him ten days but he drank it all immediately, didn’t he?”
“Mm,” she sighed softly. “That fool.”
Doctor Shen snorted. “And you all still spoil him so.”
“A very good fool,” she smiled faintly, head lowered. “I can never refuse when he looks at me.”
“You’re all too soft-hearted,” Doctor Shen said coldly. “His Highness was a sly fox since childhood, exceedingly adept at toying with people’s feelings to have everyone obediently dancing in his palm. Even someone like General Ling couldn’t help going soft whenever His Highness bowed his head.”
He glanced at Jiang Kui. “Hasn’t he pretended illness in front of you before?”
“I know he’s pretending,” she gave a soft chuckle. “But I’ll indulge him since he likes it.”
“I’ve no interest in you newlyweds’ affairs,” Doctor Shen waved a hand, using a fan to tend the brazier. “Go on, take the medicine and leave.”
He suddenly recalled something. “Tomorrow’s the thirtieth. You know his birthday’s the first day of new year, yes?”
Jiang Kui gave a start. “He never told me.”
“Here’s lively. Bring him to eat new year’s dinner,” Doctor Shen said with his back to her. “Every year’s eve…he’s always in low spirits.”
“…Why?”
“I shouldn’t say,” Doctor Shen answered softly. “Hurry back now and keep an eye on him… He cares greatly for you. Surely you know…”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve always known.”
She bowed to Doctor Shen and left the room.
Outside, snow drifted softly onto the glazed roof tiles, layers of white piling atop each other. First she went to the Eastern Palace’s medicine storeroom for the finished decoction before heading toward the steam-wreathed side palace.
The figure inside sat before a sandalwood desk, head lowered as he busied himself with something. A fox-fur coat draped his form and a fur rug covered his lap. Surrounding him were lit braziers, firelight casting a deceptive warmth onto him.
Afraid to disturb him, the girl behind crept closer to peer at what he was doing from above.
He was fiddling with two peachwood boards. With one hand pressed to the wood and the other holding a brush, he had painted a ferocious guardian deity on each board, labeling them Shen Tu and You Lei.
Warding gods for the new year to drive out evil influences.
He concentrated wholly on painting them meticulously and solemnly, stroke by stroke.
“Painting talismans?” she smiled and asked.
“Mm,” came the absent reply. He had already recognized her footsteps and continued his work without looking up. “Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to properly celebrate new year?”
“You remembered,” she said, pleased.
“I remember,” he nodded, gently blowing on the peachwood charms to dry the ink. “Every palace room needs new talismans and spring scrolls. I’ve already tasked Minister Gu to prepare lanterns all over the palace tomorrow night.”
“I won’t be attending the feast in Yuanyuan Palace though. I plan on feigning sickness for a few more days.” He yawned slightly. “After so many years I can finally skip it for once.”
He grumbled under his breath, “Especially new year’s court assembly. Won’t even have time to eat.”
“How long will you pretend to be sick for?” She turned a chair to sit facing him, propping her chin as she watched him.
“Until Lantern Festival,” he mused. “Best timing.”
Yawning again, “Let me sleep more till then.”
“Drink medicine,” she said, holding out the cup for him to slowly swallow spoonful by spoonful.
He downed it smoothly with long familiarity, lightly clasping the porcelain spoon and drinking at an extremely gradual pace, almost leisurely as if sipping tea. This drinking method maximized efficacy.
A faint ache twisted her heart.
“You’re actually quite lazy,” she changed the subject.
“Mm,” he finished the medicine and tilted his head, pondering. “My dream’s to herd cows under Mount Hua.”
She gazed at him, laughing. “How can there be a crown prince like you?”
Then she took out a small candy from her sleeve and popped it into his mouth, watching him slowly suck it between his teeth.
“My lady,” he said. “You’ve really been fond of feeding me candy lately.”
“Your medicine is too bitter,” she explained after thinking it over. “I’m kind-hearted.”
“You’re wonderful,” he agreed drowsily, nodding at whatever she said.
They chatted a while longer. Jiang Kui pulled over a desk and sat beside him, gathering some unfinished documents and taking a brush from his stationary to peruse them with her head lowered.
The braziers occasionally spat sparks. Outside came the soft susurrus of falling snow. Side by side in tranquil candlelight, their forms were gilded by golden halos.
As the medicine took effect, drowsiness gradually returned for Xie Wuyan. He set aside the finished charms and turned to the girl beside him. “Shall we sleep?”
“Hm?” She continued writing. “You’re the one suggesting it today?”
They had long grown used to sharing a bed. Every night when Xie Wuyan feigned illness these days, they would sit together at the desk before retiring together at night. He always had unfinished work and she would have to urge him to rest.
“My lady, it’s new year’s eve tomorrow,” he said seriously. “I’ll be absent from banquets as I fake illness, leaving you alone bearing social obligations for long tedious hours. Please retire early tonight to conserve energy.”
“I’m not tired yet.” More documents fetched to peruse. “You go back first.”
He sighed, bowing his head in thought before suddenly grasping her hand. “I’m sleepy, my lady.”
She turned. Head tilted, he gazed up at her, eyes brimming with drowsiness as candle flame danced over his features, glinting off his long curled lashes.
She could never refuse when he looked at her like that.
“Fine,” she put down her brush. “I’ll sleep too.”
He led her out, footsteps crunching softly atop the snow.
“Has anyone told you that you’re a transformed fox spirit?” she asked as they walked.
“Hm?” He looked startled. “Who said that?”
“Not telling you,” she laughed, pushing him into the bedchambers.
The next clear dawn found snow piled heavily on the roof tiles as birds chirped in the yards.
Jiang Kui awoke to Xie Wuyan still slumbering beside her, morning light falling onto his features – smooth and fair as finely carved jade.
She touched his cheek, testing his temperature, then carefully got up to tuck the blankets snugly around him before quietly rising to wash and dress.
She bustled half the day with palace affairs before adorning herself in elaborate court dress, hair pinned high with golden ornaments as she took a little palanquin to attend the banquet at Yuanyuan Palace. News of the crown prince’s accident had spread everywhere. Innumerable officials came today to inquire after Eastern Palace’s state but she entertained them breezily without divulging a thing.
By the banquet’s end when rosy clouds had dispersed to reveal countless stars, she stepped out of her palanquin, lights suddenly spilling into her vision.
The Eastern Palace was filled with glowing lanterns – pure white glass orbs lined the long walkways, dotting rooftops and tree branches. The splendor of illuminated palaces and halls shone warmly amidst a landscape of snow.
The doors now framed a pair of peachwood charms, the freshly painted guardian gods sporting vivid, lively eyes and features.
Gathering her billowing skirts, she hurried through the soft crunching snow toward that person.
“Xie Kang!” She called out his name.
Pushing open the doors of the side palace, plumes of steam rolled forth but it was empty. She rushed to the west wing he often inhabited but though lanterns burned within, he wasn’t there either. She searched the bedchambers next. The neatly made bed held no occupant and its owner still absent.
“He’s not here.”
A little attendant in white walked out from the yard and bowed to her. “He never stays in Eastern Palace this time each year.”
“Where did he go?” Jiang Kui frowned slightly in puzzlement.
“The second floor loft at East Corner Bookshop Alley. On new year’s eve every year he likes to linger there alone for a spell,” Luo Shiyi murmured.
“It’s his birthday tomorrow…”
“…and his late mother’s death anniversary,” he finished softly.
“I see.” Jiang Kui breathed.
So he’s always in low spirits around new year’s eves.
“I’ll go find him there,” she said, seated before the mirror removing all her hairpins save a single red jade one amidst her tresses. “I already said I’d spend new year’s together with him.”
Lights blazed over East Corner Bookshop Alley.
Within the little loft above the tailor’s shop, one window stood open. Sounds of music and revelry floated up from below, accompanied by wafting cooking fumes and scent of hot meals, and the occasional stray snowflake.
The figure leaning against the window quietly poured himself wine, alone.
He wore only a thin white undertunic, his form vague as frost and snow. Half his face was illuminated by lantern glow, the other half hidden in shadow – still features beneath lowered eyes.
He gazed down. The street lights resembled a fiery dragon, their brilliance glimmering unsteadily.
A quiet knock suddenly sounded.
He blinked.
Rising, he walked over and slid the door open after a brief pause.
The girl below craned her head up at him, cradling a jug of warm wine. She must have run up the stairs – skirts and sashes swirling like butterflies, scattered snowflakes across glowing cheeks and snow-white skin like beautiful jade. Myriad lights illuminated her form.
Before he could speak, she abruptly tiptoed upward.
Mere centimeters apart.
An ambiguous moment.
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