A night breeze blew in through the porthole window and he gave a faint shiver, murmuring again, “It’s so cold.”
His breathing grew ragged, warm puffs of air brushing her cheek. She looked anxiously at him, leaning over to press her forehead to his and realized with a start that he was burning up. “You seem to have…a fever?”
“How could I have a fever…” His voice sounded muddled. “Jiang Xiaoman…I feel awful…”
She hastily checked his temperature, finding that every inch of his skin felt scalding hot when he normally ran much cooler than her. His heightened temperature seemed to be addling his mind as he called her name deliriously. “Jiang Xiaoman…”
“I’m going to find Master Goat!” she said frantically. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Lost in feverish confusion, he gave a low acknowledgment. She hurried out the cabin and went to fetch the boat doctor.
Master Goat arrived swiftly with a large medicine kit, sitting at the bedside to take his pulse. Jiang Kui watched the doctor’s expression anxiously – he knitted his brows, pressing two fingers over Xie Wuyan’s fluttering heartrate, features solemn in concentration.
“My medical skills are limited, this is my first time seeing such symptoms,” sighed Master Goat with a shake of his head. “His Highness has sustained chilling sword wounds that continuously invade his meridians. By all logic, it shouldn’t be possible for him to develop a fever.”
Pondering, he went on slowly, “In my amateur opinion…his weak constitution coupled with trauma from past grave injuries have severely drained him, thus triggering this abnormal high fever. For someone who cannot normally run hot to exhibit such rare heat now may not necessarily bode ill, it could indicate his condition is improving.”
Jiang Kui asked worriedly, “What should be done for now?”
After brief consideration, Master Goat instructed, “For the moment just treat it like a common cold. We’ll consult Doctor Shen for diagnosis once we return to Chang’an.”
He advised, “Bring a bowl of cool water and soak cloths to help lower his temperature. I will go brew medicine to bring over shortly.”
Following directions, Jiang Kui fetched chilled water and white handkerchiefs. Sitting at Xie Wuyan’s bedside she dipped a cloth in water, gently patting his forehead. Though his eyes remained closed, dark lashes fluttered subtly at her ministrations.
She spread the damp kerchief over his pallid brow, then drew another one to carefully wrap his burning palm.
Sensing faint relief amidst the raging fever, he struggled to open heavy lids, calling for her in a slur, “…Jiang Xiaoman…”
“Feeling any better?” Worry filled her heart.
His voice was very soft, slightly hoarse. She bent down, leaning in close to hear him speak. His breaths came ragged and warm, stirring the hair by her ear. “Jiang Xiaoman… I feel awful…”
She asked anxiously, “Awful how exactly?”
“Hot…then cold…” There was a confused note in his tone. “It’s so strange…”
“That’s how fevers are,” she gave a small laugh, gently hugging him. “First time with a fever, hmm?”
He closed his eyes again. “I’ve never had one before.”
After a spell he complained fuzzily, “I really hate this…”
“Master Goat says it may be a good sign. Just endure it a little longer.” She turned and brought a cup of warm water, carefully feeding him spoonfuls to drink. “Once you’ve had some water, sleep for a bit. I’ll wake you when the medicine is ready.”
Soon he drifted back into restless slumber. Shortly after, Master Goat delivered the herbal brew which Jiang Kui slowly coaxed Xie Wuyan to drink. He roused briefly before quickly lying back down, remaining only half-conscious until late next morning when the raging fever finally abated somewhat and he began gradually waking fully.
As his eyes opened, the first thing he saw was the girl sitting beside him with a steaming bowl of soup. Morning light filtered through the window lattices, bathing her in a delicate glow that softened all her features, as if veiling her in diaphanous silken mist.
A wisp of fragrance tickled his nose – aromatic herbs coupled with the savory scent of fish broth.
He blinked sleepily, voice still a little hoarse from the fever and long rest. “Is that…for me?”
“I made it,” she nodded, helping prop him against the wall. Then cradling the little ceramic spoon, she carefully blew across a mouthful of soup before raising it to his lips. “Try a taste?”
“Is it a sweet and salty flavor?” he asked cautiously.
She paused, nonplussed. “No, it’s – “
Suddenly indignant, she huffed, “Drink it or don’t!”
Obediently he sipped, then fell silent for a moment before gently pointing out, “…Maybe next time, could you use a little less vinegar?”
“Too much vinegar?” She stared, taken aback. Testing a spoonful herself, her complexion changed subtly. She set the bowl down without another word.
Mouth twisting unhappily, she lowered her head. “Alright. I’ll remember that for next time.”
Head tilted, he mused for an awkward spell before declaring out of nowhere, “My eyes see only you.”
“Other than you…” He stated solemnly, “I’ve never so much as glanced at another girl before.”
She cast a baffled look his way. “Why are you suddenly spouting weird things like that?”
Hesitating briefly, she reached out and felt his forehead. “Don’t tell me your fever fried your brain?”
“Hmm?” He seemed equally confused. “I read in a book that vinegar symbolizes…”
She burst into laughter. “Xie Kang, what sort of questionable books have you been reading to pick up random nonsense like that?”
“No wonder you don’t even know a girl’s blush means she’s shy,” she scoffed. “You really are a blockhead!”
“Jiang Xiaoman,” he pleaded with eyes closed, “please don’t say things like that. It’s mortifying.”
Before she could retort, he suddenly pulled her into his embrace.
The clean, refreshing scent that enveloped her was so unexpected she nearly lost her breath. His ragged exhales stirred hotly against her nape as he rested his chin atop her shoulder, leaning intimately close to murmur by her ear…
“Jiang Xiaoman…”
Despite his illness, his voice held a subtle husky warmth to it, still laced with traces of sleep.
In that instant she thought steam must be pouring from her flushed ears.
“You’re embarrassed,” he observed matter-of-factly.
“I am not,” she mumbled into his shirt.
“But your face is all red,” he chuckled softly.
Temper rising, she was nearly ready to smack him, but his arms only tightened further around her waist. Then he buried his face into her fragrant hair with a drowsy plea:
“Hold me close…”
The very next moment, he slumped heavily against her, out like a light.
His body sagged gradually down and the arms embracing her slipped off to rest at her sides. Dark lashes swept low as each shallow breath, still fever-warm, drifted softly over her cheek – like the gently heated draft from an incense burner.
Ensconced securely in his limp embrace, she reached both arms around to cling onto him tightly in return, nestling her cheek against his burning one. Long minutes later when she finally finished using her healing techniques on him, she shifted his sleeping form carefully back onto the bed.
Bathed in clean golden rays, he rested silently with a damp kerchief over his brow, looking for all the world like an obedient little jade statue.
Over the next few days Xie Wuyan drifted in and out of consciousness, delirious with high fever and barely lucid. By the time their vessel reached the Wei River his raging temperature had gradually receded, stabilizing into persistent low-grade fever. But he remained deeply comatose throughout.
Several more days passed before their ship docked on the outskirts of Chang’an. A carriage raced swiftly toward Flourishing Fortune Alley, delivering him to Doctor Shen’s residence for urgent diagnosis and treatment.
The dark polished gate flew open before rapid approaching footsteps.
Jiang Kui and Luo Shiyi supported the slumbering Xie Wuyan hurriedly indoors, followed by the helpers Xiaochen and Ah Rong. Doctor Shen grabbed a yellow pearwood medicine case and rushed over from the courtyard, swiftly inserting several silver needles at vital points to unblock the patient’s meridians before administrating herbal tonics into his system.
While Doctor Shen set to work, Jiang Kui waited quietly in the rear garden where a wintry plum tree bloomed snowy white. Petals drifted down with the breeze, scattering abundantly onto her dress.
Gazing up, she plucked a frozen sprig and placed it in a pristine white glazed vase on that person’s windowsill.
Doctor Shen rapped lightly on the window. “Young Master Jiang, please come inside.”
Pushing the door open, Jiang Kui saw the patient still lying unconscious in bed. She reached out and felt his forehead – the raging fever had broken. His temperature had fallen drastically low again, chilling to the touch like crisp new frost.
Brows puckered anxiously, she asked in a hushed tone, “How is he?”
“The high fever was indeed a positive sign,” intoned Doctor Shen heavily. “It’s passed for now, perfect timing. I need to administer a harsh decoction, attempting to combat the frigid energy accumulated within using hot medicinals.”
He paused, then said quietly aside to Jiang Kui, “The treatment process may cause immense pain. It would be best if Young Master Jiang waited elsewhere instead. I’ll call you back in later.”
“I’ll stay with him,” she shook her head adamantly.
Without further argument Doctor Shen sat back down and slowly regulated his breathing. Picking up a silver needle he inserted several points before carefully channeling the scalding concoction into the patient’s body.
Almost instantly the prone form shuddered with awful spasms, breath coming shorter and harsher as if suppressing some unbearable agony.
He squeezed both eyes shut, muscles locked and trembling uncontrollably. The fur blankets slipped soundlessly from one shoulder, exposing the graceful arch of his neck pulsing erratically with each pained gasp.
“What’s…happening to him?” whispered the girl beside the bed.
“The pain woke him,” answered Doctor Shen softly. “The medicine I administered is actually an extremely toxic poison. Given the gravity of old wounds ravaging his body, I could only transmit blazing hot agents directly inside to dispel the accumulated chill.”
“Every time before when I tried various treatments on him…”
“It was always like this,” said Doctor Shen heavily. “For such damaging affliction, this is the sole method.”
The bedridden patient began coughing weakly, each wracking spasm clearly bringing excruciating stabs of pain. The girl at his side clenched her fists tightly. “Should he…hold onto something?”
Doctor Shen shook his head with regret. “It’s useless. He has no strength left at all.”
The girl gazed sorrowfully down at the trembling form. Her own heart twisted in empathy and she reached out without thinking to slip her hand gently around his.
Sensing a shred of comfort amidst the roiling agony, his fingers shifted subtly, pressing lightly against her palm.
Doctor Shen inhaled deeply again before taking another silver needle and sending a second dose of scalding medicine through his meridians.
This bout drove his strained gasps down to the barest wisps of air. Then all at once his breath seemed to fail completely. Face tilting limply to one side, his body gave a feeble quiver and stilled.
“He – !”
“Mercifully passed out from the pain,” the doctor finished quietly. “Call for me again if he doesn’t rouse after half an hour.”
Laying down the needles, he exited the room, leaving Jiang Kui alone at the bedside keeping vigil.
Warm sunlight filtered through the window bars, illuminating that solitary sprig of wintry plum. Still clasping his hand, she gazed wordlessly down at his pale, peaceful face. An extremely faint plum fragrance drifted over – she couldn’t tell if it came from him or the blossoms.
Half an hour passed without any signs of waking. She bit her lip anxiously and went to the courtyard for Doctor Shen. He stood motionless beneath the trees, head raised toward a swath of open sky. At her call he turned and stepped back into the sickroom.
Doctor Shen briskly rolled up his sleeves again, inserting a stimulation needle at the acupressure point on the patient’s solar plexus. He gave a muffled cough, frame quaking subtly. Though his eyes never opened, from the feeble gasps Doctor Shen surmised he had somewhat regained consciousness.
Silent beats passed before the doctor carefully administered another searing dose of medicine.
And so it continued – the pain would plunge him back into darkness, only to be brutally jarred awake once more by needle shocks. Over and over without reprieve.
Until at last when slanting rays of dusk streamed through the lattices, spilling over his ashen cheeks…
After the latest bout Doctor Shen had already taken leave. Only the robed maiden kept her lonely vigil seated at his bedside. He had already drifted awake countless times but lacked all strength to even raise his lids. Just as he slipped under yet again, this time when bleary eyes struggled open he suddenly saw…
She was crying.
In the brilliant rays of fading sunset, glistening pearl-like teardrops beaded exquisitely along that fair, jade-pale cheek.
“Jiang Xiaoman..” His voice emerged feather-soft. “Why are you weeping?”
She shook her head fiercely, choking back sobs. Dark tendrils quivered ever so faintly as droplets trailed unbroken down her face. Voicelessly his gaze lingered, warm and gentle – yet tinged by muted sorrow.
He gave a wan smile, affect laden with helpless regret. “This means I’m getting better, doesn’t it? You should be happy.”
Nodding desperately even as she shook her head ‘no’, tears continued spilling forth unchecked. The raw anguish in her eyes wrenched at his heart. Until it felt his own chest would rupture from the reflected pain.
His fingertips twitched feebly though devoid of strength. Knowing what he wanted, she grasped his hand herself and carefully guided it along her wet eyelashes, letting him tenderly wipe away the traces of her weeping.
“You promised not to be sad,” he chided softly.
“I’m not anymore. See?” She dashed the tears aside and gripped his fingers tightly. “Hurry and recover. I want you here with me.”
“I will,” he soothed. Exhaustion already dragging him back under, “…Just so tired now… Let me sleep a little longer…”
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Doctor Shen says you shouldn’t keep sleeping. The medicine works best if you stay awake.”
“Mm…” Listlessly he sank deeper onto the bed. Amber dusk caressed his features – dark lashes low, breathing beginning to shallow as if he would slip away at any moment upon the faintest stirrings of a morning breeze.
“Xie Kang, Xie Kang…” She called gently, squeezing his hand.
Lost halfway between dreams and waking, he gave a drowsy response. “Here…”
“Xie Kang, don’t fall asleep,” she entreated, clasping his hand between both of hers. “Let’s talk for a bit.”
“Talk…?” he mumbled blearily. “What about…?”
“Childhood stories,” she suggested, clinging to anchor him. “You still haven’t told me so many things.”
“When we were small…” he echoed absently.
After a lengthy pause he finally replied in faint tones, “You knew…when we first met…?”
She thought back. “Wasn’t it at the bookshop? When Master brought me to visit and you were brewing tea behind the screen?”
“No…not then.” He gave a soft laugh.
“So…in the palace?” she tried again. “I saw you napping under a white plum tree before.”
“Still no,” he breathed, barely shaking his head.
“It was here…” he whispered at last. “Ten years ago…”
Something in his voice made her gaze down wordlessly at him.
Memories of the past slowly rose up like incoming tides once more…
A decade ago Flourishing Fortune Alley had been a very different place. Back when brawls still erupted violently on the streets and blood ran thick between allies. Their master had passed through, wielding her long spear to wage a fierce three-day battle before finally establishing the ironclad rule of no further brutality or homicide on these lands.
Amidst deafening screams and clashing weapons, she clung to her master’s coattails, following protectively in the wake of salvation. That dim, desperate dawn – within this very courtyard she had stumbled upon a young boy, broken and bloodied beneath the latticed window. Silent with eyes closed, too weary even to stir as a rival gang approached, blades bare…
So she drew her own weapon.
Her first ever human kill, and the first life she saved.
In the clean light of daybreak she had crouched by the strange boy, reaching out…only to have him slowly shake his head and murmur hoarsely that someone like him wasn’t worth saving.
But she had insisted gently: he was worth it.
That brief encounter had marked their very first meeting.
When one hand reached out. And the other grabbed it.
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