night dew
When the prince staggered out of the back gate of the temple, the night dew was already heavy. His plain silk nightgown was torn at the edges by thorns that had sprouted from the cracks in the rocks, and the bloodstains mixed with the dew gleamed darkly in the moonlight.
With each step he took, the wound on his shoulder ached, as if a thin needle was pricking his bones, and the dull pain spread down his spine to his limbs.
The sounds of fighting behind him hadn't stopped yet; the crisp clang of metal clashing and the muffled groans of the men in black, carried by the night wind, chased after him, making his heart clench.
He couldn't help but look back—among the ruins, the figure veiled in light gauze was surrounded by seven or eight men in black. The long sword danced like a cold light, but the movement of the left arm was obviously slower. The cuffs of the dark-colored outfit were soaked in blood, turning them dark black. With each swing of the sword, drops of blood dripped down the tassel onto the bluestone slab, mingling with the dew and spreading out in tiny red circles.
"Don't look back," the prince told himself, but his steps faltered.
He recalled the hoarse voice in the man's voice when he said, "I'll distract them, you run to the palace," behind the Buddha statue.
He recalled the cool touch of his fingertips when the shackles were removed, and the faint scent of ink on that person's body—it was just like the smell of burning ink sticks in the study when the Empress Dowager occasionally told him stories of the Prince of Mo's mansion when he was a child.
The night breeze carried the fresh scent of grass and trees, mixed with a faint smell of blood drifting from afar. The prince snapped back to reality and gripped the wooden stick in his hand tightly.
The stick was picked up from beside the Buddha statue just now, and it smelled of old wood shavings. He gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms before he suppressed the urge to go back and help.
The man said, "No matter who you meet, don't trust them easily." He had to obey and stay alive, otherwise the man's sacrifice would have been in vain.
As he ran through a grove of low pines, the pine needles brushed against his cheeks, stinging painfully. The prince's legs buckled, and he staggered, grabbing for support against the trunk of a pine tree.
The bark was rough, rubbing against his palms until they hurt. He leaned against the tree trunk, panting heavily, his chest heaving, a faint metallic taste rising in his throat—the punches he'd taken when he was kidnapped were now showing their lingering effects.
"Your Highness?"
A soft call suddenly came from behind the tree. The prince gripped the wooden stick tightly and turned around to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows.
He was a bodyguard dressed in black, his face mostly covered by a mask, revealing only a pair of calm eyes. He was carrying a water pouch and handed it over very quietly: "The Empress Dowager has ordered that I be here to meet you."
The prince stared at the hand with its distinct knuckles, hesitated for a moment before taking the water pouch. The pouch was made of tanned deerskin, still slightly warm. He tilted his head back and took a sip. The cool water slid down his throat, suppressing the metallic taste in his throat and slightly easing the pain in his shoulder.
"The young master who lured the enemy away..." His voice was hoarse, "...have you gone to meet him?"
The guard lowered his eyes, his voice flat: "The Empress Dowager has ordered that His Highness be escorted to another courtyard for temporary refuge."
That young master is exceptionally skilled; he surely has a way to escape.
The prince tightened his grip on the water pouch, the deerskin texture digging into his fingertips. He knew the Empress Dowager's arrangements were always thorough, but the image of that man's bleeding arm kept flashing before his eyes.
He hadn't even asked who the person was, hadn't thanked them, and hadn't even seen their face clearly—he only remembered the strong jawline outlined by the gauze under the moonlight, and the occasional tired breathing that leaked out from the gaps in the gauze when they spoke.
"Let's go." The prince glanced one last time in the direction of the Garan Temple. The sounds of fighting had faded into the distance, and only the rustling of the night wind through the pine forest sounded like someone sighing softly.
He followed the guards deeper into the forest, the hem of his plain silk nightgown brushing against the dew-covered grass, leaving a trail of wet marks.
Yin Li had been waiting on the stone steps at the palace gate for almost an hour. The food box in her hand was still warm; it contained lotus seed soup that she had specially prepared for He Mo that evening.
The handle of the food box was burning hot from her grip, and the orchid pattern embroidered on the silk handkerchief was deformed from being crumpled by her fingertips.
She had secretly slipped out of Cining Palace. She had just heard the guards say that the Crown Prince had been kidnapped to the Garan Temple and that He Mo was going to rescue him. She panicked and forgot to take her cloak. She only had this box of lotus seed soup in her hand and ran towards the palace gate.
Granny Zhang advised her, "The Empress Dowager has her own arrangements. Miss, just go back and wait for news." But she couldn't sit still—He Mo was afraid of bitterness, so she added some rock sugar to the lotus seed soup. It had to be drunk while it was still warm. If it got cold, he would frown and refuse to touch the spoon.
A night breeze carried the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms from beneath the palace walls, and Yin Li shivered. She pulled her light blue palace dress tighter around herself and looked up at the distant night sky.
The moon had already begun to set in the west, and the light it cast on the palace walls resembled a thin layer of frost. Occasionally, a night patrol of imperial guards would pass by carrying lanterns, their glow shimmering on the blue brick floor. She would instinctively stand up, thinking it was him returning, only to sit down again dejectedly when she saw the guards' armor clearly.
"Miss, the wind is getting stronger." Zhang Mama's voice came from behind, holding a plain cloak in her hand. She draped the cloak over Yinli's shoulders and sighed, "The Empress Dowager sent this old servant to persuade you, Miss. His Highness is a lucky person and will surely be alright."
"This lotus seed soup, I'll keep it warm for you, young lady. I'll make sure it's delivered to He Mo first thing tomorrow morning."
Yin Li held onto the food box tightly and shook her head.
The cloak had a faint fragrance, the benzoin commonly used in the Empress Dowager's palace, which could calm the mind, but her heart was still uneasy.
"Wait a little longer." Her voice was soft, with a barely perceptible sob. "What if He Mo comes back now? He didn't take his medicine when he left. The lotus seed soup is still warm, which can help fill his stomach."
Granny Zhang didn't try to persuade her anymore, but just stood with her by the stone steps. The horn bells on the palace wall jingled in the wind, and the moonlight fell on the top of Yinli's hair, turning the strand of hair that always hung down to her cheek into a light silver color.
She gazed at the dark street in the distance, hoping again and again that the figure would appear soon, hoping to return safely, even if it was just to be handed this bowl of warm lotus seed soup.
Beside the ruins of the Garan Temple, He Mo finally shook off the last two men in black. He leaned against a broken pillar, breathing heavily. The wound on his left arm had reopened, and blood dripped down his sleeve, forming a small puddle on the bluestone slab.
He pulled off the veil covering his face, revealing a forehead covered in sweat. His fingertips traced his waist—where the jade pendant of the Prince of Mo's mansion was hidden. It was given to him by his father before his death, and it was originally a pair with the "Mo" character pendant worn by the Crown Prince.
When he led the men in black in the opposite direction, he deliberately slowed down, fearing that the enemy would turn back to chase the prince.
Hearing no movement behind him, he figured the Crown Prince must have met his accomplices. He took out a small porcelain bottle from his robes, poured out two hemostatic pills, and swallowed them with his saliva.
The pills were given to him by Yin Li, who said they were a prescription left by her mother that could stop bleeding quickly. Now, as he held them in his mouth, they even had a faint minty scent.
He recalled the wariness and curiosity in the prince's eyes when he asked "Who are you?" behind the Buddha statue.
Those eyes were just like his father's—when Mo Yigong was young, he also had such clear eyes, but later he suffered injustice, which added some melancholy to them.
He Mo gazed in the direction where the Crown Prince had disappeared. The night wind lifted the hem of his robe. The pain from his wound was still there, but he felt a sense of relief.
At least, he protected his younger brother.
As for my background, there's no rush.
After the sacrificial ceremony and the matter of the Shadow Pavilion is settled, he will find a suitable opportunity to tell the Crown Prince everything—tell him that they are brothers by blood, tell him about his father's injustice, and tell him that he has been searching for him all these years.
He Mo leaned against the broken pillar to stand up, brushing the dust off his clothes. Moonlight shone on his face, reflecting the determination in his eyes.
He had to go back to the inn first to see if A-Che's old subordinates had found any new clues about the Shadow Pavilion Master, and also... keep this blood-stained veil safe. He would definitely propose to Yin Li the next time he saw her.
As the night breeze grew cooler, the ruins of the Garan Temple stood silently under the moonlight. The bloodstains on the bluestone slabs slowly blended with the dew, eventually being concealed by the night.
Only Yin Li at the palace gate, the Crown Prince in the villa, and He Mo walking towards the inn, each with their own worries, waited for dawn in this long night.
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