Chapter 60 The Pavilion Lost in the Mist, the Moon Lost in the River (Part 4) "Now you want to beg for mercy..."
The burning heat seeped through his clothes, and his voice was extremely low, yet it carried a venomous sarcasm and a barely perceptible tremor, "Today I originally summoned him to a meeting, but you happened to see him, and now you think I... am not as gentle and courteous as him?"
"You bastard..." Ye Yixiang was both ashamed and angry. She struggled to turn her head away, but her indignant words stopped abruptly halfway through.
Through the gap in his torn clothes, she could clearly see the left side of his chest.
A dark, gruesome wound, not yet fully healed, clung to the taut muscle, its edges tinged with an unnatural dark red. Reason, like ice water, instantly extinguished most of her anger and struggle, leaving only a heart-pounding panic.
"Wait a minute!" she shouted urgently, her voice trembling.
"Now you want to beg for mercy?" Chu Huaili paused, his crimson eyes fixed on her, his tone still cold and hard, yet revealing a hint of suppressed arrogance, "Too late... I can't wait any longer!"
"Yan Qing!" she blurted out his old name, filled with unprecedented panic.
The name seemed to possess some strange magic, causing his frenzied actions to suddenly halt.
Ye Yixiang was breathing heavily, her body, which he was suppressing, rose and fell slightly, and the old name that she had blurted out in panic just now still lingered in the air.
She turned her face away, avoiding his overly piercing gaze, but her eyes couldn't help but fall back to the gruesome wound on his chest. In the dim light, she could see it more clearly.
A wound running diagonally across the chest and ribs, not extremely long, but extremely deep, with even tiny beads of blood seeping out, clearly caused by the recent intense movement that aggravated the wound that had only recently healed.
"You..." Her voice caught in her throat, choked with sobs and trembling with lingering fear, "Are you out of your mind?! With such serious injuries... you still dare to... act recklessly."
She swallowed back the worry and fear in the second half of her sentence, but her red eyes and trembling voice betrayed it all.
Chu Huaili remained bent over, his hot breath spraying onto her neck, carrying a heavy smell of alcohol and a sense of near exhaustion. He remained silent; the anger that had threatened to consume everything was mostly extinguished by her tearful eyes, which clearly reflected worry.
Chu Huaili's hand, which was holding her slender ankle, unconsciously loosened its grip a little.
He leaned down slightly, getting closer to her face, his voice low and husky, with an almost childlike stubbornness: "Arao... is this... because you're heartbroken?"
She didn't answer, but simply closed her eyes, her long eyelashes still glistening with undried tears, trembling gently in the dim light. A moment later, she opened her eyes again, a semblance of cold calm returning to them, though beneath that calm lay countless cracks.
"Stop it..." Her voice was muffled, with a sense of resigned helplessness. "Let me go, and I'll... take a look at your injury and put some medicine on it."
The tension in his heart, stretched to its limit, eased almost imperceptibly for a moment because of her words. He wanted to say that the wound had been treated by the imperial physician that afternoon. But the words caught in his throat as he looked at her anxious expression.
He couldn't bear to break the silence of this moment.
His Adam's apple bobbed, and he silently swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue, letting a dark sense of satisfaction quietly spread over the stinging pain and rage in his heart.
The hand that was holding her ankle finally loosened its grip completely.
He propped himself up, slowly getting off her and sitting on the edge of the bed. His deep purple robes were somewhat disheveled, and the intense struggle had left a fine layer of cold sweat on his forehead. His face appeared unusually pale in the dim light, with only the scarlet tinge in his eyes not yet completely fading.
Ye Yixiang also sat up, her wrists, which were bound with a gold belt, still raised above her head, looking disheveled.
She tried to move, but the metal buckle was painfully digging into her. She looked up at him.
Chu Huaili followed her gaze to the restraints, his eyes darkening, and he pursed his lips. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, as he fumbled for the delicate yet sturdy buckle. Perhaps due to his unease, or perhaps due to weakness in his hands, he tried twice but couldn't untie it immediately.
Ye Yixiang watched his unusually clumsy and anxious movements quietly.
His lowered eyelashes cast heavy shadows on his pale face, along with the wound that bled more noticeably with each breath he took.
Finally, with a soft "click," the buckle came loose.
The cold metal slipped from my wrist, leaving a glaring red mark.
She gently moved her stiff and sore wrists, silently got up, tightened her torn clothes, walked to the rosewood cabinet by the wall, took out a medicine bottle and a cloth, then picked up a candlestick and returned to the bedside.
His actions just now left the left side of his clothes disheveled.
The flickering candlelight illuminated the grotesque wound and the thin layer of sweat on his taut muscles. His body was sleek and powerful, yet the wound resembled an ugly centipede, coiled on his chest, silently proclaiming some kind of danger.
Ye Yixiang sat down on the edge of the bed and moved closer.
A strong smell of blood mixed with the scent of ointment wafted over, and she frowned slightly as she carefully wiped away the blood and sweat around the wound with a damp, clean cloth.
Her movements were very light, her fingertips were icy cold, and occasionally, inevitably, they touched his warm skin, causing the person in front of her to stiffen slightly.
Silence spread throughout the room, broken only by the faint sound of the cloth rubbing together in her hands.
The violent outburst just now was a sudden and abruptly stopped storm, leaving only a mess behind.
"When were you injured?" she finally asked, her gaze fixed on the movements in her hands.
Chu Huaili remained silent for a moment before whispering, "On the day of the palace coup... outside Ciqing Palace, no one noticed the group of assassins secretly hidden by the Empress Dowager."
Ye Yixiang's wiping hand paused almost imperceptibly for a moment. On the day of the palace coup... it turned out he hadn't escaped unscathed.
"Why...why didn't you say so sooner?" she asked, a faint hint of bitterness finally slipping from her voice.
"What are you saying?" Chu Huaili twitched the corner of his mouth. "Say that I almost died under the Empress Dowager's counterattack? Or say that I'm dragging this body around, suffering day and night, having to stabilize the court, guard against hidden arrows, and also..." He paused, not finishing his sentence, but just gave her a deep look.
He also had to guard against someone taking advantage of the situation, and he had to restrain himself from seeing her, for fear of losing control and dragging her into a more dangerous situation.
She stopped speaking, her fingertips, still slightly cool from the ointment, tracing the red and swollen skin at the edge of the wound.
Chu Huaili's body tensed almost imperceptibly for a moment, but he didn't move. He simply lowered his eyes to look at her profile, which was so close to his. The candlelight softly outlined her slender neck and downcast eyes, her long eyelashes trembling like butterfly wings.
After a long silence, Chu Huaili suddenly spoke, his voice much lower and softer than before, carrying a barely perceptible hint of probing: "If you feel bored in the palace, tomorrow..."
He paused, as if considering his options, and said, "Tomorrow is the eve of the Dragon Boat Festival. There will be a lively incense market and various performances in the West Market, and in the evening, the Flower Goddess will parade through the streets. Have Pei Hong lead a group to accompany you, and you can go out of the palace for a stroll."
Ye Yixiang was covering the wound with a clean, fine cloth after applying the medicine when she heard this. Her fingertips paused almost imperceptibly, and then she gave a soft "hmm." Her tone, compared to the previous dullness, unconsciously rose slightly with a hint of lightness.
She leaned slightly forward, wrapped her arms around his lean waist, and prepared to use a long strip of cloth to wrap around his back to bandage him.
This movement brought her extremely close to him, almost to the point of leaning against his uninjured right chest.
The faint, delicate fragrance of osmanthus emanating from her mingled with the bitter scent of the medicinal ointment, gently seeped into his nostrils.
Chu Huaili's body stiffened almost imperceptibly for a moment, his hands hanging at his sides slowly clenching, then forcing himself to loosen them. He could feel the slight rise and fall of her breath, and see a strand of hair falling loosely at her temple, gently brushing against his bare shoulder and neck with her movements, bringing a subtle and unfamiliar shiver.
Ye Yixiang was focused on wrapping the strip of cloth around and did not notice his sudden change in expression.
Her arms encircled him, and their breaths inevitably mingled at that moment—warmth and coolness, chill and tranquility—silently colliding and merging in the dim light.
"Arao." He suddenly called her softly, his voice close to her ear, hoarse with the lingering effects of alcohol, as if he had a thousand words to say, but in the end, they all condensed into these two heavy words.
"Hmm?" she responded, her hands deftly tying a knot without stopping.
"Stay by my side." It wasn't an order, yet it contained an undeniable resolve deep within: "No matter what happens, trust me."
Ye Yixiang tied the last knot, her fingers pausing slightly. She didn't answer immediately, nor did she pull away, maintaining the almost embracing posture without responding.
Chu Huaili suddenly moved. He pulled his arm back and, taking advantage of her stunned silence, flipped her over and pulled her beneath him, but his strength was much more restrained than before, even carrying a hint of caution.
"No! Your injury..." Ye Yixiang exclaimed, her hand instinctively pressing against his chest, but avoiding the wound.
"Don't worry," he lowered his head and gently rubbed his nose against hers. This overly intimate gesture softened his hard features in the candlelight, and the crimson in his eyes had faded, leaving only a trace of weary dependence. "I'm just holding you while I sleep. I'm tired."
His breath brushed against her face, carrying the lingering effects of alcohol, yet strangely, it no longer made her feel oppressed or afraid.
Ye Yixiang's body was still somewhat stiff, but the hand that had been pressing against his chest finally slowly lowered. He indeed simply wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, buried his face in the hair at the side of her neck, and his breathing gradually became long and even.
That night was unexpectedly peaceful. Ye Yixiang was initially on edge, but after a long while, listening to the steady breathing around her and smelling the lingering scent of ebony, she unknowingly drifted off to sleep.
I woke up early the next morning to the sound of birdsong.
The bed beside her was empty, with only the slight indentation of the brocade quilt and the lingering, cool scent of sandalwood on the pillow. She sat up, clutching the thin blanket, somewhat dazed.
Wuluozhu and Chuntan brought in copper basins and towels to help her wash and dress, their movements even quieter than usual.
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