Chapter One: Three Thousand Affections (Part One)

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I. Before Memory Fades

For two days now, Xiangbao had been burning with a relentless fever.

After sending away the seventh physician, Wei Qin returned to the boat with a grim expression and sat beside Xiangbao. He raised his sleeve and gently wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead, then dipped his fingers in warm water to moisten her dry, peeling lips.

The physician had just said that if the fever did not break by tomorrow, Xiangbao might never wake up again.

Wei Qin clenched his fists and slammed one hard against the deck, causing the boat to sway slightly. He was unwilling to accept this; he had been so close to whisking her away to freedom. After a long moment, he rose and looked toward the opposite riverbank, where a man in white sat. That man had not moved for two days, like a statue carved from stone.

“Xiangbao, didn’t you hate him? Seeing him like this now, do you feel any better?” Wei Qin spoke softly, gazing at the white-clad figure.

The woman on the couch did not stir.

Wei Qin bit his lip.

“Doctor Fan, His Majesty has summoned you several times, asking you to enter the palace with him to see the King of Wu,” Shi Lian called out from the riverbank in a cold voice.

Fan Li still did not move, only staring quietly at the river, as if it held the spirit of the woman who haunted his dreams. So this was how painful it was to lose the one you loved. When he had returned from the battlefield, his memory lost, Xiangbao…how much pain must she have felt?

Wei Qin had been watching the white-clad man coldly, observing him sit motionless on the riverbank. The man probably never dreamed that Xiangbao was right across from him, on the boat.

Time slipped away; the sky gradually darkened. Wei Qin grew restless, the physician’s words echoing in his mind—if tomorrow…the fever still wouldn’t break, then she…

Just before dawn, Wei Qin finally rushed out of the cabin to find the Lady of Yue. If it was her…she could surely save Xiangbao. Though he wished to keep Xiangbao hidden by his side forever, letting no one know or see her, he could not bear to watch her die.

In the Wu palace, Fuchai sat in a pavilion, one hand propping his chin, the other holding a scroll, eyes closed in feigned slumber. A dark shadow appeared noiselessly at his side.

“Your Majesty, the Lady of Yue has left the residence,” the person reported.

Hearing this, Fuchai slowly opened his long, narrow eyes, a smile curving his lips. “Follow her.”

“Yes.”

As the shadow vanished, a palace attendant hurried into the pavilion.

“Your Majesty, Gou Jian and his party have been waiting in the hall for some time.”

“Let them wait longer,” Fuchai set aside his scroll and stood, “I have other important matters.”

“Yes.”

Thus, while Gou Jian and his companions waited in vain in the palace, their king, “occupied with other matters,” appeared by the banks of the Suzhou River.

He had just stepped from the carriage when someone approached.

“Where is it?” Fuchai asked, looking around.

“On the boat just ahead,” the man replied, bowing to lead the way.

Inside the cabin, the Lady of Yue had just examined Xiangbao’s pulse.

“How is she? Can she be cured?” Wei Qin asked anxiously, pale as death, even more so than Xiangbao lying on the couch.

“It’s very dangerous—if we had come any later, there would be no hope,” the Lady of Yue glanced at Wei Qin, displeased.

Knowing he was at fault, Wei Qin stayed silent.

“So there’s hope?” A light, airy voice sounded out of nowhere.

Both the Lady of Yue and Wei Qin were startled, quickly turning and kneeling, calling out, “Your Majesty.”

“Lady of Yue,” Fuchai entered the cabin, calmly choosing a seat as if it were his own home.

“I am here.”

“When will she wake?”

“With careful care, quickly—three or five days; slowly…” she hesitated.

“Hmm?”

“Three to five years.”

Fuchai frowned slightly. “If so, let her be brought to the palace for proper care.”

Wei Qin almost stood to object, but the Lady of Yue pulled him back. Fuchai acted as if he hadn’t noticed, and with a gesture, took the beauty into the palace.

Xiangbao dreamed a long, endless dream. She saw herself floating in the Suzhou River, the water icy cold, making her shiver uncontrollably.

Warm hands caressed her face, tickling her. Xiangbao frowned, struggling to open her eyes, but the brightness was too much to bear.

“Ah, my beauty has finally awakened!” a jubilant voice called out, and Xiangbao felt herself hugged tightly.

So tight—she thought she might suffocate.

“Let…” Xiangbao struggled to speak, her voice hoarse.

“You can talk?” Fuchai released her, surprised as he stared at her.

Once freed, Xiangbao coughed, braced her hands against his chest, took a few deep breaths, then glared at him. Then she paused, slightly stunned—the man before her wore a striking bright yellow robe, black hair loose over his shoulders, and that face…

He was clearly…

“What are you looking at, beauty?” Fuchai raised his brows, cheerful.

“You…” she hesitated, then continued, “You’re very handsome.”

Fuchai paused, then laughed, “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Where is this?” She looked around, puzzled.

“Your bedchamber,” Fuchai replied with a smile.

“Bedchamber?” Xiangbao looked bewildered.

“Yes.”

“Then…who are you?”

Fuchai paused, narrowed his eyes, and leaned in, “Don’t you remember who I am?”

“I…” She suddenly raised her hands to her head, face contorted in pain, “Who am I…”

“Hmm?” Fuchai stared at her suspiciously for a long while.

Xiangbao curled up, trembling.

“Someone! Summon the Lady of Yue!” Fuchai called out, frowning.

The Lady of Yue’s diagnosis was: Xiangbao’s external wounds had healed, her body was no longer seriously ill. As for why her voice had suddenly returned, and why she had lost her memory…only heaven knew.

“Amnesia?” Fuchai tapped his forefinger lightly on the table, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Yes,” the Lady of Yue replied, head bowed. “Though the cause is unclear, outwardly, it does appear to be amnesia.”

“Outwardly?” Fuchai turned, eyeing the dazed woman on the couch—her pitch-black eyes, pale cheeks, as if carved from jade, but lifeless.

Sensing Fuchai’s gaze, Xiangbao instinctively shrank back.

“Very well—I understand. You may leave,” Fuchai said calmly, waving his sleeve.

The Lady of Yue withdrew and left the room.

“All of you—leave as well.” Fuchai dismissed the maids, then turned to the figure curled up on the couch.

Indeed, curled up—Xiangbao, who had been sitting upright moments ago, was now huddled with her arms around her knees, looking pitiful. Seeing Fuchai stand and approach, Xiangbao gasped in fright, scrambling to the farthest corner.

“Come,” Fuchai beckoned.

Her black eyes were filled with terror; Xiangbao trembled like a startled rabbit.

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“Be good, come here.” Adjusting his expression, Fuchai tried to appear gentle and kind.

Xiangbao glared at him warily, unmoving.

“Not coming?”

Xiangbao hesitated, then shook her head.

“Really?”

Xiangbao bit her lip.

Gurgle…gurgle…

A blush quickly colored her pale face; Xiangbao hurriedly covered her stomach.

A hint of amusement appeared in Fuchai’s narrow eyes. He elegantly straightened his clothes and sat back down, picking up a pastry from the table and waving it. “Want some?”

Xiangbao’s black eyes locked onto the pastry, full of longing. When the pastry moved left, her gaze followed; when it moved right, her gaze shifted right.

After waving it for a while, seeing she didn’t take the bait, Fuchai simply popped a piece into his mouth.

“Mmm, so delicious.”

Xiangbao swallowed involuntarily but still didn’t move.

Fuchai was in no hurry, leisurely eating pastries, sipping tea, enjoying himself, while the beauty on the couch grew hungrier, her eyes shining green, her chest pressed to her back. When he was about to eat the last pastry, he felt his sleeve tugged—turning, he saw Xiangbao.

“I’m hungry…” she whimpered, blinking pitifully.

“Really?” Fuchai smiled.

“Mm-mm!” Her eyes fixed on the pastry, Xiangbao nodded, drooling.

Fuchai laughed, then tossed the last pastry into his mouth. Xiangbao stared, nearly in tears.

“Your Majesty,” someone called softly from outside.

“Come in.”

The door opened; a maid entered, carrying steaming hot soup.

After dismissing the maid, Fuchai scooped a spoonful, blew on it, and glanced over, unable to help but laugh. The previously timid Xiangbao now snuggled close, gazing eagerly at the steaming soup, as if afraid he’d eat it all himself.

He offered her the spoon; she opened her mouth, but was startled by the heat and shrank back.

“Slowly.”

Xiangbao nodded, swallowed a mouthful, licked her lips, and continued to gaze at him.

“Do you remember who I am?” Fuchai asked, blowing another spoonful cool.

“King,” Xiangbao thought for a moment and replied softly.

Just one word, but from her lips, it sounded gentle and sweet.

“You remember?”

“The person who brought the soup called you that,” Xiangbao answered honestly, eyes fixed on the spoon.

“I see.” Another spoonful went into her mouth. Fuchai coaxed gently, “You can forget everyone else, but how could you forget me?”

“Why?” Xiangbao drank the soup, nodding obediently.

“Because…” Fuchai smiled, gently touching her lips, “You are my wife.”

“Wife?” Xiangbao, playing the innocent rabbit, blinked and repeated.

“Yes, my wife.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling like a cunning wolf.

Thus, Xiangbao was thoroughly bribed by a bowl of soup—how disgraceful.

In the Wu palace during March, grass grew, birds sang, and spring breezes caressed the face. Xiangbao sat in the garden, resting her chin on one hand, lost in thought.

“Wife, it’s time for your medicine,” a palace attendant urged.

“Mm, just leave it.” Xiangbao waved weakly.

“His Majesty ordered that you must be watched as you drink it.”

Laughter rang out from afar; Xiangbao glanced over and saw five or six elegantly dressed women approaching. She quickly withdrew her gaze, sat upright, and adopted a well-behaved posture, afraid to attract trouble.

“Who is this?” one beauty asked, pointing at Xiangbao.

“I heard she’s a captive sent from Yue…”

“To please His Majesty, no doubt.”

The beauties laughed among themselves, making Xiangbao uneasy.

“I’ve heard there’s a peerless beauty among the tribute women, and now I see it’s true,” said one woman quietly. Though not striking in appearance, she possessed a unique aura that set her apart from the others. She was Yun Ji, niece of Wu Zixu. Xiangbao glanced at her, then suddenly—smack—a red handprint appeared on her face.

“You lowly captive, how dare you look directly at Sister Yun!” cried a spoiled, domineering voice.

Xiangbao staggered back, her legs giving out, landing on the ground.

“Enough, Ziru, don’t trouble her,” Yun Ji spoke slowly.

Her words came just in time—after the insults and blows, she finally intervened. Xiangbao sat on the ground, tears welling in her eyes, pitiful.

“What’s happened here?” a casual voice called out.

At the sound, the arrogant beauties suddenly changed, becoming meek and charming.

“Your Majesty…” Xiangbao tried to stand, but her legs failed, and she sat back down, dirty and disheveled.

Fuchai smiled, knelt beside her, and wiped the dust from her face. “So pitiful—who bullied you? Tell me.”

“King, what does ‘lowly captive’ mean?” Xiangbao clung to his sleeve, looking up with curious black eyes.

Not minding the dirty prints on his robe, Fuchai smiled. “Why ask?”

“They called me a lowly captive.”

“Don’t speak nonsense!” Ziru blanched, frowning in rebuke.

“Oh? Who said it?” Fuchai asked, interested.

Honesty is a virtue, so Xiangbao honestly pointed at Ziru.

“I did not…” Ziru hurried to deny.

“She’s so mean—let’s punish her by making her your slave, shall we?” Fuchai ignored Ziru’s protest, smiling at Xiangbao.

“A slave?” Xiangbao blinked, innocent.

“Yes, she’ll serve you tea and water, obey your commands. Good idea?”

“Great!” Xiangbao clapped.

“Your Majesty…” Ziru had gone pale, understanding the king’s capricious nature but never expecting to be given to a captive as a slave.

“Don’t want to?” Fuchai finally seemed to consider her feelings, indifferent. “I won’t force you.”

Ziru quickly knelt, “I am willing.”

“Your Majesty!” Yun Ji frowned, quietly objecting—such absurdity.

“What is it?” Fuchai asked Yun Ji seriously, “Is there something else?”

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“Yun’er takes her leave.” Yun Ji bit her lip, forcing back her words, bowed, and left.

After this commotion, all of Wu palace knew that the Drunken Moon Pavilion housed someone not to be trifled with.

After dinner, Xiangbao returned to her room under Ziru’s venomous gaze, lay down, and slept.

In the darkness, countless blank faces—featureless, like sheets of white paper—swirled in her dreams…

Gradually, those faces grew clearer, features forming, so familiar, so familiar…

When Fuchai dismissed his attendants and entered, he saw Xiangbao lying curled on her side, eyes tightly shut, pale, trembling.

He removed his robe and lay beside her, pulling her into his arms.

Her body stiffened; Xiangbao woke with a start, seeing a face close to hers.

“Nightmare?”

Xiangbao nodded.

“What dream, so frightening?” He stroked her face, feeling tears on his hand, and asked quietly.

She buried her face in his chest, shaking her head. “I don’t remember, I don’t remember…”

She felt his lips graze her neck, and her eyes flew open, her pale face turning crimson. Fuchai smiled faintly, his hand sliding slowly inside her clothes, exploring her body.

“You…what are you doing…” Xiangbao stammered.

“Hmm…what do you think?”

“I…I…say?”

“Hmm…”

Feeling him grow more unruly, Xiangbao pressed his hand still, gasping, “Don’t…”

“Don’t?” Fuchai laughed softly, “But you are my wife.”

Biting her lip, Xiangbao hugged his neck tightly, tears spilling. “I’m very afraid.”

Sensing the wetness on his shoulder, Fuchai stopped, patting her back. “Enough, sleep.”

Relieved, Xiangbao closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

She truly was…afraid. This was the only honest thing she had said since waking, Fuchai thought, watching her trembling lashes, his narrow eyes dark as a deep pool. When he moved, he realized his arm was trapped in her embrace.

Was this…her way of protecting herself?

He paused, then chuckled quietly.

Xiangbao thought the night would be unbearable, but she actually fell asleep, and did not dream again. When she awoke, warm sunlight slanted through the wooden lattice window; Fuchai had left at some point. She lay still for a while, then slowly got up, washed and ate breakfast under Ziru’s resentful gaze.

Noticing Ziru’s glare was fiercer than yesterday, Xiangbao pursed her lips, tilted her head, and guessed it must be because Fuchai had spent the night here.

After breakfast, Xiangbao leaned lazily against the carved wooden rail, watching butterflies dance in the garden, unconcerned by Ziru’s hateful looks.

“Drink your medicine.” Ziru slammed the bowl in front of Xiangbao.

Startled, Xiangbao looked up, but Ziru turned away.

“It’s cold.” Xiangbao stared for a while, then said.

“What?” Ziru frowned in disgust.

“It’s cold—go reheat it.” Xiangbao spoke innocently, as if it were only right.

“What?!” Ziru’s eyes widened, unable to believe the lowly captive dared treat her as a slave.

“Hmm?” Xiangbao blinked at her.

“You!” Ziru gritted her teeth, stomped, and left in a huff.

Watching her angry figure disappear, Xiangbao turned back to the black medicine, and seeing no one around, poured it on the flowers in the garden.

She stood and walked down the steps, leaving the garden.

“Xi Shi?!” a delighted voice called.

Hua Mei had never expected to see Xiangbao in the Wu palace. Ignoring others nearby, she hurried to Xiangbao, grabbing her hand. “You’re safe, truly safe—how wonderful! We thought…”

Xiangbao lowered her head, looking at Hua Mei’s hand.

“Xi Shi, how are you here? After falling into the river that day, where did you go? Doctor Fan has been searching for you—he refuses to believe you’re dead…now you’re safe, it’s such relief.”

Xiangbao still looked down, staring at her hand.

“Xi Shi? Xi Shi, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you speaking? Ah…sorry…I forgot you can’t talk…” Hua Mei apologized, “I was just so happy to see you, I forgot, sorry…”

“Who are you?” Xiangbao suddenly looked up at Hua Mei, her voice clear.

Hua Mei froze.

“Who is Xi Shi?” Xiangbao asked, her face full of confusion.

“Aren’t you Xi Shi?” Hua Mei asked, stunned.

“Oh! I forgot to ask him my name.” Xiangbao knocked her head, smiling foolishly.

“Him?”

“The king.” Xiangbao smiled, squinting. “I was ill, and when I woke, I remembered nothing.”

“You’re…the one living in the Drunken Moon Pavilion…” Linglong, standing beside Hua Mei, exclaimed.

“Yes, that’s me,” Xiangbao nodded.

“Let’s go—she’s favored now, she won’t recognize us.” Zheng Dan, who had not spoken, said coolly.

“Come on, the king is waiting,” someone urged.

Xiangbao watched as Hua Mei was pulled away by Linglong and the others, her smile fading as she sat in the corridor, lost in thought.

Suddenly, she heard movement behind her and turned, seeing a man in red.

Wei Qin!

Xiangbao was overjoyed, quickly standing. Before she could speak, the man in red pulled her into a tight embrace, nearly suffocating her.

“Wei…”

“I like you,” Wei Qin whispered, holding her.

Xiangbao froze, staring in disbelief. “What…did you say?”

“I like you.”

He thought he would never be able to say these words, but…she had lost her memory. She had forgotten—would she also forget he was her brother?

Thinking this, he felt…happy.

Xiangbao opened her mouth soundlessly, looking up at the sky beyond the corridor, the blue expanse without a single cloud…

Sister, I think…I’ve made another mistake…

Sister, why do I always make mistakes…

If only you were still here.