Chapter One: Three Thousand Affections (Part Six)

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VI. Never Let Go

The last trace of color had faded from the sunset on the horizon, and the sky grew ever darker. Strange sounds began to stir all around, reminiscent of some animal’s mournful wail. Xiangbao sat on the ground, curling herself up as tightly as she could, as if that would keep her safe, keep her from being alone, from being afraid.

The night owl’s call echoed again and again, making Xiangbao’s hair stand on end. She pulled the hairpin from her hair and gripped it tightly in her hand; only then did she feel a measure of reassurance. The wounds on her body throbbed, and clammy cold sweat snaked down her skin like a trail of ants. Every nerve in her body was taut as she bit her lip hard.

She had no idea how much time had passed when suddenly she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She jolted, mind on edge, and stabbed the hairpin backward at the unknown threat.

A hand caught her wrist.

“Are you trying to assassinate your king?” It was a voice, amused and gentle.

Xiangbao looked up, only to find a hateful, grinning face.

Fuchai stood before her, holding her wrist in one hand—the hand that gripped the hairpin—and in his other hand, he dangled a snow-white rabbit by its ears, the poor creature kicking frantically.

“No venison tonight, so this will have to do.” He raised the rabbit with a flick of his wrist, provoking even more desperate struggles.

After tying the rabbit’s legs with a vine, Fuchai tossed it aside carelessly, then crouched down to kindle a fire with dry branches. Once the fire was crackling, he came to sit beside Xiangbao and reached for her sash.

Xiangbao shrank back, biting her pale lips, eyes shut tight in dread.

In the flickering firelight, Fuchai saw the wounds on her body—her palms, elbows, and knees bore the brunt, and even her face was scored with small scratches. He reached out and gently touched a bruise on her shoulder, but his hand suddenly felt a cool dampness. Frowning in surprise, he looked up to see that Xiangbao’s eyes were tightly shut. The coolness was her tears.

“Don’t…” Sensing his hand withdraw, Xiangbao’s eyes flew open in panic, and she clung to him in fright. “Don’t leave me alone…”

Fuchai’s brow creased. Xiangbao, heedless of her state of undress, threw her arms around him in desperation. “Do what you will, just don’t leave me here alone…”

Only then did Fuchai realize her distress, and he could not help but smile wryly. Did this woman truly take him for a lecherous fiend? But seeing how terrified she was, he could only gather her gently into his arms. “Don’t be afraid. I just want to tend to your wounds.” His right hand patted her back softly, his voice gentle and low—a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor, as if she truly were a precious treasure in his keeping.

He wrapped her in her clothes, knelt before her, and, tearing a piece from his own robe, carefully wiped the blood from her hands. Then, turning slightly, he brought forth herbs, squeezed out their green juice, and applied it to her wounds.

Xiangbao stared at him in a daze. Had he just gone to find herbs for her? Then why had she…

A blush bloomed across her pale cheeks, deepening all the way to the roots of her ears.

“Only this once,” he said suddenly, his voice turning cold.

Only this once? What did he mean?

“I dislike being rescued by a woman, least of all by my own woman,” he said, his narrow eyes narrowing further. “Only this once. Never again. If it happens again, I will make you regret saving me.”

Xiangbao was taken aback.

“Oh dear, what now? It’s already dark—we won’t make it out tonight.” His tone shifted as he looked up at the sky, feigning a grievance both real and false.

Xiangbao lowered her gaze, a faint smile curving her lips. Perhaps this king was not as terrible as she had thought.

“Don’t worry, my lady. I will protect you,” he said, his hand finding its way to her shoulder once more.

Xiangbao’s mouth twitched as she closed her eyes and nodded, resigned.

Sitting beside the fire, she watched Fuchai expertly clean and roast the rabbit, soon filling the air with mouthwatering aroma.

“Here,” he said, tearing off a glistening, juicy rabbit leg and handing it to her.

Famished, Xiangbao quickly reached for it.

“In exchange for the fish you gave me,” Fuchai said with a sudden smile.

“Oh.” Her attention was wholly fixed on the fragrant rabbit leg; she took it without much thought.

“Slow down—don’t choke again,” Fuchai added.

“Alright.” She agreed, shooting him a suspicious glance. Why was he suddenly so fussy?

Her gaze met his smiling eyes. Xiangbao started, and promptly choked. That was why he’d said that—because of the time she’d used his sword to roast fish… This crafty man was getting his revenge!

She coughed violently.

“I told you to slow down, didn’t I?” Fuchai sighed, feigning concern as he handed her another rabbit leg. “Eat slowly. I won’t fight you for it.”

Seeing the sly look on his face, Xiangbao coughed until she was nearly faint.

After eating, Xiangbao huddled by the fire, her mind filled with thoughts of snakes, insects, mice, and ants. As her head bobbed with drowsiness, Fuchai pulled her into his arms. Xiangbao gazed up at him sleepily, her mind clouded with exhaustion.

“Sleep. I’ll keep watch,” Fuchai murmured with a sigh.

He said “I” and not “your king.” In this forest, there was only him and her—no King of Wu, no intrigue, no struggle for power, no plotting, no walking on thin ice. Only… him and her.

The day’s events had been too harrowing. Xiangbao, utterly spent, murmured a response, shifted to find a more comfortable position in his arms, and soon drifted into a deep, trusting sleep.

In the night, the sounds of birds and beasts echoed from the woods. Fuchai stoked the fire, making it blaze brighter. Gazing down at the woman in his arms, her cheek nestled contentedly against his chest, her skin luminous in the moonlight—she was beautiful beyond mortal measure.

He had always known she was a beauty.

But what moved him was not her lovely face. Then why was his desire for her so fierce? Was it her foolishness when she’d boldly stolen dates from his tent? Her coyness when she’d roasted fish with his treasured sword? Or… the lifeless look behind her smiling eyes?

Was it her devotion as she wept for another man, her ruined makeup a testament to her heartbreak? Or was it her resolve, waiting in icy water for that man, despite her inability to swim?

He touched the fine scratches on her face, his eyes growing ever deeper.

Or perhaps, it was her stubborn, fearful gaze when she killed; her attempt to protect him at the entrance to his tent…

His gaze stilled, and a faint smile curled his lips.

Yes, he liked her best that night, when, though so small and weak, she tried to shield him from harm—so foolish, so laughable, and yet… so warm.

She was frail, yet she tried to guard him with her slender arms.

He bent down, pressing his lips gently to the sleeping woman’s brow. Unaware, she smiled softly in her sleep, her moist lips curling, then nestled closer into his embrace.

It was hard to imagine that such a delicate body could possess such courage. Once, for Fan Li, she had braved Mount Fujiao alone; he envied such love. Yet today, faced with a bear, she stood between him and danger.

“Even if we must go to the Underworld, I’ll drag you with me,” he whispered. “The moment you stood before me, you should have understood as much.”

The palace was too cold, the throne too lonely. So he had no intention of letting her go.

In the middle of the night, Xiangbao awoke to find Fuchai leaning against a tree, head bowed in slumber, while she lay curled in his arms. With his head lowered, she could see his sleeping face. The fire still crackled nearby, and in sleep, his usually cold or arrogant eyes were gently closed, his lips pressed together in uncharacteristic submission—he seemed almost a different man.

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On a sudden whim, Xiangbao mischievously reached out and touched his lips—soft and faintly cool.

“Don’t be naughty.” He stirred, catching her restless hand and bringing it to his lips, rubbing it gently before placing it at his side, eyes never opening.

His touch was gentle, carefully avoiding her wounds. Xiangbao froze, not daring to move further, feeling the slight roughness of his hand… She closed her eyes and soon drifted back to sleep.

Before dawn, Fuchai woke. Looking down at the woman still sleeping in his arms, he noticed the feverish flush on her face. Frowning, he pressed a hand to her forehead—it was warm. He wrapped her in his outer robe, picked her up, and staggered as his legs, numb from sitting, nearly gave way. Leaning against the tree, he steadied himself.

Holding Xiangbao, Fuchai searched for the way out along the path where he had found herbs the night before, but after several circuits, he realized he was lost.

“Xiangbao! Xiangbao…” A hoarse voice called from afar, shattering the morning’s silence.

It was Fan Li.

The woman in his arms coughed softly, stirred, and opened her eyes in a daze. “Who is calling me?”

“No one.” Fuchai’s eyes darkened as he held her closer and soothed her softly.

“Mm…” Wincing in discomfort, Xiangbao buried her face in his chest.

But Fuchai, thanks to the voice, found the way out. The woman in his arms was clearly ill, and he hurried along the forest path. Upon seeing a horse lying dead, he stopped.

The horse had been shot in the leg with a poisoned arrow. But who would poison a horse in such a place? No doubt the arrow was meant for the rider.

He glanced at the frail woman in his arms, recalling her disheveled appearance the day before. A cold glint flashed in his dark eyes.

Who had plotted to kill her? Was it Wu Zixu, the old minister who saw her as a femme fatale? The assassins on the Suzhou River had failed; had he finally lost patience and struck again?

“My lord!” Wu Feng’s voice sounded behind him, full of joy.

Fuchai turned slowly.

The general, who had searched the forest all night, was chilled to the bone by the king’s fierce expression and dropped to his knees. The soldiers behind him all knelt in fear of their unpredictable ruler’s wrath.

“You’ve worked hard enough, General Wu. No need for formalities,” Fuchai said coolly.

With one hand holding the reins and the other cradling Xiangbao, Fuchai led the way out of the forest, Wu Feng and the others following behind. The path was rough, and the woman coughed intermittently, deepening the cold light in Fuchai’s eyes.

“A deer!” someone whispered behind them.

Fuchai’s gaze sharpened. Twenty meters away, a milu deer was drinking at a stream, oblivious to danger.

Fuchai’s lips pressed thinly together as he silently drew his bow and arrow. Narrowing his eyes, he nocked the arrow, drawing the string taut, the arrowhead aimed straight at the deer.

Sensing the murderous intent, the vigilant deer looked up and turned to flee. Fuchai did not immediately shoot, but as the deer ran, he adjusted his aim, and, releasing his grip, the bowstring twanged sharply in the air.

The woman in his arms coughed softly, eyes closed, as the arrow flew.

The fleeing deer fell instantly, pierced through the belly.

Fuchai glanced coolly at the dying animal, handed his bow to an attendant, nudged his horse forward, and continued out of the woods. Someone slung the bloody deer over a horse, leaving a trail of crimson stains.

“My lord!” As they emerged from the forest, Yun Ji hurried up, her eyes glistening with tears, her face full of worry and pitiful concern.

Xiangbao, waking fully, felt dizzy. Her hand, raised instinctively, was caught in a large palm. Surprised, she looked up into a pair of deep black eyes.

“You’re hurt,” Fuchai said gently, carefully avoiding her injured knee as he lifted her from the horse.

“My lord…” Yun Ji stepped forward.

Fuchai helped Xiangbao steady herself, then, with a smooth turn, embraced Yun Ji. “Thank you for your concern, my beloved. I am perfectly well.” He smiled, softly caressing Yun Ji’s fair cheek as if he had not just neglected her.

Xiangbao watched Yun Ji feign her worries, then glanced at Wu Feng, who took the horse with a blank expression but with pain in his eyes—how could he not hurt, seeing the woman he loved in another man’s arms?

Catching Xiangbao’s gaze, Wu Feng shuddered and looked away. Did he regret that the traps in the forest hadn’t killed her? They say evil lives long; she was not so easy to destroy.

Fuchai, distracted, gave Yun Ji little comfort and skipped the prepared breakfast, ordering an immediate return to the palace.

On horseback, Xiangbao felt the world spin, cold sweat dampening her brow, heart racing. Suddenly, a warm presence pressed to her back—Fuchai had mounted behind her.

“Hold on, we’ll be home soon,” he murmured, wiping her brow.

She nodded obediently, still pale, but clutched her chest as ringing filled her ears.

Darkness claimed her, and she knew no more.

“Mother! Mother!” A small voice, crying in terror, echoed in her ears.

“Mother, wake up…”

“Don’t die, Mother… Don’t leave Si Xiang all alone…”

With great effort, Xiangbao opened her eyes. Through the mist, she saw a small figure weeping at her bedside.

“Si… Xiang?” Her voice was hoarse beyond recognition.

Noting his red-rimmed eyes, she stroked his head and managed a tired smile. “It’s not so easy to die, is it?”

Her chapped lips split with the effort, a bead of blood welling forth. Realizing her hand was bandaged and stiff, she paused.

“Don’t smile! You’re not allowed to smile!” Si Xiang jumped up, spun around, and called, “Bring water!”

Ziru timidly brought water. Si Xiang dabbed it on her lips with small, trembling hands, tears falling anew.

Softening, Xiangbao pinched his earnest little face, but the movement sent a jolt of pain.

“Useless, really. It was just a hunt—how did you end up like this…” he muttered through sobs.

Xiangbao couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t laugh!”

She reached into her clothes, then gasped—her garments had been changed.

“What are you looking for?” Si Xiang sniffled.

“A stone.”

“This one?” He produced a colorful pebble from his sleeve.

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“Yes.” Xiangbao accepted it. “Do you like it?”

“It’s just a stone.” Si Xiang mumbled, but his eyes never left it.

Xiangbao chuckled and placed the rainbow-hued stone in his small palm. “A gift.”

He froze, opened his hand to examine the pretty stone, then, face stiffening, carefully tucked it into his pocket.

As soon as Xiangbao awoke, the Yue woman was summoned to diagnose her.

“Does your chest hurt?” After a while, she looked up.

Xiangbao hesitated, then nodded.

“If you don’t untie your heart’s knots, the sickness may never heal,” said the Yue woman, fixing her with a steady gaze.

Xiangbao turned her head away. Knots in her heart? There were so many—which one could she untie? Fan Li’s indifference had forced her to bear a name not her own. That snowy night on the mountain, the terror at the cliff’s edge. And… her sister’s death.

And… Wei Qin.

“Wei Qin went to Yue. The king sent him to govern there,” the Yue woman said suddenly.

Xiangbao started—sent to Yue? Then, of course; he was Fuchai’s swordsman. No wonder she hadn’t seen him in so long.

“He was worried about you, asked me to care for you before he left.” The Yue woman’s tone was even, but her eyes held a hint of hostility.

Xiangbao could only offer a bitter smile.

After taking the Yue woman’s medicine, her body felt lighter. She dozed through the afternoon, sweating out her fever, feeling much better by evening.

As dusk approached, the door creaked open. Xiangbao turned—it was Si Xiang.

“Get up.”

She rolled over languidly, not wanting to move.

“The banquet’s about to begin,” he urged.

“Banquet?” Xiangbao sat up with a sigh.

“All those other women are dressed up, but you’re still like this—so disappointing!” Si Xiang’s face was a picture of exasperation.

Xiangbao stared at him. “Eh?”

“Don’t worry. With me around, no one will steal Father from you!” Si Xiang puffed out his chest. “I’ll help you!”

Xiangbao closed her eyes, massaging her brow. What a headache…

“Xi Shi.” A soft, chilly voice broke in.

Yun Ji! Xiangbao’s eyes flew open, all sleep banished. No need to guess—it must have been Ziru who let her in. That was the only way Yun Ji could enter the Drunken Moon Pavilion so brazenly, as if she owned the place.

With no choice, Xiangbao forced herself off the bed.

She couldn’t quite guess Yun Ji’s intent—surely she wasn’t foolish enough to come here to kill her in person?

“You’re here too?” Yun Ji seemed surprised to see Si Xiang.

Si Xiang instinctively took a step back, then straightened and stood protectively in front of Xiangbao.

Seeing the little boy take on the role of her protector, Xiangbao was moved. Given his reaction, Yun Ji must be different from the other consorts in Si Xiang’s eyes; otherwise, he wouldn’t be so wary.

Noticing the boy’s stance, Yun Ji sneered. “How strange. I heard you took a Yue captive as your mother—I didn’t believe it, but it’s true.”

Heard? From whom? Xiangbao glanced at Ziru, who looked down guiltily.

“Don’t talk about her!” Si Xiang clenched his fists and growled.

“She’s just a captive. Are you afraid of the truth?” Yun Ji scoffed. “Poor child, losing your mother so young, and then accepting a stranger as your mother. If you’d only accepted me back then, you wouldn’t have suffered so much. The king wouldn’t have nearly forgotten you existed.”

Forgotten him? Xiangbao’s heart ached at the sight of Si Xiang’s pale face.

“I’d rather accept a venomous snake as my mother than a snake-hearted woman like you!” Si Xiang’s lips trembled as he spoke words far beyond his age.

“Hmph. Following this Yue captive, you’ll end up no better than your real mother!” Yun Ji cursed viciously.

“Ha! You’re just jealous because Father dotes on my mother, aren’t you?” Si Xiang retorted, clutching Xiangbao’s hand in defiance.

“Dotage? As far as I know, the king has never spent a night in the Drunken Moon Pavilion, never favored this captive!” Yun Ji sneered.

Favored? Xiangbao’s mouth twitched—best not to dwell on that.

Si Xiang froze, all color draining from his face. Xiangbao stepped forward, pulling him into her arms. “What nonsense—Si Xiang is my own child.”

He stiffened slightly in her embrace.

“Are you mad?” Yun Ji laughed.

“It’s what the king himself told me after I lost my memory,” Xiangbao replied coolly.

She knew exactly how to strike a nerve. Yun Ji’s eyes blazed with fury.

“Just wait—my mother will win all of Father’s love, and you’ll know what it’s like to be cast aside!” Si Xiang taunted.

“Fine! I’ll wait!” Yun Ji stormed off in a rage.

Xiangbao massaged her temples, exasperated. Was he issuing a challenge on her behalf? Did he find her life too peaceful, or too long?

Suddenly, she noticed the little hand in hers was trembling. Looking down, she saw his face was ashen, sweat beading on his brow.

He was afraid.

“It was she… She poisoned my mother…” His head hung low, his voice thick with tears.

Bending down, Xiangbao gently wiped the sweat and tears from his face.

“Mother, you will win Father’s favor, won’t you?” He clung to her hand, eyes full of hope.

Xiangbao gazed at him, headache mounting, but found she could not refuse him. In the end, she gritted her teeth and nodded. Sometimes, a well-meant lie is necessary. Isn’t it?