After a long night beneath the biting wind, Yi Xiao’s body felt weak and feverish, yet her spirit refused to yield. She stood restrained, blood-streaked but proud.
Feng Suige lounged casually before her, his tone laced with mockery.
“Did Major Fu rest well last night?”
Yi Xiao’s lips curled into a faint, icy smile.
“Thanks to Your Highness’s care, Yi Xiao slept soundly.” Her eyes, glimmering with defiance, swept over him. “Though, Your Highness looks rather haggard—perhaps too busy last night? When that arrow struck you back then, was it also exhaustion that dulled your reflexes?”
Feng Suige’s smile faltered. The air thickened with tension. He turned away, just as Yun Yi entered with two guards, carrying a wooden bucket.
Suppressing his anger, Feng Suige said coldly, “If Major Fu still refuses to speak, then let’s start with a little appetizer.”
Yi Xiao’s tone was calm, almost mocking. “It would be rude to decline.”
She relaxed her body, letting herself hang limply against the wall.
The whip cracked through the air like a striking serpent. Pain exploded across her back, sharp enough to steal her breath. The second lash burned, tearing skin and dignity alike. But Yi Xiao only clenched her teeth.
In the haze of agony, her mind drifted to the past—back to that one sentence that shattered her heart:
“Whether you love or not is your own business. What does it have to do with me?”
If she had been wiser that day, she would have buried her heart long ago.
A low, eerie laugh escaped her lips. It startled everyone in the cell. Even Feng Suige stiffened, disbelief flashing in his eyes.
Then, Yi Xiao lifted her head, her glare sharp as a blade.
“You lowlife,” she spat at Yun Yi, “did your master tire you out last night? You have no strength left!”
Yun Yi’s face darkened. He swung the whip again—harder. Flesh split, blood spattered, but Yi Xiao only laughed through the pain.
“That’s more like it,” she taunted, her voice trembling but proud.
Perhaps this is how it ends, she thought. Maybe death will finally bring peace.
“Stop!” Feng Suige’s voice cut through the silence. He strode forward, disbelief clouding his features. There was no mistaking it—relief shimmered faintly in Yi Xiao’s eyes.
She wanted to die.
He dismissed the guards with a wave. The cell emptied, leaving only the two of them and the lingering scent of blood.
“You’d rather die than speak,” he said quietly, his voice roughened. “What has he promised you to earn such loyalty?”
Yi Xiao’s lips parted, her voice hoarse but unwavering.
“Following him,” she said, “I never had to fear being thrown to the barracks as a plaything for men if I made a mistake.”
Feng Suige’s eyes flickered. Despite himself, admiration touched his expression—but pride masked it quickly.
“If you wish for death,” he said coldly, “then I’ll grant it.”
Yi Xiao gave a faint, hollow laugh—and the world slipped into darkness.
Sushang Country
A thin curtain divided the quiet sleeping chamber. Yi Xiao lay upon the bed, dressed in clean white garments. Her black hair spilled like ink over the embroidered pillow. She looked ethereal—half alive, half dreaming.
A young woman entered, carrying a tray. She placed a bowl of medicine on the table before glancing toward the bed.
When Yi Xiao had been brought in, her wounds were grave, and her fever raging. It was said she was a prisoner—but who would send a mere captive here, to the royal chambers of Sushang?
Sensing the woman’s gaze, Yi Xiao stirred. Pain greeted her every movement. She sighed faintly.
“So… I’m not dead yet?”
The young woman smiled lightly. “No. You were close, but fate had other plans.”
Yi Xiao studied her: willow brows, phoenix eyes, a golden ornament on her forehead. Her beauty was noble, yet her attire simple.
“Who are you?”
The woman tilted her head playfully. “Who do you think I am?”
Yi Xiao’s gaze drifted around the room—white gauze curtains, elegant ink paintings, and a faint scent of sandalwood. It was the most refined “cell” she had ever seen.
She pushed herself up slightly, wincing. Her wounds were bandaged with care. Coolness seeped into her skin—rare, precious medicine.
“Of all the cells I’ve been in,” she murmured, “this one’s the most proper.”
“Does it still hurt?” the woman asked softly. “The medicine is Black Jade Essence, a sacred ointment of the royal family. It heals without scars.”
Yi Xiao chuckled weakly. “A royal remedy for a prisoner? What game is this, Princess Xiyang?”
The woman leaned closer, eyes glimmering with mischief. “Why assume I’m Princess Xiyang?”
Yi Xiao’s voice was faint but steady. “Even if I were blind, I’d recognize that dragonfly-wing ornament. It’s reserved for royal women.”
A smile curved Xiyang’s lips. “That only proves I’m royal, not who I am.”
Yi Xiao’s smirk deepened. “Tell me, then—does Sushang have another noble lady so concerned with Jinxiu’s affairs?”
Feng Xiyang laughed aloud. “No wonder my brother wanted to save you. Your pride makes one unsure whether to hate you or admire you!”
“Xiyang?” Feng Suige’s voice rang from outside. “Why are you here?”
She straightened elegantly. “To visit the beauty you’ve imprisoned, of course.”
Feng Suige stormed in, setting a cup of medicine down. “Don’t get too close to her. Are you not afraid she’ll take you hostage?”
Feng Xiyang freed her wrist with ease. “Brother, do you think I don’t know what you’ve made her drink?”
He froze. “Enough, Xiyang. Leave.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “As you wish.” She turned to Yi Xiao with a teasing smile. “Rest well. He’s no match for you.” Then, with a wink, she was gone.
Silence returned. Feng Suige stared at the steaming bowl on the table. He picked it up and thrust it toward Yi Xiao.
“You’re awake—drink it yourself.”
Yi Xiao’s fingers brushed the cup. Then, without warning, she flung it. The dark liquid splashed across his face.
Her voice was soft but cutting. “Yi Xiao has always been lowly—how could I dare accept such precious medicine?”
The liquid dripped down his jaw. Fury flashed in his eyes. He seized her wrist, forcing her chin upward.
“Ungrateful woman,” he hissed. “In your state, I could make you beg for death.”
Yi Xiao’s smile was defiant. “Then let me taste it.”
He threw her back onto the bed. “We’ll see.”
Later, when Feng Suige changed into fresh clothes, Feng Xiyang reappeared, nibbling on a lotus cake as if nothing had happened.
“Is this the first time my royal brother has met such a troublesome opponent?” she teased.
Feng Suige scowled. “Xia Jingshi hasn’t come for you. Seems I’ve been the villain for nothing.”
Feng Xiyang shrugged, crumbs dusting her lips. “The Emperor’s decree has been issued—if he won’t marry me, he can marry no one. Let him hide behind illness if he dares.”
Feng Suige sighed. “If he feigns sickness forever, will you wait forever?”
She lifted her chin proudly. “A lifetime, then. At worst, I’ll go to Jinxiu myself. But tell me, Brother—why keep his beloved general locked away in Shuihuiyuan? What are you truly after?”
His eyes darkened. “I want to see what tricks Xia Jingshi plays. If his feelings were real, he’d have come long ago.”
Feng Xiyang’s laughter was bright and sharp. “Public office for private desire—her name suits that sachet you keep close, Brother.”
Feng Suige choked mid-sip as she sauntered to the door.
“Don’t hurt her too deeply,” she added, her tone suddenly quiet. “When she hates, it’s to the bone.”
The door closed. Feng Suige sat motionless for a long time, eyes fixed on the wooden panel as if trying to burn through it. Finally, he exhaled and sank slowly into his chair—his heart heavier than before.
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