Chapter 45

Time stood still for a few seconds.

Pei Muchi slowly lowered his gaze, his expression gradually stiffening as her movements remained entirely unhesitating.

The hairpin-dagger had plunged viciously into the ribs just below his collarbone.

An indescribable emotion surged within his heart, and the outer corners of his eyes twitched involuntarily.

Qianwu suddenly relaxed her five fingers, staring blankly at the trembling end of the hairpin as if she scarcely understood what she had just done.

The lacquer finish there was smooth, whether because it had been exquisitely polished or perhaps repeatedly turned over and caressed in the palm of the one who treasured it.

The searing pain spread all the way to his fingertips. Even under such circumstances, Pei Muchi slightly tightened his long arm, pulling her further into his embrace to prevent her from falling off.

Uncomfortable with being pressed so tightly against him, Qianwu tried to stand up to adjust her attire, but Pei Muchi pressed her down onto his thigh, casually grabbed the bright red crotch-garter hanging from his leg, and flung it far away with a flick of his wrist.

An eyesore! He had wanted to throw it away long ago!

If he hadn't arrived in time, would this business have fallen to Du Jin instead?

A thick, lingering irritation welled up deep within Pei Muchi's chest, refusing to dissipate.

Panicked and at a loss, Qianwu wanted to reach out and retrieve them, but her undergarments, both inner and outer, had rolled down the slope into the unseen distance. For her, trying to pick them back up was simply impossible.

"You!"

She had originally intended to get down quickly so that someone could tend to his wound, but now it appeared he was in high spirits and needed no help whatsoever.

Choking with anger, Qianwu retaliated by grabbing the end of the hairpin and pulling it out abruptly.

The sound of tearing muscle echoed in her ears, much like the ripping of fine silk.

Fresh blood bloomed across his vibrant red wedding robe, merging with the fabric until color and wound became indistinguishable.

Pei Muchi let out a muffled groan, the strength in his grip tightening. Gritting his teeth, he said, "Your Highness can either sit properly while I carry you back, or you can walk down all by yourself."

A gloomy, bone-chilling wind blew a circle between their lower bodies.

Qianwu considered herself a person who always understood the current circumstances; enduring a brief humiliation was merely a matter of bending to survive.

The moment Pei Muchi rose to his feet, he slightly hunched his chest and swayed.

"Ah!" Qianwu gasped, reaching out to press against his wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

"Isn't it a bit too late for Your Highness to make amends now?" Pei Muchi watched as her delicate hands were stained with red juice. So much blood, all flowing from right above his heart.

How strange—he didn't feel any pain at all.

As expected, having her by his side was the finest medicine of all.

"Your Highness, press harder."

He rather liked the feeling of being hurt by her.

Qianwu drew a strand of silk from his arms, folded it, and pressed it against the gushing source, worrying aloud, "Walk steadily, and don't you dare drop me."

"I won't." Pei Muchi glanced at that silk handkerchief and replied indifferently.

He held her securely in the crook of his arm as she sat, and to maintain her balance, Qianwu had no choice but to wrap her arms tightly around his neck.

Blood quickly soaked right through the handkerchief, and she flipped it over to use the clean side, exposing what had previously been folded inside.

The visibility in the mountains was dim, but she faintly discerned a few intertwined bamboo joints embroidered on the corner of the silk handkerchief.

The color was verdant, strong, and upright.

It certainly suited him well.

Yet the embroidery technique looked as though she had stitched it onto there herself.

"Where did you buy this handkerchief? I find it rather familiar."

In truth, there were only a few fine embroidery workshops in the capital, and fashionable patterns repeated themselves time and again, but it was rare to embroider bamboo joints on a personal pocket handkerchief.

Why on earth would she have embroidered green bamboo in the past? She racked her brains to no avail, as if a shooting star had flashed across her mind; before she could catch it, she only saw its fading tail.

Qianwu isolated the embroidered pattern, cushioned it with her palm, and examined it closely.

She seemed to have completely forgotten about the continuously bleeding wound right beneath her hands.

"Press down," Pei Muchi reminded her.

His voice grew husky as he felt a warm current roll across his abdominal muscles along her contour, yet all his attention was focused on supporting the weight in the crook of his arm, caring very little about the pain in his chest.

Qianwu was afraid he wouldn't hold out and that the two of them would tumble head over heels down the mountain—especially given her drafty state underneath, which would look utterly unsightly if an accident occurred.

"Don't you go collapsing on me."

She was starting to regret it.

At the very least, she should have waited until they were down the mountain before venting her temper.

She wriggled upward to get a better leverage, clinging tightly to him. "I don't care in the slightest who sits upon the throne in Bianjing; you needn't worry that I will use my former imperial status to oppose you."

He wore dragon patterns pressed in hidden embroidery on his garments; how could Qianwu, coming from the palace after all, fail to recognize them?

She merely wanted to tell him to sit comfortably on that throne, for she was a princess without real power and posed no threat to him whatsoever.

Yet she vaguely sensed that this elegant man before her desired far more than just that throne.

Otherwise, why would he have traveled thousands of miles to track her movements and brought her into the mountain forest to do such things?

Recalling the sweet secretions clinging to his hands, Qianwu felt a mix of shame and anger, but fearing he might drop her, she swallowed her words and suffered in silence.

Carrying her effortlessly, Pei Muchi frowned slightly upon hearing these words, a stern expression gradually revealing itself.

"What I seek is merely Your Highness, yet you vanished without a trace."

"I don't even know you; what are you doing this for?" Qianwu unconsciously leaned closer to him, once again overcome by a wave of dizziness.

His eyelashes were like raven feathers, his pupils like dark lacquer, holding a starlight so deep and affectionate it seemed ready to spill over.

It was entirely different from the way he had looked when he opened the door and saw her just moments ago.

In a daze, Qianwu caught a glimpse of the profound loneliness within, so fragile under the soft light that it tugged at the heartstrings.

Why did she have the unsettling feeling that she had let him down? Surely she wasn't some heartless woman who abandoned her lover after taking off her skirt!

Qianwu searched her memory thoroughly.

This man's appearance and demeanor were certainly the type she used to fancy, but she was one hundred percent certain she had never taken anyone like him into her inner circle before.

Pei Muchi watched her quietly, thinking only that those two alluring red lips parted and closed, speaking entirely of things he had no wish to hear.

Soon, his gaze returned to calm, though his voice concealed churning waves beneath: "To bring you back to Bianjing, back to my side."

The cool breath he exhaled brushed past the back of her neck, like an emperor of the underworld newly crawled from the nether realms, carrying an all-encompassing frost as he gently stroked her skin.

Unable to control herself, Qianwu shuddered, her vocal cords trembling along with her voice: "There were so many peerless beauties in the capital, countless ones with reputations far better than mine; why must you insist on capturing me?"

"Naturally because I adore Your Highness." Pei Muchi wanted to see just how long she intended to keep up the act, purposely using the low, bewitching tone that she found most unbearable, echoing her just as he had during every past moment of intimacy.

He sensed something amiss in her tone, yet still believed she was merely joking.

The words she had spoken herself, the mountain storm they had weathered together—how could she simply forget them just like that?

—

When the two of them returned to the courtyard, Pei Muchi's garments were neat and his steps steady. Qianwu, by contrast, wore an unmistakable look of disarray.

It wasn't a disorder of appearance, but rather a subtle shortness in her breathing and movements, inexplicably constrained.

Whether willingly or by coercion, her delicate, jade-white fingertips pressed against his chest, the pristine square handkerchief stained a vivid crimson.

Gu Hangjiang's eyes were filled entirely by that glaring color, and he felt a momentary blackout.

What on earth was this ancestor of theirs doing now...

He had marched up the mountain with an aggressive air, only to return half-dead himself.

What a brilliant strategy...

Pei Muchi set her down and bent over to smooth out the crumpled hem of her skirt.

The moment her feet touched the ground, Qianwu released her grip, and the fluttering handkerchief drifted through the air before landing in the muddy earth.

Pei Muchi reached out to pick it up, but the piercing wound in his chest seemed to have its floodgates opened. Losing his strength, he dropped to one half-kneel, pressing a single knee into the gravel-strewn mud.

"What are you standing there stunned for?" Gu Hangjiang cried out, though he had to keep an eye on the few people tied up in the courtyard and had no time to attend to him.

In any case, he had brought this upon himself; presumably, he must be relishing it.

Gu Hangjiang let out a heavy, disdainful "Bah."

Anqi trotted forward quickly, supporting his arm to help him up.

Pei Muchi was a step faster, swiftly picking up the handkerchief and tucking it into his robe.

Anqi glanced sideways, realizing that was the very handkerchief his young master usually begrudged using even on ordinary days, refusing to let the servants wash it alongside other clothing.

He treasured it like nothing else.

Who knew what was happening this time, to take it out and get it so filthy?

"Young master, let's go to the carriage and look at that wound first."

Pei Muchi acted as though he hadn't heard, slowly straightening his waist with Anqi's assistance.

As soon as he regained his footing and saw that Qianwu was about to leave, his expression darkened, and he grabbed her wrist in a tight clamp.

"Where are you going?"

Anqi was jerked off-balance along with the movement.

Qianwu looked down at the hem of her skirt, then back at him, her intent entirely self-evident.

Pei Muchi realized his grip was too tight and softened both his tone and his movements. "Then gather your things and come up to my carriage."

"I won't." Qianwu said flatly.

The sedative in her system had mostly worn off; once she returned to her room and retrieved her sword, whether this place remained under his control was no longer certain.

As if guessing what she was thinking, Pei Muchi cupped her chin and forced her to look in the direction he designated.

Huo Xun was pinned to the ground by several men, while the bewildered village women were corralled within a specific boundary, their eyes red-rimmed and evidently having wept earlier.

Only Du Jin stood there properly, though he was closely guarded by Gu Hangjiang.

Qianwu clenched her teeth as Pei Muchi forced her jaw open. "Take a look at Du Jin, Huo Xun, and those women who have kept you company day and night. Think carefully about whether you want to come with me or not."

In essence, their lives rested entirely upon her whim.

"You shameless wretch!" Qianwu slapped his hand away.

He looked as though he had been exerting immense force, yet with very little effort on her part, she managed to brush his hand aside.

"Think what you like." Pei Muchi smiled, contentedly following Anqi toward the carriage.

Qianwu stepped across the threshold alone, slamming the door shut with a loud *bang*.

Gu Hangjiang wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Brushing past the soldiers guarding Du Jin, he stepped forward with exaggerated politeness, "I hear Master Du was originally the heir of the General's Manor; you surely know how to ride a horse, right?"

In truth, there was only one carriage; it was unthinkable to let idlers share a ride with Pei Muchi, so this was merely polite framing.

Hearing someone call Du Jin's name from inside the room, Qianwu hastily finished donning what she needed to wear and hurried out. "I'll ride a horse with him."

Gu Hangjiang blocked Du Jin's path, though his words were addressed to Qianwu. "Yuanxi just said that Her Highness should be coming to the carriage to find him instead."

"I am not going." Qianwu stated decisively.

"Yuanxi sustained such a severe injury alongside Your Highness; Your Highness ought to go keep him company." Out of respect for Pei Muchi, Gu Hangjiang forced himself to remain patient.

Of all things, he detested dealing with aristocratic women the most—putting on airs and causing endless trouble.

"I won't, I won't!" Qianwu bypassed him and walked toward Du Jin.

Instantly, several men stepped forward, resting their blades against Du Jin's neck before Qianwu could make a move.

Gu Hangjiang maintained his pleasant-sounding, persuasive demeanor, speaking as though he were entirely for her benefit, "Look here, Your Highness: there's only one carriage, and the remaining horses number just one. Our brothers have already given up so much space for the two of you; if you insist on riding horseback, then this—this husband of yours whom you haven't even formally wed yet will have to walk all the way to Quanzhou city on his own two legs."

Before he finished speaking, a scroll of bamboo slips came flying straight toward his head from the direction of the carriage.

He was a scholar whose expertise lay in strategizing, not martial arts!

Not everyone possessed Pei Muchi's all-encompassing mastery.

"Pei Yuanxi, you utterly incorrigible wretch!" Gu Hangjiang ducked, clutching his head in sudden rage, and motioned for Du Jin to move toward the designated mount.

Pei Muchi lifted half of the carriage curtain, waiting quietly for Qianwu to approach.

He extended a hand, but Qianwu refused his help entirely, scrambling up the carriage shaft on her own accord.

Pei Muchi withdrew his forearm indifferently, picked up the item he had just laid aside, and examined it with eager interest.

The interior of the carriage was suffused with the medicinal fragrance of hemostatic ointment. Qianwu cast a glance around, her gaze finally settling upon the object in his hand.

"What is that?"

Pei Muchi was currently tying a hanging cord to a bell the size of a small bronze bead. As it shook slightly, a hollow, mercury-like sound could be heard, as though something were rolling about inside.

With graceful movements, he lifted a steaming teapot and poured hot water through the small opening to let the interior absorb the heat.

Hearing Qianwu take the initiative to ask, he lowered his head with a husky chuckle, his gaze beginning to wander over her figure.

"A obedience-bell. Her Highness will know what it is shortly."