Chapter 91: Alone Together

"What happened?"
Shen Miao blinked. By rights she ought to have snapped at such familiarity—but found herself answering plainly: "When I ran, someone threw a dagger. It caught my leg."
He glanced at her, pulled a porcelain bottle from his robe, and tossed it over. "Medicine."
She caught it and said little, meaning to apply it herself—but she still sat on the floor, limbs weak from the icy lake. She could barely sit up, let alone dress a wound.
Seeing this, he came to her side, took her shoulders, and helped her onto the small couch in the cabin. Two lifetimes had taught her she was no blushing maiden; being alone with a man did not shame her. Yet she wore his oversized robe, white shoulders bare, and when the cold wind slipped in—whether from chill or something else—gooseflesh rose on her skin.
Before she could speak, warmth dropped over her head. His white fox fur buried her completely. She shook free enough to see: his great fur, soft and hot. She wrapped it tighter without thinking, only a small face showing, watching him in silence—like a fluffy little fox.
He almost laughed. He rose, fetched something from the other end, and crouched before her, reaching for her leg.
"What are you doing?" She pulled away.
"If you don't medicate that, it'll fester by tomorrow." Flat. "Don't try to take advantage of me."
Shen Miao: "……"
The man was unbearable—"take advantage," said with a face dead serious. "I'll do it myself."
"Fine." He stood, leaned against a cabinet with arms crossed, spectator's pose. "I'll watch. Go ahead."
She bent down; the bottle nearly slipped from her hand. The tall man had thrown her repeatedly in the struggle—every muscle sore, fingers shaking. She pried the stopper and almost spilled the powder.
After a long useless fight she gave up—but would not lose to him so easily. Wrapped in white fur she sat glaring, silent.
He snorted, snatched the bottle, crouched again, and took her calf. "I'm not a good man. If you're sulking, you'll gamble away your leg."
She said nothing.
His hand was long and cold, faint calluses of a trained fighter—when they touched her skin she felt wrong, as if that patch of flesh burned. Next moment he ripped away cloth stuck to the wound with dried blood. She nearly cried out.
"Deeper than I thought." He studied it, frowning. "Why didn't you say?"
"I didn't expect you'd be so kind." She truly had not—between them, saving her life tonight was already more than she counted on. He was deep and not kindly; she could not imagine why he would help. The leg wound could wait until she reached the Shen estate.
He rose, emptied the teapot, dipped a full kettle of lake water over the side, and set it on the brazier to boil. "I'm not that kind. But you played fair—I'll play good man once." He looked up. "They say Shen Xin is loyal—I didn't know a Shen girl understood loyalty too. Thank you—for not giving me up."
Half joke, half earnest. She did not explain the misunderstanding. In that moment, naming Xie Jingxing would have gotten her killed instantly—stalling tactics anyone knew. If he thought she stayed silent from honor and now owed her a debt, all the better. She had no plan to correct him.
Still, she thought—if she had named him, could he not have escaped? She had heard clearly: those two were not alone; companions must be near—yet not a sound. Whose hand that was, obvious enough.
Silence. The kettle boiled. He tore a strip from his robe hem, dipped it in hot water, cradled her calf on his knee, and wiped blood from around the wound.
Her foot nearly rested against his chest—cold stiff fabric, like the chill beneath his careless face. She turned away, toes curling slightly. Last life, besides Fu Xiuyi, no man had touched her so closely—and even Fu Xiuyi, looking back, had been mostly duty. Most of the time he was only "the sovereign." In her girlhood she had hardly known men at all.
The quiet pressed. She found a topic: "Who were they?"
She meant the tall and short men in hemp. Xie Jingxing did not answer at once. When the blood was clean he sprinkled powder, bound it with a handkerchief—head bowed, movements practiced, as if bandaging were routine. Lamp flame flickered; Wanli Lake's lanterns like brocade lit his face—the young man's features absurdly handsome, and for a brief bright moment, almost gentle.
Even Shen Miao faltered. The illusion did not last. He set down her foot, braced both hands beside her on the couch, and leaned close—sharp profile inches away, peach-blossom eyes steeped in wine, half smiling—casual posture, yet suffocating.
She met his gaze steadily. After a while he released her and said coolly: "Knowing too much does you no good."
"I don't want to know anything." Only—"don't drag me into your mess." The words left her annoyed. Tonight something had slipped—sudden danger, pain, irritation—and facing him had drawn out buried petulance: casual venting, willfulness, bickering she had buried deep.
"As long as you know your bounds, no one can drag you in." He gathered the bloody strips, found a pole, and hung her wet clothes to dry by the brazier.
"When can I leave?"
"Eyes everywhere outside—going now invites talk. And alone with me—you'll cling to scandal." His words still could kill: "For my reputation, when we dock I'll take you to the princess manor. Their people will send you home."
She paused. "Princess manor?"
"Princess Rongxin." He stirred the charcoal. "She'll help."
Princess Rongxin was born to a consort of the late emperor—not favored like Princess Yuqing, yet loved. Among the late emperor's daughters Yuqing and Rongxin were close. Yuqing married the Lin'an Marquis; Rongxin married the reign's top scholar, who died within years. Rongxin never remarried, lived alone in her manor—all these years a widow.
Given Yuqing and Rongxin's bond, Rongxin would likely aid Xie Jingxing.
Shen Miao looked at him—he thought far ahead. If Shen family came now and found them alone, disheveled, imaginations would run wild; Shen and Xie houses tangled enough already. Rongxin as intermediary was sound.
Fireworks cracked overhead. Shen Miao sat by the window and looked out. Under Dingjing's night sky color burst and scattered—as Bailu and Shuangjiang said, fireworks all night. Crowds had felt one way; on this quiet lake, another.
"You like these?" He raised a brow.
"I don't."
Every New Year at Ming Qi court the emperor feasted consorts and lit countless fireworks in the imperial garden. She had just returned from Qin; suddenly there was Lady Mei, favored without end. That New Year's eve Mei drank with Fu Xiuyi in the garden while Shen Miao sat in Kunning Palace with Wanyu and Fuming, watching fireworks rise and die alone—the coldest display she ever saw. After that she hated them.
"Things that vanish in a breath—what's to see? Pretty shells, useless inside." A trace of anger; her eyes looked sad.
He looked surprised, thought a moment, took something from a cabinet, came to her side, and handed it over.
"Docking may take a while. Since it's Jade Rabbit night—make a lantern."
In her hands—a leftover from whoever had played on this boat, folded flat, no candle yet. Through the window, layer upon layer of lights on Wanli Lake; their boat drifted through brilliance like a ferry in the Milky Way.
Before she answered he made one himself—a careless toss onto the water. She asked: "Why no wish-slip?"
Lanterns held paper with the maker's prayer so the gods might hear and grant next year's desire.
"I don't believe in gods." Lazy. "No need."
She could not picture this proud unruly man solemnly begging heaven either. She folded two lanterns but wrote no slip, placed no candle—instead lit the paper flowers on top with a fire starter and set them on the lake.
They burned top-down, two flames on the water. He stared. "Those are mourning lights—what are you doing?"
On such a festive night she was sending lamps for the dead.
She ignored him, watched until flame swallowed paper and both lights vanished from the lake.
Some things rebirth could redo; some could not. Wanyu and Fuming—past and present, meeting once meant forever parting. This life there would be no gentle princess, no steady crown prince.
A handkerchief appeared before her. She looked up. He sounded impatient: "Crying again."
She touched her cheek—wet without noticing. Joy had bred sorrow; tears had come unawares.
She took the cloth. He said: "You've some honor. If you're ever in trouble—come find me."
The sudden offer left her blank. Firelight on the lake made his profile sharper, deeper; he leaned on the window, gaze flickering with something complex—then careless again: "I don't like owing people. You didn't sell me out tonight—I won't short you. You've enough trouble as it is. Maybe someday you'll need me. For tonight's sake—I might help."
"Thank you, Young Marquis."
He smiled, turned with teasing edge: "Help is help—just don't fall in love with me."
She nearly laughed aloud. "Young Marquis thinks too much."
"Do I?" He came from the window, looked down at her on the couch, plucked the pin from her hair, and studied it thoughtfully. "Then why wear the pin I gave you?"
He stressed "I."
She had no reply—meant to say the maid chose it—when he went on: "Today you touched me, saw me—marriage by deed we'll skip." Wicked grin. "Still a half-grown girl—not so hungry I'd take whatever's offered."
Poison tongue—and reversed black and white! Last life and this she had met hypocrites and righteous men; a rogue who could suffocate you with words was new.
"I don't like Young Marquis. I won't—rest easy."
"Good." He stared; smile still playful—but for an instant black eyes showed warning and cold distance. "Little girl—I'm no good man."
She said nothing. Xie Jingxing was not good—was she? Perhaps last life. This life's her—venomous, cruel—"good" did not apply.
The boat drifted quietly downstream. Snow sifted outside—half crystal flake, half lantern glow; sky fireworks in color. This New Year's Jade Rabbit had not gone well—but it was unlike any other.
The purple-clad youth leaned on the window, gazing out a long while. When he turned, Shen Miao had fallen asleep on the low table.
Asleep, her face lost its distant dignity; after tonight's ordeal her cheeks were flushed; wrapped in his oversized fox fur she looked truly young. Hair warmed dry by the brazier—a lock fell over her eyes. She frowned in sleep, perhaps itchy.
He came to her side, paused, tucked the lock behind her ear, took the jade crabapple pin from his sleeve, turned it once, and slid it back into her hair. Arms crossed, he watched her sleep. "Sleeping sound beside a strange man—you really don't know fear."
He sat a while longer. The boat lurched and bumped—the shore.
He went to the bow. Black-clad figures appeared on the bank. The leader: "Master—all handled clean. Return to the manor now?"
Xie Jingxing glanced at the cabin. "Princess manor first. Tieyi—bring a carriage." Back inside he tapped the table. Shen Miao lifted a drowsy head. "We're docked."
"Already?" She woke sharp, moved for the door—leg wound not healed—stood and nearly fell. He caught her arm, tightened the fox fur around her, and lifted her—fur and all—carrying her out.
Startled, she looped arms around his neck. Looking up: he smiled. "Behave. Don't take advantage."
Shen Miao: "……"
One arm under her shoulders and back—tall, long-legged, effortless. Her head against his chest—solid, heartbeat steady—she felt awkward after all.
Outside the boat a line of black-clad men waited. Seeing their master carry a girl out, they strained to keep faces neutral. Xie Jingxing alone looked relaxed—reached the carriage, tossed her in, said "Princess manor," and walked off without looking back.
The carriage rolled away. The black-clad men exchanged glances.
A tall young one: "Tieyi—why is Master carrying a girl? What's she to him?"
"Yeah yeah—" A woman joined, chin in hand. "All these years no beauty got close—and this is his taste?" Eyes bright. "Ha—no wonder."
"Get lost." A mature alluring woman snapped. "What's to see in that yellow chick—feathers even grown?"
"Huolong—you like Master, but this—no use being jealous." The first woman laughed, turned to the middle-aged man. "Tieyi—you're closest to Master—who is she? What's going on—tell us?"
"Shut up!" Tieyi exploded. "All of you—back! Mo Yu shadow unit this idle? Tomorrow—tower prison duty."
Instant scatter: "Just remembered something—" "Those bodies cleaned?" "Report to shadow unit—" "Tonight was close—" voices fading.
Tieyi exhaled and melted into the dark.
……
At the princess manor, when word came that Xie Jingxing had arrived, Princess Rongxin had been ready for bed.
Widowed, childless, festivals only sharpened her solitude. Wenhui was her brother in name—not from the same womb, not truly close. Court with an emperor was never as free as her own manor. So every Jade Rabbit she stayed home—as on any ordinary day.
Tonight was different. She was surprised—and pleased. She dressed again and came to the hall. Xie Jingxing already sat waiting; seeing her he smiled. "Aunt Rong."
Rongxin's given name was Yurong; close to Yuqing—"Aunt Rong" fit.
"Why tonight?" Surprise—and joy. Childless, she had long treated him as a son. She pitied his birth; when Yuqing died Rongxin had cursed Xie Ding at the mourning visit. Jingxing was wild but respectful—visited every New Year, usually after the first day. Jade Rabbit night was unexpected.
"Missed you—came to see. You wouldn't turn me away?" He grinned. Handsome enough that maids in the hall blushed.
She tapped his forehead. "Teasing an old woman—you've grown bold."
"Missing you is one thing—but tonight I need a favor."
She straightened. "Jingxing—trouble? Tell Aunt anything."
"Don't tense—small matter." He explained: "A friend lost her family at the festival, fell in water—I saved her, but it's awkward. Could Aunt send her home in the princess manor's name?"
Simple words—but Rongxin understood. Ming Qi was somewhat open about men and women; still a girl's reputation was fragile—rumors could ruin. She looked at him. "Your friend—is a girl?"
He nodded.
"All these years—never a girl beside you." Rongxin turned mischievous. "You're grown now—how old is she? Betrothed?"
"Aunt—" helpless—"she's still a child. I owe her—a favor—I have to help. You won't refuse?"
"What nonsense! When have I refused? Fine—where is she?"
"In the carriage outside. Aunt—find her clothes to change into."
Rongxin's look grew meaningful. He shook his head, laughed, gave up explaining. She ordered maids to bring the girl in and rest her in the guest chamber. To Xie Jingxing: "You still haven't told me—which family's daughter?"
"Shen of the capital—General Shen Xin's legitimate daughter. Shen Miao." Lazy.
Rongxin was drinking tea—nearly choked. "That rough noble girl—wasn't she in love with Prince Ding?"
He shrugged. Rongxin studied him carefully, choosing words: "Jingxing—girls are countless—you're still young—wait a little."
Xie Jingxing: "……"
Meanwhile Shen Miao sat in Rongxin's guest chamber while maids fussed over clothes and hair.
Last life Rongxin had never been warm—perhaps despising her throwing herself at marriage, perhaps finding her coarse. Even as empress Rongxin stayed cool; rare palace visits brought unfriendly eyes. In Shen Miao's mind Rongxin was hard to please.
This eager welcome baffled her.