As Yue tends to the Emperor's wounds, the distance between them begins to close. But when he recalls a mysterious girl from his time in the Yun Kingdom, is he unknowingly remembering the very woman before him?
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Yue held onto the Emperor as blood soaked through her sleeves, turning them a dark red.
The air was filled with a strong, metallic smell of blood, making breathing hard.
The guards quickly formed a protective circle around them, ready to shield the Emperor and Yue from danger.
One guard shouted urgently,
"Bring the stretcher! Be careful with His Majesty!"
His voice echoed as the guards moved swiftly, knowing that time was critical.
Yue stepped aside to allow the royal doctor to reach the Emperor.
In simple gray robes, the doctor hurried over with a box of medicines slung over his back.
He checked the Emperor's pulse and warmth, looking for signs of life.
Without delay, the doctor moved the bloodied clothes to expose the deep wound.
He examined it closely and announced,
"The wound is deep, but it won't be fatal if we act fast."
This gave everyone a bit of hope.
He instructed, "We must stop the bleeding right away and get him to camp before shock sets in. "
Yue followed the stretcher as it moved through the forest, now dark and eerily quiet.
The sunlight was gone, replaced by an unsettling silence. No birds sang, and even the insects were still.
The guards and medical team walked with urgent, careful steps, fully aware of how fragile life was at this moment.
When they reached the camp, the scene was chaotic once more. Guards talked in hushed, worried tones, and servants rushed around gathering supplies.
Inside the most enormous tent, the doctor worked quickly.
He cleaned the wound thoroughly, using traditional medicines to slow the bleeding and fight infection, then sealed it with silk gauze.
The air was thick with the smell of herbs mixed with blood.
Outside, Yue sat trembling, her hands stained with blood.
Her mind was a storm of images: the wound, the Emperor's pain, his look of reliance on her.
She felt his blood on her sleeves, almost as if it was her own.
Yet, amid all this, Yue found a strange sense of calm.
She kept telling herself to stay strong, constantly reminded of the Emperor's trusting gaze.
As the sun set, creating long shadows over the camp, a eunuch quietly approached Yue. He spoke softly,
"Lady Yue, His Majesty has regained consciousness. The doctor says he will recover."
Yue felt relief wash over her, yet she fought to stay standing.
The eunuch added, "And—His Majesty asked for you."
Surprised, Yue echoed, "Me?"
She could hardly believe it.
The eunuch nodded and said, "His Majesty… wishes you to stay in his personal tent tonight for your safety."
Every part of her reacted instantly when she heard those words. Her heart beat faster, and she felt unsure as she followed him through the tense crowd.
The guards quietly stepped aside respectfully as the tent's flap opened.
Inside, the room was quiet and warm, lit by the soft flicker of a small brazier.
The smell of cedar wood and herbs filled the air, providing unexpected comfort amid the tension.
The walls were adorned with detailed embroidery, displaying wealth and status, but tonight, they seemed like silent witnesses to the delicate peace.
Yue paused at the entrance, suddenly feeling unsure of herself.
Her eyes landed on the figure on the bed—Li Zhao, the Emperor.
His face was partly visible above silk cushions, propped against the soft fabric.
His upper robe had been removed, leaving his side and shoulder wrapped in bandages that stood out starkly against his skin.
Despite his exhaustion, his eyes were wide open, sharp, and vigilant.
His voice was roughened by strain when he spoke, each word demanding effort.
"You came," he whispered softly.
She moved closer slowly, locking eyes with him in the dim light.
"Of course I came, Your Majesty," she replied gently.
Her voice carried calmness, yet it was filled with deep care that words couldn't fully capture.
He let out a soft chuckle, a short, breathy sound, trying to bring some humor despite his pain.
It was a fragile laugh, and then he winced, gripping his side as his hand moved instinctively toward the wound.
The pain was sharp and unyielding, causing his face to tense with discomfort.
"The doctor said I'll live," he added with a weak smile, though his eyes darkened with a hint of sarcasm.
"Much to your dismay, I'm sure."
His attempt at lightening the mood with humor barely veiled the fact that he knew how close to death he really was.
She frowned at his remark and gently shook her head, clearly showing concern.
"Your Majesty mustn't joke like that," she said firmly, her voice soft but carrying a warning tone.
She didn't want him to downplay his serious condition with humor.
Her worry made her voice tremble slightly as she moved closer with steady determination.
As he looked at her, his expression softened. The exhaustion and pain seemed to fade slightly when he saw her.
Yue reached for a linen cloth nearby and gently sat beside him.
"Let me change the bandage," she said softly.
Her hands moved carefully; her touch was gentle but deliberate, showing her experience and calmness.
She unraveled the stained silk cloth, revealing the wound.
The rust-colored bloodstains contrasted sharply against the pale skin, but her hands worked steadily.
His eyes watched her silently, his expression a mix of gratitude and pain.
"You've done this before," he murmured quietly, almost to himself.
His voice was low, edged with awe or a hint of admiration.
"I helped in the palace infirmary," Yue replied quietly but steadily. "Once."
Her words carried a quiet pride, a sense that even in that one experience, she had learned more than most.
It was enough to give her confidence now, even in this tense moment.
He looked at her more intently, studying her profile and how her brow furrowed when she focused.
"You don't fear blood," he said softly, almost in a questioning tone.
She shook her head slowly. "I fear losing people," she admitted quietly, avoiding his gaze.
Her voice was almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of her fears—fears rooted in loss, heartbreak, and her own helplessness.
His breath hitched slightly at her admission.
Then, as her fingers brushed against his skin again—careful, tender—they seemed to touch a nerve in him.
His voice lowered further, distant and contemplative.
"I was once a hostage, you know," he said softly, almost as if revealing a secret. "In the Yun Kingdom."
Yue's hands froze briefly, but she didn't look away. She listened intently as he continued, unspoken stories thick in his voice.
The tent was silent except for the soft crackle of the fire.
Li Zhao's eyes were half-closed, but his voice was steady, filled with memories or sadness.
"I was barely fourteen," he continued.
"My father sent me to secure peace after many years of fighting at the border. It was a gift of goodwill... or a warning. Depends on how you look at it."
He gave a smile, but it wasn't a happy one.
"They treated me a guest. I had my space in the palace with fancy screens, floors, and people who bowed to me."
"But deep down, I knew the truth. I was just a prisoner in nice clothes."
He looked up towards the tent as if he could see the other kingdom far away.
"The Yun Kingdom palace was beautiful," he said after a pause, sounding thoughtful. "A palace hidden in the clouds, on top of a mountain."
"Their gardens had flowering trees—plum blossoms in winter, wisteria in spring. The walls had poems, like rain falling. There were ponds with fish and bridges shaped elegantly and wind chimes that sang at night."
He stopped, frowning a little.
"But beauty can be deceiving. Even the fish watched with blank eyes." He turned back to Yue, speaking more quietly.
"Every smile and polite act were all part of a show. I knew if war broke out again, their kindness would vanish. One order and I would be the first to suffer."
His hand moved slightly on the blanket, fingers curling as if reaching for something lost.
"I spent two years walking on eggshells, pretending not to see the guards or how ministers looked at me like a lion they feared."
He felt not just the danger but the loneliness of being surrounded, yet alone.
"They taught me poetry and manners," he said with a slight scoff.
"As if making a foreign object pretty would make it harmless."
He exhaled, looking back at Yue.
"But not all was bad. Sometimes, I saw glimpses of kindness. A servant who sneaked me sweets. A librarian who shared stories of heroes who challenged kings.
His eyes turned distant. "I sometimes wonder what happened to them... when the war finally came."
He fell silent, memories washing over him like waves. Yue felt her throat tighten. She dared not speak.
Her mind was full of her home, her people, and the war that destroyed it.
"There was also a girl..."