The morning light was as delicate as a cicada's wing. Outside the tent, a mountain wind rustled through the trees, bringing with it a lingering chill.
Shen Zhiwu awoke slowly amidst the scent of medicine and the cold. Her fingertips trembled slightly as they brushed against soft, pristine bedding. Before her, the curtain shadows swayed. For a moment, she was dazed—unsure whether she was in a dream or in hell.
But in the next breath, memories surged—images woven of blood and rain.
Li Cheng'an lying in a pool of blood, eyes still filled with hatred. The sharp pain in her abdomen. Crashing through the door into the storm.
None of it had been a dream.
She jerked upright—only to tear at her wound, and a stabbing pain washed the color from her face.
"Don't move, miss!" A hand pressed down on her shoulder just in time, the voice all too familiar.
Xiao Xia was seated at the bedside, frowning as she guided her back down. "You just woke up and already can't behave. If the wound splits open again, don't blame me."
Shen Zhiwu leaned against the pillow, caught her breath, and asked hoarsely but steadily, "Where am I?"
"The Third Prince's field camp," Xiao Xia replied, efficiently tucking the blanket in. "That night, you collapsed in front of His Highness's horse, unconscious. He personally carried you back and had you treated."
Shen Zhiwu paused for a moment, then bit her lip and asked in a low voice, "...While I was out, what did you say?"
Still wiping her sweat with a handkerchief, Xiao Xia didn't even lift her head. "I said what we rehearsed. Pleaded for His Highness to save you. Skimmed over the injury. Just said you were attacked while fleeing, got hurt in the chaos, and didn't even know how."
"Expression?" Shen Zhiwu asked again.
"Sad, but not melodramatic. A bit of grievance, buried under some stubbornness. The crying tone was practiced—just a slight tremble at the right moment." Xiao Xia's voice held a trace of pride. "He listened for a long while without interrupting, then told me to take good care of you."
Shen Zhiwu smiled faintly. Her voice was light. "You've done well."
Xiao Xia shook her head, about to speak again, when Shen Zhiwu suddenly asked:
"Did he ask who I was?"
"No." Xiao Xia paused, then added, "But the way he looked at you… he didn't seem clueless."
Footsteps sounded outside the tent.
Shen Zhiwu opened her eyes wider, catching a glimpse of shimmering light and gauze fluttering in the breeze—cool and serene.
The curtain lifted.
Xiao Jingming stepped inside, a bowl of medicine in hand. His figure was graceful, his gaze clear. Drops of morning dew still clung to his silver crown, and his expression was as still as a mountain lake.
He placed the medicine at her bedside gently, his tone calm and even. "This is a skin-regenerating salve sent from the palace. It works best at this hour."
Shen Zhiwu stared blankly at his long, pale fingers—not the hands of a warrior, yet steady, as if he held a brush.
"Your Highness… why did you save me?" Her voice was hoarse, like it had come from a dream far away.
"That day, the rain washed out the roads. I happened to be inspecting the disaster," he said gently. "If anyone had been lying there, I would have helped all the same."
Suddenly, shouting erupted outside. "The Li household's men are searching everywhere! Check if that wicked woman is hiding here!"
Shen Zhiwu's face turned pale. She tried to sit up. "Your Highness… I…"
"Lie down." Xiao Jingming pressed her shoulder. His tone carried no anger; his lips still held a soft smile.
Then he raised his voice. "Chen Yuan, bring me my golden scepter."
As he slowly tightened his cuffs, he added coolly, "Inform the Li family: searching a royal entourage is punishable by death."
Silence fell outside the tent.
His gaze returned to Shen Zhiwu. He spoke gently, as if nothing had happened: "If anyone dares disturb Miss Shen's recovery again, toss them into the moat to feed the fish."
"Your Highness… you know me?" Shen Zhiwu asked in confusion.
"We've met once." He smiled, but said nothing more.
Shen Zhiwu didn't press. At this moment, she was just a fugitive. That he had sheltered her was already a tremendous kindness. Digging deeper would do no good.
"Your Highness's grace today… I will repay it. But right now I…"
"No need to say more. Just focus on getting well."
He stood, his silhouette framed against the tent curtain. Tall, composed—even this small space seemed to grow solemn around him.
As he turned to leave, he paused again, as if remembering something. He glanced at Xiao Xia standing beside the bed.
"Xiao Xia," he said warmly, "you've worked hard these past days. Go collect some salve for yourself—don't let old wounds flare up."
Xiao Xia was caught off guard. Before she could respond, he had already turned and disappeared beyond the curtain, the breeze leaving a chill behind him.
Shen Zhiwu turned her face toward the swaying curtain, thoughts stirring faintly.
Xiao Xia was her personal maid, handpicked by her father. Others thought she was there to serve—but in truth, she was there to protect. Trained in martial arts from a young age, Xiao Xia looked cheerful on the surface, but her fists struck hard.
Xiao Xia tucked the blanket around her again, then hesitated. "Did His Highness… already know who you were?"
Shen Zhiwu didn't open her eyes. Her voice was faint. "Maybe we met once."
"But he knew my name too," Xiao Xia muttered.
Shen Zhiwu frowned. "You didn't tell him?"
She found it strange too. The Third Prince, apparently, knew more than he let on.
But she didn't have the energy to think further.
"...Not now," she said softly. "I'm too tired. I only need to remember—he saved me."
And with that, she drifted back into sleep.
That night, Shen Zhiwu woke again from a dream, pain tearing through her abdomen. The wound was like a living memory, reminding her that what had happened wasn't a nightmare—it was a rupture of blood and rain. She gently touched her stomach. The gauze was still damp, the injury still weeping. She dared not make a sound, only stared at the canopy above in silence, as if the pain was the only proof she was still alive.
She rose quietly, wrapped herself in a robe, and stepped outside the tent. Not far off, she saw Xiao Jingming sitting alone on a stone slab, a scroll in his hand, the flicker of a nearby flame casting a gentle glow across his figure.
Sensing her presence, he didn't look up. "Can't sleep?" he asked softly.
After a pause, Shen Zhiwu asked in a low voice, "Your Highness knows who I am... Do you know why I stabbed him?"
Xiao Jingming slowly set down the scroll and lifted his gaze. In his eyes was no judgment, no pity—only calm, unwavering understanding.
"I don't ask about cause and consequence. But I believe you must have had a reason."
A lump rose in Shen Zhiwu's throat. She murmured, "I'm not a villain... but I'm not a good person anymore either."
He stood, pulling on his cloak. "If you wish to keep walking forward, then there's still a path to choose."
As he passed her, he added quietly, "That night, when you cried out 'save me,' it wasn't a plea to me—you were commanding yourself."
Shen Zhiwu froze.
She stood in the wind for a long time, hearing again the thunder of that night and her own voice, sharp as lightning:
I want to live.
She looked toward the banners flapping in the mountain wind, and a thought struck her:
She couldn't die. She couldn't run.
She had crawled out of the fire. Her life was hers now to decide.
In the days that followed, her strength slowly returned, and she became more familiar with the mountain encampment. She learned the Third Prince's journey was meant to reach Jinzhou for flood relief. Passing through Liaocheng, he had found her by chance.
One muddy dusk, as soldiers bustled with supplies, Xiao Xia returned to the tent, leaning in to whisper, "Miss, we're moving camp tonight. Word is, villagers blocked the road begging for help. His Highness has set the route—he's heading for Zhenzhou."
Shen Zhiwu sat near the window, letting the sun warm her. Her gaze sharpened. "Blocked the road for aid?"
"Yes, a few riverside villages. Floods rose too fast. But... some folks say it might be a staged act."
She said nothing at first, then instructed Xiao Xia to fetch a map. Spreading out the geography of Jinzhou, she slowly traced her finger across the villages she remembered as prone to spring floods. She paused, then flipped to a disaster report from three days ago.
"Three days ago, they said the water levels had receded. Why seal the roads now?" Her voice was quiet. "It feels like a trap."
Xiao Xia blinked. "Miss... are you saying it's staged? A fake disaster?"
Shen Zhiwu didn't answer directly. She closed the map, voice low: "Xiao Xia, go scout it tonight. Come back and report."
"Another 'recon and report'?" Xiao Xia muttered, "Miss, we're not still hiding in the East Wing copying war texts..."
"Back then it was a game," Shen Zhiwu said with a soft laugh, though her eyes were deadly serious. "Now it's survival."
That night, before departure, the Third Prince came in person to inform her of the plan. He was dressed in full armor, composed as always.
"Liaocheng is no longer safe. The main roads are perilous. Miss Shen, will you accompany me to Jinzhou?"
She looked at him. After a moment, she asked softly, "Your Highness, this relief trip to Jinzhou, yet choosing to pass through Zhenzhou's dangerous roads—was that always the plan?"
Xiao Jingming paused, then smiled. "Miss Shen knows her geography?"
"A little." Her tone was even. "But along the way, there were few disaster victims, yet the supply lines are thickly guarded. If this were just disaster relief... isn't such preparation a little premature?"
He was silent, then replied with a smile, "Thank you for the reminder. Disaster is unpredictable. I will be cautious."
She didn't press further. "I will accompany Your Highness."
He nodded warmly. But behind him, some of the generals exchanged skeptical looks. One grunted coldly, "This woman's background is unclear. His Highness is kind, but a single person cannot cost the army its discipline."
His name was Zhao Qi, a seasoned general under the Third Prince, known for his rigidity.
Hearing Shen Zhiwu would travel with them, he sneered, "This is a relief mission, not a pleasure outing."
Though he didn't name her directly, every word was a jab. Shen Zhiwu didn't react—just offered a calm bow, expression unchanged.
Xiao Jingming didn't respond to Zhao Qi, only said mildly, "She will accompany me."
Zhao Qi saluted without protest, but his eyes were full of disdain.
Elsewhere, in the eastern tent, young officers were whispering:
"Heard she's from the Li family… the one who stabbed her own husband?"
"Yeah, but the prince is protecting her. Who dares object?"
"What skills does she have? She's just a woman..."
"Shh, keep your voice down. Don't let the prince hear."
Though whispered, the words still reached Shen Zhiwu's ears.
She said nothing. Later that night, as she packed her things, she chuckled softly.
"Xiao Xia," she called absently.
"I heard them," Xiao Xia said, hands clenched around a food pouch. "They're outrageous. Who gave them the right—"
"Let them talk," Shen Zhiwu murmured. Her voice was hoarse and faint. "I'm still alive. That matters more than any insult."
Xiao Xia stomped her foot. "But Miss, they—"
"I'm just a fugitive now," Shen Zhiwu said with a tired laugh. There was no shame in it, only weariness. "I don't even dare claim the name Shen anymore. What victory is there left to fight for?"
Xiao Xia opened her mouth, then said nothing. She simply pulled Shen Zhiwu's cloak tighter around her shoulders.
After a moment, Shen Zhiwu said softly, "The Third Prince has already saved me once, and now he even speaks for me. I… don't know how to repay him."
She closed her eyes. Her voice was barely carried by the wind. "We were nothing but strangers, yet he protected me. Xiao Xia, not every drowning soul finds a hand reaching down."
Xiao Xia murmured, "He's a good man."
"Yes," Shen Zhiwu nodded. "So we must also be people who know the worth of kindness."
That evening, the camp was ablaze with torchlight. Soldiers formed ranks, ready to depart.
She glanced back at the mountain forest that had hidden her these past few days, then looked forward to the figure atop the hill—the Third Prince, Xiao Jingming.
He had been frail in childhood, his mother long gone, raised far from court. With no favor from the empress, no title of crown prince, he had carved his name with merit and compassion. The people loved him. The court feared him.
He was not a contender for the throne—yet he was the most dangerous name among them.
Now, she would follow him.
Shen Zhiwu drew her cloak close and walked to the prepared carriage. It was a soft, curtained one, lined with thick felt—not for common use.
Xiao Xia was already there, holding the reins in one hand and a food pouch in the other. Seeing Shen Zhiwu approach, she muttered, "Finally. I thought you were going to ride for real. If you did, your guts might burst."
Shen Zhiwu glanced at her, didn't smile, only said quietly, "Ride with me."
"Of course I'm riding with you," Xiao Xia said indignantly, patting the carriage curtain. "How could I leave you alone in there? And if you faint again, I'm not dragging you back out of the cavalry in the middle of the night."
Shen Zhiwu said nothing more. She nodded faintly, lifted the curtain, and entered the carriage.