Chapter Nineteen: Stay Away from Me

“Feng Jinye...” Tailspoon Qingyu murmured the name again in her drowsiness. In an instant, Feng Jinye burst through the door. The sight that greeted him was heartbreaking: Tailspoon Qingyu, clad in only thin garments, her body covered in wounds, eyes tightly shut and stained with tears, curled up beside Qingxia.

He strode quickly to her side, intent on gathering her into his arms, but hesitated at the sight of her injuries. Even as she lingered in a half-conscious state, she continued to call his name softly.

Unable to bear the thought of her suffering, Feng Jinye bent down with infinite gentleness, cradling her as a mother would her newborn child, lifting her carefully into his embrace. He held her close, instinctively soothing her in a soft voice, “I am here...”

His gaze fell upon the scars marring the back of her hand, and he couldn’t help but gently take her hand, blowing softly on the wounds as if to ease the pain.

But Tailspoon Qingyu was restless even in her sleep, struggling to awaken, her fists and feet lashing out as she squirmed in his arms. Feng Jinye, anxious that her wounds might pain her, dared not hold her too tightly, yet feared she might fall if he relaxed his hold. He endured her blows, adjusting his strength with great care.

Sitting with her by the bed, Feng Jinye spoke to Qingxia, “Cold Doctor waits outside. Bring him in.”

Qingxia quickly returned with Doctor Cold. At the sight before him, the physician was shocked—he could hardly believe that Tailspoon Qingyu had taken the antidote. He couldn’t help but reflect that beauty, to a woman, is as precious as life itself.

The day before, in the Hall of Eternal Joy, Tailspoon Qingyu had been struck across the face. When Doctor Cold had checked her pulse, he’d found something amiss. Now, upon closer examination, his shock only deepened.

“The poison in Her Highness’s body has been neutralized. Her current state is due to a nightmare. She will be well once she wakes,” Doctor Cold explained. Although he could have used needles to rouse her, her injuries made such treatment unwise.

He dared not lift her sleeve to examine the wounds on her arm, so he inspected only the two cuts on the back of her hand. “The knife wounds are not deep. If Her Highness rests quietly and applies ointment, she should recover within two or three days.”

Feng Jinye nodded. As Doctor Cold turned to go, he instructed the maids, “I will prescribe a calming decoction. If Her Highness does not wake within half an hour, brew the medicine and try to feed it to her. From now on, never use cold wine to wipe her body; avoid chills at all costs.”

At these words, Qingxia, Dongnuan, and Xuechun all shivered slightly. Dongnuan was the first to compose herself. “I understand. I’ll see the doctor out.”

Doctor Cold was inwardly amazed—when had the Prince’s residence ever shown such courtesy? Sure enough, barely out the door, he was met with a thinly veiled threat from Dongnuan: “If you discover anything, Doctor, keep it to yourself.”

“Rest assured, miss. I am a physician; I respect my patients’ privacy,” he promised, vowing to say nothing more now or in the future.

Once Doctor Cold had departed, Dongnuan sighed. She had thought that with her mistress married into the Prince’s household, hardship was finally behind them. Now she realized how wrong she’d been.

Returning to the pavilion, Dongnuan heard a resounding slap before she even opened the door. Inside, everyone stared in shock at Feng Jinye and the woman in his arms.

Dongnuan could guess what had happened—a slap, nothing more. Was that worth such astonishment? She thought to herself: A slap is nothing. Back then, my mistress nearly killed this man, and yet here he stands unharmed!

Feng Jinye’s mind was not on the slap at all. He was only anxious for Tailspoon Qingyu to awaken. “You’ve made my hand hurt, so why don’t you wake up?”

Her consciousness slowly returned with the echo of that slap. In her daze, she heard his words and murmured his name once more, “Feng Jinye?”

He noticed the calm settling over her at last and felt a quiet relief. His voice was gentle as he replied, “I’m here.”

She opened her eyes slowly, saw him before her, then closed them again, breath catching as memories from her dream flooded back, clear as day.

“Qingxia!” she called, unalarmed to find herself awakening in Feng Jinye’s arms. Her tone was sharp, “Prepare to return to the Marquis’s residence!”

“But miss, it’s midnight!” Qingxia replied, still stunned by the slap she had witnessed, then turned away to warm some porridge.

From Qingxia’s expression, Tailspoon Qingyu knew something had just happened. She met Feng Jinye’s gaze coldly. “Put me down.”

He did not comply. Instead, he asked, “Why do you want to go to the Marquis’s residence?”

The question brought back the image of Cangyuan’s sword at her mother’s throat. She struggled, pushing herself free from his arms, her voice wild, “Stay away from me!”

She forgot her injuries in her agitation. After the night’s ordeal, her body was too weak; as she stood, dizziness overtook her and she nearly collapsed.

Without thinking, Feng Jinye caught her, lifting her back to the bed. “There’s no need for you to be so upset. I’ll leave if you wish,” he said softly. It pained him, but her anger was preferable to her lifeless struggle in his embrace.

She wanted to weep, suffocated by the memory of Cangyuan’s sword at her mother’s throat. She couldn’t imagine what Feng Jinye felt, recalling the moment she herself had tried to kill him.

He saw her silence, tucked the quilt around her, and turned to go. But she clutched at his sleeve, tears streaming down her face, an undefinable pain overtaking her.

With shining, tear-filled eyes, she choked out, “I have something to say to you.”

His heart twisted. Unconsciously, he sat down beside her, gently wiping her tears away.

Steeling herself, her voice hoarse, she asked, “Where did Cangyuan come from?”

He hadn’t expected her to ask about Cangyuan. That sword was a family heirloom; he didn’t hide it from her. “It’s been passed down in my family.”

She had suspected as much, and her heart turned cold. She knew his parents had both died when he was twelve. She dared not ask more—it was a wound she must not touch.

Even if it was not connected to him personally, it must pertain to the Feng family.

She was six when Feng Jinye was thirteen. She pressed on, “When you were twelve, did you bring Cangyuan to the Marquis’s residence? And at thirteen, did you take it with you to the army?”

“I did.” From the age of twelve until he returned from Guanlin City, Cangyuan had never left his side.

Cangyuan was linked to the story of Feng Jinye’s mother. He could not help but ask, “Why do you ask about Cangyuan?”

Tailspoon Qingyu hesitated, debating whether to tell him what she had seen. In the end, she decided to visit the Marquis’s residence the next day before saying more. She glanced at him, deflecting, “I simply don’t like Cangyuan.”

Her words struck him like a blow. For Feng Jinye, “I don’t like Cangyuan” was akin to “I don’t like you.”

“I’m hungry,” she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

Then she asked, “Did you have any East Star grouper tonight?”

“No, I’ll have it tomorrow.” It was, in his way, an invitation for her to dine with him the next evening.

Just then, Qingxia returned with the porridge she had warmed once Tailspoon Qingyu awoke, interrupting any further conversation. Hungry, she paid little mind to Feng Jinye’s words.

Once she finished eating, it was almost three-quarters past midnight. The house was quiet, and it was time for Feng Jinye to leave. Before he went, he asked, “Will you return with me to the prince’s residence?” His voice betrayed his longing.

She wondered if he’d forgotten that she’d just told him to stay away. Needing solitude, she refused to go back with him.

Midnight had passed. It had rained earlier, and now, though the rain had ceased, the sky remained overcast. Only two lonely stars hung in the heavens, making the night feel all the more desolate.

She knew that Qingxia and the others were just behind her. Staring out the window, she said, “I remember now...”

When Tailspoon Qingyu crossed over into this world, she had no memory of her predecessor’s life. This was the first time she had dreamt of her childhood.

“Miss...” The maids trembled slightly. Dongnuan, fearing Qingxia might betray something, quickly interrupted, feigning confusion. “What do you remember, mistress?”

“When I was six, the massacre of the Tailspoon family happened. My mother didn’t die of illness—she was murdered, stabbed through the throat.” Her voice was calm, but behind her, none noticed her tears.

She moved closer to the window, the cold winter wind stinging her tear-streaked cheeks. “My mother placed me in a small boat, dressed me in the new lotus-patterned dress she’d sewn. On the boat, I looked like a lantern, so the assassin didn’t see me.”

She stifled a sob, wiping away tears, and continued, “My mother told me, no matter what, not to make a sound or move, no matter how she called for me. She went ashore alone to lure the assassin away.”

When she had first arrived in this world, she’d lived with little care. She hadn’t understood why the original Tailspoon Qingyu, once cherished like a princess, became a mute, why she practiced martial arts so desperately, or why she never spoke, no matter how her father coaxed her.

Now, through this dream, she understood—the endless sorrow and grief, the deep-seated hatred and pain that could not be spoken.

When she finished, her body shook uncontrollably, and she hugged herself, weeping as if to embrace the six-year-old she once was.

She dared not imagine—if the Feng family was truly involved, what future could she and Feng Jinye possibly have? Would her heart ever find peace again?