Chapter 8 Second Wear

Wei Tingchun held the person in her arms, warming him for a long time before tearing another strip from her inner garment to blindfold Xue Ying.  

Then, she repeated yesterday’s routine—starting a fire, laying out the ground cover, and settling Xue Ying onto the fur cloak beside the fire.  

Wei Tingchun even found two sturdy wooden sticks to prop over the flames and placed a teapot on top.  

There was water in the teapot, but no tea. Convict Slaves like them in the Cold Palace weren’t worthy of drinking tea.  

But at least water was provided in abundance.  

According to the original plot, tomorrow she was supposed to flaunt the items given to her by the Ninth Prince and pass along objects taken from Xue Ying.  

Wei Tingchun had already planned it out—she would still pass along the items, but the recipient would be different.  

After traversing so many worlds, she had gained some experience in this line of work. As long as the outcome remained roughly the same as the plot, minor characters like them had some flexibility in execution.  

Such a prime opportunity to “report” someone—Wei Tingchun decided to bestow it upon her old acquaintance, Chunxi.  

However, one part of the plot was tricky: the Eleventh Prince was supposed to suffer severe frostbite over these three days, endure abuse from cruel servants, and end up bedridden.  

He wouldn’t be confined to bed for half a year like in the original plot, but that would disrupt the storyline, and Wei Tingchun’s mind was in turmoil.  

She knew she shouldn’t be doing this.  

In this world, everyone’s fate was interconnected—who knew what kind of butterfly effect her misplaced compassion might trigger?  

Wei Tingchun had seen plenty of transmigrators complete their tasks and exit the world, only to have the plot collapse and require repairs, forcing them to return for revisions.  

Not only would their performance scores be docked, but they’d also end up on the system’s blacklist.  

Frustrated, Wei Tingchun rubbed her forehead.  

But when she turned and saw Xue Ying curled up in the fur cloak, his little face flushed and glowing from the warmth of the fire, her agitation faded.  

Ah, well.  

She’d deal with the future when it came. For now, she’d get some water for the “little kitten.”  

Wei Tingchun had never been one to dwell on melancholy thoughts, and her mood quickly brightened.  

Focused on boiling the water, she didn’t notice—unlike those martial arts masters in dramas—that Xue Ying’s breathing had subtly changed, signaling his awakening.  

Just like yesterday, even after waking, Xue Ying remained perfectly still.  

He had been awake the entire time—from the moment someone entered, held him, and rubbed his chest and back, to when they tore away those strange, heat-emitting things from his clothes.  

Xue Ying excelled at adapting to the unexpected. All skilled hunters knew how to lie in wait with absolute patience.  

Even blindfolded, based on the person’s footsteps, the way she touched and held him, he had already guessed who she was.  

She had indeed been a shadow over his childhood, a woman who had helped his mother humiliate him countless times, using methods Xue Ying could never have imagined or endured.  

When he was very young, he had feared and hated her. But as he grew older and stopped caring about anything, fear no longer mattered.  

After his mother, Consort Qing, died, this old maidservant was demoted to a Convict Slave and sent to the Cold Palace. He hadn’t even been in a hurry to kill her immediately.

He had ordered this place to be watched over, ensuring she lived a life worse than death, plagued by illness, forced to give up everything she owned, yet unable to obtain even a single remedy to ease her suffering. In this Cold Palace, she lingered hopelessly and painfully, barely clinging to life.  

Because Xue Ying knew—living was far harder than dying. Especially living without hope, a torment a thousand times worse than death.  

But now, he was puzzled. He couldn’t understand why this convict slave had suddenly begun to defy orders in secret.  

During the day, she led others in tormenting him, yet at night, she would blindfold him and come to care for him.  

Xue Ying lay with his eyes closed, fingers tucked inside his cloak, rubbing restlessly. He couldn’t make sense of it.  

Today, the Ninth Prince had sent people over. Xue Ying had heard the words she exchanged with them outside. This old maidservant had practically watched Xue Ying grow up, and he, in turn, had observed her for many years.  

She had taken what those people offered. She should have rushed to buy medicine—her stomach, if left untreated, would soon see the flesh tumor rupture, poison flooding her organs, corroding her to death.  

Given her nature and circumstances, she should have doubled down on torturing him to extort more from the princes.  

This was also a step in Xue Ying’s plan.  

Right now, the First Prince and the Second Prince were competing to rally the other princes to their factions. But their father, ever suspicious, had grown increasingly wary of his strong, ambitious sons as he aged.  

For the sake of the throne, he wouldn’t actually kill his eldest and second sons, but any prince who openly sided with them would be branded as instigators of rebellion, scheming traitors.  

To avoid being dragged into this dog-eat-dog struggle, Xue Ying’s only option was to feign severe illness—or even disability.  

It was an extremely risky move. People often said, “A man of noble birth does not sit beneath a crumbling wall.” But Xue Ying had never been a man of noble birth.  

Since childhood, he had been called a bastard, a cursed wretch—even by his own mother. He had no bargaining chips, nothing but himself.  

Every step he had taken to reach this point was a gamble. Win, and he would cling to life a little longer. Lose?  

Then so be it.  

He had orchestrated his own downfall, even subtly hinting to the princes to choose this place—where only convict slaves, not disgraced consorts, were kept—as the perfect spot to act.  

But now, lying beside the warmth of the fire, he was genuinely at a loss.  

Where had things gone wrong? Had this convict slave, facing death, suddenly repented and turned virtuous?  

Xue Ying had endured hell for over a decade. He didn’t believe evil people could change.  

He remained still, feigning unconsciousness as he lay on his side, waiting for this convict slave to reveal her true, malicious nature.  

But after a while, all he felt was a pair of gentle hands lifting him up.  

Then, half-embracing him, she brought a teacup to his lips.  

Xue Ying didn’t move, didn’t open his mouth, still pretending to be unconscious.  

Wei Tingchun pinched his cheeks. Unable to speak, she intended to wake him by force.  

By her calculations, he hadn’t eaten or drunk for two days and nights. Even a strong, healthy man wouldn’t last, let alone this frail, pitiful “little kitten.”  

Come to think of it, ten years ago, when Wei Tingchun had fed Xue Ying a bowl of Ginseng Tea, the way his little mouth had kept sipping greedily still lingered vividly in her mind.  

Back then, he hadn’t had his fill.  

There was no Ginseng Tea today, but this hot tea would have to suffice.

The drink could warm a person from the inside out, but his outer robe was still damp. Wei Tingchun wanted to dry his clothes by the fire but didn’t dare strip them off him directly—mainly because of yesterday’s misunderstanding. She was afraid Xue Ying might lose his temper again.

So today, even as she half-encircled him to feed him water, she didn’t hold him too tightly, worried he might feel uncomfortable.

Wei Tingchun pinched his cheeks a few times, but Xue Ying still didn’t respond.

She remained patient, just like when she had fed him Ginseng Tea before, gently and repeatedly pressing his cheeks.

Soon, his lips parted slightly under her touch.

As before, Wei Tingchun tipped a little water through the gap.

Xue Ying could no longer pretend to be unconscious. His throat moved as he swallowed the water at just the right temperature.

This time, Wei Tingchun had learned from her past mistake—the water she gave him was slightly cooler than what most would consider warm.

It suited Xue Ying perfectly.

He was indeed thirsty. Instinctively, just as he had done as a child, he raised his hands to hold Wei Tingchun’s and lowered his head to drink.

Behind him, Wei Tingchun smiled—bright and unrestrained.

Xue Ying was still the same as when he was little, just as obedient and adorable.

Though he had grown much taller now. When he sat up, Wei Tingchun had to half-kneel and half-crouch to encircle him from behind, barely reaching him.

But none of that mattered when her heart was brimming with maternal pride, thinking Xue Ying looked utterly endearing even while drinking water.

After he finished the first cup, she hurriedly poured him a second, this time slightly warmer.

It warmed his chest and heart perfectly.

When the teacup touched his lips again, Xue Ying—his eyes still covered by the cloth—paused briefly before opening his mouth once more.

Wei Tingchun grinned so wide it nearly reached her ears.

Xue Ying was awake, just as she had imagined—no tantrums, just quiet, delicate, and sweet.

So when the second cup was empty, she poured him a third.

After three cups, Xue Ying was thoroughly warmed.

When the fourth cup was brought to his lips, he turned his head slightly away, refusing more.

Wei Tingchun nearly blurted out, “Why aren’t you drinking?” But she held back, pressing her lips together before setting the cup down.

Of course, she considered that Xue Ying might be hungry. Filling his stomach with water alone wouldn’t help. Though she could exchange for food, giving items from the System Space to someone in the Small World was against the rules.

The two sat facing each other in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound between them, as if neither existed.

Wei Tingchun gazed at Xue Ying with a foolish smile, the more she looked, the more she found him unbearably well-behaved and lovable.

Xue Ying’s face, warmed by the fire, flushed slightly. His mind raced, still waiting for this Convict Slave to reveal her true intentions.

But after a long while, with Wei Tingchun cheerfully adding firewood twice, neither spoke.

Wei Tingchun couldn’t speak, and Xue Ying excelled at waiting in silence.

She was delighted that Xue Ying made no attempt to remove the cloth over his eyes. Like a kitten tucked into a sack, he stayed quiet and docile—utterly adorable.

But in truth, Xue Ying already knew who Wei Tingchun was. Whether he removed the cloth or not made no difference.

The two maintained a delicate balance, sitting like this for a long, long time.

Until Wei Tingchun checked the system time, pressed Xue Ying’s shoulder, and helped him lie down, urging him to get some sleep. In two more hours, she would have to leave.  

But Xue Ying didn’t comply. He still remembered how this Convict Slave had undone his belt the day before, his body stiff with tension.  

Unable to hold back any longer, he spoke first.  

“You… who are you?” Wei Tingchun froze, her eyes flashing with surprise and delight—her “little kitten” was talking to her!  

But soon, she struggled to suppress her laughter, her expression twisting with the effort.  

Because Xue Ying’s voice was low and hoarse—not from injury or forced depth, but the rasp of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy in the midst of puberty.  

Like a little drake.  

Hahahahaha!  

Wei Tingchun held it in, barely managing not to laugh out loud.  

But she couldn’t speak to Xue Ying. After tonight, she would follow the plot and never return. His fate in the story was one of inevitable injury—she could help him avoid the worst of it, but not spare him entirely.  

Everything, the plot and all else, had to return to its proper course.  

This time, when she left this world, they might never meet again. Wei Tingchun gazed at Xue Ying, filled with both nostalgia and reluctance.  

Unable to resist, she reached out and brushed aside a stray lock of hair from his forehead.  

Xue Ying flinched back at her touch.  

Wei Tingchun rubbed her own empty brow, remembering the glimpse she’d once caught of Xue Ying’s eyes.  

And the gloom and shadow that clung to him, no matter how obedient and sweet he seemed.  

After a moment’s thought, she tentatively took Xue Ying’s hand.  

His wrists were still bound together.  

When Xue Ying tried to pull away, Wei Tingchun unfolded his palm and traced a single stroke with her finger.  

Xue Ying jerked again, but Wei Tingchun tapped his palm lightly. Recalling yesterday’s events, disgust surged in him, and he shoved her hands away, scrambling backward.  

Seeing him about to tumble into the fire, Wei Tingchun tightened her grip and yanked him forward.  

Blind and off-balance, Xue Ying fell toward her. His hands flailed instinctively, catching hold of Wei Tingchun’s right hand to steady himself—just barely preventing them both from toppling over.  

But when Wei Tingchun thought he’d regained his balance and tried to push him away, abandoning her attempt to write in his palm, Xue Ying wouldn’t let go.  

He clutched her right hand tightly—more precisely, her right thumb.  

Xue Ying seemed to freeze, as if someone had pressed pause. After a dazed moment, he softened visibly, like a cat being gently stroked.