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Mu Shengsheng’s eyes immediately reddened. For the first time, she felt utterly powerless. After a long pause, she asked, “Has my father returned to the capital?”
Lan Xun stood sideways, hands behind his back, replying, “He has indeed returned. But I have already arranged for someone to escort you south to see him—that is all the courtesy and duty I can offer.”
Indeed, he had thought this through carefully.
A stranger—even one who bore some grudge against her father—had already gone this far for her. That was more than what the Xuānwǔ Marquis’s household or the Duke of Zhènguó’s household would have done.
What else could she possibly expect?
He had never been interested in her. She was the one relentlessly clinging; it was only natural that he rejected her without mercy. She could blame no one but herself.
At least, he could send her to her father. Before she died, she could see him one last time. That alone would be enough for her to die without regret.
Yet, cruelly, hope had appeared within her grasp. The way to save herself seemed so near—she only needed to hold him to survive—but it also felt impossibly distant, like the far edge of the sky.
Lan Xun had noticed the moment he entered the room: today Mu Shengsheng’s face was pale as snow, her spirit wilted, and her condition was unusual. Upon learning he intended to send her away, the light in her eyes extinguished, leaving only endless despair.
He suddenly thought: people had been saying she wouldn’t survive two more days. Could it be true?
Lan Xun’s tone softened slightly, as if explaining: “After all, you have not yet been formally married. Living here at the Regency Prince’s mansion is improper. It would damage your reputation if it became known, so I cannot keep you here any longer.”
Reputation—what was it compared to life?
Someone like Mu Shengsheng, who had known from childhood when she would die, understood more than anyone the true value of life.
How she longed for a healthy body, for a complete life—even in poverty, even with an unremarkable appearance—at least she could breathe freely, run and jump, not have to constantly take medicine, not suffer from disease…
Her life was already short. With her emotions suddenly surging, Mu Shengsheng felt a heat rise in her throat. A familiar metallic taste of blood surged up.
Her hand rose halfway to cover her mouth, but it was too late. Her vision blackened, her strength left her, and she collapsed onto the soft couch, utterly limp, unresponsive.
Lan Xun noticed the commotion. Looking closer, he saw fresh blood continuously pouring from the girl’s mouth, quickly soaking a large portion of her clothes and the couch beneath her.
Even Lan Xun, who had witnessed countless scenes of carnage, froze at the sight.
He stepped forward in two strides, laying her flat and using his sleeve to dab at the corners of her mouth. “Mu Shengsheng, what’s happening?”
No response came—only blood continued to flow.
Xuanji rushed over with several white handkerchiefs, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. In an instant, the pure white cloths were soaked crimson, and the girl’s face grew even darker.
At this moment, she was fragile, like a delicate ice flower, breaking at the slightest touch.
Xuanji was terrified. How could this happen?
Lan Xun barked, “Someone, fetch the imperial physician!”
“…”
By nightfall, the imperial physician arrived at the Regency Prince’s mansion, carrying a medicine chest and panting from haste. He immediately began examining the unconscious girl on the bed.
Even from behind the bed curtain, the physician recognized her pulse.
Previously, the Xuānwǔ Marquis had summoned all the imperial physicians to examine her. Yet her illness had been congenital; the cause was unknowable, and there was no cure.
The physician shook his head, worry etched on his face. “She won’t survive two more days. Prepare for the worst.”
Impossible!
Lan Xun gripped the physician’s robes, glaring at him. “Treat her!”
The physician trembled, kneeling in fear. “Regency Prince, have mercy! It’s not that I refuse, but this girl was born weak and suffers from a terminal illness. She would not have lived past sixteen and has relied on medicine all her life. Her body is exhausted—there is no cure. I am powerless.”
Lan Xun had known she was ill, but not that it was this severe.
Previously, every time Mu Shengsheng appeared before him, she seemed lively and spirited. He had assumed that when people said she wouldn’t survive long, they meant months or half a year—not that only two or three days remained.
The physician staggered out of the mansion, unsure why the Regency Prince was so furious. What did a dying girl have to do with the most powerful man in the realm?
Inside the room, the dim firelight cast a yellow glow over those anxiously gathered at the bedside.
Mu Shengsheng’s blood had been cleaned; she lay with her eyes tightly shut, her breath faint as a wisp. Lan Xun sat at her side, frowning, while Tianshu and Xuanji hovered cautiously nearby.
Neither had seen the Regency Prince so troubled before—his expression a mix of regret and distress.
Exchanging a glance, Tianshu eventually spoke. “Your Highness, I will rush to Jiangnan immediately and fetch Physician Luo.”
Physician Luo was a descendant of Hua Tuo, a master of medicine whose skills could revive the near-dead. Surely he could save Mu Shengsheng.
Lan Xun did not reply. Tianshu assumed his silence meant consent and strode out into the night.
Xuanji hesitated briefly before speaking: “Your Highness, you must attend court tomorrow. Rest here first—I will guard the room…”
But Lan Xun interrupted, “You may step back.”
His expression was dark, his eyes unreadable. Xuanji dared not disobey and withdrew respectfully, remaining outside.
Lan Xun sat silently beside the bed, gazing at the girl’s disheveled hair and pale, delicate face. Her peaceful expression seemed on the brink of death.
Thinking of what he had said to her moments ago—perhaps those were the last words she would see him speak—he closed his eyes, feeling inhuman.
He lifted his hand, fingertips tracing her hairline.
In comparison, his hands felt rough—lightly brushing, he could leave marks on her fragile skin.
Yet she couldn’t even touch him, and still she dared provoke him.