Chapter 12

 

Later the next day, Li Zhi stood outside the carriage with her freshly distributed rations. She knocked on the side of the carriage for some time, but no one answered.

“Your Highness?” Li Zhi called out tentatively.

The brocade curtain remained motionless. The yellow horse pulling the carriage snorted, its breath forming a faint white mist in the cold air.

The exiled prisoners were gathered in clusters some distance away. Frost blanketed the ground and treetops, and in such low temperatures, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to faint from the cold.

“Forgive me,” Li Zhi murmured softly before lifting a corner of the curtain.

Pale moonlight spilled into the carriage, revealing chaos within. The tea table was overturned on the floor, and most of a jug of clean water had been spilled. Xie Lanxu lay nearby, half of his sleeve soaked through and his face flushed an alarming red from fever.

“Your Highness!”

Her exclamation caught the attention of Zhen Qiao, who hurried over with a frown. “Why are you shouting like that without reason?”

Before Li Zhi could answer, his gaze fell on the scene inside the carriage.

“Your Highness!” This time, Zhen Qiao’s expression changed dramatically.

He leapt onto the carriage and, while apologizing profusely, pressed a hand to Xie Lanxu’s forehead. His face darkened immediately.

Just by looking at Xie Lanxu’s flushed forehead, Li Zhi could tell his fever was dangerously high.

“Fetch clean water and fresh towels,” Zhen Qiao ordered Li Zhi with a furrowed brow.

Li Zhi quickly approached the other servants. When they heard that the imperial grandson had fallen ill, clean water and towels were promptly brought to the carriage.

Zhen Qiao attempted to tend to Xie Lanxu but, being an unskilled man accustomed to being taken care of himself, he had no idea how to look after a sick person. Moreover, Xie Lanxu was drenched in sweat, making even the simple task of wiping him down a challenge.

Caught in a dilemma, Zhen Qiao noticed Li Zhi standing at the carriage door, her concern evident.

“What is your relationship with His Highness?” he asked.

“His Highness once showed me great kindness,” Li Zhi replied evasively.

“Have you taken care of anyone at home before?” Zhen Qiao pressed.

Li Zhi nodded. “My mother passed away early. When my sisters or I fell ill, we took care of each other.”

Relieved, Zhen Qiao allowed Li Zhi to board the carriage to tend to Xie Lanxu.

“If you need anything, tell me or another overseer,” he instructed.

Li Zhi touched Xie Lanxu’s burning forehead, confirming her suspicion—it felt like a scorching iron plate.

A fever this severe would not subside on its own.

“He needs a physician,” Li Zhi said with a frown.

Though Zhen Qiao agreed, there was little he could do to find one in the middle of a desolate wilderness. He promised to stop at the next village they passed to find a barefoot physician for Xie Lanxu. In the meantime, he tasked Li Zhi with taking care of Xie Lanxu and offered her extra rations as thanks.

Before leaving, Zhen Qiao discreetly warned Li Zhi: caring for the imperial grandson was a grave responsibility. If Xie Lanxu died, she would be buried with him.

Li Zhi picked up the fallen water jug and wiped the spilled water from the floor. She rummaged through the chest of clean clothes, tied a black headband over her eyes, and murmured an apology before removing Xie Lanxu’s damp clothes.

Losing her sight didn’t make the task any easier. On the contrary, it heightened her awareness of the unfamiliar warmth of his body under her fingers.

She forced herself to imagine she was caring for one of her sisters or a freshly shaven puppy—anything to hasten the process. Working quickly, she wiped the sweat from Xie Lanxu’s body and clumsily dressed him in clean clothes.

When she finally removed the blindfold, her gaze locked with Xie Lanxu’s half-open eyes.

“…”

The air grew heavy with silence. Li Zhi felt her throat tighten.

She cleared her throat and held up the headband as she explained, “I didn’t look.”

“…What happened to me?” Xie Lanxu turned his gaze away, his weary eyes briefly scanning the chest of clothes and the basin of clean water.

“Your Highness has fallen ill with a fever. Your clothes were soaked with sweat, so I took the liberty of changing them. Please forgive my impudence,” Li Zhi said.

Noticing that Xie Lanxu didn’t seem angry, she added, “Zhen Qiao said he will find a physician at the next village.”

Burning with fever, Xie Lanxu’s thoughts were muddled. Sensing no danger in the carriage, his eyelids drooped shut once more.

“No…”

Li Zhi leaned closer to catch his faint whisper: “Do not… eat their food or drink their water…”

With that, Xie Lanxu drifted into unconsciousness again.

He remained asleep through the night, while Li Zhi stayed alert in the carriage, unconcerned by the gossip of the exiles outside.

The next morning, as the group set out again, Zhen Qiao motioned for Li Zhi to remain in the carriage to take care of Xie Lanxu.

Under the envious eyes of the exiles, Li Zhi was able to ride for the day’s journey.

Xie Lanxu’s fever remained severe. The fresh clothes she had put on him were soon soaked through again. His skin burned like boiling water, and his breathing was so faint that Li Zhi had to place her fingers near his nose to feel it. Sitting in the carriage, she was far from at ease, constantly fearing that Xie Lanxu might stop breathing at any moment.

Amid her constant anxiety, the convoy of exiles finally arrived at a small village.

Zhen Qiao brought back an elderly man with white hair, who was said to be the village’s physician for minor ailments.

The old man trembled as he climbed into the carriage. First, he felt Xie Lanxu’s forehead, then checked his pulse. Unsure if it was due to a lack of confidence in his own skills or the peculiarity of the symptoms, the old man repeatedly checked Xie Lanxu’s pulse, shaking his head more vigorously each time.

Zhen Qiao could no longer bear the eerie silence and broke it:

“Physician, how is the patient?”

The old man sighed deeply. “Medicine is of no use. His fate is in the hands of the heavens.”

The physician’s words made Zhen Qiao panic, a side of him Li Zhi had never seen before.

“Physician, this man’s status is critical. Please, do your utmost to help him!” Zhen Qiao pleaded.

“I will do all I can, but beyond that, it’s up to the will of the heavens,” the old man replied.

Unable to write, the physician verbally relayed a prescription and instructions for preparing the medicine.

Zhen Qiao was about to search for paper to record it, but Li Zhi interjected. “I’ve memorized it.”

She recited the prescription verbally, and the old man nodded, reiterating the preparation method for her benefit.

Thus, the task of preparing the medicine naturally fell to Li Zhi.

Being allowed to ride in a carriage was considered a stroke of fortune among the exiles. Even those who once thought such privileges scandalous now vied for the opportunity. Madam Wang, who had previously been haughty, was the first to approach Zhen Qiao to request a replacement.

“…She’s just a young girl; how could she know how to take care of someone? I’ve often taken care of the master in my household. Let me take over,” Madam Wang earnestly suggested.

Had this been earlier, Zhen Qiao might have entertained her request courteously. But now, preoccupied with his own worries, he had no patience to spare.

Rebuffed, Madam Wang left in a huff, pretending nothing had happened.

Every hour or two, Zhen Qiao would return to the carriage to check on Xie Lanxu’s condition.

Unlike the other servants who worried only about being implicated, Zhen Qiao had his own reasons for concern.

His true task was not escorting prisoners but reporting Xie Lanxu’s condition in meticulous detail to his superiors, who in turn reported directly to the Emperor.

The orders he received were simple: “Follow the will of the heavens.” Over the course of the journey, Zhen Qiao had witnessed Xie Lanxu narrowly escaping death several times. Yet he could not fathom what the Emperor’s “will of the heavens” truly meant.

He dared not ensure Xie Lanxu’s survival, nor could he let him die. Any misstep might disrupt this so-called divine will. Each day was a tightrope walk between extremes.

One wrong move, and Zhen Qiao would face irreparable ruin.

Sighing heavily, Zhen Qiao instructed Li Zhi to keep an eye on the small stove where the medicine was brewing and left, worry etched on his face.

Li Zhi worked deftly at brewing the medicine. Though she was a young lady of some status, being motherless and unloved left her little better off than a servant. Growing up, she and her twin sister had nursed each other through illnesses, so caring for others came naturally to her.

Between brewing, she diligently replaced the damp, heated cloth on Xie Lanxu’s forehead.

When the first bowl of medicine was ready, Li Zhi carried the dark concoction into the carriage. She propped Xie Lanxu against the wall, supporting his head as she brought the bowl to his lips.

But as soon as the medicine touched his lips, Xie Lanxu clamped his mouth shut. When she tried pouring a little into the seam of his lips, the liquid trickled out immediately.

Li Zhi tried several times, to no avail. Frustrated, she paused to think.

“The prescription was given by a village healer,” she murmured near his ear. “I’ve checked the ingredients—they’re all ordinary herbs. I even tasted the decoction myself; there’s nothing strange about it.”

She repeated her assurances several times. Miraculously, when she tried again, the medicine went down.

Traveling, cooling him with water, brewing medicine, persuading him to drink it—this routine persisted for two days. Xie Lanxu remained unconscious, and Li Zhi resorted to crumbling dry rations into the broth to feed him.

She stayed on the carriage day and night, caring for him as if he were her closest kin, praying for his swift recovery.

Gossip among the exiles meant nothing to her.

Just as she fought to survive each day, she believed Xie Lanxu must also have a reason to live.

She was convinced he would not be defeated by illness so easily.

That night, Li Zhi dozed fitfully as usual. At one point, she woke and instinctively checked Xie Lanxu’s breathing.

The icy air jolted her fully awake.

Leaning closer, she tested his breath again. Still, she felt no warmth.

The flush on his cheeks had faded, leaving a pallor as cold as moonlight. When she touched his skin, it was as frigid as the air.

If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, Li Zhi might have thought him dead.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!” Li Zhi called softly, but Xie Lanxu did not respond.

She pressed her palms against his face, trying to warm him. The contact seemed to work; his long lashes fluttered faintly, like the stirrings of a dream.

Encouraged, Li Zhi rummaged through the chest and piled every heavy garment she could find over him.

Even when she had been whipped by Zheng Gong, she had not felt her heart constrict like this.

If he died, all her efforts would be gone in vain.

No matter what, he must not die!