Chapter 16

 

Li Zhi’s eyes fixed on Xie Lanxu’s legs—normal, agile, and strong.

They were nothing like the paralyzed legs of someone supposedly suffering from lower-body paralysis.

Still reeling from shock, she watched as Xie Lanxu skillfully climbed the inclined rock face, his movements fluid and confident.

When disaster strikes, some questions can wait.

Li Zhi quickly followed, scrambling upward.

The torrent of muddy yellow water, mixed with soil and debris, poured down relentlessly. She pursed her lips, dodging sprays of dirty water while focusing all her attention on her hands and feet. A single misstep would send her plummeting to her death.

Unbeknownst to her, sweat was already soaking through her back.

They were climbing back to the point from which they had fallen, about 100 meters up the slope. Above them, more muddy water cascaded from another incline, forming a roaring waterfall that rushed violently toward the valley below.

Yellow foam splashed wildly, and the rock face, slick with water, made every movement precarious. Both climbers furrowed their brows, their nerves stretched taut.

Finally, Li Zhi’s right hand grasped the edge of the path. With a forceful heave, she tumbled onto it, disheveled but alive. They had returned to the site of their fall.

Not far away, Xie Lanxu sat motionless, his face pale, his sleeves soaked in the muddy water, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

The rain of falling stones gradually ceased, the yellow floodwaters receded, and the roaring waterfall visibly thinned.

In the brief span 10–15 minutes, the world around them had returned to its initial tranquility. Only the devastation left behind served as evidence of the chaos they had just survived.

“What now?” Li Zhi asked.

“They’re slower than us. We’ll catch up,” Xie Lanxu said.

Using his knees for support, Xie Lanxu stood—showing no trace of the supposed paralysis.

Li Zhi followed, wiping the mud from her face with the cleanest part of her sleeve. The harrowing experience left her heart pounding as though a drum was being beaten in her chest.

They trudged along the path, following the muddied tracks left by others.

The trail snaked downward, and by sunset, the two of them reached the valley floor.

Glancing at the darkening sky, Xie Lanxu suggested finding a cave to spend the night. After splitting up to search, Li Zhi returned empty-handed, but Xie Lanxu had found a suitable shelter.

When she followed him, she discovered it was less a cave and more a shallow recess in the mountain wall. Still, it was a windbreak, and that was enough.

The surrounding forest provided ample firewood.

Before long, a fire was lit.

Li Zhi, who knew the basics of starting a fire with sticks and identifying flint, couldn’t help but be intrigued by Xie Lanxu’s skill. He appeared practiced, as though such tasks were nothing new to him.

Once the fire was lit, they each took a side, facing away from each other as they hung their soaked clothes to dry.

Now, at last, they had a chance to talk.

Li Zhi voiced the question she had been holding back, “When did Your Highness’s legs recover?”

Xie Lanxu didn’t respond, and the silence led her to another conclusion.

“Your Highness was never paralyzed,” she said with conviction.

His silence confirmed her guess. Li Zhi wasn’t angry—just incredulous. She had seen the silver needles piercing his knee during the barefoot physician’s examination, yet he hadn’t flinched, his expression completely composed.

Could the physician have been hiding it too?

Li Zhi quickly dismissed the thought.

“Why would Your Highness do this?” she asked.

“Since becoming ‘paralyzed,’ have we encountered any kidnappings or assassination attempts?” Xie Lanxu countered.

“…No.”

“A healthy imperial grandson is a threat to many. A paralyzed one, less so,” Xie Lanxu said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Li Zhi could understand his reasoning. She wouldn’t ask foolish questions about why he had hidden the truth from her—she never expected him to trust her so easily in the first place.

She spoke tactfully, “I will not disrupt Your Highness’s plans.”

“You don’t resent me?” Xie Lanxu asked softly.

“I understand Your Highness’s difficult circumstances. Caution is natural,” Li Zhi replied. “One day, I will earn Your Highness’s trust.”

Xie Lanxu did not believe such a day would come.

Sitting with his back to the fire, he toyed with a stone he had picked up. Pale yellow and white patterns coiled across its surface like a snake, curling coldly around his fingers.

People lie, their hearts and words at odds.

Those who claim no regrets often harbor lifelong grievances. Those who profess no hatred frequently burn with rage. Those who swear love might one day poison his cup.

Why waste time finding truth from lies when more direct methods existed?

The cold shadows of the forest stretched out under the moonlight, covering the world with a veil of unspoken secrets.

The clothes hung on branches dried partially, and the two of them dressed before sitting by the fire again to continue drying.

Li Zhi stole glances at Xie Lanxu’s profile, his expression shadowed and unreadable in the firelight.

He could have faked his death to escape exile. Why insist on playing the role of an imperial grandson banished three thousand miles?

“If you have more questions, ask them now,” Xie Lanxu said.

Naturally, Li Zhi wouldn’t ask anything so sensitive.

“How did Your Highness endure the silver needles?” she asked instead.

It was an offhand question, but Xie Lanxu stared into the fire as though lost in thought.

After a moment, he reached toward the orange flames.

His pale, emaciated fingers dipped into the fire, instantly engulfed by the heat. Startled, Li Zhi yanked his hand out before she even realized she had moved.

Though it had happened in an instant, her heart raced faster than it had during their climb.

“Your Highness!” she exclaimed.

Xie Lanxu’s expression remained calm as he studied the fingers he had just thrust into the flames.

“…I can’t feel it,” he said simply.

Li Zhi froze, realizing he was answering her earlier question.

Plunging his fingers into the fire had been his response.

“Your Highness can’t feel pain?” she asked, incredulous.

Is it possible for someone to not feel pain in this world?

“What does pain feel like?” Xie Lanxu asked in return.

Only by looking into his eyes could Li Zhi believe that such an absurd question was asked sincerely.

Li Zhi had faced many difficult questions before, but she was certain that Xie Lanxu’s question was one that even the most learned scholars would find challenging to answer.

What does pain feel like?

It was like explaining color to someone blind from birth—no matter how simple or vivid the explanation, it was impossible to paint the concept of color in their mind.

Li Zhi couldn’t answer his question.

“Does anyone else know about this?” she asked.

“Among the living,” Xie Lanxu looked into her eyes, “only you and I.”

“Rest assured, Your Highness, I won’t betray the trust you have placed in me,” Li Zhi promised.

Xie Lanxu gazed at the fire, tossing the stone he had been holding into the flames.

The stone broke a brittle branch, making a sharp crackling sound. Sparks flared briefly in the darkness of the night.

“What was your name at home?” he asked, staring at the fire.

Had there been anyone else present, Li Zhi might have thought Xie Lanxu was asking the stone’s name.

“Is Your Highness asking about my childhood name?” Li Zhi replied. “I didn’t have one, but my sisters called me Banban.”

“…Banban.”

A nickname carrying the poetic meaning of being vividly picturesque.

Xie Lanxu softly repeated the name. Spoken by him, the ordinary syllables seemed to gain a hint of inexplicable tenderness.

Though Li Zhi was still curious about Xie Lanxu’s inability to feel pain, since he had changed the subject, she tactfully refrained from pressing further.

“Does Your Highness have a childhood name?” she followed his lead.

Xie Lanxu’s thoughts seemed to wander far away, to a time long past.

Li Zhi waited patiently until he murmured softly, “…Ah-Li.”

“Which ‘Li’ is that?” Li Zhi asked.

Xie Lanxu didn’t answer her question directly.

Instead, he took her hand, his cool fingertips tracing slowly over her palm. Li Zhi suppressed a ticklish sensation as she realized he was writing the character for “koi” (锦鲤, jǐn lǐ).

Linking the cold, reserved Xie Lanxu with the image of a vibrant koi fish in a pond, Li Zhi suddenly found him unexpectedly endearing.

“Did the Crown Prince name you that?” she asked.

“My mother did,” Xie Lanxu replied.

The Crown Prince’s consort was a name that even commoners knew.

As a princess from the former dynasty, Wei Yiwang was someone of significant importance. Instead of being sent to a nunnery or living a life of solitude, she had been bestowed upon the Crown Prince, Xie Songzhao, as his main wife—an unprecedented event in history.

This decision, touching on the legitimacy of imperial bloodlines, caused an uproar at court. Ministers crowded before Ziwei Palace, begging the emperor to reconsider. Yet the emperor had ignored their protests and insisted on marrying the former dynasty’s princess to his son, the Crown Prince.

Years after their marriage, they had only one son—Xie Lanxu, who rarely appeared before the public.

“Banban.”

Li Zhi froze for a moment before realizing that Xie Lanxu was calling her name.

“Your Highness,” she looked at the young man on the other side of the flames, puzzled.

“Don’t lie to me. You’ll regret it,” he said, his eyes downcast. His long, dark lashes cast a shadow over his deep-set gaze.

Li Zhi watched him for a while before breaking into a bright smile.

“Alright.”

At dawn the next day, they buried the remains of the extinguished fire and resumed their journey.

The traces of the large exile convoy were as conspicuous as a torch in the night.

The two of them followed the trail left by the group and went forward. By evening, thanks to their small numbers and faster pace, they had caught up with the exhausted convoy.

Before reuniting with the group, Li Zhi improvised once again, crafting a simple wooden sled.

When Li Zhi dragged Xie Lanxu, seated on the sled, into view, the survivors of the landslide stood frozen in shock.

Zhen Qiao, who had assumed Xie Lanxu was dead after falling off the cliff, couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw him alive and well. The situation was so surreal that the first thought that crossed his mind was of “destiny,” a concept he’d only read about in books.

Could this exiled imperial grandson really be as simple as he seemed?