At the break of dawn, Zhu Qingyu woke up.
She had slept well—rarely had she enjoyed such a good and uninterrupted sleep since entering the palace to treat the Emperor, and especially after killing someone for the first time.
The blankets were warm, and she lay in Gu Zhao’s arms, her hand resting on his chest.
Her entire body felt warm, pressed against him; it was almost too hot.
The stress symptoms from the killing the day before seemed to have vanished.
The chill that had seeped from deep within her, the uncontrollable shivers, the sensation of blood clinging to her skin that she couldn’t wash away—all of it was gone.
Zhu Qingyu tried moving her fingers. Even the strength in her hands had returned somewhat, unlike the night before when she couldn’t even hold a spoon.
Though her neck and throat were still painfully sore, had she finally recovered?
As she thought this, Gu Zhao gripped the hand she had been moving on his chest and asked:
“Awake?”
His voice sounded fully alert, without a hint of sleepiness, as if he had been awake for a while. She wondered why he hadn’t gotten up.
Zhu Qingyu lifted her head slightly to look at him. They were very close.
Observing his face at this proximity, she realized that Vice Minister Gu indeed had a fine appearance, captivating the longer she looked, hard to tear her gaze away.
Her eyes traced his. They seemed to hold starlight, deep and bright when they looked at her, making it difficult not to drown in such radiance.
Then her gaze fell on his lips.
Those stress symptoms hadn’t entirely disappeared—she still found herself thinking that Gu Zhao’s lips looked good to kiss.
Once she became aware of this, every sensation suddenly amplified.
He held her hand against his chest. His palm was warm, even scorching, making her even hotter.
His chest felt broad and strong. When she had turned over last night and he pulled her into his arms, the muscles beneath her were taut, full of power.
Her sleeping posture had clearly been poor; she had practically wound all her limbs around him, her right leg hooked over his, her knee pressing against his waist and abdomen.
Zhu Qingyu moved her leg, trying to pull it back.
Gu Zhao tightened his hold on her hand, tilted his head back, and let out an unconscious groan.
The memory of Vice Minister Gu, breathless and trembling the night before, his voice pleading for her to stay still, came vividly to life in her mind.
“Please, Qingyu,” he had said.
He had looked so pitiful then.
Zhu Qingyu thought she must be twisted—this version of Gu Zhao made her want to tease him.
If he spoke like that between the sheets, she mused, she would surely harden her heart, torment him until he begged for more.
She would pin him down, forbidding him to move, and demand from above:
“Beg me for what? Tell me.”
Because she hadn’t spoken, Gu Zhao asked again:
“Are you hungry? Want to get up and eat?”
His voice was still unsteady, with a slight tremor.
Even that tremor sparked endless fantasies in her mind.
Zhu Qingyu suddenly pushed Gu Zhao away, sat up sharply, and even scooted deeper into the bed, creating distance between them and breaking the physical contact.
She thought she must be losing her mind.
What had she been thinking just now?
She really was ill, terribly so.
He was someone she shouldn’t provoke. She must have been delirious to even think about teasing him.
To toy with or covet something she shouldn’t have—if the Empress Dowager found out, it might cost her life.
No, not “might”; it definitely would.
Her safety came first. She couldn’t let lust cloud her judgment any longer. She needed to keep a physical distance from Gu Zhao.
Zhu Qingyu’s strong reaction made Gu Zhao misunderstand. His face filled with hurt as he looked at her:
“I’m sorry.”
Zhu Qingyu was too tangled in her own thoughts to grasp why he was apologizing.
When she finally understood, Gu Zhao had already gotten up, left the bed, and even taken a step back, saying again:
“I’m sorry. I…”
He tried to explain but gave up. He took her clothes from the rack and placed them by the bedside.
When he brought the clothes over, Zhu Qingyu grew very tense. Her heart, which had pounded wildly the night before, began thumping again.
Gu Zhao originally meant to help her dress, but seeing her unusual expression, he quickly stepped back:
“Don’t be afraid. I really wasn’t trying to do anything just now. I’ll go order the meal. Can you dress yourself? Do you need my help?”
Zhu Qingyu shook her head quickly, grabbed the clothes, and hid under the blanket.
Does she hate me that much?
Gu Zhao sighed:
“I’ll go arrange the meal. Take your time dressing. After we eat, I’ll take you to the Qianqing Palace. No one came from there last night, so the Emperor should be stable. We can go slowly.”
Gu Zhao left the inner chamber and passed the bookshelf, but couldn’t help turning back. He stopped at the screen, far from Zhu Qingyu, and said:
“I’ll try to control myself. Can you find a way not to hate me?”
Zhu Qingyu stared at him, startled. She wanted to tell him she didn’t think that way, but when she opened her mouth, her throat burned and no sound came out.
In the end, she only shook her head, meaning “I don’t hate you.”
Gu Zhao’s expression grew even more pained:
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
That time, Gu Zhao took longer than usual to arrange the meal. When he returned, he carried a chill mixed with the scent of soap. Drops of undried water clung to his hair, as if he had bathed again.
While setting the table, he was especially careful not to brush against Zhu Qingyu’s hand, afraid to cause another reaction.
Once, he had thought that even if she hated him, possession would be enough.
But now, just the idea of her not wanting to touch him—let alone hatred—left him speechless with sorrow.
Yes, every touch had always been his coercion.
Perhaps before, she had been forced to play along, accepting his closeness reluctantly.
But after last night, after killing someone, her spirit was shaken, and she could no longer keep up the pretense.
Throughout breakfast, each lost in their own thoughts, the silence was broken only by the soft clink of cups.
Zhu Qingyu ate slowly because of her sore throat.
Gu Zhao finished first. He walked to the desk, took a letter marked urgent from Bianzhou from his cloak, placed it on the table, and stared at it without opening it.
He stayed still for so long that Zhu Qingyu couldn’t help glancing at him.
Sensing her look, he opened the letter right in front of her.
It was short—only two pages—but he read it for a long time.
So long that by the time Zhu Qingyu finished her meal and stood up, Gu Zhao had only just closed the letter. In front of her, he threw it into the brazier.
His expression unchanged, he smiled at her:
“Let’s go. We’re heading to the Qianqing Palace.”
On the way to the Qianqing Palace, Gu Zhao walked beside Zhu Qingyu but deliberately kept two steps apart, careful not to accidentally brush against her.
As he walked, Gu Zhao kept a calm expression, but inside, a storm raged.
The letter said that on the first night, she had checked into the Yangzhou Guild Hall without a travel permit. Zhang Jingyan had claimed she was his cousin, said she had lost her permit, and vouched for her.
Later, before she left the Yangzhou Guild Hall, she obtained a replacement permit, but the information on it belonged to someone entirely unrelated to the Zhang family.
When they traced the details on the permit, it led to a refugee—a refugee who had already died.
He didn’t want to face it, but eventually, he had to.
Why had she borrowed another person’s identity?
What had seemed impossible was now turning into reality.
There appeared to be something even more terrifying than her hating him.
When he reached the Qianqing Palace, Shen Xu had already returned. After such a major failure last night, the commander of the Imperial Guard could hardly escape blame. The moment he received the news, he had rushed back to the palace.
After seeing Zhu Qingyu into the hall, Gu Zhao stepped out and called out to Shen Xu:
“I need to see Shopkeeper Liu. Right now.”
