Amidst the swirling snowstorm, Xie Lin draped his cloak over Jiang Yunshu and carried her swiftly through the storm.
To ensure she could draw warmth from him, Xie Lin kept his robes open, pressing Jiang Yunshu’s icy body tightly against his bare chest.
The mountain paths were impassable by carriage, so Xie Lin carried her all the way to the foothills.
By the time they reached the mountainside, guards had brought a sedan chair, yet Xie Lin refused to let go, sprinting down the slope with Jiang Yunshu still in his arms.
The sedan chair required two bearers—too slow. No matter how many layers he wrapped around her, Jiang Yunshu remained frozen. And Xie Lin didn’t want to release her, not even for a moment.
The snow-covered trails were treacherously slippery, the loose white powder masking the rugged terrain beneath. Walking alone was difficult enough, let alone carrying someone.
Only someone with Xie Lin’s extraordinary martial prowess could move so effortlessly, as if treading on flat ground. Even the imperial guards, skilled as they were, struggled to keep up with his pace—unburdened as they were.
Xie Lin carried Jiang Yunshu all the way to the carriage waiting at the mountain’s base.
Inside, a brazier burned, but the warmth was insufficient for someone as frozen as Jiang Yunshu.
Xie Lin lay her down and, for the first time, cast aside his usual fastidiousness—his robes remained open as he pulled her entirely into his embrace.
Frostbitten limbs couldn’t be warmed with hot water, so Xie Lin gently wiped her wrists and palms with lukewarm water, over and over.
Gradually, the ghastly pallor of Jiang Yunshu’s lips faded, replaced by a faint flush of color.
Xie Lin didn’t dare pause, tirelessly repeating the motions to revive her.
Jiang Yunshu’s eyelids fluttered… a tingling sensation spread through her frostbitten ears, fingers, and toes as the carriage’s warmth seeped in.
She awoke briefly, nestled in a familiar, comforting embrace, her senses filled with Xie Lin’s scent.
Her hand brushed against his abdomen—warm, firm, and unexpectedly yielding beneath her touch.
She poked, then pinched. Xie Lin didn’t resist.
Ah… Jiang Yunshu realized—this must be a dream.
Only in dreams would Xie Lin hold her like this, robes undone, letting her explore so freely.
After all, he was fastidious. Even the lingering smell of hotpot on her would send him demanding she bathe before approaching.
And now? After days of captivity, her clothes torn and soiled from stumbling through the wilderness…
How could he possibly hold her so close?
His chin rested atop her head; her face was buried in the crook of his neck.
Yes, this was undoubtedly a dream—a final, desperate fantasy, like the dying little matchgirl’s vision of a stove, a roast goose, and her grandmother’s arms.
Had she skipped straight to the embrace?
Even knowing it was a dream, Jiang Yunshu clung to him, tears streaming down into his collar.
She tilted her head, smearing her tears and sniffles across his skin. It was her dream, after all—he couldn’t scold her here.
"Why couldn’t you find me sooner… I nearly froze to death…"
She wanted to bite him, but exhaustion overtook her. With those murmured words, darkness swallowed her again.
When she next awoke, Jiang Yunshu lay in the familiar chambers of Weiyang Palace.
Staring blankly at the canopy, she pinched her hand and thigh—confirming this was no dream.
Her mind was blank, disoriented. Fragments of memory surfaced: kidnapped, imprisoned in the mountains… Weren’t the bandits taking her to the battlefield?
Xie Lin, who had kept vigil by her bedside, called for the imperial physician the moment she stirred.
At the sound of his voice, Jiang Yunshu jolted upright, seizing his wrist. "The Prince of Yanbei!" she gasped. "He’s marching on the capital!"
Xie Lin blinked. "It’s already over," he said. "We won."
Jiang Yunshu: …??
She’d slept through an entire war?
