Cuizhu! Stop gawking and get over here to help!
Chu Mingzhao didn’t bother maintaining her villainous facade any longer; she rushed forward to support him. The moment her fingers brushed against his arm, she sucked in a sharp breath. Through the soaked fabric, his skin radiated a heat so intense it was frightening.
“M-Miss, is he going to die?”
Cuizhu stared at Pei Yan’s ashen, paper-like face, her voice trembling with tears.
“Shut it! If he dies, we’re both buried with him!”
Chu Mingzhao cursed through gritted teeth, yanking the silk-cotton quilt toward her.
Pei Yan was dead weight, every muscle hard and unyielding as stone.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Chu Mingzhao managed to roll him onto his side and wrapped him tightly in the quilt.
To keep out any drafts, she threw all dignity aside and straddled him, compressing the quilt into a massive cocoon around his body.
“Give me the hand warmer!” she demanded, reaching out.
Cuizhu hastily handed over the silk-wrapped metal warmer.
Chu Mingzhao checked its temperature and slipped it inside the folds of the quilt, pressing it directly against his icy heart.
The silver-charcoal brazier was moved as close to the haystack as possible, emitting a clean, smokeless heat that radiated steadily through the small stable. Slow but sure, the temperature in the cramped space began to rise.
Breathless and exhausted, Chu Mingzhao slumped onto a pile of hay nearby, glaring at the unconscious Pei Yan. The resentment building inside her could’ve torn the roof off the Prime Minister’s mansion.
Lounging around raising a horse slave? No, she was clearly nursing a spoiled ancestor.
She stared at his face—pale white tinged with a sickly flush—and couldn’t help jabbing a finger hard against his forehead.
“You idiot, do not die on me. If you kick the bucket, how am I supposed to push this plot forward? Won’t I get chopped to pieces by your shadow guards and old loyalists?”
In the darkness, Pei Yan’s consciousness was torn between an icy abyss and a sea of fire.
Actually, by the time Chu Mingzhao had climbed onto him, tugging and yanking to wrap the quilt around him, he had already regained a sliver of awareness.
His ears rang. The sharp, venomous curses he expected were gone, replaced by Chu Mingzhao’s frantic, almost pleading murmur.
The faintest flutter stirred beneath Pei Yan’s closed eyelids.
He wanted to open his eyes and make out the hypocrite’s face, but his eyelids felt heavy as stone.
Idiot… plot… don’t die…
Old loyalists… shadow guards… chopped to pieces…
These scattered fragments swirled repetitively in Pei Yan’s mind.
This woman was definitely not right.
She was the legitimate daughter of the Prime Minister’s mansion, walking on high and crushing him underfoot without mercy.
What did she have to fear? Why was she pleading with a helpless horse slave, a man she could cut down at will?
And more important—how did she know about his shadow guards and old followers? Had she gathered intelligence?
Countless questions tangled like a knot of disorder.
But the silk-cotton quilt pressing down on him was unbearably heavy, and the scorching warmth by his chest drove away the chill with a vengeance, forcing him back into a deep, hazy slumber.
The stifling fever that had tormented him finally receded.
His breathing grew steady, and he sank fully into unconsciousness.
Before Chu Mingzhao could catch her breath, a frantic burst of footsteps came from outside the stable gate.
“Eldest Miss! What are you doing in this filthy place?”
The newcomer was the head maid from her mother’s quarters, her face tight with worry.
“The madam sent me looking for you everywhere. The Third Prince and Seventh Prince are visiting. She wants you to come serve tea at the front hall immediately.”
Chu Mingzhao’s scalp prickled. This nonstop schedule would work a mule to death.
She glanced down at her skirt, smeared with mud and hay, sucked in a deep breath, and in an instant wiped the exhaustion from her expression to assume the lofty airs befitting the Prime Minister’s legitimate daughter.
“I acknowledge,” she said coolly.
She shot a frosty glance at Cuizhu, who knelt beside her. “Keep an eye on this lowly servant. Without my orders, he is not allowed to die. If anything happens to him, I’ll hold you responsible.”
Cuizhu kowtowed repeatedly, swearing she understood.
Chu Mingzhao strode quickly out of the stable. The cold wind rushing toward her helped clear some of the heat from her mind.
Returning to her chambers, she changed her clothes twice as fast, making sure her neck was fully covered.
In front of the bronze mirror, she double-checked her face—radiantly stunning, brash, and haughty—no cracks in the facade, and then set off for the front hall with her attendants.
At the mansion’s front reception hall,
The floor-heating was burning hot, and rare wax plum flowers in ornate pots released a subtle fragrance in the corners.
The moment Chu Mingzhao stepped across the towering threshold, her gaze landed unerringly on the two seated guest figures.
Pei Lin sat erectly in one of the guest chairs, holding a black-glazed Jian tea bowl, idly fingering the foam.
Today, he wore a simple moon-white robe with dark patterns, a jade crown holding his hair. His refined, elegant features carried not a single flaw. Simply sitting there, he exuded the self-possession of one long accustomed wielding power.
Plopped into the Grand Master’s chair beside him was Pei Yuan, about as composed as a sack of jelly.
He wore black martial attire with silver stitching at the cuffs, his long legs carelessly splayed wide.
The instant he saw Chu Mingzhao enter, Pei Yuan’s eyes lit up. He began wildly winking and jerking his chin, as if his face might detach from its joints.
If the look could be translated, it would be four words: I need to talk.
But Chu Mingzhao dismissed his antics like ignoring a clown, sweeping into a proper ceremonial bow.
“Your Highness, the Third Prince and Your Highness, the Seventh Prince, I, your subject, greet you.”
Pei Lin set down the tea bowl with a soft clink. Looking up, he tilted his lips into a measured smile, his voice warm as polished jade.
“Miss Chu, no need for such formalities. I heard that after the palace feast last night you were feeling unwell. I hope this unannounced visit hasn’t disturbed your rest.”
Chu Mingzhao lowered her eyelashes slightly, presenting the original malicious character’s spoiled, enamored attitude toward the Third Prince. Her voice dripped honey:
“Your Highness’s care is excessive. I only drank a few extra cups of fruit wine. After sleeping through the night, I’m quite recovered.”
Even as she answered in sweet murmurs, she was roaring with internal eye rolls.
All dolled up like a harmless, sweet glutinous rice ball—clear breeze, bright moon—too bad cut one open, and it’s all black sesame filling inside.
Right, she had to think of some excuse to take off. Otherwise, how could could talk to Pei Yuan behind Pei Lin’s back?
That road flare couldn’t possibly make his bored gestures even louder—all those squints and twitches definitely meant something big was about to happen.
Pei Lin lowered his eyelids, a barely-there flicker of something strange passing through his pupils. He almost broke his facade on the spot.
Sweet glutinous rice ball with black sesame filling.
Only someone like her could come up with a metaphor that fresh.
He sipped his tea calmly, and when he looked up, returned to his warm wind and spring all smiles expression.
“Since you are well, Miss, that’s good news.”
Fingering his sleeve, he said in a mild tone:
“Speaking of it—just as I was entering the mansion, I overheard someone mention that the Prime Minister recently acquired a new batch of Ferghana horses—fiery steeds from the Western Regions. I heard they’re being kept in the mansion’s stables.”
Turning his head, he directed a gentle gaze at Pei Yuan, slouched lazily aside.
“Seventh, you’ve always been famed as a horse connoisseur. Since we’re already here, wouldn’t you like to take a look at something uncommon?”
