Chapter 7: Wounds

Hearing Pei Yuan’s voice, Bao Ning sniffled and quickly darted back into the house.

Just before pushing the door open, her mind was still occupied with that rat—what on earth had it been eating to grow that big and fat? There really wasn’t much food around here.

Her aunt once said, if there’s one big rat in a house, there’s probably a whole nest of smaller ones. The thought gave Bao Ning a shiver.

Compared to furry rats crawling all over, the cold and distant Pei Yuan didn’t seem quite so frightening anymore.

…A strong smell of alcohol hit her as she entered.

Bao Ning steadied herself and finally saw what Pei Yuan was doing.

He had a thin coat draped over his shoulders and was sitting against the wall. His long right leg was bent, while the left lay flat on the bed, pant leg rolled up to the thigh. He was disinfecting a wound with alcohol.

This was the first time Bao Ning had truly seen Pei Yuan’s leg.

She had always thought his left leg was simply paralyzed—but she had never imagined it was so badly injured. A gash the length of a palm ran down the shinbone, deep enough to see the bone itself. Perhaps it had never been properly treated, because it hadn’t healed well, some parts even festering with pus.

Aside from that, the entire leg was in terrible condition, crisscrossed with wounds both deep and shallow, winding like crawling centipedes.

Bao Ning gasped. She feared pain, and she feared blood. Though the injury was on Pei Yuan, just seeing it made her feel a phantom pain herself—a cold chill slid down her spine.

Pei Yuan was staring at her expression, and as expected, saw the fear in her eyes. Pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he lowered his gaze and let out a mocking smile.

His head dipped. By the dim light of the candle on the table, Bao Ning saw that his face was injured too. A scar an inch long ran from the corner of his brow across his forehead.

Pei Yuan asked in a low, careless voice, “Scared?”

Bao Ning clutched the hem of her skirt tightly and nodded.

Pei Yuan was silent for a moment. An indescribable feeling stirred in his chest—sour and bitter, yet somehow a relief. He had expected this answer. Who wouldn’t be afraid seeing him like this? It was better this way—better that she saw his true self and left sooner rather than later.

He gave a soft grunt and reached for the wine on the table.

Bao Ning walked over to his side and looked at the wound for a while before asking softly, “Does it hurt?”

“Not at all,” Pei Yuan replied, pouring the wine directly onto his leg with a splash.

The murky yellow liquid mixed with pus and blood as it ran down his shin. Pei Yuan leaned against the wall, eyes closed, the veins bulging on his arms from the pain. He clenched his jaw, enduring it without a sound.

Bao Ning was startled by his actions and instinctively shut her eyes. It was a long moment before she dared to open them again, and saw beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

She sighed, pulled a handkerchief from her waist, and gently wiped his sweat. “It obviously hurts—why pretend it doesn’t?”

Pei Yuan’s eyes flew open. He stared at her strangely. “What did you say?”

Bao Ning sat down, her gaze resting on his leg, and spoke slowly: “Are all men like this? My younger brother is the same. He practices martial arts every day and always ends up with cuts and scrapes. I’d ask him if it hurt, and he’d say no. I believed him—until one day I went to call him for dinner and saw him sitting on his bed hugging his knee, eyes red from crying as he applied medicine.”

She shook her head. “What’s the point of pretending? If it hurts, just say it. It’s not shameful to show weakness in front of people close to you. Insisting on being tough only makes things harder for yourself, and no one even knows.”

Pei Yuan felt dizzy from her odd reasoning and stared at her like she was some kind of strange creature.

Bao Ning didn’t notice his expression. She was focused on the wound, already thinking about what medicine she would need.

She had some basic knowledge of medicine.

Her aunt, Ming Yiniang’s father, had once been a well-known physician in the capital. After he passed away and the Ming family fell on hard times, Ming Yiniang married into the noble Guogong Mansion as a concubine. Her father had been highly respected, which gave her a strong position in the household. She had one daughter, Ji Tongchu, the second-ranking daughter of the house, who had married the legitimate son of the Marquis of Chongyuan three years ago.

Ming Yiniang and Bao Ning’s mother Xu-shi were close, so Bao Ning had been fond of her since childhood. Having grown up around her, Bao Ning had read many medical texts and memorized numerous prescriptions. She even had some skill in acupuncture—but she’d only ever treated the household dogs, never a person.

Pei Yuan’s wounds were terrifying at first glance, but she was starting to get used to them.

Bao Ning picked up his wine and sniffed it—sorghum wine, and of poor quality too. It hadn’t even been properly filtered, and smelled sharp and acrid.

“Your Highness, this won’t do. It’ll only make it worse.” She stood and dusted off her skirt. “Wait here. I’ll get some medicine.”

With that, she rushed out.

Pei Yuan watched her back as she left. He opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything.

This wasn’t at all what he had expected.

He had been sure she’d leave. But she hadn’t—she’d stayed, showed concern, and even offered to treat his wounds.

What a silly girl.

Did she even know the difference between good and bad, between helpful and harmful? Always smiling, always throwing all her energy and warmth his way—did she realize he had nothing to give in return?

…

About half an hour later, Bao Ning returned with a small bottle of medicinal powder and a bowl of herbal soup.

She handed the medicine to Pei Yuan. “Drink this while it’s hot. I followed a prescription—it’ll clear heat, stop bleeding, and calm the nerves.”

Pei Yuan took the bowl and frowned at the bitter smell.

Bao Ning hid her right hand behind her back, smiling. “I knew you’d think it was bitter. Guess what I brought you?”

Pei Yuan looked up at her without replying.

She was used to his taciturn nature and wasn’t upset. Still smiling, she said, “Close your eyes first.”

Pei Yuan pressed his lips together, not playing along.

“No? Fine.” She looked slightly disappointed, then extended her right hand, palm up. Lying in it was a small oil paper package. She opened it and held it out to him with a smile.

“Golden-threaded honey dates (candied jujubes).”

Pei Yuan looked at the dates—amber-like, glistening with a rich sweetness that filled the air and softened the bitter scent of the herbal soup.

His heart trembled.

He really hadn’t expected her to be this thoughtful. He’d practiced martial arts since childhood, and bore many scars. He used to fight often, and seeing blood was no rarity. He’d drunk plenty of bitter medicine, but no one had ever asked if his wounds hurt, if the medicine was bitter, or offered him something sweet afterward.

Pei Yuan didn’t take the date. He simply raised the bowl and downed the medicine in one gulp.

Bao Ning lowered her eyes and picked up a date herself, popping it in her mouth. The sweetness on her tongue soothed the unpleasant emotions. She ate another and felt much better. She’d told herself already—don’t argue with Pei Yuan. He was a patient. Sometimes he acted out of temper, sometimes he gave people the cold shoulder. That was normal. Once he got better, he probably wouldn’t be so irritable.

Bao Ning pulled a folded cloth from her sleeve and said, “Your Highness, I’m going to apply the medicine. It might hurt a bit—try to bear with it.”

The cloth had been cut from Pei Yuan’s undershirt. Before the fat rat had appeared, she’d been sewing him new underclothes. He didn’t have many clothes, and though outerwear could be reused, he stayed indoors most of the time—if he didn’t have clean underclothes, it would be a problem. Plus, underclothes touched the wounds directly, so they had to be changed frequently.

She had truly worn herself out with worry.

Bao Ning thought, people’s hearts are excahnged for hearts—if she treated Pei Yuan well, even if he didn’t say anything, he must feel it deep down. Constant dripping wears away stone. She didn’t expect Pei Yuan to treat her especially well; if they could just respect each other and get along politely, she’d be satisfied.

Pei Yuan quietly watched Bao Ning bandaging his wound.

Her technique was skilled. Her head was lowered in concentration, and her fair, radiant cheeks looked like jade. Her eyelashes were long and thick, like butterfly wings.

Pei Yuan didn’t know why, but these were the things that came to his mind.

He had been born in the imperial palace and had seen his share of concubines and beauties—gentle, seductive, fierce, delicate. But no one had ever been like Bao Ning. Her face was full of innocence, looking shy yet brimming with warmth and resilience.

Baoning was like a beam of light, while he was like the decaying mud in a corner. When light shone on the mud, it could drive away the shadows—but it also made the ugliness and rot impossible to hide, leaving them exposed in the sun.

Pei Yuan had never, until today, hated his crippled body so much. The better Bao Ning was, the worse he seemed in contrast.

If one day Bao Ning wanted to leave, he’d have no reason to make her stay.

At this thought, Pei Yuan was momentarily stunned. Why did he want her to stay?

His heart was in chaos. This wasn’t like him. Pei Yuan resisted such emotions and desperately needed an outlet for all this turmoil.

Bao Ning sensed his intense gaze and looked up, thinking he was curious about why she knew how to do this. She smiled and said, “The old mammas (nannies) in the household keep dogs. Sometimes they run around and get hurt, and the mammas would come find me. I’ve bandaged them before.”

Pei Yuan stared into her eyes and suddenly blurted out, “Are you always this stupidly kind to everyone?”

Bao Ning froze.

Pei Yuan saw her smile instantly vanish, her eyes gradually turning red.

His fists clenched at his sides, his irritation growing.

The moment the words left his mouth, Pei Yuan knew he had said the wrong thing. A twinge of regret surfaced in his heart, but when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t get any words out.

Bao Ning asked, “Is that really what you think of me?”

Her voice was tinged with tears. After asking, she didn’t wait for Pei Yuan’s response. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and ran out crying.

Pei Yuan’s throat tightened and felt dry. He wanted to apologize but couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He was used to being proud—so even now, knowing he was wrong, he still couldn’t swallow his pride and coax her.

He pressed his fingers to his temple, grabbed the wine jar on the table, and took two heavy gulps. His stomach churned with pain. Pei Yuan gasped roughly and doubled over in discomfort.

…

Bao Ning was truly hurt this time.

These past few days, no matter how bad Pei Yuan’s temper was, she could always smile and brush it off because she knew he didn’t mean it. But tonight, she didn’t know how to convince herself anymore.

Bao Ning even thought, maybe this is enough. She didn’t need to keep pouring her heart out for Pei Yuan if he didn’t appreciate it. From now on, they could just stay out of each other’s way, like ordinary neighbors.

She lay facedown on her pillow, feeling miserable for most of the night, and only fell into a groggy sleep sometime later.

The next morning, Bao Ning was woken up. She heard someone calling “Sister, Sister” outside the courtyard. At first, she thought she was dreaming. But when she opened her eyes and listened carefully, someone was really calling her—mixed in with a couple of faint dog barks.

It was Ji Yun!

Bao Ning grabbed a jacket, threw it over her shoulders, and hurried out the door.