Chapter 9: Probing

Chapter 9: Probing

Sang Yu was as pale as paper, his frail frame so thin a gust of wind could knock him over, and the wounds covering his body were still a gruesome sight.

Feeling eyes on him, Sang Yu calmly met Li Zhiming's gaze without moving.

Li Zhiming gave an awkward chuckle, ladled himself a bowl as well, and downed most of it in one gulp. So good—his whole body relaxed.

Nothing really

heals the soul like this.

"See? I drank it, no poison. Don't worry, I'm just worried you can't handle it. If you don't eat, you'll starve."

Yesterday he'd barely eaten a few bites in a daze, so it was like eating nothing at all.

Li Zhiming smacked his lips, savoring the taste. "If I really wanted to kill you, would I wait until now? Back in the dungeon I would've—ah, no no no, I'm wrong, put your hand down, we can talk, okay?"

Sang Yu's palm had already swung to within a few millimeters of his neck—he could feel the wind from it, sharp as a blade.

Terrifying.

His mood swings are way too quick.

Seeing the genuine fear on Li Zhiming's face, Sang Yu finally pulled his hand back.

Li Zhiming silently pushed the bowl toward him. "Drink. Drink the soup."

Sang Yu picked up the bowl and sipped it spoonful by spoonful.

Mm, not bad at all.

This body was too weak, and it was really hungry.

Soon, the bowl was scraped clean.

Sang Yu held the bowl out, and Li Zhiming naturally reached to take it. "I'll clean up. You need to rest, no need to be polite."

It didn't budge.

What?

Li Zhiming looked at him, full of question marks. Sang Yu turned his face away, looking a little awkward, but the bowl in his hand didn't move an inch.

Could it be that...

Li Zhiming changed his tone. "This soup is the best—it's simmered with nourishing ingredients, and you should eat some of those too. Let me get you some."

He managed to get the bowl back.

Li Zhiming: "...?"

If you want a second bowl, just say so. Being all shy about it makes me nervous.

After Sang Yu finished eating, Li Zhiming turned on his acting skills, showed another round of fake concern, and then quietly probed.

"Just rest easy here and heal up. Once you're better, I'll send you back right away. Can you tell your men to stop trying to kill me? I'm innocent."

He'd already let the guy go, yet they still came—did they want him to get no sleep at all?

Sang Yu sat by the table, as calm as ever. "I don't have any men."

"What???"

Li Zhiming thought he'd misheard and pressed further. "What did you just say?"

Sang Yu repeated flatly, "I don't have any men. I didn't send them."

Damn it!

Then those death warriors—didn't Feng Yin say they were Nanxun's people?

Was there another Nanxun noble around?

He'd asked, and there wasn't!

And besides, the later group looked like they came to avenge him. He hadn't pissed anyone off recently. If they weren't his men, then whose were they?

Suddenly, it hit him. He remembered what the Second Prince said and started piecing things together based on TV drama plots.

In this situation, it was highly likely someone was deliberately using his name, killing with a borrowed knife?

Who could it be?

He wanted to ask Sang Yu if he'd brought anyone else with him, but when he turned his head, the guy was gone.

Sang Yu had slipped over to the other side of the table at some point, ladling himself a third bowl of soup, drinking it with total focus, slow and unhurried—just like a prince.

......

The thought that this guy had no men at all yet still dared to twist his neck, and that he himself had been fawning over him like an idiot—it pissed him off!

Li Zhiming felt a surge of irritation and rolled his eyes at him hard.

But Sang Yu didn't see it.

The roll was wasted.

Li Zhiming wanted to punch him to let off steam, but even gravely wounded, he couldn't win—this guy could beat him one-handed, snap his neck with one palm, and even bite.

Frustrating.

"Can I ask—are you the only prince in Nanxun?"

His tone was more casual now, without the careful concern from before.

Sang Yu paused, his hand holding the bowl.

"No, there are a few others."

"Then why were you sent? When you came, was there any group responsible for protecting you?"

"I don't know. None."

"You're a prince of a kingdom—and no one protects you?"

"Sang Yu was a tribute from a defeated nation, imprisoned here to amuse your lord. So naturally, there are no guards."

He almost looked normal now.

Not crazy in the slightest—actually, quite polite.

Still, this news is genuinely bizarre.

Li Zhiming snorted, "Fine, but recently someone's been trying to kill me, possibly in your name. Do you know who it is?"

"Sang Yu has just arrived and was locked up by the young lord; how would I know anything?"

His tone was flat, his expression cold and aloof—no joy, no sorrow, no hint of madness.

Li Zhiming, emboldened, grew impatient: "In that case, why don't you head on back? You can take the physician with you. Your injuries shouldn't be life-threatening at this point. If you stick around, I'm scared someone'll be coming for me every day."

Better hurry and send him packing.

If he leaves while he's lucid, nothing unexpected should happen, right? Even if something does, it's not Li Zhiming's problem anymore.

Having a prince from an enemy nation around is just too risky.

As soon as he finished speaking, Sang Yu set down his bowl with a soft thud. He looked up, his pitch-black eyes held an unreadable look.

"The whole world knows the prime minister's son took me, locked me up, and played with me. Now that you're bored of me, you'll just toss me out? So what does Young Master Li reckon I should do?"

As he spoke, his eyes reddened, turning bloodshot, just like the look he'd had before he tried to kill Li Zhiming.

Li Zhiming's knees went weak: "No, wait, hear me out—no, let me explain."

Sang Yu stared at him intently, more terrifying than a vengeful spirit.

"I—I figured going back might be safer, what with assassins always after me. I just realized it might not be safe for you to go back either, so maybe you should stick around my place a bit longer, if you're up for it."

Last time he'd secretly sent Sang Yu back, the guy just vanished, and he never figured out how.

This shows there are also people out there gunning for Sang Yu.

Better let him recover first.

What a mess—easy to invite, hard to dismiss.

Sang Yu sneered coldly and said nothing.

Li Zhiming forced a smile: "Rest early. The physician said you need to recuperate for some time. I won't disturb you."

He grabbed the food hamper and bolted out, clattering all the way.

Sang Yu fixed his gaze on the shut door, his slim fingers clenching slowly, his entire frame exuding a frigid menace, like a hellish specter come to claim a soul.

Over the next few days.

Li Zhiming did not visit Sang Yu again. He even relocated Sang Yu's room to a separate courtyard beside his own, separated by a wall.

At least this way they were farther apart—no awkward neighborly encounters, and a lot less danger.

Although he didn't know why Sang Yu refused to leave, it didn't matter—he couldn't harm Sang Yu, and Sang Yu wouldn't harm him when in his right mind.

After all, the guy was of noble birth too.