Lou Xiyan merely nodded gently to Xue Xianxin, then offered a slight bow to Yan Ruxuan, saying, "Your Highness, your courtesy is most appreciated." Yan Ruxuan stepped forward eagerly, "Brother Yan, no need for such formality."
Xue Xianxin's heart swelled with secret delight. The entire heart of Princess Yun was clearly devoted to Xiyan. Should they forge a bond akin to the union of two noble houses, wouldn't the Lou family rise to unparalleled power, overshadowing the court? With such thoughts spinning like a sly scheme, Xue Xianxin rose and busied herself, "You two continue your conversation. I shall go check on the preparations for tonight's supper."
Content, Xue Xianxin departed. Meeting Lou Xiyan's slightly raised gaze, Yan Ruxuan's cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She hastily gestured toward a bundle of medicinal herbs nearby and spoke softly, "Spring has arrived, and I worry that your old ailment may relapse, Brother Yan. I bring you these remedies, carefully concocted by renowned physicians summoned by the Empress. You must be vigilant in preserving your health and avoid overexertion." Each time she heard that his old illness might prevent him from attending court, her worry deepened.
Lou Xiyan glanced at the medicinal packages on the table, then laughed heartily, "I am grateful for the grace of the Empress and Your Highness. I shall take good care of myself."
Must he address her as Princess and refer to himself as a humble subject? After all these years of her trailing behind him, had he never noticed? Rumor had it the Emperor had gifted him an unparalleled beauty; no doubt that would make him regard her all the less! A faint ache stirred within her chest, her hand tightening within the voluminous sleeve. Yan Ruxuan's eyes, clear as spring water, brimmed with hope as she gazed at Lou Xiyan and whispered, "On the fifteenth of next month, the Northern Qi envoys will pay tribute to the Qiong Yue court. The Empress and the Emperor surely will not forget that it is also my sixteenth birthday. When Brother Yan enters the palace, might you come to see me?"
Meeting her yearning gaze, Lou Xiyan's voice softened in reassurance, "Princess, do not fret. The Emperor and Empress will surely remember your birthday."
"Then will you come to Qingxuan Hall to see me?" she pressed. It mattered not whether others remembered—only that he did. Lou Xiyan hesitated a moment, then gently replied, "With the envoy's arrival, I fear my duties will keep me occupied. I shall send gifts to Qingxuan Palace on your behalf."
Gifts... She was no longer the little girl who once gleefully accepted a few presents. This was the fifty-seventh time he had refused her request.
"It grows late; I shall take my leave first," Yan Ruxuan murmured, her spirit slightly wilted as she left the flower hall. Lou Xiyan's heart ached with reluctance, sighing, "Allow me to see the Princess out."
She was kind-hearted and deserved better treatment—though not from him.
"No need," came a faint sigh that halted Lou Xiyan's steps. He watched her graceful figure retreat, then turned to the towering stacks of medicine on the table. A cold, sharp gleam flickered in his eyes; tenderness had vanished.
The night outside was as dark as ink. Inside, dim candlelight filtered through heavy curtains, casting a faint glow within the bedchamber barely sufficient to see by.
Zhuo Qing slowly opened her eyes. The view before her was a cascade of sheer drapes. For a moment, she was dazed, but quickly recalled where she was. The Xiang Residence lived up to its name: a grand bed with warm quilts—this was the best sleep she had enjoyed since arriving in this world.
Stretching lazily, Zhuo Qing pulled back the bed curtains, padded barefoot toward the folding screen. A thick carpet cushioned her steps pleasantly. Beyond the screen lay a round rosewood table and a soft lounge. Nearby stood a waist-high bronze mirror, its surface polished to a near-perfect smoothness. Though it could not rival glass, it was more than adequate for daily use.
Standing before the mirror, Zhuo Qing finally had a chance to truly observe the body she had inhabited for several days. Delicate willow-shaped brows, a high, straight nose, a flawless oval face—her favorite feature was the eyes, modest in size yet crystal clear like twin pools of spring water. Her subtly upturned lips appeared full and moist.
In this modern era, Zhuo Qing had seen countless beauties, but this young woman's visage was indeed rare and striking. With proper refinement, she could captivate all who beheld her. Only the two scars on her right cheek marred the perfection. Though now in this body, Zhuo Qing did not consider herself ugly, yet could not deny a hint of regret.
The face looked astonishingly young, no older than sixteen or seventeen. Zhuo Qing smiled wryly; she had unwittingly gained a decade of youth.
She ran her fingers through the long, calf-length black hair and sighed—such length was truly a challenge. Tugging at the collar, she glanced down and whistled softly, "Goodness, what did this girl eat to grow like this? At least a 34D—perhaps a little too well developed..."
As Zhuo Qing admired herself, bright lights flashed sharply outside the half-open window. Curious, she approached and pushed the window open. The courtyard she occupied was separated from a neighboring pavilion by a pond, their proximity close.
She knew nothing of the commotion opposite, where a dozen or so people had gathered, their faces tense as they stared toward the lit pavilion.
Having sent away her maidservants before bed, hunger gnawed at her. She wanted both to see what was happening and to find something to eat. Opening the door, Zhuo Qing headed toward the three-story pavilion.
Though the distance was short, the winding bridge over the lake exhausted her. Reaching the pavilion, she saw everyone's anxious faces fixed upon the interior. At the forefront stood Lou Xiwǔ, whom Zhuo Qing had met that afternoon.
"May I ask what is going on?" Her clear, calm voice startled the tightly wound crowd.
Lou Xiwǔ turned, recognizing Zhuo Qing, and replied with irritation, "Go away, ugly woman. I have no time for you now."
Zhuo Qing raised an eyebrow indifferently, "Very well, I'll go in myself," and strode boldly toward the pavilion.
Her audacity stunned them all. Regaining composure, Lou Xiwǔ hurried forward to block her path, scolding, "You cannot enter! Brother's old illness has relapsed; the imperial doctors are treating him. You must not disturb him!"
Zhuo Qing had long expected Lou Xiwǔ to intervene, but hearing that Lou Xiyan was ill made her pause. "What illness?" she inquired cautiously.
That afternoon, when he had grabbed her, his strength was formidable, and his complexion and breath seemed normal—hardly the image of a sick man. Was this some trick?
Suddenly, a sharp crash echoed—the sound of something breaking—followed by a fierce growl from inside, "Get out!" The voice was ragged with heavy breaths, laden with restrained fury and a chilling coldness.
Zhuo Qing's heart skipped a beat; it was Lou Xiyan's voice.
Lou Xiwǔ's face paled instantly, her hands trembling with anxiety. She did not appear to be feigning. Could Lou Xiyan truly be ill? What affliction could transform a man normally so gentle and refined in public into such a raging tempest?
Before Zhuo Qing could ponder further, the pavilion's inner door suddenly swung open. A tall figure in ink-white appeared, his cold expression now etched with a ruthless severity.
He brusquely escorted a woman in her early thirties out. She looked resentful, casting frequent glances backward, but the broad shoulders of the man blocked her view. She shot him a fierce glare and stormed away in fury.
Behind her, an elderly man in blue robes emerged, worry etched deep on his face. The door then closed firmly once again.