Xiao Yuhuang remained distant and detached. It wasn't until the third evening that she dismissed her attendants and spoke with me in the pavilion courtyard.
"You intend to take him with you?"
In the twilight, the contours of her profile were slightly blurred. I chose my words carefully. "He has nowhere else to go."
"There are many in the world with nowhere to go." She turned to me, her gaze sharp. "Yu Zhi, you can't save everyone."
"I know." I met her eyes. "But Nanxing is different. He knows medicine, and Qin Gugu says he has talent. If we go seeking a doctor, perhaps…"
"Perhaps what?" she interrupted. "Perhaps that missing father of his is the divine physician who can cure your illness?"
I fell silent.
So she had already considered that possibility.
The evening breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of gardenias. Suddenly, she reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The movement was light, as if handling fragile porcelain.
"You're always like this," she murmured, her voice softening. "Seeing an injured bird, you want to pick it up. Meeting someone in distress, you want to help. Back at the icy lake too… even though you were sick, you still jumped in."
My heart trembled slightly.
"Enough," she withdrew her hand and looked toward the last streaks of the sunset. "If you want to keep him, then keep him. But Yu Zhi—"
She turned her gaze back to mine, looking deep into my eyes. "Do not invest too much emotion in him. There are too many farewells in this world; you… could not bear it."
There was a pain in her words I could not fully understand.
Later I would learn that her biological father had been poisoned by a spy planted among those he took in for refuge, all because of his kindness. She was only six, and had watched him die in her arms.
But that evening, I took her warning as a simple precaution.
Nanxing stayed.
He truly understood some medicine and often followed Qin Gugu around to help. Once, when my cough worsened, he fished out a few dried leaves from his worn cloth bag. "Young Master, hold these in your mouth. They'll soothe your throat."
They were loquat leaves.
I held them in my mouth. The sweet-bitter taste spread, and the itch in my throat eased slightly.
"Your father taught you?"
"Mm," he nodded, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "Father says a healer must have a compassionate heart. Seeing a patient suffer is like suffering oneself."
The words of a child made my chest ache.
I didn't notice when Xiao Yuhuang had appeared by the doorway, quietly watching. When she saw me look up, she turned and left, leaving only a silent silhouette behind.
A few more days passed, and we continued south.
With a child now in the carriage, the atmosphere felt livelier. At first, Nanxing was afraid of Xiao Yuhuang, always curling up beside me. Later, when he became carsick and vomited, she had the carriage stopped and personally handed him a water pouch.
"Thank… thank you, Madam," Nanxing said timidly.
Xiao Yuhuang paused, but did not correct his address.
That night, lodging at an inn, Nanxing clutched the old cloak I had given him and would not sleep.
"Young Master," he whispered in the darkness, "that Madam… is she your wife?"
I froze for a moment. "…Yes."
"She treats you so well," the boy said, his voice tinged with envy. "My father says most women in this world are fickle. To meet a wife who truly cares for her husband is a blessing."
I did not know how to respond.
A blessing?
Perhaps. But this blessing was too heavy, so heavy it demanded freedom and half a life in exchange.
The moonlight outside was cold and clear. I gently patted Nanxing's back and hummed the lullaby my father used to sing to me as a child. Slowly, the boy fell asleep, his breathing even.
At that moment, the door opened quietly.
Xiao Yuhuang entered, draped in her outer robe. Seeing that I was awake, she paused mid-step. "Did I wake you?"
"No," I whispered. "Nanxing just fell asleep."
She leaned over to tuck the blanket around him. Her movements were slightly awkward, yet meticulous. The candlelight cast a warm shadow across her profile. In that moment, she was not an emperor—she looked like any ordinary woman.
"Sleep now." She straightened and looked at me. "We have to travel again tomorrow."