Chapter Ten: Rain Among the Parasol Trees

Without stopping Sui Gaolang, she watched as he turned back, lifted his mother’s cold corpse, and, when passing by Ye Qianmu, raised his head to look at her, forcing out two words: “Thank you.”

Ye Qianmu nodded slightly, watching Sui Gaolang walk out of the house and vanish into the downpour. Lost in thought, she was silent for a while before saying, “Let’s go back.” She brushed the wet mud from her long robe and gave orders to her attendant. The attendant immediately handed Ye Qianmu her straw hat, then turned to those behind. “Everyone, prepare to return to the palace.”

Step by step, Sui Gaolang pressed forward, not knowing what it meant to go home. Every step was into the unknown, into uncertainty. With his mother gone, there was no one left in the world to depend on. After almost a quarter of an hour, he finally found a relatively flat stretch of wasteland. The rain blurred his vision, but he could faintly make out a dozen or so crude headstones of varying sizes, each bearing the words “Grave of so-and-so.”

Perhaps it was a sense of shared suffering, but Sui Gaolang felt his heart wrung tighter with pain. Why, in this world, must there be such differences in status? Why do some live their whole lives in comfort, while others, in the end, cannot even claim a proper burial?

He laid his mother down, drew the sword from his waist, and stabbed it into the earth. Then, using all his strength, he clawed at the soil, digging. Time slipped by, and at last, a pit large enough for a grown body appeared before him. Tears mingled with rain slid down his cheeks. He knelt, gently placed his mother in the grave, gazed at her for a long while, then bit his pale lips, unable to contain himself any longer. With trembling hands, he scooped earth to cover her, handful by handful. When his mother’s body was at last hidden from view, Sui Gaolang struck the ground with all his might. Thunder crashed overhead, muffling his hoarse sobs. His body shook from grief, the trembling growing more violent, and in that instant his bloodshot eyes became wild, almost frightening.

Looking around, he spotted a rectangular stone slab—not particularly regular, but the only thing here that could serve as a gravestone. He stood, but hunger sapped his strength; it took a great effort to drag the slab over. Kneeling, he carved four large characters into it with his sword, the blade now cleansed of blood by the rain: “Grave of My Mother.”

This was a moment Sui Gaolang would never forget. It was also when he learned that only by becoming strong could he protect those around him. When all was done, he knelt before the grave. Who knows how long he stayed there, before rising and wandering away without aim.

Now, grief was of no use. Vengeance was what he should pursue.

He wandered on until the clash of blades ahead snapped him from his thoughts. Sui Gaolang immediately realized there was a fight up ahead. Glancing that way, he was about to veer off when something made him look again. Through the rain, he saw the very person who had just saved his life—Ye Qianmu.

He didn’t know what possessed him, but whenever he saw this girl, he acted completely unlike himself. Sui Gaolang drew his sword and charged straight into the fray, coming to Ye Qianmu’s side, grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind him. As he swung his sword to ward off attackers, he asked, “Miss, are you alright?”

Ye Qianmu was utterly unprepared for this. Seeing Sui Gaolang, she was so surprised she forgot to speak. Only when Sui Gaolang blocked another assassin from approaching did her senses return, and she shook her head slowly. Seeing that she was unharmed, Sui Gaolang pulled her into his arms, pivoted, and with a swift movement, cut down another assassin.

“Third Miss!” The guards nearby turned pale at the sight—someone was holding the Third Princess so intimately. Did they want to lose their heads? Before their minds could react, their bodies moved forward, but Ye Qianmu stopped them with a shout: “Don’t mind me for now. These people are clearly after me. If that’s the case, see if you can keep one alive.”

“Yes, Third Miss.” The guards, reassured by her order, focused on fighting off the assassins. The clash of steel rang harsh in Ye Qianmu’s ears, and she regretted not having learned proper martial arts; now she could not protect herself.

As the battle wore on, Sui Gaolang’s sword moved faster and faster. Grief made his strikes cruel. He forced himself to suppress the discomfort this brought him and refocused. He was amazed—these assassins were far superior to those who had attacked him earlier. Not even on the same level. What had this girl done to draw such dangerous enemies? Then he thought—nobles must have their own troubles as well.

At last, all the attackers were subdued, save for one whom they left alive for questioning. A guard turned to Ye Qianmu. “Miss, we’ve got one alive.”

Seeing there was no longer danger, Sui Gaolang relaxed, suddenly realizing his hand was still on Ye Qianmu’s waist. Embarrassed, he jerked it back. Both of them looked away, not daring to meet each other’s equally shy gaze.

“Mm.” Ye Qianmu’s cheeks were still flushed. She tried to keep her voice steady, standing her ground. “Who sent you to kill me? If you tell me now, I’ll spare your life.”

“In your dreams.” The assassin spat, then, from his sleeve, whipped out a throwing knife and hurled it at Ye Qianmu.

“Watch out!” The guards were too far to intervene. Sui Gaolang, without hesitation, leapt in front of Ye Qianmu. The knife struck his back, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he collapsed into her arms.

“Why did you do this? We’re strangers—you didn’t have to.” Ye Qianmu caught Sui Gaolang, letting his head rest against her. The guards surged to seize the assassin, but before they could act, the man bit his tongue and killed himself.

After parting ways, Ye Qianmu had planned to return to the palace. On horseback, she passed a small Confucian temple and asked a bystander about it. The answer piqued her interest—her eldest brother Ye Qianchen’s birthday was coming, and she thought to bring back a rare gift. But she found nothing. The old caretaker said only those with nothing better to do came here, and since the temple received no offerings, it had been closed for a while. The caretaker had nowhere else to go, so he stayed. Disappointed, Ye Qianmu left, only to realize she was being followed soon after. Then came the attack.

“It’s nothing, just a small favor,” Sui Gaolang murmured, baffled himself. Life was precious, yet in that split second, his body had made the choice for him. In hindsight, perhaps it was love at first sight, though he would never admit it.

Tears welled in Ye Qianmu’s eyes. She had never known such selflessness—she would do anything for her family, but for someone else? Impossible. Yet in that moment, she was deeply moved by this man she had met only once.

She was about to speak when Sui Gaolang’s head lolled to the side; he lost consciousness. Alarmed, Ye Qianmu supported him, and the group hurried several kilometers to a pharmacy.

It was late at night, the pharmacy long closed. Soaked to the skin, Ye Qianmu stood by as her companion pounded on the door, shouting, “Is anyone there? We have a man severely wounded—please open up!” Seeing Sui Gaolang still bleeding and unresponsive, she joined the guards in knocking. “Sir, please, we beg you—could you open up and help us?”

After a while, an elderly man with grey hair opened the door. One of the guards was about to speak, but Ye Qianmu stopped him and turned to the old man. “Sir, our friend is gravely injured. Please, would you take a look? We beg you.”

Never in her life had Ye Qianmu begged anyone for help; whatever she wanted, she got. She had never felt so powerless. The imperial physicians would take an hour to arrive—Sui Gaolang would never last that long. This old man was her only hope.

The old man was surprised to see a finely dressed young woman stoop so low for a man. Glancing at Sui Gaolang, as if seeing something, he said, “Come in, young lady.” He stepped aside and added, “Your friend hasn’t eaten for a long time. You’d best prepare some food for him.”

Impressive, Ye Qianmu thought. With just one glance, he saw through Sui Gaolang’s condition. Relieved, she ordered her guard, “Go fetch food—quickly.” Then she sat worriedly at Sui Gaolang’s bedside, her eyes fixed on the unconscious young man who had been wounded for her.

In the dim lamp light, Ye Qianmu studied Sui Gaolang’s dirt-streaked face, glimpsing handsome features beneath the grime and the trace of a devilish charm. Members of the Ye royal family were fond of reading faces—if someone’s features displeased them, they would never grow close. As a child, she scoffed at this, but as she grew older, she found merit in it. At least, this man before her left her with an especially good impression.

“Our apprentice has gone home, so I’ll need an extra pair of hands,” the old man said, holding out a bowl of ground herbal powder and sprinkling it over Sui Gaolang’s wound. The man on the bed stiffened in pain, a reflex as the medicine seeped into his flesh, giving a faint whimper—so soft it was almost lost. Hearing it, Ye Qianmu gently touched his face. Though dirty, she could feel the fine skin beneath, the delicate features—a true handsome youth. Added to his selfless resilience—perhaps…