The bitter scent of medicine lingered faintly in the chamber as Bai Wan sat quietly on the edge of the couch, her fingers resting lightly on the embroidered coverlet.Of course, she knew very well what kind of medicine had been delivered to her. The porcelain bowl was still warm in her hands when she lifted her eyes toward Mo Xia, the calm and capable maidservant who served at the side of Prince Ning (Ning Wang — a princely title bestowed upon an imperial prince, indicating authority over a fief and residence).
“Why would I need medicine to nourish my body?” Bai Wan asked gently. “I feel perfectly fine.” Mo Xia’s smile did not falter in the slightest. It was the kind of smile polished through years of serving in a noble household—flawless, respectful, and impossible to read.
“The Princess Consort has only been in the manor for three days,” she replied with soft courtesy. “Her Highness has been working hard every night. Naturally, Your Highness must also take proper rest.” Bai Wan lowered her gaze to the medicine. Working hard every night. The words sounded innocent, yet she knew very well what they truly implied.
Drinking this medicine would indeed allow her to rest well—too well. Her lashes trembled faintly. She had planned to investigate Prince Ning’s injuries once they were alone that evening. The opportunity had been rare, and she had not wished to waste it. But if she obediently drank the medicine, tonight’s plan would vanish like mist.
Perhaps those people had matters of their own to attend to and found her presence inconvenient. Giving her a sleeping potion would ensure she remained out of the way. If she exposed the abnormality of the medicine… or resisted too strongly… Would they begin to suspect her? After all, she had come to the Prince Ning Manor (a princely residence granted by the emperor, often comparable to a small independent court) of her own will. And to survive among powerful figures such as these, one needed to be sensible.
Obedient.
Compliant.
It was a lesson Bai Wan had learned through the price of one entire life. A faint sigh escaped her. Better to pretend she knew nothing. After all, it was not poison. It would not kill her. As for Prince Ning’s illness… she could simply investigate tomorrow. With that thought, Bai Wan lifted the bowl and drank the medicine. The sleeping potion took effect quickly. For the first time in three days since entering the manor, Bai Wan fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
She did not wake until dawn the following morning. When she finally rose, pale sunlight filtered faintly through the lattice windows of the inner chamber. The room was quiet except for the low murmur of voices. Inside the bedchamber, Mo Xia was already attending to Prince Ning, carefully administering medicine. Beside her stood the military physician (an army doctor responsible for treating battlefield injuries), his brows furrowed as he examined the prince’s pulse. When Bai Wan stepped inside, everyone paused. Several pairs of eyes turned toward her.
Their gazes were… complicated. But Bai Wan believed she had not revealed anything unusual the previous night. So she smiled gently, as though nothing were amiss. Without hesitation, she walked forward and replaced Mo Xia at the bedside, carefully tending to Prince Ning, who still lay unconscious beneath the layered brocade quilts. Prince Ning’s complexion remained pale, his handsome features sharp and austere even in sleep. His long hair was loosely tied with a dark ribbon, falling across the pillow like ink.
Bai Wan lowered her gaze and quietly performed her duties, as though she truly were nothing more than a devoted princess consort caring for her injured husband. The hours slipped past quietly. By the time the second watch of the night (approximately 9–11 PM in the traditional Chinese night-watch system) arrived, the peaceful courtyard suddenly erupted into chaos.
The stillness shattered. Steel clashed. Swords flashed beneath the lantern light. Shouts and cries of battle rang through the courtyard so fiercely that it would not have been an exaggeration to say an entire enemy army had stormed the manor. In truth, Bai Wan had already experienced something similar. On the second night after her marriage, an assassination attempt had also taken place .
Yet that night’s disturbance had ended quickly. Later, the prince’s guards had calmly explained to her that such assassination attempts were… common. They had countermeasures prepared. She need not worry. They spoke of these matters casually, as though discussing the weather.
Yet every time Bai Wan recalled those words, a cold chill crept down her spine. If not for the desperate circumstances that had forced her into this marriage, she might have fled long ago—just as her elder sister had done.
So tonight, as Bai Wan had just finished wiping Prince Ning’s body with warm cloths when flames suddenly rose outside the courtyard walls.
A male voice shouted urgently from beyond the doors. “Your Highness—run!” The cry was abruptly cut short. A strangled scream followed.
Then silence. Bai Wan’s face drained of all color. Her hands trembled. For a moment, instinct nearly drove her to throw open the door and run.
But just as she stepped toward it— She stopped. Slowly, Bai Wan turned back. Her gaze fell upon the unconscious man lying on the bed. She already understood. Prince Ning’s return to the capital had never been safe.
Someone had secretly drugged him. Someone wished to assassinate him while he remained unconscious. All to ensure his death. And those people would not stop. New schemes… new traps will follow him. They would try again and again until he was dead. Bai Wan’s heart churned violently, as though boiling in oil. Whether she fled or stayed would determine only her own life or death. Nothing more.
If she remained until Prince Ning awoke… Then she could claim credit for protecting him. And perhaps—just perhaps—in the future she could beg him. Beg him to see the effort she had made. Beg him to send her and her aunt [means her concubine mother in ancient time only the principle wife should be called mother even though a conubine is your legitimate mother you can only called them aunt ] far away from the capital… back to their quiet hometown… where they could spend the rest of their days in peace.
But if she abandoned him now—Who could guarantee that such a powerful man would not remember her betrayal? Those born to power were often the most vindictive of all. She dared not gamble carelessly. In the end… Bai Wan chose to trust the fate she had carried over from her previous life. She would gamble once more. Her hands trembling, she removed Prince Ning’s sword from the wall rack.
The weapon was heavy and cold. Clutching it to her chest, Bai Wan sat beside the bed. Outside, the sounds of battle raged like thunder. Yet she did not move. She remained there— Guarding the unconscious prince. Bai Wan did not know how long the fighting lasted. Half a night. Perhaps an entire night. When the doors finally burst open again, dawn light was already filtering into the courtyard. Soldiers from the prince’s residence rushed inside.
And among them— Bai Wan saw a familiar face. Mo Xia. The moment she recognized her, tears filled Bai Wan’s eyes. All the tension in her body suddenly collapsed. Her strength drained away completely. With a sharp clang— The sword slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. Her body swayed. Darkness swallowed her vision. And Bai Wan fainted.
“….”
In the darkness of unconsciousness, Bai Wan dreamed once more of her past life. A scorching heatwave swept toward her like a tidal wave. Molten ash filled the air. It burned her skin, searing every inch of flesh as though countless needles pierced her body at once. “It hurts…” she murmured weakly in her sleep. Yet her voice was too soft. Neither of the two people arguing nearby heard her. “At the brink of life and death, she still refused to leave His Highness’s side—even if it meant risking her own life,” one voice said.
“That alone proves she must have come to the Prince’s residence for some hidden purpose!”
“Or perhaps,” another voice argued, “the Princess Consort is simply in love with our master.”
“You also discovered that she came here as a substitute bride (a woman sent to marry in place of the originally intended bride, often due to political or familial complications). Maybe she admired His Highness for years and is willing to live and die with him.”
“Stop reading those ridiculous romance stories!”The first voice snapped impatiently.
“You’re blinded by her face!”
“Anyone who heard the commotion last night would have run in terror. Yet she remained calm. That alone proves she’s not simple!”
“Perhaps she saw through our little tricks long ago.”
“That’s why she wasn’t flustered.”
“And which eye of yours saw that she wasn’t afraid?” The second voice retorted indignantly.
“You didn’t see the pitiful expression on her face when she saw me—” The speaker was Mo Xia. Her voice softened slightly as she continued.“I truly regret not stopping your nonsense earlier.” The other speaker fell silent for a moment. Then a man spoke coldly. It was Chi Jun, one of Prince Ning’s trusted guards (elite retainers responsible for the prince’s safety and covert operations). “That person has never given up,” Chi Jun said grimly.
“And now they’ve used the tactic of ‘marrying for good luck.’”
“In such circumstances, can you guarantee she’s clean?”
“If we disobey the imperial decree, the crime cannot fall on our master.”
“So we had no choice but to let her leave on her own.”
His eyes darkened as he stared at Bai Wan’s sleeping face. After a moment, he spoke with chilling finality.
“I will go find Lord Fu (a senior strategist or advisor serving Prince Ning) and think of a solution.”
“This woman…”
“…cannot be left alive.”
Mo Xia could not stop him. She could only sigh quietly. Half an hour later— Bai Wan suddenly woke. She jolted upright, drenched in cold sweat.
Yet her body burned with feverish heat. The room was empty. For a long time she simply sat there, breathing slowly, trying to steady herself.
Only after a while did Bai Wan finally gather enough strength to push aside the quilt and slowly climb out of bed . When Mo Xia pushed open the door carrying a bowl of steaming medicine, the scene before her made her freeze in alarm.
There, beside the couch, sat Bai Wan, leaning weakly against the edge of the bed. Instead of resting properly upon the mattress, she had somehow slipped down and was now sitting on the floor, her back propped against the side of the couch as though she had run out of strength halfway through standing. Mo Xia’s eyes widened.
“Your Highness!” she exclaimed anxiously. “Why are you sitting on the ground? Please—get up at once!” Since waking that morning, Bai Wan had been plagued by dizziness and weakness. Her limbs felt heavy, her head light, as if her body no longer belonged to her. When she saw someone enter the room, she slowly lifted her eyes. A faint, tired smile appeared on her lips. “It’s fine like this,” she said softly. “From here… I can see His Highness the moment I open my eyes.”
Her gaze drifted toward the bed. For the past hour, she had done nothing but sit there quietly, watching Prince Ning (Ning Wang — an imperial prince granted authority over a princely estate). Again and again, she had studied the rise and fall of his breathing. Each time she confirmed that his chest still rose with life, the tight knot in her heart loosened a little. Only when she saw him breathing peacefully did she finally feel at ease.
What Bai Wan did not realize was that those simple words sounded dangerously close to a heartfelt confession. To anyone listening, it seemed as though she were declaring a deep and unwavering devotion. Such sincere affection would have been enough to make anyone blush.So Mo Xia’s face flushed instantly. “Your Highness, why are you saying such things?” she said awkwardly. Hastily, she stepped forward and helped Bai Wan rise from the floor, guiding her back onto the couch before placing the bowl of medicine into her hands.
Bai Wan accepted it obediently. Her voice was weak as she murmured, “Give it to me.” But instead of lifting the bowl to her own lips, she raised it toward the bed—clearly intending to feed the medicine to Prince Ning. Mo Xia blinked in disbelief. For a moment she was both amused and exasperated.
“No, no!” she said quickly, stopping her.
“This medicine isn’t for His Highness—it’s for you, Mistress.”
She pressed a hand gently against Bai Wan’s forehead. “You have a fever. Don’t you know?” Bai Wan only smiled faintly. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “He is more important.” Mo Xia stared at her helplessly. The woman in front of her was clearly delirious with fever, yet she still insisted on staying beside the prince. After much coaxing and persuasion, Mo Xia finally managed to convince Bai Wan to drink the medicine herself.
When Chi Jun (Prince Ning’s trusted guard captain, responsible for security and covert operations) and Fu Guanchen (a senior strategist and advisor within Prince Ning’s household) heard that the princess consort had fallen ill, they initially paid it little attention. But when the servants reported that she had continued guarding the prince’s bedside despite her illness—
The two men fell silent. Their carefully laid plans could not tolerate Bai Wan becoming an unpredictable variable. Either she had to die.
Or she had to leave. There was no third path. The ideal outcome, of course, would be for her to leave voluntarily. That way, no blame could fall upon Prince Ning Manor (a princely residence granted by imperial decree, functioning almost like a small independent court). Chi Jun’s face darkened as he slammed his fist against the armrest.
“This ridiculous idea of ‘marrying for good luck’ (a superstitious custom where a marriage is arranged in hopes of improving someone’s fate or curing illness) is absolute nonsense!”
“I’ve never even heard of such a thing!”
“If one woman could solve everything simply by marrying into the household, then what would be the point of having the rest of us?” He scoffed coldly. “If she were truly that miraculous, I’d treat her like a Bodhisattva (a revered enlightened being in Buddhist tradition)—kneeling before her every day and offering incense!” Compared with Chi Jun’s fiery temper, Fu Guanchen remained calm. His fingers tapped lightly against the table as he spoke thoughtfully.
“Have you investigated her background thoroughly?”
“Is there anything unusual about her?” Chi Jun snorted dismissively.
“The Bai family’s servants and maids all say the same thing. This Second Young Miss Bai has always been… rather improper.” He leaned back with visible disdain. “Even before her marriage, she frequently went out alone, showing her face in public and associating with several young masters.” Fu Guanchen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what did she do during those outings?” Chi Jun waved a hand. “They say she was looking for a powerful patron.” His tone was dripping with skepticism.
“Apparently she often used selling her own embroidery as an excuse to approach influential nobles and wealthy families.”
“She’s extremely cunning.”
“Several noble ladies even praised her highly and wanted to arrange marriages between her and their sons.” He paused before continuing bitterly. “But she’s not favored within her own family. Since she couldn’t rely on them to secure a good marriage, she had to go out and look for opportunities herself—” Chi Jun swallowed the harsher words he had intended to say. Even so, his expression remained indignant. “This marriage is clearly unwanted by both sides.”
“The Guangling Marquis’s Mansion (a noble aristocratic household granted marquis rank) is simply using this as an excuse to throw her away.”
“And we’re supposed to just accept it?” His voice grew colder with every word.
“Our His Highness holds immense authority and prestige. His military achievements are unmatched, and his status is extraordinarily noble.”
“How could a woman with such a tarnished reputation be allowed to lay her hands on him?” Fu Guanchen frowned faintly. Something about Chi Jun’s account did not sit right with him. If Bai Wan were truly as cunning as described—and if she frequently associated privately with men—how could she still receive such praise from noble ladies? Even concubines required decent reputations. The wives of powerful households would never recommend a woman of questionable virtue.
Yet although these contradictions troubled him, Fu Guanchen had neither the time nor the energy to investigate Bai Wan further. He changed the subject. “His Highness’s poison is extremely unusual,” he said quietly.
“Even the imperial physicians would struggle to identify its source.”
“They might sense that something is wrong, but they would likely attribute it to weakness or exhaustion.”
He looked thoughtfully toward the courtyard. “If she truly was sent by that person…”
“…then perhaps we can use her instead.” Chi Jun froze. He pondered those words for a long moment before suddenly understanding.
“Your Excellency is right!”
“Turn the enemy’s move back against them… and respond to all changes with constancy.” Just then— A small figure entered their field of vision. Both men looked up. The woman walking past them appeared unsteady on her feet. Her steps swayed slightly, as though the ground beneath her were shifting. Her head tilted faintly, her eyes unfocused as she wandered past them without noticing their presence. It was Bai Wan.
Seeing her like this, Chi Jun could not help but imagine an absurd image— A tender little lamb. Soft, helpless, and utterly unaware. Skipping cheerfully into a den full of wolves. Chi Jun immediately shook his head, banishing the ridiculous thought. What nonsense!
He glanced at Fu Guanchen again, still dissatisfied.
“So we’re really going to do nothing?”
“Just let her wander around the manor however she pleases?” Fu Guanchen’s gaze followed Bai Wan until her figure disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Only then did he reply calmly. “Let’s wait.”
“We will observe until His Highness awakens.”
Meanwhile, Bai Wan staggered through the quiet corridors and finally reached the west wing residence (a secondary residential section of a noble manor reserved for family members or guests). By the time she returned to her own chamber, she was coughing lightly. Her body felt unbearably weak. The moment she collapsed onto the couch, the room began spinning before her eyes. Her vision blurred. Her head throbbed painfully. She had already caught a chill several days earlier. Because of the sudden substitute marriage, she had never properly recovered.
After marrying into the manor, she had worked tirelessly day and night. She had endured two assassination attempts. Then the truth of the substitute bride had been exposed. And after that, she had been threatened by Aunt Huifang (a senior female Mama within the Bai household).
One disaster followed another.Fear consumed her. She could neither eat nor sleep. It was no wonder her body had finally collapsed.The moment Bai Wan lay down upon the couch, exhaustion dragged her into deep sleep. Soon— She began dreaming again.
In the dream, Prince Ning suddenly awoke and learned about the circumstances of their marriage. Fury consumed him. His anger shook the heavens. Without hesitation, he led the Western Army (the powerful frontier army under his command) and stormed into the imperial palace itself. The capital burned beneath the thunder of hooves. The throne was seized. The entire Bai family was slaughtered. And then—
Prince Ning turned his gaze upon her. His eyes were colder than winter ice. He strangled her with his own hands. Her body was hung high above the Meridian Gate (Wu Men — the central southern gate of the imperial palace, traditionally used for imperial announcements and executions) as a warning to the world. His voice echoed across the capital. “I will live a solitary life.”
“No one is permitted to marry me.”
“Anyone who defies my will will suffer the same fate as the Bai woman.”
“No—!!”
Bai Wan jerked awake with a terrified cry. Her heart pounded violently in her chest. The despair of that imagined death still clung to her like a shadow. Instinctively, her hands flew to her neck, as if expecting to find a rope tightening there. Instead— Her fingers touched something warm.
Something soft and fluffy. A faint “meow” drifted through the haze surrounding Bai Wan’s mind. Something soft yet insistent struck against her chest, and in the next instant the crushing weight that had been pressing upon her suddenly lifted.
Her lungs expanded sharply as air rushed in. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she could breathe again. Bai Wan remained frozen where she lay, her thoughts tangled and distant. She did not even bother to look for the cat that had appeared so inexplicably. Instead, an icy shiver crept down her spine, leaving her limbs cold and stiff. What a strange dream. And yet… strangely enough, it had come at exactly the right time. Her Aunt Huifang—Huifang Gugu (gugu: a respectful form of address for one’s father’s sister or a senior aunt within the family)—had been right all along. This marriage… was absurd from the very beginning.
Even Consort Xian (Xian Fei — a high-ranking imperial concubine serving within the Inner Palace) had expressed dissatisfaction with the arrangement. If the imperial consort herself disapproved, how could Prince Ning—Ning Wang (wang: a prince of the imperial clan, usually granted a fief and noble residence)—possibly welcome it? Without Prince Ning’s knowledge… without his consent… she had been placed into the position of his wife. When that man eventually awoke, how could he possibly not resent her?
The thought made Bai Wan’s heart tighten painfully. No. She could not allow matters to unfold that way. She had to find a way to protect him.
—
That very night, Bai Wan returned once more to Prince Ning’s bedchamber. The chamber itself was vast and solemn, its wooden beams dark and polished, the faint glow of candlelight flickering across carved lattice screens and silk curtains. Incense smoke drifted faintly in the air, mingling with the cold winter scent that slipped through the narrow gaps of the window lattice. At the bedside stood Chi Jun, the prince’s personal guard captain.
Chi Jun—Chi Tongling (tongling: commander of the prince’s personal guard unit, responsible for security within the prince’s residence)—had been standing watch throughout the evening. The moment Bai Wan stepped inside, his entire body stiffened in surprise. He stared at her for a long moment, clearly stunned. Before he could speak, Mo Xia hurried forward with a soft gasp. “You’re still so ill,” Mo Xia exclaimed, her brows knitting together with worry. “Why are you still keeping watch here?”
Mo Xia—Mo Xia Guniang (guniang: a respectful term used for young ladies or senior maids)—was Prince Ning’s chief personal maid, responsible for his daily care, including preparing medicines and changing his wound dressings. As she spoke, she quickly set aside the tray she had been carrying and stepped forward to support Bai Wan. Bai Wan gently waved her away. Her hands were clasped tightly before her chest, her fingers trembling faintly. The fever had not yet left her body; her cheeks were flushed with unnatural heat, and her voice came out slightly hoarse.
“I’m fine,” she said softly. Then, after a brief pause, she added in a fragile tone,
“If I cannot see Your Highness, I cannot rest at ease.” (Your Highness — Dianxia: the proper form of address for a prince of imperial blood.) Her fever-bright eyes shimmered like rippling water under candlelight. Mo Xia looked at her and felt her own face grow warm for reasons she could not quite explain. Chi Jun, however, appeared distinctly uncomfortable. His brows furrowed slightly as he clasped his hands into a respectful fist—gongshou li (a traditional martial salute performed by warriors and guards)—before quietly withdrawing from the chamber.
Mo Xia remained behind for a short while longer. But halfway through the night, she was called away by other servants from the residence.
Before leaving, she turned back toward Bai Wan with visible concern. “This servant will come relieve you in the middle of the night,” Mo Xia said softly. (This servant — nu bi: a humble self-reference used by palace servants when addressing their masters.) Bai Wan nodded obediently.
Soon, the room grew quiet. Once everyone had left, Bai Wan hurriedly climbed onto the bed.
Her movements were careful and cautious as she leaned closer toward Prince Ning. Her eyes studied him intently. If the person who had poisoned Prince Ning truly came from among those close to him… then she absolutely could not reveal her findings to anyone else.
The only person she could trust with this truth… was Prince Ning himself. But there was another problem. Even if he awakened, would he believe her? Bai Wan’s thoughts spun slowly in her fevered mind. Her head felt heavy, her thinking sluggish. She forced herself to focus.
First, she examined Prince Ning’s face carefully. Compared with the previous day, his complexion had regained a faint flush of color, no longer the pale gray of someone lingering between life and death. His breathing, too, had grown steadier. It seemed that since she had married into the residence, his food and medicines had been handled properly. That realization allowed Bai Wan to relax—just slightly.
She pressed her fingertips firmly against her temples, trying to clear the fog clouding her thoughts. Then, with careful hands, she began to unfasten the layers of Prince Ning’s clothing. His robes were heavy winter garments—jin pao (brocade robes worn by nobility, often lined with silk and fur for warmth)—and beneath them were tightly wrapped bandages covering the wound that had nearly taken his life. Under the trembling glow of candlelight, Bai Wan slowly removed the bandages. Then she leaned closer, studying the wound with intense concentration.
The injury had been present for more than a month. And yet… There were no real signs of healing. It was as if something had been deliberately applied to slow the recovery. A medicine. A drug. Someone… had interfered. Many people in the residence had opportunities to approach Prince Ning. But only one person was responsible for changing his bandages each day. Mo Xia.
Bai Wan bit her lower lip unconsciously. Her delicate brows drew together. Among everyone in this vast princely residence, Mo Xia had always treated her the most kindly. In truth, Bai Wan sincerely hoped… that Mo Xia was not a bad person. After pushing those troubling thoughts aside, Bai Wan steadied her breathing and extended her hand toward the wound. Her fingertips barely touched the skin—
“Bang—!!” The sudden sound shattered the stillness of the night.
On the roof above the chamber, the Chief of the Prince’s Shadow Guards stiffened instantly. (Shadow Guards — Anwei: elite covert guards personally loyal to a prince or noble household, often stationed unseen around the residence.) His expression changed sharply. In a silent movement, he dropped down from the roof. Within moments, more than a dozen black-clad guards appeared from the darkness, surrounding the bedchamber like shadows.
The captain raised a hand, signaling for silence. He listened carefully. From inside the chamber came the faint sound of a woman’s weak voice—
“Cough—cough—cough…”
“Let… go…”
The guards exchanged alarmed glances. Inside the bedchamber— Bai Wan was pinned against the bed. A powerful hand gripped her throat.
The man lying on the bed—Prince Ning—was still unconscious. Yet his fingers had locked around her neck like iron. The veins along his arm bulged sharply, his grip unyielding. Even with just one hand, he restrained her effortlessly. It felt as though he could crush her throat with the slightest movement.
Bai Wan struggled desperately. Her vision blurred. A loud ringing filled her ears. Her consciousness began slipping away as the world around her twisted into a hazy blur. Was this… how it would end? No.
No!
She had already died once before. She refused to die again. A fierce instinct for survival ignited deep within her chest. Summoning the last of her strength, Bai Wan reached upward with trembling fingers and pulled the bamboo hairpin from her hair. (Bamboo hairpin — a simple yet sturdy hair ornament often used by women to secure their hairstyles; in emergencies it could also serve as a defensive weapon.) With all the strength she had left— She struck. The hairpin slammed precisely into the shoulder acupoint on Prince Ning’s arm. (Acupoint — in traditional Chinese medicine, specific points along the body’s meridian system where pressure or needles can affect muscles and nerves.)
Prince Ning’s arm suddenly went numb. His grip loosened. Bai Wan seized the opportunity. With a desperate shove, she pushed him away with all her strength. “Thump—!!” Her body lost its balance. She tumbled backward toward the foot of the bed— and landed directly onto Prince Ning’s lap. For a long moment she sat there, clutching her aching chest and gasping for breath. Gradually, the dizzy whirl of stars before her eyes began to fade.
The room had fallen completely silent. Too silent. Bai Wan’s heart skipped uneasily. Something… felt wrong. Hadn’t there been a loud noise just now? Her gaze darted around the room in alarm. Then she looked back at the man before her. Prince Ning’s eyes remained tightly closed. The faint color that had finally returned to his face had vanished again. Now his complexion was as pale as white paper. His breathing was so weak it was almost imperceptible. Both of his arms hung limply over the edge of the bed. He did not move. He looked— like a dead man.
Bai Wan: “….”
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