The pristine white cloth had just been laid over the wound when it was quickly soaked through with deep, dark bloodstains. The young palace maid, flustered and panicked, hastily grabbed two more cloths and pressed them haphazardly against the injury. Her pressure was a bit too forceful, causing the man’s elegant, long eyes to narrow slightly.
"Chief Fang..." The young maid, terrified, dropped the cloth and knelt on the floor, tears welling in her eyes as her shoulders trembled uncontrollably.
Fang Zhu cast an indifferent glance at the timid, pitiful figure. It was no wonder they feared him. A sword that had claimed countless lives, even if not pointed directly at one’s face, was enough to chill the heart just by watching the blood droplets roll down its blade.
"You may leave. I’ll take care of it." Hai Shi, dressed in a man’s blue robe, leaned against the doorway and spoke coldly.
The maid stifled her tears and glanced cautiously at Fang Zhu. Seeing no objection from him, she felt as if granted a reprieve and hurriedly retreated from the room on tiptoe.
Fang Zhu’s left shoulder, stained with blood, was bared to his waist, the white cloth covering it now mottled with crimson marks. Hai Shi closed the door behind her and stepped forward, gently peeling away the cloth. She drew a sharp, silent breath. The wound was no larger than a mung bean in diameter but exceptionally deep. The bleeding had slowed slightly, yet it still trickled like a fine spring, painting his shoulder, back, and upper arm in vivid red. Frowning deeply, Hai Shi sat by the bed, dipping a cloth in cold wine to wipe away the bloodstains from Fang Zhu’s skin.
Gradually, the natural hue of his skin emerged. With each wipe, the expression in Hai Shi’s eyes grew darker.
Due to years without sunlight, the wheat-colored complexion of Fang Zhu’s youth had faded to a pale, bluish white. His exposed shoulder was densely crisscrossed with scars of varying sizes—some deep purple, others faint white. The coin-shaped marks piercing through his shoulder and back were arrow wounds; the raised, intersecting lines were blade scars; and the dark purple ones that would never fade were burns and frostbite.
"Father... how many people have you killed?" Hai Shi dipped the cloth into the cold wine in the basin, a faint red hue spreading through the liquid.
"Countless," the man replied, tilting his head away without looking at her.
The pure white cloth had already turned a light pink. Hai Shi lowered her gaze, carefully and skillfully avoiding the fresh wound. "When was the last time?" The man remained silent for a moment before answering, "Seven years ago." "Seven years ago?" Hai Shi’s fingers stilled. As the pause lengthened, the warmth of his skin seeped through the damp cloth. She watched her own fingers curl uncontrollably, squeezing moisture from the fabric. "Seven years ago?" Fang Zhu remained silent.
"You’re lying." Hai Shi hung her head, her shoulders trembling as if under immense strain. Suddenly, she lifted her face, her clear eyes brimming with pain and hatred. "Just this morning, you killed Zhe Liu. With just those few words, you killed her." Fang Zhu still refused to look at her. His elegant, refined profile remained as impassive as a stone statue, devoid of joy or sorrow, yet steadfastly avoiding her gaze."That old palace maid, before she died, cursed Zhuliu for causing her ruin, and—" Haishi's thick lashes were beaded with fine, shattered tears, "she cursed you to die a miserable death." Fang Zhu responded with a faint smile. Born into a noble family, trained in the imperial court, he had fought across a thousand miles and rebelled multiple times in his life—the notion of a miserable death was something he had long accepted. If life itself was not worth living well, why bother about whether death would be kind or cruel? "Why? What exactly do you want Zhuoying to do for you? He values his promises more than his own life. Since he was thirteen and you took him under your wing, has he ever once disobeyed your command? That kind of emperor—Zhuliu lost her sight because of him, the Six Wings generals perished because of him, and when I was six, I was thrown into the Merman Sea, my father dead and my mother scattered—all because of him. With just one word from you, he would willingly sacrifice his own life to protect such an emperor. Even if Zhuliu took her own life immediately after returning from Prince Chang's residence, if he sought revenge, he would only go to Prince Chang. Why would he turn against the emperor?" Haishi reached out her hand, her fingers trembling. His eyes were long and profound, like a dragon's hidden abyss; his nose was sharp and narrow, like a blade's edge; his face was gaunt, burdened with heavy thoughts. Her fingertips brushed lightly against his cheek, like five petals of a falling flower, vainly trying to draw his gaze back.
"Why did Zhuliu have to die? Since we were young, no matter what you asked of us, no matter how difficult, even if it cost us our lives, we would have done it for you. But Zhuliu—did she really have to die? She was just a blind girl! After she died, Zhuoying didn't shed a single tear. I'm afraid he'll never be able to cry again in this lifetime!" "That is precisely why the blind girl had to die." Fang Zhu finally met Haishi's gaze and spoke slowly.
A sharp crack echoed as Fang Zhu's face was slapped to the side, five red marks rising on his pale cheek.
Haishi clutched the collar of his robe tightly, staring in disbelief at his impassive face as tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes. She and Zhuoying were nothing more than pawns, heartlessly manipulated by his fingers. He had never regarded Zhuoying or her as his children, not even as human beings—aside from Emperor Xu, no one else truly counted as human. To Haishi, Zhuoying was a brother and comrade, someone with whom she could drink freely, discuss swordsmanship, and ride side by side, as close as if they were born of the same womb. But Fang Zhu was her teacher, her father, her friend—the lightning and light that had cleaved open her chaotic world. She had always known that nothing could ever be between them and had never harbored any illusions. Without questioning the past or considering the future, she had killed relentlessly just to earn a word of praise from him. And in the end, this was what she received.
She gripped his clothing tightly, her gaze piercing his eyes, tears falling like strings of pearls onto the wound on his left shoulder, causing a sharp, stinging pain. This child clung to him with the naive stubbornness of a young beast. She was the little one he had personally brought back, but he had forgotten that she would grow up. Sometimes, even in male attire, her undeniable beauty could still dazzle the eyes.
She stared at him with her clear, black-and-white eyes, tears falling in torrents, yet she bit her lip tightly, refusing to let out a single sob. She had always been proud and brave, unwilling to show weakness even when she cried.
He felt his tightly clenched hand silently relax. His fingertips hesitantly lifted one by one, and after what felt like an eternity, they stretched into a small, tentative gesture. If he raised his hand just a little higher, he could have embraced her slender shoulders.Yet he did not. His hand hovered midair for a moment before abruptly clenching into a fist and dropping back to his side. Unmoved, she noticed nothing.
Her beauty was like an omen, a constant reminder that he had long resolved to sever himself—his life was already ruined.
He could not help but avoid her gaze. A diverging river never flows backward; their fates, like its current, would never turn back.
A light knock sounded at the door. A servant from the residence called from outside, "Young master, a message from the palace urges you to depart immediately." Haishi trembled, abruptly releasing his lapel. She froze for a moment, then roughly wiped the tear stains from her face with the back of her hand. From her bosom, she pulled out a gold thumb ring inlaid with pale green glass and flung it at Fangzhu. The ring had originally been his; it was too large for her, so she had wrapped it with green silk thread, much like how young women of noble families adjust their rings.
Fangzhu seemed to pay it no mind and replied toward the door, "Tell them the young master will be there shortly." His voice held not a trace of fluctuation.
Haishi took a deep breath, then stood and walked step by step toward the door. Suddenly, she turned back, her brow furrowed with confusion and sorrow. "You raised me for ten years and Zhuoying for fifteen—was it all just so we could destroy each other today? How much can I truly trust you?" She stood there for a long moment but never received his answer.
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