Stepping once more into the dim, narrow passageway, a chilling wind pierced to the bone, causing Yaoying to shiver slightly as she tightened her cloak.
Bi Suo walked ahead, holding a lamp. Glancing at the damp strands of hair at her temples moistened by the tunnel's humidity, he said softly, "The king is unwell, burdened by melancholy. I didn’t know how to ease his mind, so I took the liberty of inviting you here. I’ve troubled you, Princess."
Yaoying kept her eyes on the path beneath her feet. "It’s no trouble. The Dharma Master’s health is what matters."
She remembered Tanmoroqie’s fate… She hoped he could live well. If she could change Li Zhongqian’s destiny, perhaps she could change his too.
"General, what is troubling the Dharma Master so deeply?"
Yaoying asked quietly. Tanmoroqie was deeply versed in the Buddhist Dharma, seeing through worldly affairs with neither sorrow nor joy. He shouldn’t be troubled by ordinary worldly worries.
Bi Suo replied, "Perhaps it’s because of the recent busy court affairs and the pressing military situation. The king has been overworked for days, burdened with excessive worries."
Yaoying frowned slightly.
Bi Suo rambled a few more casual words before falling silent, his gaze fixed on the lamp in his hand, though his peripheral attention remained on Yaoying.
As the Buddha Prince, Tanmoroqie could not summon her late at night, so she had draped her cloak and followed him through the secret passage into the temple without asking a single question. Fearing any leak of information, she hadn’t brought a single guard.
Even though she was put in such an awkward position, she didn’t seem to mind at all.
A woman of such unparalleled grace and charm—even without doing anything, a single careless glance from her was enough to captivate hearts, to make the most agile warriors of the tribes blush and burn with passion, willing to risk their lives for her. And when she cared for someone, it was with her whole heart, sincere and devoted. Who could withstand that?
If Tanmoroqie had never met her, never known such a woman existed, it would have been one thing.
But he had met her, come to know her, and even spent days and nights in her company. Naturally, he couldn’t help but develop a desire to keep her for himself.
Once one has seen light and warmth, it becomes unbearable to return to darkness and solitude.
Yet Luojia was so clear-minded that he would never be foolish enough, as the Buddha Prince, to claim a Han woman as his own.
Doing so would bring him eternal infamy, and Princess Wenzhao would surely be branded a demoness who brought ruin to the nation and its people, cursed and hated by fanatical followers, forced to constantly guard against their retaliation.
No woman could withstand such pressure.
Thus, Luojia couldn’t even utter words to ask her to stay. Only after she had left, in moments of delirium, would he quietly whisper her name.
Bi Suo’s heart was heavy. He wanted Luojia to find some solace, yet he feared that his current actions might only deepen Luojia’s attachment, leading to one of them heartbroken and the other ruined in reputation.
Was there ever a way to have both in this world…?
He could only hope he hadn’t made a mistake.
Bi Suo stopped and pushed open a hidden door, gesturing with his lamp. "The king is inside."
Yaoying followed the faint glow of the lamp. The passage led to a quiet chamber where a felt curtain hung low, and a few weak candle flames flickered, faintly illuminating the outlines of the room’s furnishings. A golden carpet shimmered on the floor.
"The physician has already been here. The medicine is on the table. Please remind the king to take it," Bi Suo said, standing outside the hidden door.
Yaoying gave a soft acknowledgment and stepped inside. The room was warm and stuffy, and she soon began to sweat. She removed her cloak and passed a long table, where she saw the letters and gift box she had sent, a pot of steaming herbal medicine, several packages of herbs wrapped in silk brocade, a large platter of chilled fruits, and a bowl of iced yogurt sprinkled with sour plums.The inner chamber was filled with curling incense smoke. She lifted the curtain to peer inside. The room was simply furnished: a long couch, two desks, a flickering candle, a scroll of Buddhist scriptures, and a charcoal brazier.
A man lay on the couch, eyes closed, face slightly flushed, motionless beneath a thin blanket. The inner chamber was warmed by the brazier, cozy and warm. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and the blanket had been pushed aside, revealing the sleeve of his monk's robes.
Yaoying tiptoed forward, bent down, and gently pulled out the half of the thin blanket that was crumpled under his arm. She spread it over his exposed shoulder, her fingers accidentally brushing against his skin—damp and sticky.
He was sweating not only on his head but all over his body.
Yaoying glanced around, found a copper basin, wrung out a cloth, and gently wiped the sweat from Tanmoroqie's forehead and cheeks.
As the warm cloth touched his skin, the sleeping man's eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes. His gaze met Yaoying's, clear and limpid as autumn water.
He looked at her calmly, his eyes shadowed with fatigue, his jade-green gaze cool and serene.
Yaoying softened her movements.
He was indeed exhausted. He had traveled such a long distance for her sake during the day, and his condition had worsened. Even on such a warm day, he needed a brazier by his bedside.
After wiping his face and shoulders, she hesitated for a moment and whispered, "Venerable One, let me help you sit up so I can wipe the rest of your body? You'll sleep more comfortably."
Tanmoroqie pressed his lips together and remained silent.
His features were deep and handsome. Even in repose, he exuded an aura of solemn dignity, and when serious, he carried an untouchable, sacred presence. Now, lying there and gazing at Yaoying, though ill, he still retained an air of grace.
Assuming his silence was consent, Yaoying supported his shoulders and helped him lean against the couch's railing. Having cared for the drunken Li Zhongqian and the injured Xie Qing—both tall and sturdy men—she had no trouble handling Tanmoroqie.
Once he was settled, she let go, rewet the cloth, and gently pressed it against his neck, slowly moving downward.
The warm, smooth cloth glided over his exposed collarbone, and a corner of it slipped beneath his monk's robes. Suddenly, he raised his hand and gripped Yaoying's wrist.
Yaoying looked up at him. His expression was composed, but his eyes were icy, and his palm was damp with sweat as he held her wrist.
"Venerable One?"
Yaoying called out in confusion. Was he failing to recognize her again?
Tanmoroqie gazed down at her for a long moment. With his right hand still holding her, he raised his left hand, undid his monk's robes with one hand, took the cloth from her, and began wiping his own body.
Seeing that he did not want her to touch him, Yaoying immediately lowered her head and stepped back, but his grip tightened, refusing to let her move.
Yaoying thought to herself: It seems he's still not fully conscious.
Tanmoroqie held Yaoying with one hand while wiping himself with the other, his jade-green eyes fixed intently on her, cold and sharp.
Unsure whether to assist or withdraw, Yaoying could only shift her gaze to the flickering candle on the desk.
After a few flickers of the candlelight, Tanmoroqie finished wiping, adjusted his monk's robes, and leaned back against the couch before finally releasing Yaoying's hand.
Yaoying rubbed her wrist. Though ill, his grip was surprisingly strong.
Tanmoroqie closed his eyes, then opened them again after a moment, his gaze sweeping over Yaoying.
"Why are you still here?"
He spoke softly, his tone heavy with exhaustion.
Yaoying replied, "Venerable One, you haven't taken your medicine yet."
Tanmoroqie seemed taken aback by her response. He lifted his eyelids and studied her for a long moment.The woman sitting before him with a faint smile on her face—it was truly her.
In the next moment, Tanmoroqie’s brow twitched slightly. His body stiffened, his pupils slowly dilated, and a flicker of astonishment passed through his eyes, like a sudden burst of starlight in the stillness of the night. Then, little by little, it faded away, quickly replaced by a desolate emptiness, leaving only the churning of dark clouds.
He had always been a man of composure and self-restraint, and his daze lasted but an instant.
Yaoying blinked, carefully studying his expression.
Their gazes met, their breaths intertwining.
Yaoying knew Tanmoroqie had recognized her. She raised an eyebrow and said, "Venerable One, it’s me. General Ashina brought me here. Who did you mistake me for just now?"
Tanmoroqie remained silent, his figure as still as if he had entered deep meditation.
Seeing that he did not wish to answer, Yaoying did not press further. She rose, walked to the long table, poured a bowl of medicine, and returned to the couch. Holding the bowl, she said, "Venerable One, please take your medicine. It turns bitter when it cools."
Tanmoroqie’s gaze lingered on her face.
In the flickering candlelight, she wore the same plain, light-brown robe she had on earlier in the main hall. Her long hair was tied up, adorned with a lustrous green jade lotus hairpin. Though she wore no makeup, her youthful beauty, snow-like skin, and radiant features remained striking.
At dusk, the hall had been densely packed with monks, and countless devotees had gathered outside to watch. Under the stern gaze of the Buddha statue and the abbot’s harsh questioning, she had been formally expelled from Wang Temple.
He had walked up to her, looking down at her, and she had playfully winked at him, her expression one of relief.
She was finally free from the identity of the Girl of Matanga.
From beginning to end, both he and she had known that the Girl of Matanga was merely a pretense.
Yet, in that moment, he had indulged in a delusion—hoping that all her lies were true.
She revered him, regarded him as a trustworthy elder, believing him to be free of worldly desires and selfish motives… She was wrong.
He had allowed her unconscious closeness.
He wanted her to stay, to remain by his side, never to leave.
He craved her companionship.
And so, he could not ask her to stay.
"Venerable One?"
A bitter medicinal scent wafted toward him. Yaoying held out the bowl, offering it to Tanmoroqie.
Tanmoroqie snapped out of his thoughts, a slight shiver running through him as clarity gradually returned. He accepted the bowl but did not drink. Instead, he set it aside and extended his hand toward Yaoying.
Yaoying froze, looking at him in confusion.
Tanmoroqie lowered his head, using his fingers to lift her wrist through her sleeve, carefully rolling up the fabric without touching her skin.
Her wrist was delicate, her skin as white as congealed cream, with a faint red mark left where he had gripped her earlier.
"Does it hurt?"
He heard his own voice, steady and composed, yet waves of emotion surged within him.
The question he had not dared to ask in public was finally spoken.
Yaoying shook her head. "It’s nothing. It’ll fade soon. I often get marks like this from minor bumps and scrapes. I don’t even need to apply medicine."
By now, she was accustomed to such minor injuries. As long as her face remained unblemished, it was fine.
Tanmoroqie said nothing and turned his attention to her other hand. Again, he lifted her wrist through her sleeve, his fingers gently pushing back the fabric.
This time, though his movements were still gentle, there was an undeniable firmness in his demeanor, leaving no room for refusal.
Yaoying was momentarily bewildered.
Tanmoroqie held her hand, his right trembling imperceptibly.Her hand must have been bumped while evading the crowd during the day, with several bruises swelling up. Under the lamplight, the stark marks on her fair, delicate skin looked rather alarming.
Today, the commoners had only casually thrown harmless fruits.
Dharmaraga’s gaze was heavy and intent.
Yaoying followed his line of sight and was startled herself. Remembering the incident in the square, she withdrew her hand and covered it with her sleeve. "I must have bumped it somewhere—it doesn’t hurt at all."
She picked up the medicine bowl Dharmaraga had set down. "Venerable One, your medicine."
Dharmaraga took the bowl, tilted his head back, and drank it with elegant yet swift movements, finishing it quickly.
Yaoying handed him a cup of water to rinse his mouth, then recalled the gift box she had brought. She picked it up, opened it, and took out a leather pouch.
"Venerable One, I bought this on my way back to the Holy City. It should help with the bitterness."
She smiled, sitting back down by the couch, untied the pouch, and took Dharmaraga’s hand, spreading his palm open and placing a clean handkerchief over it.
His palm felt slightly cool. Under the lamplight, a handful of translucent, amber-like yellow-white sugar granules, varying in size, spilled onto the handkerchief in his hand. The granules were plump, smooth, and vividly colored.
A faint, sweet fragrance wafted through the air.
"Someone happened to be selling this today. I recall you often eat it," Yaoying said. "I’ve asked the physicians—Thorn Honey nourishes and strengthens, quenches thirst, and relieves pain. It doesn’t conflict with the medicine you’re taking. This is the first batch of Thorn Honey this year. When I bought it, there were still twigs and leaves inside, but I’ve picked them all out. Try it quickly, Venerable One."
Dharmaraga remained silent for a moment before picking up a pale-yellow piece of Thorn Honey and placing it in his mouth.
The Thorn Honey was delicate and soft, rich and fresh on the tongue. A slightly tangy sweetness burst on the tip of his tongue, slowly filling his mouth and sliding down his throat. Then, a lingering fragrance remained between his teeth and cheeks, seeping into his very core, sweetening the deepest, most tranquil part of his heart. He could almost feel his blood flowing and a faint, tingling numbness spreading through his stiff limbs.
Yaoying watched him eagerly. "Is it sweet?"
He looked at her and nodded.
"Sweet."
Very sweet.
Yaoying smiled. "In my homeland, Thorn Honey was a tribute offering."
Thorn Honey is a sugary substance secreted and solidified on camelthorns. In the past, the Western Regions often presented it as tribute to Chang’an. When she bought fruits today, she saw several packets of Thorn Honey. It was rare to find granules as large as small grapes, so she bought them all. She gave one packet to Li Zhongqian and planned to give the rest to Dharmaraga, who often ate Thorn Honey and would surely appreciate it.
"Unfortunately, one packet was crushed in the crowd at the palace gate today..." Yaoying said with some regret.
Dharmaraga’s heart trembled slightly, recalling how he had seen her during the day without Li Zhongqian by her side. Later, Li Zhongqian had hurried over, seemingly holding a few leather pouches.
While being surrounded and scorned by the commoners, had she been thinking about packets of Thorn Honey he used to often eat?
He sat in a daze for a while, gathered the handkerchief, and placed the unfinished Thorn Honey by his pillow. His gaze fell on Yaoying’s hand, and he said softly, "There’s medicine over there."
Yaoying followed his direction and found a silver clamshell box. Opening it, she was met with a refreshing medicinal scent.
"Where should I apply it?"
After washing her hands and holding the clamshell box, she asked.
Dharmaraga didn’t answer. Instead, he took the box directly from her hand, sat up straighter, dipped two fingers into the ointment, and gestured for her to roll up her sleeve.
Yaoying was taken aback. "I’m fine."She had thought the medicine was meant to be applied to his leg.
Tanmoroqie lifted his gaze to her, his complexion slightly improved from before, and said gently yet firmly, "Apply some medicine—it'll heal faster."
Yaoying had no choice but to sit down and roll up her sleeve.
Tanmoroqie leaned over, first wiping her wrist clean with a handkerchief, then gently spreading the ointment.
His calloused fingertips brushed softly against the wound. The ointment felt cool, bringing a faint, stinging sensation to the bruised area. Yaoying couldn't help but let out a slight hiss, a shiver running through her.
Tanmoroqie immediately looked up at her, his sharp gaze flashing like lightning, his brows slightly furrowed. "Does it hurt?"
He asked but didn't wait for her reply, already lightening his touch, gentle as a wisp of cloud.
Yaoying stared blankly at Tanmoroqie and shook her head.
"It doesn't hurt."
She murmured softly, her face warming, that strange feeling welling up in her heart once again.
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