Chapter Thirty-Nine: Joyful Conversation

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Si Yan looked up at Ye Qianling, whose eyes refused to open. His gaze was devoid of warmth, a fact the girl lying in bed could neither see nor sense, her heart overflowing with gratitude for the man before her.

“Thank you, Master Chi, for bringing me here. We've only known each other a few days, but I’ll remember this kindness. Truly, thank you.” Ye Qianling felt an unfamiliar wetness shimmer behind her closed eyelids, unsure if it was her imagination or something real.

A cold smile flickered across Si Yan’s face at her words, yet his voice was calm, at odds with the distaste in his expression. “You’ve already thanked me. There’s no need for such formality.” With that, he turned to look out the window, his tone polite as he watched the bustling crowds outside.

Ye Qianling realized that with this “Master Chi,” the only topic they could speak of was her gratitude, to which he invariably replied with “no need.” There was nothing else to say. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she thought better of it and closed them again.

Si Yan, too, felt no urge for conversation. They had only just met, and he was never one for idle talk. He gazed out the window, lost in some private reverie.

The silence was so thick that even their breathing felt loud. Unable to endure the oppressive stillness, Ye Qianling finally spoke, her voice tinged with feigned fear. “My eyes won’t open. It’s terribly uncomfortable.”

Si Yan turned from the window at her words. “It’s nothing. That’s how it is after anesthesia. You’ll be able to open them soon.”

Whether or not Si Yan realized how blunt his comfort sounded, Ye Qianling found her intended words stifled in her throat, unsure how to respond.

To say Si Yan was taciturn was perhaps unfair. With his status, background, and upbringing, he could not truly be an introvert. But as Ye Qianling had noted, they had only known each other a few days—what was there to talk about? They hadn’t even tried to find a common topic.

Being a young woman, Ye Qianling was more sensitive. When Si Yan showed her care she thought unnecessary from his perspective, she couldn’t help but wonder if his feelings for her were different.

But between young men and women just acquainted, what sort of special feelings could there truly be?

So Ye Qianling had long since decided—this Chi Yan must have some fondness for her. She just couldn’t understand how a little affection could prompt such concern.

She didn’t want to dwell on it. She always overthought things, always tried to see from others’ perspectives, and in the end, she was the one who suffered. She wanted to take things lightly now, to be kinder to herself.

Ye Qianling did like Si Yan, but how could people like them ever be together? A fallen princess and a criminal—impossible. Yet, no matter what, she needed some way, some person, to show her a little care, to help her forget her troubles for a while and focus on her studies in West Suburb South Court. Emotionally, though, she didn’t want to hurt someone who was good to her out of selfish desire.

A tangle of thoughts wove through her mind. In the end, Ye Qianling found no perfect answer and gave up, her words tumbling out before she even realized.

“Master Chi, since I was born, I’ve had anesthesia six times, four of which were just in this past while. They say too much anesthesia makes people dull. I’ve never been particularly bright—sometimes I’d even count money for the people selling me out. If this keeps up, I don’t know if I’ll ever have the chance to learn and live with you all again.” She couldn’t help but give a bitter laugh, tears sliding from the corners of her tightly shut eyes.

Ye Qianling never showed weakness before strangers. Perhaps it was the loss of sight that made her bare all the feelings she usually hid, letting them spill out before Si Yan.

Si Yan watched her, face flushed with pain and despair, silent for a long moment. He studied her intently, her suffering written clearly on her features. “I was wondering why you didn’t seem afraid at all. So you’ve been under anesthesia so many times.”

When Ye Qianling didn’t answer, Si Yan uncrossed his legs and fixed his enigmatic gaze on her. “I’ve never had the kind of anesthesia you mention, but I’ve heard that too much of it weakens the body. If you want to stay healthy, you’d better avoid it.”

“Sometimes you can’t avoid it,” Ye Qianling replied softly, as if stating a simple fact. “The pain is more than the body can bear.”

The first time Ye Qianling had anesthesia was a year and a half ago.

There was an uprising.

It happened on the northwestern border of the Night Kingdom, in Ring City. Drought had brought famine—refugees everywhere, and the people resorted to cannibalism. The local officials, fearing imperial punishment, conspired to cover up the crisis. To avoid suspicion, the city gates allowed entry but forbade any from leaving. It so happened that the fourth prince, Ye Qianjie, who traveled the kingdom each year as a physician, passed through and discovered the situation.

Realizing its severity, Ye Qianjie dispatched his attendant to the imperial palace at top speed and stayed in the city himself. With food gone, he shared what he had and then endured hunger alongside the people. He ate wild herbs, leftovers, whatever he could find. When his life was hanging by a thread, Ye Qianling—barely fourteen and with only half a year’s experience on the battlefield—arrived.

At the time, neither Ye Qianchen nor Ye Qianzhi was in the capital, and their forces were twenty days’ march away, even at best speed. There was no choice but to send young Ye Qianling, the only general in the capital entrusted with the emperor’s authority and the tiger tally to command the army. The emperor, Guangde, saw it as a chance for her to prove herself. Everyone thought it was a routine matter, so he gave no special instructions—just told her to set out at once.

She marched her troops immediately, but the army’s size made progress slow. Even traveling day and night, it would take eight days to reach the city. On the fifth day, unable to endure the delay, Ye Qianling left the main force, taking five personal guards ahead to Ring City.

After a day and a night on the road, they finally arrived. But before even reaching the gates, they saw a mob storming the farms outside the city, taking whatever food they could find.

“Fifth Princess,” one of the guards called softly as Ye Qianling stood motionless, thinking she was being asked for permission to help the people. She refused, telling them not to rush. Just as she finished speaking, she saw Ye Qianjie being dragged away by two men—clearly, the mob meant him harm.

It took her a while to learn the truth: the mob, born of famine, mistook the well-dressed Ye Qianjie for a corrupt official. Worse, he had refused their demand to kill the authorities, making him their target. One of the more radical members wanted to hurt him.

To save Ye Qianjie, Ye Qianling offered her own flesh as compensation. Even Ye Qianjie’s face had gone livid with anger at the sight. The wound nearly reached the bone. She was given anesthesia, and it took a slow, careful surgery to heal.

Before coming here, Si Yan had studied every report and scrap of information on Ye Qianling. But nowhere in the records was she described as so pessimistic. From the first moment he’d seen her on the battlefield, her vitality and spirit had struck him deeply. If that courageous, radiant girl had been from the Yan Kingdom, Si Yan would have sought her out after the battle, become fast friends, perhaps even something more.

He watched the tears slip from the corners of her eyes, then dropped his gaze to his own hands, unsure if he should carry out the plans he had long set in motion.

Ye Qianling, realizing she’d passed her sorrow to another, quickly collected herself. “Ha, it’s nothing. Just a moment’s self-pity. If I end up making you feel down over something so trivial, then that’s my fault.”

Though her eyes were still closed, she managed a smile, as if the pain and worry from earlier had never existed.

“You change your expression awfully fast. Did you practice that?” Si Yan asked, almost instinctively teasing her as he watched her quick shift of mood.

He’s joking—he’s actually joking! Ye Qianling was stunned. The usually aloof man was making a joke?

His jest truly made her forget her earlier sorrow. She even wanted to open her eyes and witness this rare scene with her own eyes, but no matter how she struggled, they refused to open.

“Master Chi, did you just make a joke? This is the first time I’ve ever seen you joke around. We’ve known each other for days and you hardly speak, yet now you’re joking with me. I’m honored!” Ye Qianling’s excitement brightened her voice. If only she could open her eyes now, she’d be sure to remember this moment.

Though Si Yan rarely spoke, he liked lively people, and enjoyed their company. Chu Zimu was a perfect example—a cheerful, optimistic, open-hearted friend.