Ten minutes later, the Guards of the Manor swarmed in.
Their movements were mechanical and indifferent; no one asked what had happened, not even a glance at the bloodstains on Mu Xi.
The women in black uniforms wore sunglasses, refusing to take them off even at night, completely concealing any emotion in their eyes.
Their handling of the corpses was so skilled it was frightening—disinfection, wrapping, removal—all done in one seamless motion.
The blood was wiped away, broken glass cleaned out, and the bedsheets changed to new ones.
Within a few minutes, the room looked as if nothing had ever happened, as if no one had died here, as if Mu Xi had never teetered on the edge of life and death.
No one cared whether Mu Xi was injured, and no one noticed that Little An’s arm was already beginning to inflame from the scratches.
The entire process was silent and eerie, like a mute performance.
With Ye Lan absent from the Manor, no one truly cared about the safety of Mu Xi or Little An.
Everyone simply did what was required of them, nothing more.
As the leading woman among the Guards turned to leave, she cast a glance at Mu Xi, her gaze as cold as if she were looking at an object.
“I’ll go prepare some hot water for you, Young Mistress.” Little An spoke softly, her exhaustion impossible to hide in her voice, “You need to take a bath.”
Mu Xi snapped back to herself, mechanically nodding.
She watched Little An’s departing figure, noticing the deep scratches on Little An’s arm, already reddened and swollen.
A wave of guilt surged in her heart—those wounds were left to protect her.
Little An worked swiftly to prepare the bathwater, stealing glances at Mu Xi from time to time.
The Guards’ cold indifference left her simmering with anger—no one cared about the Young Mistress’s condition, no one asked if she was hurt.
As the hot water filled the bathtub, rising steam blurred the mirror.
Little An stepped out, seeing Mu Xi still standing in place, staring blankly out the window.
“Young Mistress, the water is ready now.” She approached Mu Xi, speaking softly, not daring to meet those beautiful yet terror-filled eyes.
Only then did Mu Xi return to herself, nodding and walking toward the bathroom, every step weighed down as if by invisible ropes.
It was only when she sank into the hot water that she felt warmth slowly returning to her body.
Rose petals floated on the surface, giving off a faint fragrance that mingled strangely with the milky perfume she always wore.
The hot water washed over every inch of her skin.
Mu Xi closed her eyes, trying to scrub away those terrifying memories but the bloody scenes in her mind wouldn’t fade.
After bathing, Mu Xi emerged from the bathroom in her robe, silver hair still dripping with water.
She saw Little An sitting at the bedside, awkwardly tending to the wounds on her own arm with one hand, the other trembling from pain.
Little An looked up at the sound, hurriedly trying to rise, “Young Mistress, you’re done?”
Mu Xi didn’t answer.
Instead, she walked straight over and stared at the inflamed scratches on Little An’s arm.
“That must hurt.” Her voice was soft and apologetic.
Little An shook her head, forcing a smile, “It’s nothing, just a small wound.”
She tried to hide her pain, but the sweat on her forehead betrayed her.
“Let me help you.” Mu Xi suddenly said, reaching for the medicine and cotton swabs in Little An’s hand.
Little An froze, cheeks flushing red, “No, no, it’s all right, Young Mistress, I can do it myself…”
Mu Xi ignored her protests and gently took hold of Little An’s arm.
“Don’t move.” She ordered softly, her voice carrying the kind of authority Ling Yue had taught her.
Little An sat stiffly, feeling the warmth of Mu Xi’s fingertips against her rough skin.
She had never imagined the Young Mistress would tend to her wounds—this closeness made her heart race.
Mu Xi carefully dipped a cotton swab in medicine, dabbing it on the wounds bit by bit.
Each time Little An winced in pain, Mu Xi would pause, waiting for her to adjust.
Her movements were focused and gentle, her silver hair hanging so low it nearly brushed Little An’s skin.
“I’m sorry. You got hurt because you were protecting me.” Mu Xi whispered, eyes fixed on the wounds, not daring to look up.
Little An shook her head, her throat tight.
She wanted to say it was nothing, that it was her duty, but her lips trembled too much for words.
The only sounds in the room were their quiet breathing and the soft rustle of cloth.
Whenever Mu Xi’s fingers touched Little An’s skin, both would involuntarily shiver.
Even the darkness outside seemed to fall silent, the whole world shrinking to this small space.
“Your hands…” After tending to the wound, Mu Xi gently stroked Little An’s rough palm, “They’re very strong.”
This was no empty praise.
Little An’s hands were rough, but they bore the marks of years of training—the strength to protect.
Unlike Mu Xi’s own soft, fair hands, Little An’s hands carried the hardships of survival.
Little An looked down at Mu Xi’s movements, and suddenly warm tears slipped onto their joined hands.
Mu Xi looked up, startled to find Little An silently crying.
“What’s wrong?” Mu Xi grew anxious.
“Did I hurt you?”
Little An shook her head quickly, wiping at her tears with her good hand, but they kept streaming down.
“No, not at all, Young Mistress.” She choked out.
“Then why are you crying?” Mu Xi asked in confusion, putting down the medicine and looking at Little An intently.
Little An took a deep breath, struggling to control her emotions.
“I just… I really like this feeling.” Her face turned red, and her voice was barely audible.
“What feeling?”
“Being with you… sharing hardships together.”
Little An looked up, sincerity shining in her eyes, “In this Manor, no one truly cares about you. Master Ye Lan only treats you as a pet, others are either cold or afraid of you. There isn’t a single person who really protects you.”
Mu Xi listened quietly, ripples stirring in her heart.
She had never thought Little An saw their relationship this way.
“That’s why I’m glad I can be someone useful to you.” Little An continued, her voice growing firmer, “It makes me feel like… my life has meaning.”
Mu Xi gazed into Little An’s bright eyes, remembering how they were about the same age but lived such different lives.
Little An had competed with hundreds of other children for a servant’s spot, watching others starve, thirst, or freeze to death—yet she survived.
She was just like herself, both survivors of harsh fate.
“We need each other.” Mu Xi said softly, gently tightening her grip on Little An’s hand, “So don’t ever say something like that again.”
Little An nodded, and tears welled up again.
This time she didn’t wipe them away, letting them fall.
In this dangerous Manor, having one person to treat you sincerely was already a great blessing.
Mu Xi unwrapped the bandages, continuing to dress Little An’s wounds.
Her hands were still gentle.
In this Manor without Ye Lan, they would have to learn to protect themselves, and each other.
“Little An,” After finishing, Mu Xi looked up at her, “Thank you.”
Little An’s eyes widened, the blush on her face deepening.
“Please don’t say that.”
“It’s all right,” Mu Xi interrupted gently, “I insist on saying it.”
Little An met Mu Xi’s exhausted but resolute gaze, and nodded softly, “All right, Young Mistress. I thank you for your thanks.”
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