Ye Lan gripped the back of the chair, her body swaying, fine cold sweat instantly beading on her forehead. Her complexion turned even paler than before, and even her lips lost all color.
She tried to steady herself and walk toward Mu Xi, but the moment she took a single step, her body went limp, nearly sending her crashing to the floor!
“!” Mu Xi whirled around.
Go catch her!
The thought surged into her mind like instinct. Her body even leaned forward slightly, her arm lifting halfway on its own.
But the next second, a flood of chaotic images and emotions rushed to the surface.
Her parents lying in a pool of blood. Those days and nights of being imprisoned, tortured, and toyed with like a plaything.
The hatred had been forcibly suppressed, but those scars had never truly healed—they were merely covered by a thin layer of gauze called “compromise.”
Her movement froze midair, her gaze complicated as she watched Ye Lan struggle to lean back against the chair. Inside, her emotions churned violently.
Help her? Or not?
Reason told her this person was her enemy, the root cause of all her suffering. She shouldn’t feel any pity.
But looking at Ye Lan in that utterly frail state, barely able to stand, watching her fingertips tremble slightly as she endured the pain—a corner of Mu Xi’s heart uncontrollably ached.
This person had nearly died not long ago.
For… whom?
Ye Lan steadied her breathing. She clearly caught the flicker of struggle in Mu Xi’s eyes and that arm that had lifted only to freeze midair.
A faint, indescribable sting pierced her heart, too quick to catch, then was completely buried beneath her habitual arrogance and possessiveness.
The pressure of the one in power remained undiminished. The weakness of being wounded still carried an unquestionable command.
She remained seated in the chair, no longer attempting to rise. She simply extended her hand toward Mu Xi. Her pale, slender fingers bore a morbid beauty in the dim light. Her gaze turned deep and sharp once more. Even gravely wounded, her voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against her throat, carrying the frailty of injury—yet still wrapped in an unyielding order.
“Come here.”
Mu Xi’s breath hitched.
That hand had once roughly torn at her clothes. It had once coldly traced every inch of her skin. And it had once gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.
In the end, she yielded anyway.
Perhaps it was yielding to the undeniable look in Ye Lan’s eyes, or perhaps to the tangled emotions she couldn’t even sort out herself.
She slowly rose to her feet, bare soles pressing against the cold floor, step by step, walking toward Ye Lan. Every step felt like treading on cotton—hollow and unreal.
When she reached Ye Lan, the outstretched hand immediately clamped around her wrist.
Ye Lan’s palm was scorching, carrying the abnormal fever of injury, a stark contrast to Mu Xi’s cool skin.
Her fingertips were slightly rough, bearing the calluses of years spent wielding weapons. Yet now, with an almost greedy pressure, they gently traced the softest skin on the inside of Mu Xi’s wrist, as if confirming her existence.
Mu Xi trembled slightly, trying to pull her hand back, but it was gripped even tighter.
Ye Lan looked up, her deep phoenix eyes locking onto her without blinking, complex and unreadable emotions churning in their depths.
There was pain. There was exhaustion. There was obsessive possessiveness.
“Little Xi,” her voice was low and hoarse, carrying a fragility barely perceptible, “are you afraid of me?”
Afraid?
Mu Xi instinctively shook her head.
She had been afraid before—afraid to the marrow of her bones, afraid enough that a single look from Ye Lan could make her tremble all over.
But now, it didn’t seem to be fear.
Looking at Ye Lan’s nearly transparent pale face, at her tightly pressed, bloodless lips, at the lingering weariness and pain in the depths of her eyes, what welled up in Mu Xi’s heart was more of an indescribable ache and bewilderment.
“I just… don’t know what to do.” She spoke softly, her voice as light as a feather brushing past.
The void left after hatred crumbled left her at a loss.
Accept Ye Lan’s closeness?
Respond to this sudden, blood-scented “gentleness”?
She couldn’t do it with an easy conscience.
But push her away?
Looking at this person who had just tended to her wounds, who was now so weak she could barely stand, Mu Xi seemed unable to bring herself to make that decision.
A faint curve tugged at the corner of Ye Lan’s lips—not so much a smile as an expression of exhaustion.
She didn’t release Mu Xi’s wrist. Instead, she applied a slight force, pulling Mu Xi’s entire body downward.
Caught off guard, Mu Xi let out a startled gasp, her balance lost, and she tumbled onto the carpet beside Ye Lan.
In this position, she had to tilt her head up slightly to see Ye Lan’s face.
But Ye Lan wasn’t looking at her. She turned slightly to the side and gently pressed her forehead against Mu Xi’s thin shoulder.
This action… Mu Xi went rigid.
Ye Lan’s hair brushed against the side of her neck, carrying the faint scent of medicine mixed with Ye Lan’s own unique, fiercely invasive aura, along with a hint of salty perspiration.
The scorching heat transferred through the thin fabric—the high fever caused by wound inflammation and bodily weakness.
Ye Lan’s breath brushed against her ear, bearing searing warmth and an undeniable exhaustion.
She was like a traveler who had fought long and hard on foreign battlefields, finally finding a harbor, greedily drinking in the reassuring presence of Mu Xi.
Mu Xi could clearly feel that Ye Lan’s forehead pressed against her shoulder was burning hot, and her body was trembling in the faintest of tremors.
That was the price of unrelenting pain from the wound and forcing herself to sit upright.
At this moment, Ye Lan had shed her usual arrogant, domineering, all-controlling demeanor, revealing a vulnerability and dependence never seen before.
Mu Xi’s heart felt as if something had gently knocked against it, the ache swelling even more fiercely.
She sat stiffly, not daring to move an inch, letting Ye Lan lean against her, feeling that heavy weight and searing body heat.
“You don’t need to do anything.” Ye Lan’s voice sounded again, even lower and hoarser than before, as if squeezed from the depths of her chest. “Just stay by my side.”
The tone was gentler than ever before—like a soothing comfort, yet also like stating an unalterable fact.
Beneath that gentleness still lurked the deep-rooted forcefulness and possessiveness ingrained in her very being.
Just stay by my side…
Mu Xi lowered her eyelids, her long lashes concealing the complex emotions in her eyes.
She didn’t understand why Ye Lan had become like this, nor why she herself was growing soft-hearted.
Clearly, she should have taken advantage of Ye Lan’s weakness to kill her, or at least stayed far away. But now…
Just then, the captain of the escort team’s steady voice came from outside the sealed metal door, carrying a note of urgency:
“Sovereign, the doctor has arrived downstairs, along with medical equipment. The doctor recommends immediate, more comprehensive examination and treatment to prevent the wound from becoming infected or worsening.”
Ye Lan’s forehead pressed against Mu Xi’s shoulder shifted slightly, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.
She clearly didn’t want to move, much less leave this “harbor” where she could temporarily let down her guard and draw strength.
Leaving meant facing those doctors and instruments again. It meant exposing herself once more to potential risks. And it meant temporarily parting from Mu Xi—especially now that Mu Xi had finally stopped being so prickly and was beginning to show a hint of compliance.
Mu Xi could clearly feel Ye Lan’s reluctance.
She could even feel the grip on her wrist tightening.
Lifting her eyes, Mu Xi’s gaze fell on Ye Lan’s pale profile, seeing her pressed lips and the suppressed pain written across her brow.
The wound there had been bandaged, but the danger wasn’t over. The fever, the trembling… these were warning signals from the body.
If Ye Lan truly died here from her injuries…
The thought made Mu Xi’s heart clench violently.
She didn’t know whether she wanted Ye Lan to die, or… didn’t want it.
But she knew that, at least right now, she didn’t want Ye Lan to die in front of her.
A determination she hadn’t even realized she possessed drove her to speak up on her own for the first time.
Her voice wasn’t loud, still carrying a faint tremor, but her tone was unusually clear:
“Ye Lan,” she paused, meeting Ye Lan’s deep eyes as they turned toward her with a hint of surprise, and spoke word by word, “go to the hospital.”