Jiang Suizhou quickly lost consciousness after lying down. He was soon enveloped in a chaotic dream, where time and space were jumbled.
He was just a young boy in his father’s mansion, enduring the bullying from an assortment of random half brothers. He ran to his mother with tears in his eyes, but he stopped in the doorway when he saw her sitting alone in her room, weeping silently. She was crying so hard that he feared her soul might leave her body entirely. The sight left him unable to voice his own grievances.
Then he saw the emperor’s repulsive smile and a group of ministers he’d only seen in portraits. They leered at him with a mix of expressions, filling him with unease and trepidation, leaving him again too fearful to speak.
And he saw Huo Wujiu, bloodstained saber in hand. His gaze was as frigid as the day Jiang Suizhou had lifted the bridal veil. Huo Wujiu fixed those terrible eyes on him, ready to chop off his head and hang it on the city wall to dry.
Jiang Suizhou wanted to run, but his legs were rooted to the spot. Huo Wujiu approached, then as he reached out with a bloodstained hand, Jiang Suizhou closed his eyes and waited for death.
But death never came.
Huo Wujiu did not use his powerful, veiny hands to wring his neck. Instead, he reached out and gently touched his face.
Jiang Suizhou wondered if he’d meant to touch his neck instead, maybe to pinpoint the best spot to slice, but missed and touched his face instead.
But Huo Wujiu’s hand stayed on his face. He didn’t remove it.
And after that, Jiang Suizhou slowly woke up.
Just like in his dream, his mind was naught but whirling chaos, while his body was ablaze with heat. He blearily opened his eyes, but the flickering candlelight seemed so bright it was a struggle to keep them open.
His entire body felt unbearably heavy, and he had a vague awareness that something was in his hand. He took a deep breath, but a spate of hoarse coughs erupted before he could speak.
“Your Highness!”
It was Meng Qianshan’s voice.
Jiang Suizhou coughed and coughed until his vision blurred. Just then, the thing he was grasping suddenly tightened around his hand.
Slightly cool and very strong, it pulled him to sit upright.
Then, another hand slowly began to pat his back, and his coughing gradually subsided.
Jiang Suizhou finally opened his watering eyes.
In the bright light, he saw Meng Qianshan kneeling by his bedside, leaning against the edge. His eyes were reddened with concern as he gazed at him, his lips quivering, though he dared not speak.
In Jiang Suizhou’s grip was a large, rugged hand marked by prominent veins and knuckles.
Jiang Suizhou, still feverish and slow, stared at it in confusion. His eyes slowly traveled up the arm to its owner’s face, where he met a pair of intense, black eyes.
Startled, Jiang Suizhou let go of the hand.
Huo Wujiu calmly stopped patting his back, then pulled over a pillow and propped him up against it.
“He’s awake,” he said coolly as he turned his head.
A young doctor hurried forward and knelt by the bed to take Jiang Suizhou’s pulse.
Huo Wujiu wheeled himself back a couple of paces. He rested his right hand—the one Jiang Suizhou had held—on his knee. Unnoticed by anyone amid the flurry of activity around the prince, he slowly rubbed those fingers together before curling them into a fist.
As if trying to hold on to a sensation.
The servants, seeing that Jiang Suizhou was awake, stopped their tasks and gathered around the bed as the doctor took his pulse.
“Your Highness is still weak from overexertion, and the damp chill has invaded your body and left you with a cold,” the doctor announced as he stood up from his bedside. “I’ve prepared some medicine in the outer chamber. Once you drink it and rest, your fever should recede by tomorrow morning. However, you must rest in the residence for a few days and avoid any strenuous activity until you’ve fully recovered.”
“Yes, of course,” Meng Qianshan quickly replied, then instructed the maids to bring in the medicine.
Jiang Suizhou leaned against the soft pillow and rubbed his temples. Only now did he understand the doctor’s words.
So he’d overworked himself. Then with the rain today, he’d caught a cold.
The early spring rain wasn’t particularly chilly, and Jiang Suizhou hadn’t even gotten wet, but the prince’s body was weak enough that it didn’t matter, apparently.
He sighed in resignation.
But it was for the best. Being sick meant he could rest at home without any guilt. If only he could manage to stay ill until the emperor’s birthday banquet. That would give him a valid excuse to avoid attending, and Huo Wujiu wouldn’t have to go either…
Thinking of Huo Wujiu, Jiang Suizhou’s muddled mind paused.
Had he really woken up holding Huo Wujiu’s hand?
It seemed undeniable that he had, but why? He had no idea when or why Huo Wujiu had come to his bedside or how they’d ended up holding hands.
Maybe he was more delirious from the fever than he realized.
But before he could ponder further, a strong, bitter smell invaded his nose.
Jiang Suizhou frowned.
Someone brought him a bowl of pitch-black medicine in a white jade bowl.
The aggressive aroma instantly triggered a coughing fit that left his throat dry and spasming. Startled, Meng Qianshan hurriedly patted his back and called out in worry.
When the coughing subsided, Jiang Suizhou turned his head away.
He’d always disliked traditional Chinese medicine, even before his transmigration. Unfortunately, the ancient version of it was even worse than he could possibly have imagined.
“Please, Your Highness!” Meng Qianshan begged, sensing his reticence. “You must drink the medicine!”
Jiang Suizhou didn’t respond. He held his breath as he stared down at the medicine in front of him. The smell was so pungent that he feared even one more whiff of it might cut his lifespan in half.
Meng Qianshan looked to be practically on the verge of tears.
“Your Highness! If you don’t take the medicine, how will you recover?”
Jiang Suizhou paused.
That was a great point, actually.
If he didn’t take the medicine, he wouldn’t get better.
And if he didn’t get better, then he couldn’t very well take Huo Wujiu to the emperor’s birthday banquet, could he?