Chapter 89: The Grim Scar

Update time: 2013-07-12

Meng Chuchen closed her eyes, fully concentrated on sensing the faint connection in her heart, and hesitantly said, “And this happiness seems to be…”

“What is it?”

Meng Chuchen pondered for a long while, looking at her elder brother Yue Lingjun’s anxious face, and finally said, “It feels like the happiness of being in love?”

Yue Lingjun’s eyes widened as he tried to convince himself otherwise. “Which kind of happiness did you say?”

Meng Chuchen herself felt odd about this conclusion, but feelings don’t lie. She remembered clearly that this sensation was identical to the flutter of her heart when she first fell in love.

“It’s the happiness you feel when you’re moved by Sister Lan,” she explained.

Yue Lingjun was a little stunned—not because he doubted Meng Chuchen’s feelings, but because he instinctively rejected the idea. In his eyes, his little sister was still just a child, and especially in their current predicament, the idea that her heart would be stirred by someone she hadn’t even met unsettled him.

He couldn’t let it go, simply couldn’t. Staring into the rain curtain before him, he sank into deep thought.

Across from them, beneath a tree, Qiao Zhi watched their every move through the veil of rain, taking in each expression and gesture. The silent pantomime playing out across the way gave Qiao Zhi an inexplicable sense of unease. Without further hesitation, he stepped through the rain toward them, motioning for his guards not to follow.

Meng Chuchen didn’t mind his intrusion in the least—they were, after all, old acquaintances. Still, she lowered the hand she’d been pressing to her chest.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Though they knew one another, Meng Chuchen had no desire to reveal the special connection between herself and Lian Yue. She smiled, “Nothing, just discussing our eldest sister with my brother.”

Though Qiao Zhi was somewhat dissatisfied with her perfunctory response, he didn’t show it. After all, the two before him were siblings, and it was only natural that there were things they’d keep from him. What’s more, he represented the royal family’s interests—certain secrets would never be shared with him.

Following her lead, Qiao Zhi replied, “Regarding Fourth Sister-in-law, I’ve already discussed it with Brother Yue. Your family will have an explanation, and I’ll make sure to seek justice for my nephew, even though I haven’t met him yet.”

This time, Meng Chuchen remained silent. He had already come to resent the entire royal family over this affair. If he hadn’t known that this old friend, the prince, had been working tirelessly on Lian Yue’s behalf these past few days, he wouldn’t have shown him a kind face either.

It was Yue Lingjun, having calmed himself, who replied, albeit with the barest politeness, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“It’s only right,” Qiao Zhi answered.

The three of them, each lost in their own thoughts, fell silent, gazing through the rain.

Elsewhere, Lian Yue had no idea that her inner turmoil had already been sensed by her own brother. But it was no surprise—she herself felt nothing unusual.

Yuwen Lingxi and Yue Lian Yue, hand in hand, hadn’t gone far before they found shelter from the rain. At the moment, they were crouched beneath a banyan tree deep in the forest. The dangling roots of this tree stretched far beyond the one that had caught them when they’d fallen from the cliff.

The thick branches and foliage completely shielded the ground beneath from the rain. Both of them, faces flushed and awkward, huddled together beneath the shelter.

Lian Yue’s once-light yellow gauze dress had long since lost its original appearance over the past days. Now, wet and clinging to her skin, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to cover herself, sneaking glances at An Ming, who steadfastly averted his eyes.

Though he wasn’t looking at her, Yuwen Lingxi could still feel her gaze. He coughed awkwardly and began gathering dry twigs and leaves nearby.

Fortunately, the banyan tree was large enough that the dry branches hadn’t been soaked by the rain. With practiced hands, Yuwen Lingxi built a fire, driving away the surrounding chill.

“Achoo…” Lian Yue rubbed her itchy nose and hunched closer to the fire, her hands still not leaving her chest. The wet clothes only became more uncomfortable as the fire’s warmth intensified.

Suddenly, she heard a faint rustling. Following the sound, she caught a glimpse and her face instantly turned crimson. She hurriedly averted her eyes, a flash of surprise and panic in her almond-shaped eyes.

In a voice as soft as a mosquito’s buzz, she stammered, “Why are you taking your clothes off?”

“My clothes are wet. I’m just drying them—don’t worry, I won’t do anything to you.” Yuwen Lingxi had anticipated this scene, his tone still calm, though his face beneath the mask was just as red as Lian Yue’s.

Such a proper excuse nearly made Lian Yue cough up blood from embarrassment, though deep down she, too, wished she could dry her own clothes.

Awkwardly, Lian Yue stared at her toes, her mind replaying the shocking sight she’d just glimpsed. Though she hadn’t seen clearly, the jagged scars crisscrossing his body hadn’t escaped her notice.

How many wounds, how deep must they have been to leave so many scars? Her heart ached as it had once ached upon seeing the scars on Meng Chuchen’s wrist. She knew well this feeling: it was heartache.

“Does it hurt?” The moment she said it, Lian Yue wished she could bite her tongue off. She’d practically confessed her concern!

Yuwen Lingxi, holding his clothes up to the fire, froze for a moment. Only after a long pause did he realize what she meant. The scars, and the ointments he’d used, could be erased, but he’d chosen to keep them as a reminder to himself.

He had never imagined anyone would one day look at his scars and ask if they hurt. He moistened his dry lips and replied, “I’m used to it. Did they frighten you?”

Lian Yue shook her head so hard it was almost comical, looking up in panic at the mask she’d grown accustomed to, and quickly explained, “No, not at all.” Then, as if realizing something, she swiftly lowered her head again, tracing circles with her toes on the ground.

Looking at her shy demeanor, Yuwen Lingxi felt a wave of tenderness and quickly looked away, focusing intently on drying his clothes.

It was early summer, after all, and the light clothes soon dried in the warmth of the fire.

He handed the clothes to Lian Yue, his tone calm, “Change out of your wet clothes.”

Lian Yue looked up at his eyes in surprise, then glanced around. In the end, she didn’t reach for the clothes.

“This is the forest, and no one else is here. I’ll step away and not peek. Take your time.”

He laid the clothes on a branch at her side and turned to leave.

Yue Lian Yue was both embarrassed and relieved. After all, propriety mattered—she was still an innocent girl, and no matter what, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to stay.

She stared at the clothes on the branch, hesitated for a long moment, and finally made up her mind. Standing, she looked around cautiously; when she was sure Yuwen Lingxi was nowhere in sight, she hid in the shadow of a nearby tree trunk and prepared to change out of her wet dress.

Meanwhile, high in a nearby tree, Yuwen Lingxi withdrew his gaze in embarrassment. Even if Lian Yue had asked him to stay nearby, he would have found an excuse to leave. He hadn’t forgotten there were three others in the tree.

He could trust himself, but not them.

So, at the first opportunity, he’d found the three men and made them turn their backs to the scene below. Now, only he could see what was happening beneath the trees.

Sixty-nine pursed his lips; the three of them all understood Yuwen Lingxi’s intentions. Even if he were ten times braver, he wouldn’t dare sneak a glance. The consequences were far beyond what he could bear—he preferred his head right where it was.

He valued his life, but not everyone did.

That person, naturally, was Seventy-one. He was far less self-disciplined. Though he didn’t show it on his face, inwardly he was disgruntled. Had Yuwen Lingxi not come up in person, he would have ignored all restraint and taken a good look for himself.

Not a word was spoken, so the four just stood there, waiting.

Raindrops filtered through the thick leaves, falling drop by drop, landing right on Forty-seven’s eyelids. He couldn’t help but wipe them away, then obediently stood straight again.

Yet his gaze remained fixed on the fearsome, unbandaged wound on Yuwen Lingxi’s abdomen, cold sweat beading on his forehead and back.

If nothing else, this wound would surely be blamed on him. He could only hope that his behavior these past few days might lessen his master’s punishment.