Murong Jing He's expression shifted, and he instinctively shouted, "Insolence..."
Before he could finish speaking, Mei Lin stuffed an entire fried quail into his mouth. Caught off guard, his face and nose were smeared with oil, leaving him unable to curse as his mouth was full. All he could do was glare at her in frustration.
Mei Lin smiled sweetly at his predicament, then gently wiped his face and nose with a handkerchief, waiting for him to lose his temper.
Unexpectedly, Murong Jing He didn't get angry. Instead, his gaze softened. He remembered how, back at Zhongshan, she had similarly shoved food into his mouth, causing him great embarrassment. At that time, he had been furious enough to want to tear her apart, but now, recalling the memory, a tender feeling welled up in his heart.
Sensing the change in his gaze, Mei Lin awkwardly turned her head away and then stepped off the bed.
She cleaned her hands with the handkerchief, adjusted his position to make him more comfortable, and then sat beside him on the edge of the bed. Carefully, she took the quail from his mouth and began to tear off pieces to feed him.
Time seemed to rewind, back to that simple earthen house where he sat propped up on the bed, and she held a bowl, half-filled with rice and half with vegetables, feeding him bite by bite. The golden rays of the setting sun filtered through the window, casting half of her figure in light, making even the fine hairs on her face shimmer with a golden hue.
Murong Jing He thought of the hug she gave him the day she left, and the first time he heard her sing. His chest felt as though a heavy stone was pressing down on it, making it hard to breathe.
His hand trembled as he lifted it to touch her face, illuminated by the candlelight. He noticed her stiffen, as if she wanted to avoid his touch, but in the end, she didn't move.
"Why aren't you talking... Have you completely lost your voice?" he asked quietly. This was a question they both had been carefully avoiding, yet he finally asked it.
Mei Lin pressed her lips together tightly, trying to control the trembling of her hands. After her chopsticks clinked against the bowl for the second time, she set them down on the table, her face devoid of any smile.
"I want to hear you speak," Murong Jing He persisted, despite noticing her effort to suppress something, stubbornly continuing the conversation.
Mei Lin felt as though her chest was about to explode. The pain came suddenly and intensely, causing her vision to blur, and she struggled to breathe. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t help. Slowly, she turned to leave, needing to get away for a moment, but he caught her arm and pulled her close.
"I will cure you," he said, his tone firm and resolute. "No matter what it takes."
But hearing his words didn't bring Mei Lin any joy; instead, it deepened her sorrow. She was almost certain that, in his mind, making her mute was not a serious matter—he felt no guilt, no regret. And yet, knowing this, she couldn’t bring herself to resent him.
Mei Lin finally understood that the most unfortunate thing in her life wasn't being abandoned, or being taken to the dark factory to become a death warrior, or even being poisoned and losing her voice. It was falling in love with him.
That night, Murong Jing He didn’t let Mei Lin leave. After a month apart, they shared a bed once again.
This time was different, though—he was no longer completely immobile. He wrapped his arms and legs around Mei Lin, holding her tightly, claiming it was to stay warm.
He made her wipe off the makeup on her face, then kissed the marks left by his own hand, muttering that she deserved it. He touched the mole by her eyebrow, saying it belonged to him, and that no one else was ever allowed to touch it. He said she was his, that all of her belonged to him...
Mei Lin, feeling helpless, let him fuss over her. She genuinely thought he had lost his mind. It wasn’t until he reached into her chest, complaining about her size, that she nearly hit him again.
After that, he finally quieted down, simply tucking his hand back inside her clothes and pulling her into his arms, slowly calming his breathing.
But his gentle actions sent Mei Lin’s heart racing. She stared wide-eyed into the darkness at the blurred outlines of the table, unable to sleep. She thought to herself that her feelings for this man didn’t come out of nowhere. That she would be heartbroken because of him was inevitable.
The next morning, Mei Lin, with dark circles under her eyes and the faint remnants of a handprint on her face, was led by Murong Jing He, who was sitting proudly in a sedan chair, to the courtyard where the old doctor lived.
Qing Yan walked on the other side of the sedan, his handsome face impassive, pretending not to notice the intimacy between the two.
The old doctor, wrapped in a thick fur robe, stepped out and, upon seeing the group, couldn't help but click his tongue in admiration. "The prince truly has skill. He actually convinced this foolish girl to willingly come and cultivate the jade."
Hearing this, Murong Jing He’s face darkened slightly. He instinctively glanced at Mei Lin, noticing that she didn’t show any signs of anger or displeasure. She didn’t even seem to be upset at all, and this made him feel uneasy. Yet, he gripped her hand tighter, as if afraid she would run away.
In reality, Mei Lin’s inner feelings weren’t as indifferent as she appeared, but she had only felt a slight stir. She had already decided to do this, and Murong Jing He’s intentions or schemes were irrelevant. She knew he might never reciprocate her feelings equally, but she still liked him. Her feelings were her own; the things she chose to do were because she wanted to do them. What did it have to do with anyone else?
"Doctor, please don’t joke. Didn’t you agree to come and treat the prince because Mei Lin promised to help you?" Qing Yan, seeing his master’s displeased expression and fearing he might lose his temper, quickly intervened with a smile.
The old doctor chuckled dryly and stopped trying to provoke them. He assumed Mei Lin had told them everything, not realizing that Qing Yan’s words were somewhat misleading. Although Qing Yan knew about Mei Lin’s efforts to find a doctor for the prince, he didn’t know the details. He simply guessed that in order to receive something, one must offer something in return—especially when the prince’s condition wasn’t an ordinary ailment. His vague comments were enough to smooth things over.
"As long as someone helps me cultivate the jade, I’m satisfied," the old doctor muttered, tapping his smoking pipe against a nearby pillar. As the sedan chair carrying Murong Jing He approached the steps, he blocked the way with his pipe. "Stop. Only the foolish girl is needed to cultivate the jade. The rest of you should go wherever you need to go."
"The prince wishes to observe," Murong Jing He said slowly, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
But the old doctor wasn’t swayed. He shook his head vigorously.
"The gentleman’s parasite fears human presence. If there are unrelated people around, the jade won’t be properly cultivated, and the treatment’s effectiveness will be greatly reduced. Don’t say I didn’t warn you."
Murong Jing He’s lips tightened as he stared intently at the old doctor, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. Ultimately, he didn’t dare take the risk and slowly released Mei Lin’s hand.
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