Huarong stood off to the side, his eyes frighteningly red. As if he were sulking at someone, he kicked the door open with a clang and stormed out.
Mo Bei had long since become immune to his fits. She turned back to look at the pale-faced man, and her hardened heart softened.
“Idiot, why did you rush out then?” she murmured softly. With one hand, she smoothed Yelü Qianxiao’s disheveled hair; with the other, she drew his body closer and gently blew on him.
The faint fragrance so close at hand was very, very light, yet it made one feel at ease. Yelü Qianxiao rested his head on Mo Bei’s shoulder and smiled foolishly. “Momo can’t hurt, can’t bleed. Momo has to make buns for Xiaoxiao!”
That innocent tone, those muddled, foolish words, made Mo Bei’s heart skip half a beat. Whether intentionally or not, this childlike man had protected her.
It was a very peculiar feeling.
She waved her arm, trying to bring Yelü Qianxiao a little coolness. “Hot?”
“Sweat, drip, drip, so stinky!” Yelü Qianxiao shook his head, clinging to Mo Bei and acting spoiled, taking the chance to steal a bit of advantage. Strange—this eunuch’s body really was so soft.
Mo Bei patted his head. What an idiot. On a day this hot, with an injury like that, it was bound to burn with pain.
Seeing him grit his teeth and hiss nonstop, Mo Bei thought for a moment, then brought over her pack and took out a sheet of multicolored xuan paper. In just a few folds, she had made it into a paper crane.
“Your Highness, here!” Children should all like these, right? The imperial physician had said that although the blade wound had not reached the bone, it had cut through the meridians. What she could do now was think of a way to accompany him through tonight, through this most painful stretch.
“Wow, wow! A swallow, a swallow!” Yelü Qianxiao cried out, taking the paper crane and turning it left and right to examine it. This thing did not seem like something from Huangcheng. How could a simple sheet of paper turn into this? And paper dyed with colors—this was the first time he had seen such a thing.
“This isn’t called a swallow. It’s called a paper crane.” Mo Bei lowered her eyes, letting him lean quietly against her while doing her best not to touch his wound. “A long, long time ago, the world was divided into six, and war raged without end.
“There was a woman who wanted her husband, who had gone far away to the battlefield, to return alive. So she stayed before a temple, carefully folding paper cranes on which she had written his name, hoping her wish would come true.
“And so, day after day, year after year, she folded a full thousand pairs of paper cranes.
“Perhaps the gods would never show themselves, and what was gone could never return.
“But that persistence moved all things beneath heaven and earth.”
Yelü Qianxiao listened quietly, nestled in Mo Bei’s arms like an obedient child. To beg the Buddha like some fool—how stupid! He toyed with the paper crane in his palm, mockery buried in his deep blue eyes.
“Pretty foolish, isn’t it?” The corners of Mo Bei’s mouth curved, her expression unreadable. “But perhaps it was precisely because of that that she had the courage to go on living. The power of expectation—that is a person’s faith.”
Yelü Qianxiao shook his head blankly, sticking one finger into his mouth. “Xiaoxiao doesn’t know. Xiaoxiao hurts so much.”
Faith?
Wasn’t that what he relied on as well? Throwing away his dignity, throwing away his pride, throwing away all the nobility he had been born with.
Enduring humiliation, clinging to life in this world.
Only, his faith was not expectation.
It was hatred!
Hatred that had taken root deep in his heart!
Mo Bei glanced at him and muttered, “I must be insane to be saying all this to a foolish prince.”
“Xiaoxiao isn’t foolish. Xiaoxiao wants buns. Give Xiaoxiao buns to eat, and Xiaoxiao won’t hurt anymore!” Yelü Qianxiao pressed his lips together in grievance, his eyes widened pitifully, as if not giving him food would be some terrible crime.