Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Wei Yi always asked her this way. She seemed somewhat puzzled, slowly raised her head to meet his gaze. “What does Your Majesty want to hear me say?”

He gritted his teeth, and his anger turned to a mocking laugh. “Do you really have nothing to say, or do you just not want to?”

Sheng Zhaoning fell silent again.

Wei Yi’s anger stuck in his chest with no outlet. Faced with her seemingly meek yet obstinately cold attitude, the suppressed rage revealed itself in the bulging veins on his forehead.

He walked up to Sheng Zhaoning, his entire being exuding an oppressive aura, his dark gaze cold. “Sheng Zhaoning, do not test my patience. You know the consequences.”

She stirred, her eyes looking at him with quiet composure.

The wounds on her arms and waist were still slowly oozing blood, and a searing, burning pain spread rapidly, consuming all her senses.

Sheng Zhaoning’s strength was draining rapidly; she could barely move.

Facing Wei Yi’s unpredictable anger, she sighed and finally softened her tone.

“Wei Yi, I’m in pain.”

Those words were like a bucket of cold water splashed over his head, instantly extinguishing all his anger.

Wei Yi even froze for a moment, unable to react to this sudden change, his eyes showing a hint of helplessness.

With great effort, she lifted her arm and tugged at Wei Yi’s sleeve, making him sit on the edge of the bed. Then she slowly shifted closer, half-nestling into his embrace, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Don’t be angry.”

Wei Yi felt as if struck by lightning.

He sat there stiffly, looking at the pale, frail person in his arms. Several times he raised his arm, only to let it fall back, as if still unable to believe the scene before him.

Such a Sheng Zhaoning was utterly unfamiliar to him.

She was supposed to be cold and severe, ruthless, full of schemes, killing without blinking, indifferent and heartless, someone who would betray him, kill him, ignore him.

By no means would she ever be like this-soft as if boneless leaning against him, her voice tender and sweet, with a hint of honeyed languor.

“You…”

Wei Yi instinctively wondered if she was playing some trick again, after all, she had fed him that cup of poisoned wine with such a smile, almost killing him.

But in the continuous battle between reason and emotion, he ultimately couldn’t bear to push her away.

Wei Yi thought, he deserved to fall into her hands like this.

Sheng Zhaoning leaned against him, feeling the waves of warmth emanating from his chest.

She closed her eyes, her chin half-buried against his chest, her voice muffled. “Let Jin He leave the palace.”

Wei Yi turned to look at her, his peripheral vision catching her soft hair top. The places her breath touched sent a hot ripple through him, and his voice unconsciously dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“You can bear to let her go?”

“I can’t,” she nuzzled his neck. “But there are too many rules to follow in the palace. Every step requires caution, every move needs prudence. One wrong misstep could cost your life. I can’t harm her just because I can’t bear to let her go.”

Wei Yi could tell she was expressing her loathing for the deep palace. She didn’t like it here, yet was forced to stay, all her wings clipped, trapped like a caged beast by his side.

He had given her chances: to set her free, to let her remain in the court as the revered ‘Lord Sheng’ with unblemished reputation. But she had repeatedly challenged his limits, killed his people, spoiled his plans, without any restraint.

He wanted to bully her, punish her, break all her pride, wear down her arrogance, as the price for her loving someone else, betraying him, and trying to kill him.

In the end, with nothing else to depend on, she could only turn to him.

“Alright.”

Wei Yi agreed.

She let out a barely noticeable sigh of relief, and the overwhelming exhaustion finally engulfed her.

Sheng Zhaoning didn’t need to force herself to stay alert anymore. Her entire body relaxed, and she leaned against him, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Don’t fall asleep!” Wei Yi scolded coldly, pinching the back of her neck.

Sheng Zhaoning had no choice but to steel herself again.

He gently released her, helped her lie down, then got up from the bed to retrieve a bottle of medicine from the shelf. When he turned back, Sheng Zhaoning had already closed her eyes in exhaustion, her forehead covered in cold sweat, her lashes trembling uneasily. Her expression was one of endurance, as if she was desperately suppressing pain.

Wei Yi’s heart suddenly clenched, as if brutally squeezed by something, a sharp sting amidst the panic.

This person always had a way of making herself look pitiful, leaving him with no outlet for his anger, forcing him to relent again and again just to suit her wishes.

He strode over and gently pulled her up, his fingers skillfully untying her sash and removing her bloodstained clothes.

During the process, Sheng Zhaoning’s body stiffened slightly, but she was sensible enough not to resist. Only then did Wei Yi clearly see the terrifying wound.

It was a long whip wound, stretching from her forearm to her abdomen, the flesh torn open. On her jade-white skin, the blood around the edges had already slightly dried, yet fresh blood still slowly trickled.

Wei Yi seemed not to have expected her to be so severely injured. His hand unconsciously clenched, and his brows knitted darkly, exuding a gloomy pressure.

Without a word, he sat down, opened the medicine bottle, and poured the white powder onto her wound.

“Endure it.”

This was the medicine she knew best. As a Secret Guard of the Wei Clan, no matter how grave the injury, one could only forcibly stop the bleeding first. Even if only a single breath remained, one had to crawl back, complete the mission, and report back before earning the right to treatment.

The powder falling on her skin brought a fierce, stabbing pain, as if a sharp knife was stirring inside the wound, mincing the flesh into pulp before kneading it back together.

Sheng Zhaoning bit down hard on her lower lip, her body trembling with forbearance. The veins on her neck bulged as she held a breath trapped in her chest; each inhale and exhale was an unbearable, agonizing pain.

“Wei Yi…” she uttered, trembling.

He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead, held her hand, and murmured soothingly, “It won’t hurt soon. Don’t bite down. Open your mouth… That’s it.”

He remembered the old Sheng Zhaoning, who never feared pain. She could reset a broken arm without a change of expression. The most serious time, when half her shoulder was nearly hacked to pieces, she didn’t make a sound. She just stabbed back with a knife, ending the opponent’s life-cold as a grim reaper.

The current her-a single whip wound could cost her her life.

…

By the time the Imperial Physician hurried over, Sheng Zhaoning had already fallen unconscious.

Her wound had stopped bleeding. The Imperial Physician checked her pulse, prescribed several doses of decoction to be taken orally, re-bandaged the wound, and then left with his medicine chest.

This sleep, unbeknownst to her, lasted until the next day.

When Sheng Zhaoning awoke, it was dusk. In the hall, a fire dragon burned, the warmth laced with a faint agarwood scent. A beam of warm yellow sunset light spilled onto the golden floor tiles, casting the shadow of a plum branch swaying by the window.

It took her a while for her consciousness to gradually clear.

It was also then that she finally heard the faint voices of a conversation coming from the outer room.

“When did she escape?”

It was Wei Yi’s voice.