Chapter 58

Chapter 58

Sheng Zhaoning glanced at her strangely. “What difference does it make?”

Biyun stared into her eyes in disbelief. “Young Master, do you truly not know?”

Sheng Zhaoning truly did not.

She had never once imagined that there would come a day when a woman might like her.

Those utterly ordinary touches, and even the act of kicking Sheng Zhaoyan into the lake to save someone, looked to Biyun like blatant signs of “interest.”

She had never thought in that direction at all.

So when Biyun asked her about it, she was still tangled up in “bathing,” “disgust,” and “ugly,” unable to make sense of them, with no idea how the three were connected.

Biyun wiped her tears and ran out.

Sheng Zhaoning was completely baffled.

So what exactly did she mean?

She did not understand.

Sheng Zhaoning was exhausted all over and had no heart to guess.

In half a month, it would be New Year’s Eve. After the New Year, she would set off for the Capital City.

The road to Shangjing was destined to be perilous. Xuzhou was a rare haven of peace; she feared she might never return after this.

Sheng Zhaoning let out a soft sigh and slipped out of her clothes.

As her body sank into the slightly scalding water, the damp chill that had seeped into her bones over the entire day had nowhere left to hide. It spilled from every pore.

When she had come out of the Liangzhou dungeon, even after enduring the agony of having her bones reshaped and receiving Zhou Lingsheng’s meticulous care, her shattered knees had still never fully healed. Whenever the weather turned rainy, they ached with a dull soreness.

Perhaps this pain would follow her for the rest of her life.

As if deliberately refusing to let her forget everything that had happened in Liangzhou, it constantly stirred up her memories. There was no wound to be seen, yet the pain churned slowly, again and again.

“A beauty throws herself into your arms, and yet you really don’t know how to appreciate romance.”

A teasing voice drifted in.

A yellow orchid at the corner of the window swayed slightly. The wind lifted the curtain, setting it adrift, and the wind chimes beneath the eaves rang crisp and clear. The smell of blood came in with the wind from outside, scattering the mist that had curled around her body.

A pair of shoulders, white as porcelain jade, floated above the surface of the water, exposed clearly to the newcomer’s eyes.

A layer of frost settled over Sheng Zhaoning’s gaze. She slowly raised her head.

Beneath the moon, the carved window had been pushed open. Zhou Wei sat leaning against the windowsill, his face weak and pale.

He half turned his head and looked sideways at her. His gaze paused for an instant on her shoulders, then quickly shifted to her face. For a fleeting moment, his eyes seemed dazed.

A faint flush quietly spread behind his ears.

A man-why did he have to be so fair and delicate?

As if to cover it up, Zhou Wei lowered his head and coughed awkwardly.

“How did you follow me here?” Sheng Zhaoning asked, her cold gaze fixed on him.

Zhou Wei did not notice the danger in her tone at all.

“The great Jieyuan of Xuzhou City. Most of the people praying at the Confucian Temple are examination candidates, and plenty of them know you. I didn’t even have to ask. Someone told me your identity and residence clear as day. How do you think I followed you here?”

His tone carried a hint of disdain, but the few words he spoke were clearly short of breath, and his lips turned several shades paler.

He had clung to the underside of someone else’s carriage all the way into Xuzhou City, then spent what little strength he had sneaking into Sheng Mansion and finding Guanlan Waterside Pavilion. After all that effort, he had nearly exhausted every last bit of strength in his body.

Right now, Zhou Wei was only forcing himself to maintain an imposing front. He did not want Sheng Zhaoning to laugh at him.

For some inexplicable reason, he had a strange, almost uncanny trust in Sheng Zhaoning.

Perhaps it was because of that hurried glimpse outside Baoyue Tower, when he had grown curious about this person’s identity.

Someone who had stood outside the building with a sword in his arms, likewise intending to kill Xie Qiu, turned out to be a frail scholar in the eyes of outsiders, born into a scholarly family.

Sheng Zhaoning’s identity was even more complicated than he had imagined.

And it was precisely because someone this complicated could not withstand scrutiny himself that he would not easily hand Zhou Wei over to the authorities, nor would he want anyone to know Zhou Wei had even the slightest connection to him.

So he had every reason to trust Sheng Zhaoning.

To trust that she would not hand him over. To trust that she would save him.

For now, she was the only lifeline he could grasp. Unknown as the outcome might be, it was still better than hiding outside the temple like a stray dog, waiting alone for death in the wind and snow.

Sheng Zhaoning snuffed out the candle in the room. The instant darkness fell around them, she yanked over her clothes and wrapped herself up.

Zhou Wei felt his vision go black. In the next moment, a warm, slender finger clamped around his throat.

“You really aren’t afraid to die,” Sheng Zhaoning said, her eyes dark, the low tail of her voice laced with danger.

Zhou Wei was pinned against the window, his face turning bluish-purple from lack of air. “Killing me… isn’t as useful as saving me.”

His brows drew tight as he forced the words out with difficulty.

Sheng Zhaoning lifted a brow slightly, and only then did the pressure of her hand ease.

“Let’s hear it.”

Zhou Wei sucked in two sharp breaths. “Save me, and I can do one thing for you.”

Sheng Zhaoning’s hand still rested lightly around his throat. With the slightest force, she could snap it.

“That deal seems a little lacking,” she said, looking at him with a smile that was not quite a smile.

Conflict flickered across Zhou Wei’s face. Every wound on his body screamed with pain, and he no longer had the strength to bargain with Sheng Zhaoning.

Of course, perhaps he had never had the right to bargain in the first place.

“Then what do you want?” he asked, closing his eyes in resignation.

Sheng Zhaoning stared at him for a while. Her gaze slowly drifted downward and settled on the wound in his abdomen.

It was the worst injury on his body. If it was not treated soon, all he could do was wait for death.

Sheng Zhaoning’s eyes flickered, and she smiled. “I’m short a coachman.”

Zhou Wei’s eyes flew wide. “You-”

Feeling thoroughly humiliated, his breath went uneven. He broke into several coughs, the movement tugging at the wounds across his body. Cold sweat sprang out from the pain, yet he still glared at Sheng Zhaoning, unconvinced.

“With skills like mine, you want me to be a coachman?”

The air around them fell silent for a moment.

After a long pause, Sheng Zhaoning asked uncertainly, “Are your skills… good?”

Zhou Wei: “…”

It was not only his wounds now. Even his chest seemed to hurt.

He had thought that, at the very least, Sheng Zhaoning would ask him to kill someone for her or handle some difficult matter.

Even if it was dangerous and required him to pay a certain price, he would spare no effort to get it done.

He had always been a man who kept his promises.

But he had never expected Sheng Zhaoning to look down on him so much that she would make him some lowly coachman.

Sheng Zhaoning was going too far!

“In any case, I won’t be a coachman,” Zhou Wei said through gritted teeth, his face dark.

Sheng Zhaoning said indifferently, “Oh. Then a servant will do.”

Zhou Wei nearly choked on his own breath.

“No. Way.”

“Still no?” She found Zhou Wei terribly difficult to please. A man begging to be saved, yet still so ungrateful as to make so many demands.

Sheng Zhaoning’s gaze moved downward, landing below his lower abdomen.

“Or perhaps… a eunuch?”

The kind that came with castration.

Zhou Wei felt a chill between his legs.

Sheng Zhaoning’s gaze was far too blatant. She might as well have written her thoughts directly on her face.

He clenched both fists and forced a few words through his teeth. “A guard. I’ll be your guard. That should be fine, shouldn’t it?”

Sheng Zhaoning released the hand at his throat and straightened.

“Suit yourself.”

After all, to her, coachman, servant, eunuch, or guard made no essential difference.

One person used as four. Either way, the work all had to be done.

The only difference was the title.