64 A Fortunate Encounter with a Skillful Healer

Laifu savored the fragrance of Yan’er’s body, his dark fingers caressing her skin. With trembling excitement, he bit down hard on her collar, eager to tear away the offending garment with his teeth. In that moment, Yan’er’s mind conjured an image of Pan Yueyang—standing before her, eyes cold and cutting, his gaze a silent accusation of betrayal. With a bitter smile, Yan’er clenched her jaw and bit fiercely into the tip of her tongue.

“Aaah! Ah!” Suddenly Laifu leapt away from her body in alarm. “She... she... she’s biting her tongue to kill herself!” he shouted in panic.

Changshun sprang to the bedside with a single bound, kicked Laifu aside, and swiftly pressed several vital points on Yan’er’s body. She could not be allowed to die—the princess’s command was that she must remain alive, neither living nor dead.

“Drag him out!” Changshun spat, disgusted, casting a contemptuous glance at Laifu. This man’s fate was too meager to enjoy a beauty of such caliber.

Watching from the eaves, Guan Canghai had originally intended to intervene and save Yan’er. If not for that wretched fool’s sudden outcry, he would have already acted.

“Fetch an imperial physician, now! She must not die,” Changshun ordered curtly as he strode from the room, leaving Yan’er barely clinging to life on the bed.

Guan Canghai dropped down, stunning the eunuch guarding the door with a touch. He slipped inside and saw a dark stain of blood at the corner of Yan’er’s mouth. Shaking his head, he drew a pill from his breast and placed it between her lips. “You owe me two lives now,” he murmured.

The medicine melted quickly in her mouth. Dazed, Yan’er barely managed to crack open her eyes and saw a blur of deep violet swaying before her. The color filled her vision, resolving into a face with womanly features smiling down at her. She closed her eyes again, and Guan Canghai’s ethereal form lingered in her mind.

Guan Canghai watched the battered woman on the bed with an amused smile. Every time fate brought them together, she was always at her lowest—what a strange coincidence. Seeing her half open her eyes, then shake her head and fall back into a stupor, he said nothing, only brushed her cheek softly, full of tender pity.

“Master Wu, it’s here,” came a young eunuch’s voice from outside. Guan Canghai vanished up the beam in a flash.

“How did you two fall asleep on duty?” the young eunuch scolded, giving a hard kick to the pair of collapsed eunuchs on the ground, but he paid them little mind. He led the physician into the room. “There—she just bit her tongue to kill herself not a moment ago.”

Guided by his medical ethics, the doctor hurried forward, first checking her breath—still alive. He pried her lips and examined her eyes: nothing serious. Producing a pulse pillow, Imperial Physician Wu took her pulse carefully. His brow creased in thought; he hesitated to speak, glancing from Yan’er to the young eunuch.

“Master Wu, is she dead?”

“Her fate is strong—she’ll live. Just an external injury. I’ll prescribe a few remedies to nurse her back to health.” Alas, Wu was a newly appointed court physician, and when he had taken her pulse, he’d realized this woman was pregnant. It was early, but her health was decent; this was just an external wound. Palace affairs... the child was innocent. She was neither a concubine nor a servant, likely an outsider. The child was blameless. He would not mention the matter; let fate decide.

“No need for prescriptions.” The young eunuch had already received Changshun’s orders: as long as she survived, the rest was irrelevant. Since her life was not in danger, she could be left to her own devices.

“Very well...” The affairs of royalty were not his to meddle in—his mentor had warned him so before entering the palace. He had intended to prescribe tonics for her, but so be it. Everything was left to fate.

The room returned to stillness. Guan Canghai lingered on the beam for a moment, confirming that Yan’er would be safe. His life-saving elixir, refined from rare ingredients, was precious; he had only made five pills, and had never taken one himself. Yet this woman had consumed two of his precious pills!

He gave a wicked smile, slipped from the room, and restored the sleeping acupoint of the eunuch at the door—he still had important matters to attend to. Tonight, he was determined to find Mu Qianxue! His vengeance for the Sea of Stone had only just begun.

From above, Guan Canghai surveyed the imperial palace of Panlong, its layout like a coiled dragon. The outermost ring was the main gate, heavily guarded by sentries; next was the inner court, where the old emperor held court and managed state affairs; then came the gardens, and finally the third ring—the royal bedchambers. All he needed was to search each palace in the third tier to find Mu Qianxue. The old emperor, advanced in age, had few concubines; some of lesser rank shared chambers. Mu Qianxue, being a princess, would likely reside in a bedchamber near the gardens. Guan Canghai decided to search from the rear garden suites first.

When no sentries were in sight, he dropped lightly to the ground. He didn’t recognize the hall, but the gold-painted sign above the door read “Egret Pavilion.” As long as he remembered the plaques above each main suite, he’d not lose his way. Unfamiliar with the internal layout of Egret Pavilion, he clambered atop the roof and gently pried up a glazed tile. By chance, he had chosen well—through the gap, he could see the lavish furnishings of the master bedroom. The bed curtains swayed gently, and a woman’s gasps drifted out.

Could it be the old emperor visiting a favored concubine? Guan Canghai sneered.

“Gentler... be careful,” came the woman’s breathless warning to the man atop her. “Don’t leave any marks.”

So, an illicit affair. Guan Canghai replaced the tile—clearly, this was not Mu Qianxue’s residence. To be so brazen as to take a lover in one's own chamber, the woman must be a high-ranking consort. Lesser women, sharing quarters, would never risk such recklessness.

He continued, searching each suite along the circular layout. The cold night air turned his breath to mist. He had inspected nearly half the bedchambers—some women slept, some embroidered or wrote, some entertained lovers. He had seen all that women might do, yet no sign of Mu Qianxue.

He paused before a slightly secluded chamber, the plaque reading “Drifting Snow.” Glancing around to ensure no sentries were near, he noted the night was already half spent—if he failed tonight, he would have to return again.

He lifted a tile; candlelight glimmered inside, but the room was empty, even the bed’s curtains undrawn. He pried up another tile, unwilling to miss a single suite. He waited in silence for the room’s occupant to appear. Though the air was cold, he was skilled in martial arts—raising his inner energy, warmth quickly suffused his body.

A faint sound stirred within. Guan Canghai listened closely—the voice was familiar. A smile touched his lips—Mu Qianxue!

Indeed, the room’s mistress entered, closing the door behind her. “You may go, I need nothing more tonight,” she said.

“Yes, miss,” came the reply of two maids, their footsteps lingering beyond the door.

The woman, weary, rolled her neck, tilting her head so that Guan Canghai could see her face.

Mu Qianxue! It was truly her.

Mu Qianxue, having just finished reading, stretched her stiff neck, then noticed a bright patch on the ceiling. Looking closer, she thought she saw a pair of eyes staring down at her.

“An assassin!” she cried, instantly alert, and rushed out the door. The maids, startled, hurried after her.

Guan Canghai hadn’t expected Mu Qianxue to be so vigilant. No matter; tonight he was resolved to capture her. He darted down from the eaves.

Her shout brought the palace guards swiftly to the Falling Flowers Hall. Their speed impressed even Guan Canghai.

“Heh... Mu Qianxue.” He no longer bothered to hide—these lackeys were nothing to him.

The guards gathered, encircling Mu Qianxue as the bedchamber blazed with light.

“Quick! Seize him—he’s Guan Canghai, traitor of the Celestial Phoenix Kingdom!” Mu Qianxue cried, pointing at the violet-robed man before her.

“Hmph! You wish!” With barely a pause, Guan Canghai struck first—a rain of silver needles shot forth, piercing the brows of a dozen guards. They died instantly, without pain or struggle.

The remaining guards dared not advance, forming a protective circle around Mu Qianxue. Any who had martial training could sense the purple-clad stranger was a formidable opponent—none dared make a reckless move.

Guan Canghai cared nothing for their thoughts. More needles flew without warning, felling another group of guards in the same silent, deadly fashion.

The guards exchanged glances—death awaited whether they charged or not. Better to fight. With a wordless signal, they raised their swords and attacked. Guan Canghai retreated a step, readying more needles, when the gongs sounded, summoning reinforcements from every corner of the palace. The royal compound grew even brighter.

Wave after wave of guards surged at Guan Canghai. Though they were no match for him, the endless onslaught would sap his strength. Gritting his teeth, he unleashed a devastating attack, sending bodies tumbling—his dark arts now fully mastered.

“Help! Save me!” Mu Qianxue, sensing danger, dragged a young maid before her as a shield and tried to escape.

Guan Canghai saw through her intent. With a kick, he sent the hapless maid aside, then, using her body as a springboard, soared to land directly in front of Mu Qianxue.

“Trying to run?” He seized her, hatred surging through him, the urge to tear her apart overwhelming. If not for the treasure, he would not spare her life for a single moment.

“Stop!” came a powerful male voice, charged with inner strength—so familiar.

Guan Canghai did not release Mu Qianxue. Slowly, he turned. An old foe—just as he expected.

Pan Yueyang!