Chapter 348: Laid Bare

As dawn cracked its first light, the city gates creaked open, welcoming the early flurry of eager souls. But like whispers fading into the wind, the bustle had died down, leaving the gates eerily still—a liminal space where tension could bloom unnoticed.

From a distance, Wu Yong spotted a group ambling forward, their forms hazy but unmistakable. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, leaving the rest of the world behind. His intent was sharp, pointed like a blade, and entirely unapologetic.

Shao Yao, having shared more than just fleeting moments of camaraderie with him in the sands of past encounters, raised an eyebrow as he closed the distance with an almost reckless fervor. Her voice, cool but tinged with a knowing edge, broke the quiet: "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you off," Wu Yong replied without a trace of pretense. No coyness, no veiled intentions—his boldness hung in the air like smoke, daring anyone to take notice. He wasn’t shy about the brazenness of his motives, nor did he flinch at the thought of Shizi, the one he should perhaps have feared, finding out. If anything, it seemed as though the idea amused him.

“A true friend indeed.” Shao Yao tilted her head and lifted her veil, revealing a smile so radiant it was practically audacious. “When you reach the capital, I’ll be sure to take excellent care of you,” she promised, her voice dripping with warmth that felt a shade too practiced.

“It’s a promise, then.” Wu Yong studied her face, the one that had once struck him as imposing, and wondered if he’d misplaced his instincts entirely. She was charming, disarmingly so, and that unsettling shift gnawed at his better judgment. Deep down, he knew she wasn’t someone he could simply keep—not with the storm brewing around them. But leaving her behind? That felt like its own brand of defeat. Survival was the only game now, and if he lived through it, he swore—shamelessly, selfishly—that he’d find a way to make her his.

For now, though, all he had to offer was a parting wave. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Shao Yao replied, her tone breezy yet tinged with something warmer. She was, after all, absurdly generous with those she deemed worthy. Knowing he was a border commander destined for blood-soaked fields, she fussed over him in that maddeningly maternal way, rummaging through his belongings, slipping him vials of medicine, and explaining their uses as if he were some bumbling recruit.

Leaning lazily against the man at her side, Hua Zhi murmured, her voice low and teasing, “Well, look at that. Someone’s got aspirations.”

“I see it,” came the reply, clipped and dry.

Hua Zhi smirked, catching the faint sourness in his tone. She let out a laugh that lingered too long. “Admit it—it takes real nerve to set his sights on grass that grows in your garden.”

With a light nudge to the horse’s flank, Gu Yanxi broke the awkward tension with a subtle but deliberate interruption. His voice, smooth yet pointed, sliced through the conversation like a finely honed blade. "Gu Chengde’s gone, I take it?"

Wu Yong, ever the man caught juggling his modest standing and his not-so-subtle aspirations toward someone else’s sister, could only offer a sheepish rub of his nose. "Yeah," he muttered, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. "Left about half an hour ago. Took the officials' token and bolted out of the city like the wind was at his back."

Instead of irritation, an unexpected wave of relief washed over Gu Yanxi, though he kept it well-masked behind an impassive nod. "Well then," he remarked, his tone faintly tinged with dry amusement, "farewell."

Shao Yao, never one for subtlety, swept her hand in an exaggerated, almost theatrical wave at Wu Yong—dismissive and final. Without so much as a backward glance, she spurred her horse and galloped off to catch up with the others.

And there Wu Yong stood, frozen in the dust of their departure. His dreams, his schemes, his hopes—all left suspended in the humid air. He lingered, staring after them, long after the sound of hooves had faded. There would be no grand triumph today. First, he would have to figure out how to keep himself alive.

*

This journey was more exhausting for Hua Zhi than any before. Already weakened by the loss of blood and energy, and now having grown delicate and pampered, her body almost fell apart after a day. Despite Gu Yanxi's careful care and Shao Yao's efforts to look after her, she had lost a significant amount of weight by the time they returned to the capital.

Not that she ever voiced a single word of complaint. Oh no, Hua Zhi was far too dignified for that. But the weariness etched into her every move spoke louder than any protest could have, and everyone who looked at her knew damn well how brutal the journey had been.

When they finally reached the outskirts of the capital, Gu Yanxi—ever the cautious tactician—decided against escorting her directly home. Heaven forbid he draw undue attention. Instead, he left her horse tethered in some godforsaken spot on the edge of nowhere. Always one for the grand gesture, he offered a parting warning cloaked in veiled concern.

“There’s likely to be some turbulence in the capital in the days ahead. If things go south, I won’t be able to come to you directly. Wang Rong will relay my messages.”

“Understood.” Hua Zhi didn’t bother with dramatics or hesitation. Swinging herself onto the replacement horse with a grit that defied her fragile state, she approached Lin Ying and dropped a reminder like a stone in a pond.

“It hasn’t rained in Beizhou for over three months. Make sure the Imperial Observatory is keeping an eye on it—or better yet, ask Haoyue. We can’t afford to let the north turn into a tinderbox.”

Knowing that Ah Zhi was worried about the drought in the north threatening Yingshan Pass, he nodded, "I will remember. Don't worry, Haoyue mentioned floods in the south but not drought in the north. We should be able to get through this."

"Let's hope so." Hua Zhi glanced at the sky, "It's getting late, you should go first."

Gu Yanxi looked at Shao Yao, who understood and said, "I will take Zeng Han to the prince's mansion."

Shao Yao had a reputation among those with intentions. Normally, even if people knew about her dealings with Hua Zhi, it wouldn't matter. The Emperor also treated her well. However, at the moment, that was no longer the case, and Zeng Han also needed to resolve his father's official affairs first.

For safety reasons, Gu Yanxi left two unfamiliar faces to accompany Hua Zhi back.

*

They made it into the city before the gates closed. Hua Zhi went straight to her home, and the servants all greeted her with joy. The usually quiet Hua family suddenly came alive, and a few maids couldn't help but cry when they saw her.

Hua Zhi was unaware that her uncle had already sold her, so she chuckled at their tearful smiles and squinted eyes. "I just came back a little late. Why are you crying? Is everything okay at home?"

"It's all good." They had discussed it beforehand and wouldn't reveal the secret.

They knew Miss Hua Zhi would go to pay her respects to the Eldest Lady first. Ying Chun stepped forward to help her inside. "Today happens to be Fourth Uncle's birthday. She went there and hasn't returned yet. She should be back soon."

"How fortunate." Hua Zhi was extremely exhausted, and she leaned on Ying Chun, feeling worn out. "Get someone to prepare hot water for me. After I pay my respects to Mother, I need to rest. I've rushed all the way here, and I need to take it slow."

"Of course."

The Eldest Lady saw her daughter shedding tears of joy and felt relieved, knowing her children had returned from afar. She had been worried during these days when they were away, but seeing her daughter's undeniable exhaustion, she had to set aside her emotions. Immediately, she had Ying Chun help Hua Zhi back inside to rest.

In Hua Zhi’s courtyard, the maids moved with practiced precision, their efficiency a silent testament to their training. News traveled fast, and as if driven by some unseen whip, they had everything ready in no time. First, they coaxed a bowl of soup into Hua Zhi’s reluctant stomach, then ushered her behind the screen for privacy that was more for their comfort than hers.

When Ying Chun came forward to assist her in changing clothes, Hua Zhi flinched, her fresh wounds still too raw for casual hands. Catching Ying Chun’s reaching arm, she interjected with forced calm, her tone an unspoken order wrapped in silk. “I’d rather soak a little longer. Fetch me some hot water, and while you’re at it, let the others know they’re not needed. I’ll manage.”

The command was curt, but Ying Chun swallowed any questions and nodded. “Alright.”

No sooner had Ying Chun left than a cluster of maids, ever the buzzing hive, crowded together outside the room. Whispers slithered between them, fueled by curiosity that bordered on nosiness. Bao Xia, a maid whose discretion often faltered under the weight of intrigue, murmured with a mix of suppressed concern, “Did you catch a glimpse? Where’s the Eldest Miss hurt?”

Ying Chun’s lips thinned into a grave line as she shook her head. “She sent me out before I could see.”

The unspoken truth hit them all at once: the more tightly guarded the secret, the more severe the injury. Their worried eyes met in a silent pact of speculation, their imaginations painting worse scenarios than reality likely warranted.

“Enough,” Ying Chun finally snapped, her words clipped. “She doesn’t keep secrets from us for long. Whatever she’s hiding, she’ll show it when she’s ready—or when it suits her.”

Yet, even Ying Chun hadn’t expected the revelation to come so quickly. She waited outside the room, calling softly a few times, her voice edged with growing unease. When silence met her every attempt, dread settled over her, compelling her to barge behind the screen without waiting for permission.

There she found Hua Zhi, not collapsed in distress as her fears had painted, but fast asleep, exhaustion etched across her delicate features. Relief flooded Ying Chun, her breath escaping in a shaky exhale.

The slight commotion roused Hua Zhi, who groggily opened her eyes, her movements sluggish as she stifled a yawn. Rising with the thoughtless grace of someone accustomed to being cared for, she didn’t notice her scars—raw, angry, and shamefully exposed—until Ying Chun’s gasp shattered the air like fragile porcelain hitting the floor.

Ying Chun froze, her hand flying to her mouth as her gaze darted away, unwilling to let her shock insult her mistress further. She fumbled for a dry cloth and, hands trembling, dabbed at Hua Zhi’s back as if soothing a wounded animal.

The itching sensation made Hua Zhi shift instinctively, rubbing against the cloth until sudden awareness gripped her like icy water. Her eyes snapped wide open as the realization clawed its way to the surface. In a swift motion, she grabbed Ying Chun by the wrist, dragging the startled maid to face her.

Tears streaked down Ying Chun's face, unbidden and uncontrolled, telling stories her mouth refused to voice.

“Why are you crying?” Hua Zhi asked, her voice both gentle and exasperated, as if chastising a child for spilling milk. “It’s just scars. I’m almost healed.” She pressed the cloth into Ying Chun’s hands, her tone dropping to a warning laced with weary defiance. “Don’t you dare tell anyone. Not a word. Especially not to my mother.”

Ying Chun nodded, the weight of Hua Zhi’s words settling heavily on her. “Yes, Miss,” she murmured, but her heart ached, carrying secrets she never asked to hold.