Without a formal title, he went to the battlefield, won brilliant military achievements, guarded the northern frontier for years, dodged countless open and hidden arrows, but could not escape the knife from behind.
Truthfully, when Emperor Yuan Tai proposed that he could take command of the North Yan Cavalry, for a moment, Yan Xiaohan was indeed tempted. Although the Flying Dragon Guard was prestigious, it had almost earned a full court of curses.
In this world, who has not imagined being like Fu Shen, holding the North Yan Cavalry, galloping across the battlefield, and sweeping away invading enemies? Who has not thought, “If it were me,” how would I display my ambitions?
Could the position of North Yan Military Commander be secured just by being lucky?
Yan Xiaohan knew he could not replace Fu Shen. There would never be a second Fu Shen, but Emperor Yuan Tai did not understand.
The Great Wall of ten thousand miles was not destroyed by external enemies but first dismantled by its own people, with bricks and tiles scattered.
“Sir,” Shen Yice quickly finished changing Fu Shen’s medicine and stood up, “Although you may not be willing to care, as a doctor, I must say a few words. The Jingning Marquis’s injury might leave lifelong complications. With two fevers, each more dangerous than the last, his body can no longer withstand any further strain.”
“Although you may not like him, he is still a… hero. If you can help him, don’t let him struggle alone. At least, something like kneeling in the rain for an hour should not happen again.”
Yan Xiaohan’s expression revealed nothing, merely asking, “I remember you are not familiar with Fu Shen and have never spoken up for any patient before.”
“Consider it my meddling,” Shen Yice collected the instruments from the table back into his medicine box, “I indeed have no friendship with the Marquis. But sometimes I feel that as long as the Jingning Marquis is alive, the capital is safe, and we Han people will not struggle under the hooves of barbarians.”
He did not respond, rising to see Shen Yice out. The two walked silently through the winding corridor. At the courtyard of the main院, Shen Yice stopped and cupped his hands to Yan Xiaohan, “Sir, please stay.
“
“Jiji,” Yan Xiaohan called him, his gaze deep, “How confident are you about Fu Shen’s ability to stand again?”
Shen Yice gave a bitter smile, “Sir, you overestimate me.”
“Speak frankly,” Yan Xiaohan said.
Shen Yice hesitated for a moment before carefully saying, “Only one or two out of ten. Reconnecting broken bones is easy, but nerve damage, especially with half his kneecap shattered, might take three to five years of recuperation. The key is having someone to care for him constantly. But even then, success is not guaranteed.”
Yan Xiaohan nodded and made a decision, “In that case, from tomorrow, the Jingning Marquis’s injury is in your hands. For any treatment or medication, come to my residence.”
Shen Yice was astonished, “Sir?!”
“Do not be surprised. You would have known this sooner or later,” Yan Xiaohan said calmly, “Just now, His Majesty has issued an imperial edict betrothing me and the Jingning Marquis.”
Like a thunderbolt from the sky, Doctor Shen stood frozen on the spot, stunned.
A moment later, a roar erupted from the main courtyard of the Yan residence: “The Emperor has gone mad?!”
Chapter 11: Probing | A Backstab Provocation The high fever burned from dusk until midnight, and it was not until the end of the hour of Zi that Fu Shen finally fully awakened.
The night was deep and quiet, everything silent. The room was dim, and the bed curtains were quite different from his familiar setup. A lamp remained on the table, casting a soft light over a small area. He caught a faint breath of sound and turned to see a low couch outside the bed where Yan Xiaohan slept, fully clothed.
The events of yesterday flowed into his mind, but could no longer stir up towering waves. Undercurrents surged beneath the surface.
Fu Shen lay uncomfortably, wanting to relax his stiff back. As soon as he moved, Yan Xiaohan woke up. He sat up and reached out to support him. Still not fully awake, he spoke softly, “What’s wrong? Need water or the bathroom?”
He supported Fu Shen with both hands, leaning forward until their foreheads touched: “Seems like the fever has broken.”
Fu Shen did not expect such treatment. He almost did not react, but when he realized something was wrong, he pulled back: “It’s fine… I don’t need anything, just… help me sit up.”
As the drowsy sleep faded, Yan Xiaohan’s gaze cleared, and the atmosphere suddenly became awkward.
He let Fu Shen lean against the headboard, then stepped back three paces, sitting on the low couch, creating a proper and estranged distance.
The two seemed to wake from madness, remembering the absurd betrothal between them.
Regardless of its implications, whether it is a conspiracy or a mismatched matchmaking, its essence remains unchanged, still a marriage.
Just moments ago, Jing Ning Hou, who had a numb face and a heart like still water, was showing signs of a headache again. He was a person who could endure much, but at this moment, he only wanted to forget, to start over, to pretend nothing had happened.
“Continue sleeping, don’t mind me.”
Yan Xiaohan casually swept back his hair and picked up a robe from the bedside, throwing it to him: “It’s cold at night, put this on. I’ll have someone bring up some porridge.”
A man like Fu Shen, born into a noble family, famous from a young age, had seen much and easily became numb to “others being kind to him.” However, perhaps due to the betrothal or because people become especially sensitive during a serious illness, in this series of actions, he first felt Yan Xiaohan’s thoughtfulness, secretly thinking to himself: “Still… quite virtuous.”
Once the thought went askew, all subsequent thoughts involuntarily followed suit.
Looking at his face alone, Yan Xiaohan was even more attractive. He changed out of the black robe of the Flying Dragon Guard, wearing a light-colored wide-sleeved casual old garment. When he lit the lamp, his black hair flowed like water from his shoulders to his chest, drooping tiredly with lowered eyelids. When not smiling, his lips were slightly curved, and the light illuminated a soft and gentle outline that could make people temporarily forget his identity.
Fu Shen squinted, completely unaware of how much he looked like a malicious rogue.
When Yan Xiaohan turned to leave, he closed the door and walked in the corridor. Fu Shen might have been delirious from fever, staring without restraint. Yan Xiaohan finally couldn’t help but flee in embarrassment.
The night-watching servants saw him coming out of the room with a face full of smiles, thinking Fu Shen must have died; otherwise, why would their master be so happy?
When the hot porridge was served, Fu Shen and Yan Xiaohan sat facing each other, holding their bowls. The hot steam brought a bit of blood color to their pale lips and cheeks.
They could finally calmly examine the thorny path ahead and ponder where to start.
Yan Xiaohan spat out the mouthwash tea and put the tea bowl back on the table, saying: “My lord.”
Fu Shen was still leisurely drinking porridge: “Hmm?”
Yan Xiaohan: “I have a few questions and hope you can clarify them for me.”
“I say, Master Yan,” Fu Shen put down his spoon, casually hooking the corner of his mouth, “we’re already in the same boat, so stop with the ‘my lord’ formalities. It’s too distant.”
“Since you put it that way, fine,” Yan Xiaohan compromised, “Jing Ying, I heard from the Emperor yesterday that he seems deeply dissatisfied with you. Have you recently done something to anger him?”
“Cough, cough… Let’s not be so intimate,” Fu Shen choked, helplessly saying, “Can’t you just call me by my name?”
