“You, no matter how skilled you are in medicine, I’d rather die ugly than let you treat me. With that mouth of yours, I’d genuinely fear you’d end up killing me instead of curing me.”
This guy’s words made her recall how she had slapped him in anger back then. But at the time, she had only acted out of kindness to save him and his companions. Instead of gratitude, he had the audacity to insult her like this. Did he think she didn’t wish to be beautiful?
Back then, she was only a few years old when she was attacked by bandits. Two swift sword strokes had left her face scarred beyond recognition.
When she realized she had been disfigured but was still alive, her heart was torn between despair and relief. Relieved that she had survived to see another sunrise, yet despairing that at such a young age, her face was ruined, and she might never experience the same life and love as other women.
Over the years, wearing a veil while gathering intelligence, she had even come to appreciate her scars—they made her enemies underestimate her, allowing her to uncover secrets even high-ranking officials in the court couldn’t access.
For the sake of vengeance, she endured everything, clinging to this single purpose. When she reunited with her brother and saw him alive before her, her heart swelled with both sorrow and joy.
The hope of restoring their kingdom had been rekindled, but her face remained ruined. Perhaps she would never know the love and life other women—even princesses—took for granted.
With her brother and others comforting her, she gradually made peace with it. Yet she never expected this man, whom she had only met once, to speak to her like this. She still remembered the look on his face when her veil slipped—shock, disgust, and the words that followed:
“Ah, your face… how can it be so ugly?”
Now, this man dared to insult her again, even demanding she remove her veil for further humiliation. Though Princess Ziyang knew his medical skills were exceptional, the memory of his cruel words made her respond coldly:
“You should know—no one but my Feng family can heal your face. If you refuse my help, are you truly content to live the rest of your life with that hideous face?”
Seeing his goodwill rejected, Feng Moli felt a pang of regret for his earlier behavior. Still, he couldn’t help but retort:
“What does it matter to you? I won’t let you treat me, no matter what. Even if I stay ugly, it’s none of your concern. If the sight disgusts you, just cover your eyes. It’s late—I’m going to rest.”
Hearing his words, Princess Ziyang glared at him coldly before closing her eyes, refusing to engage further.
“Ungrateful wretch. A face like yours isn’t worth another glance. Here’s a medicine that can ease the discomfort and remove minor toxins. Apply it—it’ll make the pain bearable by midnight.”
Feng Moli’s tone was icy as he spoke. Though his lips curled in disdain, he still placed the prepared medicine on her table before turning to leave.
“You—stop right there! I don’t want your wretched medicine! Stop, I said—you—!”
Princess Ziyang couldn’t believe his audacity—insulting her and then offering medicine. Convinced of his ill intentions, she struggled up in fury, snatched the bottle, and glared at his retreating figure.
Just as she was about to hurl it to the ground in anger, Wanqing entered.
“Princess, why are you up? Your injuries haven’t healed—you should rest. Is this medicine from Uncle?”
Seeing her standing, Wanqing recalled her uncle’s frustrated expression outside. Though she didn’t know what had transpired between them, she sensed something unusual. After all, in all these days, her uncle had never spared a glance for any woman besides her mother and herself—not even the daughter of the false king of Bo Kingdom, who had shamelessly fawned over him.
Yet here he was, delivering medicine to Princess Ziyang. Helping her back to bed, Wanqing noticed the bottle in her hand and asked, “Did he bring this?”
“That bastard! I don’t want anything from him. Miss Wanqing, please return this to him. Tell him I don’t need his pity or sympathy—let alone his charity. If he wants amusement, he can look elsewhere. I don’t need it.”
Princess Ziyang’s rage simmered, but she forced herself to stay composed in front of Wanqing. The thought of that vile man—offering medicine while mocking her deepest wounds—made her blood boil.
She shoved the bottle into Wanqing’s hands, her eyes blazing.
“Princess, I think you misunderstand. My uncle was likely just worried about you. This medicine isn’t ordinary—it’s brewed from the dew of a hundred rare flowers. It can cleanse dark pigments and residual toxins from the skin. He must truly care, or he wouldn’t have given you something so precious. Believe me, he’s never spared a glance for any woman besides my mother and me—not even Dongfang Yu, the false king’s daughter. He’s just… not good at expressing kindness, but his concern is genuine.”
Wanqing’s gentle words carried the weight of her mother’s teachings. Seeing Princess Ziyang’s conflicted expression, she smiled reassuringly.
“Really? He’s that kind?”
Princess Ziyang’s skepticism lingered as she turned the bottle in her hands.
“Of course. If you don’t believe me, you can throw it away. Pretend he never came. By the way, this is the medicine my mother prepared for your wounds—it’ll help them heal faster.”
Wanqing watched as the princess fell into deep thought, then quietly excused herself after applying the salve.
As she tidied up, Princess Ziyang suddenly spoke.
“Qing’er… do you think my face is truly that horrifying?”
Her voice was fragile, carrying years of pain—from the initial shock and despair to the fear of even looking in a mirror. Wanqing’s kindness had touched her, but Feng Moli’s cruel words still haunted her.
“Not at all. Everyone wishes to present their best self, but scars don’t define beauty. With proper treatment, your face will heal in time. My uncle wouldn’t offer help if he wasn’t confident. Rest now—I’ll leave you be.”
Wanqing’s words were gentle yet firm. As she left, a knowing smile played on her lips—this was going to be interesting.
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