While Honglian was speaking to Leng Mingye, Qingfeng and Baiyu both wore expressions of helplessness—this was simply their master’s temperament. He had always been like this, and now it had reached the point where no one could even voice their concerns.
Yet, when they heard his anxious words about the young lady, the panic and distress written all over his face, not only did Honglian feel a pang of regret—*why did it have to come to this?*—but even Qingfeng and Baiyu couldn’t help but share the same sentiment.
Though Leng Mingye noticed their expressions, the thought of the young lady being injured pushed everything else aside. He forced himself to remain calm as he urgently asked,
“Tell me, how badly is she hurt?”
“Go see for yourself.”
Honglian shot him a glare, unimpressed by his temper. With a huff, she turned away, taking Wanchun with her.
“Wait—Qing’er, don’t stop me—Qing’er—”
As she walked off, Leng Mingye’s panic surged. Despite his own shoulder injury, all he could think about was how the young lady had been hurt because of their argument. On his way back, he had already reflected on everything—how his own insecurities, his oversensitivity, had led to this standoff. If only he had been more tolerant, more understanding, they wouldn’t have fought.
Now, hearing that Wanqing was injured, guilt weighed heavily on him. Seeing the two maids leave, he struggled to his feet. When he swayed unsteadily, Qingfeng and Baiyu rushed to support him, but he coldly rebuked them and shoved their hands away. Clutching his shoulder, he staggered forward.
“If you want to see her, she’s inside.”
Honglian and Wanchun had just returned to the room when Leng Mingye arrived. Though exasperated by his temper toward the young lady despite his obvious concern, they stepped aside and reminded him.
“Qing’er, Qing’er—open the door. I was wrong—Qing’er… Qing’er.”
Leng Mingye hurried inside, only to be met with the sight of disarray—bloodstains on a wooden board left on the table. Though the amount was small, his heart clenched painfully. He glanced back at the others, who exchanged looks before silently withdrawing.
Steeling himself, he approached the young lady’s door and knocked softly with his uninjured arm, his voice low and pleading.
“What are you doing here? Weren’t you determined to die? Then go ahead—why bother with me?”
Hearing his voice outside, Wanqing didn’t understand why he had come. The memory of his self-destructive despair, his willingness to abandon even himself, brought fresh tears to her eyes.
She had always prided herself on her strength, yet in matters of the heart, she was just as vulnerable. Her past life and everything she had endured now weighed on her, leaving her feeling lost and uncertain.
*Was all this effort, this willingness to open her heart again, truly worth it?*
Though his rare apology softened her slightly, the anger from his actions still burned. She wiped her tears and snapped at the door, unaware that her voice trembled with unshed sobs.
“Qing’er, I—I was wrong. I shouldn’t have argued with you. I never meant to die—I was just upset, so I…”
Her words reminded Leng Mingye of how she had reacted when she saw him at the cliff’s edge. Realizing she had misunderstood—though he *had* briefly considered it—he awkwardly tried to explain.
“Oh? Then come in…”
Though skeptical—she had *seen* the despair in his eyes—Wanqing relented, thinking of his injuries. Hearing his firm affirmation from outside, she softened her tone and quickly wiped her tears.
She had faced bandits, endured wounds, and never shed a tear—yet this man had made her cry in frustration.
Leng Mingye entered slowly, clutching his shoulder. Seeing her sitting on the edge of the bed, turned away from him, he hesitated. When she finally looked at him, her eyes and nose were red from crying, her lashes still damp.
This was someone who had never flinched in the face of death—yet she had wept because of *him*.
Guilt twisted in his chest as he sat on a nearby stool, his voice gentle.
“It’s not your fault. I was just angry at myself for not being able to help you. And—I wasn’t crying. Just got some medicinal powder in my eyes…”
Though his tender apology soothed her anger, Wanqing refused to admit it. She glanced at his bloodstained clothes, the wound on his shoulder, and stubbornly sniffed, feigning indifference.
“I know. It was my own foolish thoughts that made me lose my temper. From now on, I’ll try to be more reasonable—to be more like myself again. But… give me time, Qing’er. Let’s make up, alright?”
Seeing her pained expression, knowing *he* was the reason for her tears, Leng Mingye’s guilt deepened. Despite the agony in his shoulder, he remained seated, his voice soft as he studied her for any signs of injury.
Then, instinctively, he reached for her hand.
The moment his fingers brushed hers, she flinched with a sharp inhale. Startled, he looked down—
“Your hand—you’re hurt?! Why didn’t you stop the bleeding? How could you just ignore it?!”
Her fingers were slick with blood, the wound at her nail bed shallow but raw. The sight sent a pang through him—worse than any pain he had ever felt himself.
Carefully, he cleaned and bandaged it, his voice low.
“You decided to abandon yourself—to abandon *me*. Why should I keep living? Maybe dying would be better.”
Though touched by his rare gentleness, Wanqing couldn’t help but glare at him.
“Silly girl… Don’t ever hurt yourself again. Do you know how much it pains me to see you like this?”
Even knowing their fight had been a misunderstanding, her words cut deep. What if she had been hurt worse?
With a sigh, he pulled her close, his good arm wrapping around her waist. His voice was firm, yet laced with affection as he felt her stiffen in his hold.
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