Chapter Two: When I First Met You

The young man gave Mingchu a gentle smile, rose nimbly to his feet, and swiftly vanished from her sight.

Mingchu struggled to prop herself up. Her clothes were already drenched; the biting wind poured through her wet garments, chilling her to the bone, and she could not help but shiver uncontrollably.

"I know who he is!" Jiang Zhenyuan, who had been sitting beside them with his chin in his palms, suddenly slapped his thigh in excitement. "The falcon pattern on his wrist—I remember now. That's the unique mark of my father's death attendants!" He had once overheard his father mention it to his mother.

Mingchu frowned but said nothing. She gazed in the direction the young man had left—northward. Was he going to Qianyi Hall to find her father?

Lifting the hem of her sodden skirt, Mingchu mustered her strength and hurried after him. She turned back to Duofu, who was trying to catch up, and said, "Duofu, wait for me at home."

"Hey, where are you going? Are you listening to me?" Jiang Zhenyuan called out, stamping his feet in frustration.

In Qianyi Hall, Prince Jiang sat upright in the grand master's chair, gently swirling the tea in his cup as he waited for it to cool, as if he had long since forgotten the boy kneeling before him.

A long while passed, and only when the steam had completely faded did Prince Jiang raise the cup and drink it in one gulp.

He set down his cup, his sharp gaze sweeping over the youth. "Death attendants are forbidden to be seen by the living except their master. Anyone who breaks this rule must take poison. What are you waiting for?" His voice was hoarse, carrying an unmistakable authority.

The boy bowed his head, his expression unreadable. At the words, he deftly produced a black pill.

"No!" Suddenly, a little girl, soaked through, burst into Qianyi Hall. She snatched the pill from the youth's hand, leaving his hand frozen in the air.

Prince Jiang raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Father, please don't kill him." Mingchu, cold and exhausted, had finally caught up, panting as she spoke, but she spread her arms wide to shield the young man.

Prince Jiang narrowed his eyes. She looked more and more like her mother—those clear eyes stirred memories from the depths of his heart.

A crimson-clad maiden riding off, her dark hair streaming in the wind, disappearing at the edge of the grasslands, vanishing from his sight. He heard a sigh echo in his soul.

He spoke coldly, "Don't kill him? And what right do you have to ask this of me?"

Mingchu's hair still dripped with water; her white dress was caked in mud, her pale face smudged with dirt.

So disheveled and frail, she trembled all the more under her father's stern gaze. She knew she was not favored, and had never sought him out before. But today, she had no choice.

Mingchu straightened her back and met his eyes. "He just saved my life. I owe him a debt. I am willing to repay him with my life. If you insist on killing him, I will die with him."

The youth behind her stared at Mingchu's small figure, shock and gratitude warring in his gaze.

Prince Jiang's brows knit tightly, then suddenly he laughed aloud. "Very well! You're quite something! The matters between your mother and me should never have been taken out on you. This man, your father grants to you."

Mingchu let out a breath of relief and collapsed in exhaustion.

The room was sparsely furnished—a battered dressing table with a diamond-shaped bronze mirror atop it, a dark red wardrobe behind the door, ornate carvings worn and faded in the corners.

Mingchu lay in bed, her cheeks flushed with a strange fever. She muttered deliriously, her right hand never loosening its grip on the pill.

Duofu curled up at the head of the bed, occasionally patting Mingchu with its paws. The young man kept watch beside her, carefully tucking the quilt around her.

She had just taken her medicine, and her fever had eased a little.

The old nurse came in carrying a bowl of porridge. "I've made some porridge, miss. Try to eat a little," she coaxed softly.

Mingchu's face twisted in pain. She frowned deeply, shaking her head. "No, Mother, don't go. Don't leave Mingchu." Tears streamed from her tightly closed eyes.

The old nurse sighed, her cloudy eyes brimming with tears. She murmured, "My poor girl, how much more must she suffer?"

The youth said, "Nanny, the young lady needs rest. You should go tend to your work; I'll stay here."

She nodded. "All right, I'll go prepare the next dose of medicine." Quietly, she left the room.

This boy who had carried the young lady home claimed he would be her servant from now on. In the Jiang household, no one ever came here willingly unless their heart was true, so she believed him.

He sat by the bed, gently wiping away the tears at the corners of Mingchu's eyes.

Gazing at her restless sleeping face, he softly hummed a lullaby:

"The moon bends, the stars twinkle.
Baby cries, brother holds.
Look—one, two, three,
The stars are winking and smiling.
The moon is bright, the stars are shining.
Baby fusses, brother soothes.
Look—four, five, six,
The stars are blinking.
The moon sings, the stars dance.
Look—seven, eight, nine,
The stars are winking.
Baby laughs, brother rejoices..."

His clear song echoed through the room, drifting into Mingchu's dreams.

Her breathing gradually calmed, and at last her right hand relaxed. The youth took the opportunity to retrieve the pill, but Mingchu caught his hand, her small palm soft and warm.

He froze, surprised to find he didn't want to pull away. It had been so long since he had felt such warmth.

So he sat still, letting her hold his hand.

Mingchu's brow smoothed, and she fell into a deep sleep.

He hadn't expected to fall asleep himself, his head pillowed on the side of her bed.

When he woke, a pair of eyes as dark as black grapes were fixed intently on him—her hand still held his fingers.

"Brother, you're awake," Mingchu said with a smile.

He withdrew his hand and hastily knelt on the floor.

"Miss, you mustn't call me that. I am your servant. Forgive my earlier presumption."

"What servant or master, all this nonsense—get up, you mustn't kneel to me!" Mingchu said indignantly.

The youth hesitated, but rose to his feet.

Mingchu hopped out of bed, her cheeks flushed. She grinned widely. "I heard your song. It was beautiful."

She looked up at him, her round almond eyes unblinking. "Could you squat down a bit? My neck aches from looking up all the time."

He couldn't help but smile and immediately crouched down.

Mingchu regarded him seriously. "Death attendants are forbidden to be seen by the living, so why did you save me?"

He answered directly, "Miss is so frail—one cannot bear to see you suffer." He couldn't help but ask, "Why did you chase after me and risk your life to protect me?"

"Because you saved my life! I just wanted to thank you, but then I heard father order you to take poison."

Mingchu pouted, her small head shaking. "Father has given you to me, but I don't want to keep you. You are my benefactor. I give you your freedom. You may go."

The boy looked up, his eyes bright—freedom, something he had longed for so desperately.

The girl's watery gaze was reflected in his own, and unexpectedly, he found himself torn. Was he really to leave? To abandon this helpless little girl?

With freedom so easily within his grasp, he hesitated. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his gaze had softened. He shook his head resolutely.

"I will not leave you, Miss."

Mingchu's face lit up with surprise, her eyes gleaming even brighter.

She took his hand. "Really? You'll never leave me, not for a lifetime?"

Before he could reply, Mingchu had already thrown her arms around him, rubbing her head against his shoulder, her voice trembling with heartbroken joy: "You want to stay with me. I'm so happy."

The boy stiffened, his expression darkening. If one day he had to flee for his life again, how could he ever keep this promise?