His voice was gentle, and Xie Miao’er unconsciously softened hers as well. She nodded and said, “That’s great.”
She didn’t avoid showing her concern for him, her gaze so sincere it seemed tangible, piercing right into Lu Huaihai’s heart.
Like most people in this world, Lu Huaihai grew up in a reserved and restrained household. His parents didn’t lack love for their own son, but their affection was like moonlight hidden behind the clouds. The cloud cover varied in thickness, and only on clear nights could one discern the depth of their love through the faintness or brightness of the moon halo.
But Xie Miao’er’s kindness toward him was always open and direct. Although Lu Huaihai couldn’t quite discern the origin of her feelings for him or what emotions were mixed within them, he let out a sigh of indescribable sentiment. “You…”
Indeed, she was different from anyone else he had ever met.
Xie Miao’er didn’t notice his thoughtful expression. She pulled a chair to the bedside, turned it around so the backrest faced the bed, then straddled it, resting her chin on her hands propped on the chair back.
She said, “It’s probably already past the third watch.1 Young Master, you’ve had a long and tiring journey—get some sleep. I’ll watch over you.”
During their overnight rushes, whenever they set up camp to rest, Lu Huaihai would always take on the night watch himself.
Now, with a delicate young lady volunteering to watch over him, it was indeed a novel experience. Lu Huaihai chuckled softly. “If you don’t want to sleep in the side room, then come up here. What’s the point of perching on a chair?”
As he spoke, he even shifted inward on the bed, clearly implying he was ready to share half of it with her.
Xie Miao’er quickly straightened up, waving her hands in panic. “No need!”
Now she felt embarrassed? Lu Huaihai looked at her with an expression that was both amused and teasing. “A moment ago, you were touching me all over without a care. Xie Miao, I thought your courage had grown while I was away.”
Xie Miao’er muttered, “That was different. I was applying medicine for you.”
She immediately realized what he had just said and jumped to her feet, slapping the chair as she retorted, “Who was touching you all over?”
Seeing him still smirking, a pink flush spread over Xie Miao’er’s cheeks. Frustrated and flustered, she snapped, “If I’d known, I would’ve let you hurt to death and wouldn’t have bothered applying medicine at all.”
Lu Huaihai finally withdrew his smirk, leaning leisurely against the bolster pillow, looking as though he was ready to wave the white flag.
Seeing this, Xie Miao’er could only drop the matter, glaring at him one last time before reluctantly blowing out the lamp.
The room fell into tranquil silence.
Xie Miao’er leaned on the back of her chair, tilting her head as she stared into the darkness, lost in thought.
After sleeping in the same room as Lu Huaihai for so long, she had grown accustomed to the sound of his breathing. She knew he wasn’t asleep.
What was he thinking about?
Xie Miao’er recalled her own long dream.
He was fastidious and disliked anything bloody. Whenever the battles were over, in those rare moments of reprieve, he would meticulously clean his sword, refusing to let the blood dry on it overnight.
Lu Huaihai didn’t enjoy killing. Even when chopping off an enemy’s head, to him, it was nothing like slicing vegetables.
For her, these were mere dreams. But for him, they were real and tangible experiences.
After some thought, Xie Miao’er finally spoke softly, “Are you asleep?”
“No,” Lu Huaihai replied, considerately adding, “Someone who’s asleep wouldn’t be able to answer you.”
Having trouble falling asleep was nothing new for him; Lu Huaihai had long grown used to it. Sometimes, even with his eyes closed, he could remain awake until dawn.
Xie Miao’er suddenly had an idea and said, “How about I hum a little tune?”
Since both of them were awake, she kept her voice low, as if afraid of startling a ghost.
As though worried he would refuse, she didn’t wait for Lu Huaihai to reply before softening her tone and leisurely humming a string of mismatched rhymes.
“Heaven against earth, rain against wind, the land against the vast sky. Mountain flowers against sea trees, crimson sun against azure dome—”
Her voice was naturally gentle, and as it slowed, it seemed to wind around more corners than a spring breeze.
Being treated like a child and lulled to sleep would ordinarily leave Lu Huaihai at a loss between laughter and tears, but as he listened, he found he didn’t want to interrupt her.
She sang beautifully.
As Xie Miao’er hummed, she recalled how her mother used to sing to her when she was sick to coax her into sleep. Before long, her eyelids grew heavy, her humming became more disjointed and faint, and soon after, it trailed off into unconscious nasal breaths.
She had sung herself to sleep.
Realizing this, Lu Huaihai was left speechless. However, listening to her steady breathing, he unexpectedly felt a rare drowsiness creeping in.
He sat up silently, waited in the darkness for a while, and when he was certain Xie Miao’er had completely fallen asleep, slumped over the chair back, he carefully approached her.
As expected, she was sound asleep, face buried and completely unaware of his quiet proximity.
Lu Huaihai hesitated, raising his slightly stiff arm before encircling her waist and carefully lifting her. With great care, he prepared to place her on the bed.
She felt as light as a feather.
After all, she was sleeping, not unconscious; no matter how deeply she slept, there was a limit. Feeling herself being moved, Xie Miao’er’s nose twitched, like a small animal sensing a new presence.
Lu Huaihai froze, his breath catching. Her cheek rubbed against his chest in her sleep, making him go stiff as if he’d been struck by a pressure point. He didn’t even have time to pull out the hand pinned under her waist.
Thankfully, before his arm went completely numb, she finally settled down.
Lu Huaihai withdrew his hand, lay down beside her on his side, and was about to close his eyes when a palm suddenly smacked him in the face.
Even in her dreams, Xie Miao’er hadn’t forgotten her original intention. Worried he might have a fever, she instinctively reached out to feel his forehead.
Fortunately, it didn’t feel hot. Satisfied, Xie Miao’er turned over, facing him as she continued to sleep peacefully.
Lu Huaihai’s night vision was excellent. He gazed at her unconscious face that had unknowingly drawn closer to him and suddenly felt an urge to pinch her cheek.
…He barely managed to hold back the urge.
Lu Huaihai closed his eyes and, for the first time in a long while, drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
This time, his dreams were no longer filled with gory, bloody scenes but instead featured a gentle breeze and willow branches brushing against his face.
—
The next morning, when Xie Miao’er opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a spacious, comfortable bed. Beside her, the bedding bore faint traces of someone having slept there.
She sat up abruptly.
Where was Lu Huaihai?
A sudden wave of panic surged in her chest. The scene before her eerily mirrored the one from half a year ago—when she woke up to find herself alone in the room after he had left.
Fear clouded her mind, leaving her no time to wonder why she had ended up in bed. She began to suspect that everything from the previous night had been nothing more than a dream.
Xie Miao’er hurried out of the room.
The sky had yet to fully brighten, and the snow from the day before had already melted. Two young servants were busy sweeping away puddles in the courtyard to prevent them from freezing over.
Lu Huaihai stood facing the courtyard gate, idly throwing darts at a wooden board on the wall.
Xie Miao’er let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, he was still there.
Her relief was quickly replaced by suspicion. She walked up to him warily, hands on her hips, and asked, “Is your injury healed?”
Lu Huaihai threw all the darts in his hand at once. “No.”
His father had gone heavy-handed; there was no way the wounds could heal overnight. In fact, they still hurt.
Xie Miao’er grabbed his arm. “Be careful not to tear open your wounds. Why are you up so early? You need to rest more.”
For some time now, Lu Huaihai had grown used to sleeping only one or two hours a night. Even though he had slept well last night, the habit of waking up before the rooster crowed lingered.
Practically half-dragging him, Xie Miao’er guided him back inside the room.
Bai Zhou, who was clearing the icy edges by the courtyard wall, couldn’t help but remark, “One thing always subdues another.”2
If Lu Huaihai had heard this, the dart would surely have found its way to Bai Zhou’s forehead.
Inside, Xie Miao’er firmly made Lu Huaihai sit down. “You rest here. I’ll wash up first, then come back to reapply your medicine.”
She bustled about busily, completely unaware of the embarrassing situation from the previous night. Lu Huaihai sat silently, wondering when she would realize what had happened.
When Xie Miao’er returned with the medicine and gauze, she seemed a little flustered. She had started to wonder why she had woken up in bed and recalled her “glorious achievement” of singing herself to sleep with a lullaby.
She asked hesitantly, “I remember falling asleep on the chair. How did I end up on the bed?”
Lu Huaihai had long prepared his excuse. “I woke up early. The bed was empty, so I put you there. No use leaving it vacant.”
A glossed-over explanation.
The part about waking early had nothing to do with the rest of the story.
He deliberately avoided mentioning the fact that they had shared the bed. Xie Miao’er didn’t overthink it either, but she grew increasingly embarrassed. She said, “I had planned to get up early and take care of you, but I didn’t expect to trouble you to take care of me instead.”
She quickly began changing his dressing. As she removed the gauze, the scars trailing across his back showed faint signs of healing. However, the wound near the gash left by the blade remained red and raw, showing no signs of improvement. As she applied the medicine, Xie Miao’er paid special attention to that area.
Lu Huaihai glanced at her and asked, “What are you holding?”
Xie Miao’er raised her hand to show him the silk handkerchief in her palm and shot him a sidelong glance. “So certain people won’t accuse me of ‘touching all over.’”
“Quite the grudge-holder,” he remarked with a sigh.
After the fresh bandage was applied, Lu Huaihai began tidying up his clothes. Outside, Bai Zhou knocked on the door. “Young Master, the porridge is ready.”
The Lu residence didn’t have private kitchens in individual courtyards, but most had small stoves for boiling water or decocting medicine. Making a bowl of porridge wasn’t a challenge.
Xie Miao’er went to open the door.
Bai Zhou left the bowl and exited. Seeing Lu Huaihai frowning at the bland, unseasoned white porridge, Xie Miao’er said, “When you’re injured, you shouldn’t eat anything too rich. Drinking some plain porridge is good for you. Besides, I made this myself.”
Lu Huaihai raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh? When did you make porridge?”
Xie Miao’er, serious and earnest, replied, “Right after washing up. I poured the soaked rice into the pot myself.”
Her pride in this small achievement wasn’t entirely unjustified. After all, the Xie family had been a prominent household, and for noble young ladies, giving orders to the servants and occasionally supervising in the kitchen counted as cooking something personally.
Thinking she was trying to cheer him up on purpose, Lu Huaihai decided to play along. He sat down at the table and picked up the porcelain spoon.
The steaming porridge was piping hot, with wisps of vapor curling upward. If he drank it as it was, he’d probably burn his entire mouth.
Meanwhile, Xie Miao’er held her bowl, blowing on each spoonful before cautiously sipping it. As she blew on the porridge, she kept sneaking glances at him, her expression hesitant and conflicted.
“What do you want to say?” Lu Huaihai asked, noticing her behavior.
Caught so quickly, Xie Miao’er hesitated for a long while but still couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Seeing her fidgety and wide-eyed, Lu Huaihai felt a sense of alarm rising within him.
The last time she had looked like this was when she asked to borrow money.
Lu Huaihai sighed quietly.
No wonder she had been so attentive this whole time.
This time, he absolutely wouldn’t let himself get carried away by wishful thinking.
Lu Huaihai set down the spoon and said, “You’ve worked hard. What kind of reward do you want?”
Xie Miao’er’s eyes lit up. “A reward? Anything?”
Convinced he’d seen through her little scheme, Lu Huaihai nodded perfunctorily.
Even though he nodded, Xie Miao’er still felt a bit embarrassed.
How should she say it?
How could she say it without it seeming strange?
After hesitating for a while, she finally spoke, her voice shy and soft. “I… want to hug you, just once. Is that okay?”
—
Footnote:
- Third watch (三更): Refers to the period between 11 PM and 1 AM in the traditional Chinese system of dividing the night into five two-hour segments.
- “One thing always subdues another” (一物降一物): A Chinese idiom meaning that everything has its nemesis or counterbalance.