Gao Yuexing tossed and turned for half the night.
In her heart, she had already guessed the outcome.
Once the young bull becomes stubborn, no amount of persuasion can bring him back.
They still slept on the same bed that night, tacitly facing away from each other.
Gao Yuexing rested her hand under her cheek, her eyes open, seeing nothing in the pitch-black night. However, her ears and other senses were unusually sharp.
At the third watch of the night, Li Fuxiang got up and left the bed.
He had lain down fully clothed tonight, so it took no effort for him to rise. After walking a few steps away, he turned back to glance at Gao Yuexing’s half-curled figure on the bed and said, “I’m leaving.”
He knew she was awake.
Gao Yuexing’s breathing remained shallow, unwilling to give him any response.
In the stable, Li Fuxiang borrowed an ordinary horse and left the Medicine Valley under the cover of night without looking back.
When he goes wild, he’s truly ruthless.
He left his little red horse behind in the valley—or rather, left it for Gao Yuexing.
Confirming that he had indeed left, Gao Yuexing climbed out of bed irritably, her bare feet touching the icy brick floor. She poured herself a bowl of cold tea and drank it.
The window of the Xuancao Hall was open.
Gao Yuexing sat alone all night, facing the wind and moonlight seeping in through the gap in the window.
The next morning, a medicine servant brought sweet porridge to her room.
In the past, when Li Fuxiang was there, the medicine servants knew it was inconvenient and never disturbed them.
The commotion last night didn’t escape Yaonu’s notice.
Yaonu thought Li Fuxiang’s personality was truly peculiar.
If one were to call him ruthless, he had endured years of injustice without showing any resentment. Instead, he had always displayed immense kindness and warmth toward everyone around him.
But if one were to call him kind-hearted, he had been capable of the decisive act of leveling the Fox King’s court, donning armor, and embarking on that path paved with blood and bones toward the pinnacle of power without a hint of hesitation.
Gao Yuexing was spreading paper and preparing her writing tools at the desk.
Yaonu asked, “What are you doing?”
Gao Yuexing replied, “Writing a letter home.”
Yaonu said, “Are you reporting the anomalies in the western region to the capital?”
Gao Yuexing said instead, “No, I’m going to tell His Majesty and my father that I’ll be staying in the Medicine Valley with His Highness, Prince Xiang, for the entire summer before making any other plans. I’ll let them know that we’re having such a great time in the Medicine Valley that we’ve practically forgotten about returning home.”
Yaonu felt Gao Yuexing was acting strangely today. Even her tone carried a faint, sarcastic undertone.
Frowning, the servant asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
Gao Yuexing, grinding ink unhurriedly, let the light fragrance of ink permeate the air. She picked up her brush, hesitated mid-air, and let a drop of ink fall as she said, “Only by making everyone believe he’s still safely staying in the Medicine Valley can his journey to the western region be the safest.”
Li Fuxiang had once flattened the Fox Clan’s royal city.
He was the youngest general to ever campaign in the western territories.
He was also the sharpest thorn in the hearts of those harboring ill intentions.
Thus, there were bound to be people keeping a close watch on his movements.
Yaonu stared at her for a long time as she wrote her letter, saying nothing.
The current emperor had been on the throne for twenty years without establishing an empress. To this day, the people of the Great Xu Dynasty had yet to see their mother of the nation presiding over the palace.
Yaonu looked at Gao Yuexing, dressed in simple clothing, standing at the desk with her head lowered, writing. Suddenly, a wave of sentimentality washed over her.
Gao Yuexing, feeling the gaze fixed on her, didn’t find it awkward in the least. She glanced up and asked, “What is it?”
Yaonu said, “I’ve never seen a couple as well-matched as you two. With you behind His Highness, Prince Xiang, this journey will surely be worry-free.”
Receiving the praise, Gao Yuexing couldn’t bring herself to smile. With a heavy heart, she said, “He refused to take me along, likely because he truly doesn’t want me to face danger with him. But staying here, I have to do something for him.”
After all, one’s husband is one’s own. Disputes can be resolved later, but one can’t allow him to be bullied while he’s out there.
Gao Yuexing prepared two identical letters home, both sealed with wax. After some hesitation, she reopened one and picked up her brush again.
The two letters were sent out from Medicine Valley that same day—one headed for her family and the other for the imperial palace.
As a legitimate prince, Li Fuxiang left Medicine Valley and headed north. Passing through the counties and cities of the Great Xu Dynasty, he concealed his identity flawlessly. Gao Yuexing strained her ears for news but found that he seemed to have vanished from the world entirely.
At the same time Gao Yuexing’s letters arrived in the capital, on a trade route along the northwestern border, past the sea of Hucha, there was an inn that provided water and chilled tea for passing merchant caravans. Outside, the innkeeper had placed some fresh melons on display.
It was noon, and the inn was packed with sweaty men stopping for tea.
The air was thick with the unpleasant stench of sweat. The weather had turned hot, and even the slightest movement left one feeling sticky and uncomfortable.
Two brothers, carrying knives, entered the inn. When they saw the melons at the entrance, they grinned. “Oh, melons!”
They were clearly tempted but couldn’t resist making snide remarks. “These melons probably aren’t sweet yet, right? Bet they’re still unripe if you cut them open.”
The innkeeper, a simple and honest chubby uncle, stammered but couldn’t come up with any retorts despite being mocked.
However, regular customers knew well that the inn had a fiercely sharp-tongued proprietress who was like a deity of slaughter presiding over the place.
The bystanders, eager for drama, teased, “Which inexperienced merchants are causing trouble in Song Niang’s inn? I bet they won’t make it out of here today.”
The inn was called Song Niang.
The proprietress’s name was also Song Niang.
The two brothers were clearly new faces and didn’t know the rules, though they had heard of Song Niang’s reputation. One of them, skeptical, puffed out his chest and said, “I, a man standing eight feet tall, should be afraid of a woman? Call her out! I want to reason with her. Whose melons are worth five silver coins a pound? This is clearly a rip-off!”
Their voices were so loud they seemed to echo to the heavens, as if afraid no one would hear them.
As they wished, the proprietress upstairs did hear them.
The bell jingled softly, matching the rhythm of someone’s footsteps as they descended the old wooden staircase.
Everyone on the first floor of the inn instinctively held their breath and looked up toward the steps.
First, they saw a corner of a crimson skirt, gracefully trailing along the ground. At first, it didn’t seem noteworthy, but when that moonlit face entered their view, nearly everyone wished they could rush forward to lift the hem of her skirt, unwilling to let even a speck of dust touch it.
Song Niang’s appearance truly lived up to her name.
She seemed disinclined to mingle with this group of sweaty men. She stopped on the staircase, showing her face but refusing to descend further. Leaning against the wooden railing, she said, “Whether it’s a rip-off or not, what does it matter? After all, there’s only one inn like mine along the road to Hucha Sea. Don’t mind how ugly these melons look; they’re five silver coins per pound, no bargaining. First come, first served. Once noon passes, even if someone offers ten times the price, I won’t part with a single melon rind.”
The two brothers scoffed through their noses, and just as they were about to retort with more mockery, a voice called from outside, “Proprietress, I’ll take all the melons you have.”
A collective gasp swept through the room. This was a truly extravagant move. On the treacherous road to Hucha Sea, risking one’s life on such a journey, who would splurge on these sweet, refreshing melons without making a fortune of at least a hundred or eighty thousand silver?
Most people were hoping they’d at least get a chance to chew on a bit of melon rind. Now, even that hope was gone.
Everyone turned their heads in unison to see who this wealthy benefactor was.
At the entrance of the inn, a caravan of horses and carriages had stopped. Familiar faces reassured the crowd—”Ah, it’s Medicine Valley. No wonder…”
But then, the realization struck them all at once.
Looking at the direction the Medicine Valley caravan was heading, it wasn’t a return trip—they were just starting their journey.
Still, they couldn’t help but marvel. Medicine Valley truly had deep pockets. They hadn’t even earned a profit yet and were already throwing money around.
It seemed that even if they lost money on this trip, it wouldn’t matter.
In the world of martial arts, Medicine Valley was regarded as a peaceful and benevolent presence. They didn’t run many business ventures, and even after the western trade route was established, they only traveled twice a year, in spring and autumn. But this year seemed to be an exception—right after their spring trade journey, they set out again in early summer.
Leading the caravan was a robust, dark-skinned man on horseback, a familiar figure frequently seen along this route. His name was Langdu.
Langdu ordered his men to pay the money promptly and loaded every single melon onto their wagons. Song Niang counted the silver, beaming, and invited them into the inn, offering free tea.
Medicine Valley was known for its reputation in the martial world. Everyone who encountered them gave way, for the master of Medicine Valley was the most renowned physician in the land. Who could guarantee they’d never need his help someday?
As the Medicine Valley disciples entered the inn, someone had already made way for them, leaving the most comfortable table open.
Langdu nodded in thanks as the innkeeper personally brought over a large pot of iced tea. Langdu had his junior brothers each take a bowl to drink.
Just as they sat down, someone approached them politely, asking for summer heat-relief pills.
The inn was full of people. When it came to things like this, it was either give to everyone or give to none. If you couldn’t treat everyone equally, not only would you gain no goodwill, but you might also inadvertently offend someone.
Langdu smiled faintly and reached into his bag, pulling out a large bundle. Opening it, he revealed a pile of bulging pouches.
With a gentle tone, he said, “This trip from Medicine Valley includes a newly formulated summer heat-relief medicine, a necessity for enduring the intense heat of the desert. Since everyone gathered here today is a compatriot of the Great Xu Dynasty, let’s share them with everyone.”
Hearing these words, the entire hall was full of praise for Medicine Valley’s generosity. Everyone obediently lined up to receive the medicine, with no one fighting or scrambling for it.
But, as always, there were exceptions.
Langdu scanned the center of the inn and noticed, behind the staircase railing, a single concealed table where a hunched, frail figure sat motionless.
It was an elderly man, cloaked in a gray robe. Despite the sweltering heat, he was covered from head to toe, leaving no part of himself exposed, seemingly unaffected by the discomfort. While everyone else eagerly awaited Medicine Valley’s heat-relief medicine, this man sat as still as a mountain, unmoving. In front of him was a bowl of cold tea, barely touched.
Langdu picked up a pouch of medicine and walked over, politely addressing him, “Elder.”
The old man turned his face to the side.
Now closer, Langdu openly scrutinized him.
On the turned side of the man’s face was a shocking, old burn scar. The skin was not only wrinkled but also smeared with something resembling ash. As a healer, Langdu was unfazed by such disfigurements and, perhaps insensitively, asked, “Elder, how did your face get this way?”
The old man’s hollow eyes stared into the distance as he replied, “When I was young, I got burned by molten iron while forging knives. I didn’t know any better and smeared plant ash on it. The skin rotted completely in the end.”
Langdu nodded. “Burns shouldn’t be treated with random remedies. You should’ve seen a proper doctor back then.”
The old man lowered his voice and said, “The family had no money. Back then, I had four sons waiting to get married.”
Langdu noticed not only the horrifying old wound but also the deep, chiseled wrinkles etched around his eyes and mouth. His neck resembled the bark of a weathered, ancient tree, devoid of vitality, his entire appearance exuding a desolate sense of decay.
Frowning, Langdu sighed. He fiddled with the medicine pouch in his hands, hesitated for a long moment, but finally handed it to the old man. Inside were the same heat-relief pills given to everyone else, which could be dissolved in water or chewed directly.
The old man held the pouch, his rough fingers brushing over the embroidered patterns on its surface. Suddenly, he froze, sitting stiffly, unmoving.