After being reborn, the aloof prime minister was once again forced by a tyrant.

Moonlight streamed in through the window, falling on the floor in front of the bed like a patch of frozen frost.

Xiao Jingyuan didn't leave. He just held Xie Qinglan in his arms, maintaining the same posture, not daring to move, until the body in his arms gradually relaxed and the breathing became even and long.

He lowered his head and looked at Xie Qinglan's profile in the moonlight—when he was asleep, he wasn't so cold. His brows were slightly furrowed, his eyelashes cast faint shadows under his eyes, and his lips were still cracked, as if he had bitten them himself.

Xiao Jingyuan carefully leaned in and placed a very light kiss on the top of Xie Qinglan's head. It was so light that Xie Qinglan didn't react at all, so light that even he himself could barely feel it.

Then he closed his eyes, and in that position, holding the person in his arms, he fell into a deep sleep.

This was the first time in so many days that he had a good night's sleep.

The next morning, he was kicked out of bed.

When Xie Qinglan woke up, he found himself being held in Xiao Jingyuan's arms. The man's arm was wrapped around his waist, and one of his legs was draped over his lap, encircling him like a pillow.

The back of his head was pressed against Xiao Jingyuan's chest, and he could clearly hear the man's steady and powerful heartbeat.

Then he remembered last night—he remembered Xiao Jingyuan secretly applying medicine to him while he was asleep, he remembered Xiao Jingyuan holding his arm tightly, and he remembered the light, almost imperceptible kiss that landed on the top of his head.

An unnamed fire burned up in his chest. He raised his leg and, with all his might, kicked Xiao Jingyuan in the side.

Xiao Jingyuan was half asleep when he was suddenly kicked and rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a thud.

He instinctively reached for the knife under his pillow, but found nothing, and then realized he was in Lan Yue Pavilion.

He sat on the floor, looking up at Xie Qinglan on the bed. Xie Qinglan had already sat up, leaning against the headboard, wrapped in a brocade quilt, her face regaining its usual aloofness.

"Get out." Xie Qinglan's voice was as cold as ice. "You're not allowed to climb in through the window again, and you're not allowed to touch me while I'm asleep."

Xiao Jingyuan got up from the ground, dusted off his clothes, and remained silent without showing any anger. He glanced at Xie Qinglan, then silently turned and walked towards the door.

Not long after he left, he returned, took out a small celadon hand warmer from his sleeve, and placed it on the table.

"Today's," he said, then pushed open the door and went out.

Xie Qinglan looked at the hand warmer, which was exactly the same as the one that had been delivered a few days ago. It was a celadon porcelain piece from the Nanyue official kiln, with a few slender bamboo stalks painted on it. He reached out to sweep it into the wastebasket, but then withdrew his hand halfway through.

He neither threw it away nor took it. He just left it on the table.

Then, for the entire day, Xie Qinglan didn't say a single word to Xiao Jingyuan. Not even a single syllable.

Xiao Jingyuan came to feed Xie Qinglan as usual. He brought out Nanyue-style wontons for breakfast, sat on the edge of the bed, scooped one up, blew on it to cool it down, and handed it to Xie Qinglan's lips.

Xie Qinglan didn't turn her head, glare at him, or say "get lost." He simply opened his mouth calmly, ate the wontons, and then picked up the porridge bowl and finished it by himself.

From beginning to end, he didn't look at Xiao Jingyuan even once. His eyes, like cold pools, held no emotion—no anger, no disgust, no hatred, nothing at all. Only an empty, cold calm.

It was as if the person in front of him didn't exist at all.

When he cursed at him, Xiao Jingyuan felt bad, but at least he felt that the man cared—even if he hated him, it was still a form of care. But when the man stopped cursing at him, Xiao Jingyuan realized what true panic was.

"Qinglan." He put down his bowl and reached out to touch Xie Qinglan's forehead. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Xie Qinglan turned her head away from his hand, still without saying a word. She simply picked up her teacup, rinsed her mouth, and then lay back on the bed, turning around to face the wall.

Xiao Jingyuan's hand froze in mid-air. He sat by the bed for a long time, waiting for Xie Qinglan to speak, even if it was just to tell him to "get lost".

But that person didn't make a sound.

Finally, he had no choice but to stand up and walk out.

The moment the door closed, Xie Qinglan closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. He had simply lost the desire to talk to this person overnight.

He used to scold him to let him know how much he hated him, but last night, after this person climbed in through the window to apply medicine to him, held him and slept with him all night, and placed a light kiss on the top of his head—he suddenly didn't know what to say.

Call him shameless? Call him a scoundrel? Call him unfit to be a ruler? These words have been said countless times, but the man still does what he was doing, feeding his children, climbing out of the window, and applying medicine as usual.

It seemed that nothing he said would change that person's mind.

What else is there to say?

Two days later, Xie Qinglan suddenly developed a high fever.

At first, he just felt a little cold. He wrapped the brocade quilt tighter around himself and stuffed the celadon hand warmer that was on the table into the quilt, but he was still cold.

A chill seeped from his very bones, spreading along his limbs and making his hands and feet icy cold. Yet his forehead was burning hot.

When the palace servants came in to deliver the evening meal, they found him curled up in the quilt, his face flushed and his lips chapped. They called out "Consort Xie" several times but received no response. They were so frightened that they rushed to the Imperial Study to report.

Xiao Jingyuan was halfway through reviewing a document when he threw down his pen and ran towards Lan Yue Pavilion. He pushed the door open so hard it almost broke the frame. He rushed to the bedside and reached out to touch Xie Qinglan's forehead—it was burning hot, like touching a piece of red-hot iron.

"Qinglan," he called out, his voice trembling.

Xie Qinglan didn't react. He was curled up in the blankets, trembling all over, his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, and his forehead covered in cold sweat. Xiao Jingyuan called out again, but he still didn't respond.

When the imperial physician arrived, he examined her and said that she had caught a cold from the wind and was weak and had suffered some... The imperial physician carefully considered his words and said that Consort Xie's body was already weak, and the frequent sexual activity had damaged her foundation. Her body's vital energy was insufficient, and the evil qi took advantage of the weakness, which is why she developed a fever.

Xiao Jingyuan's face paled for a moment in the candlelight. He dismissed the imperial physician, leaving only a female physician who was preparing medicine in the outer room. Then he sat by the bed and wrung out a cold handkerchief to Xie Qinglan's forehead.

The handkerchief warmed up from his body heat almost immediately after being applied, so he took it off, soaked it in cold water, wrung it out, and applied it again. He repeated this process all night.

The medicine prescribed by the imperial physician was ready. He helped Xie Qinglan up, let him lean against him, pried open his teeth with a spoon, and slowly poured the medicine in.

Xie Qinglan was delirious with fever. Half of the medicine was poured in, but the other half spilled out from the corner of his mouth, running down his chin and onto his clothes. Xiao Jingyuan used a handkerchief to wipe it clean for him, then poured in more, and it spilled again, and he wiped it clean again. It took almost half an hour to finish pouring in a bowl of medicine.

Even after administering the medicine, the fever persisted.

The next day, the fever worsened. Xie Qinglan began to ramble. His voice was soft, intermittent, and indistinct. Xiao Jingyuan leaned closer to listen and could only make out a few broken words—"no," "father," "mother"... and his own name.

"Xiao Jingyuan...you bastard..."

Xiao Jingyuan sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the man cursing him even while he was unconscious, and felt as if a dull knife was sawing through his heart.

Three different imperial physicians were consulted, the prescriptions were revised several times, acupuncture and moxibustion were performed, and acupuncture points were needled, but the fever just wouldn't go down.

Xie Qinglan lay there, her face flushed, her lips chapped, as if she were enveloped in an invisible flame, burning hotter and weaker.

The imperial physician privately told Xiao Jingyuan that Consort Xie's illness was a matter of the heart. Physical injuries are easy to heal, but emotional wounds are not. He was deeply troubled, and his body was already weakened; if he didn't want to wake up, even medicine couldn't cure him.