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

Xiao Jingyuan chased everyone out. He was left alone in Lan Yue Pavilion.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Xie Qinglan's burning hot hand and pressing it against his face. Xie Qinglan's fingers were slightly curled due to the high fever, his knuckles an unnatural red, while his fingernails were bluish-white. Xiao Jingyuan touched his fingertips with his lips; they felt as hot as if he had a piece of charcoal in his mouth.

"Qinglan." He called his name, his voice hoarse beyond belief. But the person on the bed did not respond, only rapid and hot breaths hitting Xiao Jingyuan's hand.

The third day, the fourth day.

Xiao Jingyuan stayed in Lanyue Pavilion without changing his clothes. He skipped the morning court session, and had Gao An move the folding paper to a side hall of Lanyue Pavilion. He would come over to check on things every now and then, and personally took care of everything, from feeding the patient medicine and wiping their body to changing their handkerchiefs, without asking anyone else to help.

The imperial physician said that people with high fever need to cool down, so he took off Xie Qinglan's inner garment and wiped his body repeatedly with a handkerchief soaked in warm water.

The handkerchief wiped across her collarbone, her chest, and her lower abdomen, leaving behind marks of him—blue, purple, and red, some of which had begun to fade to pale yellow with bluish edges, like withered flowers.

Xiao Jingyuan stopped wiping his hands, sat on the edge of the bed, lowered his head, and buried his face in Xie Qinglan's palm.

"I'm sorry." His voice was muffled, and his shoulders were trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry."

No one answered him.

By late on the fourth night, Xie Qinglan's fever suddenly worsened. His temperature was alarmingly high, as if he were burning up, yet his limbs were ice-cold and could not be warmed up no matter how much he tried to ward them off. The imperial physicians knelt outside the palace, all saying that he might not make it through the night.

Xiao Jingyuan sat on the edge of the bed, holding Xie Qinglan in his arms. He didn't speak, just held him, his chin resting on Xie Qinglan's burning forehead, one hand supporting the back of his neck, the other tightly around his waist. His arms were very tight, as if he wanted to meld this person into his bones.

"Qinglan...you can't die." His voice was low and hoarse, as if he were giving a command, yet also pleading. "I won't allow you to die. I haven't...you haven't...you haven't smiled at me even once."

Still, no one answered him.

The hall was very quiet, so quiet that only Xie Qinglan's breathing could be heard. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, intermittent, as if it might stop at any moment.

Xiao Jingyuan closed his eyes and buried his face in Xie Qinglan's neck.

Gao An knelt at the palace gate and secretly peeked inside—he saw His Majesty's shoulders trembling and heard His Majesty speaking in a voice he had never heard before, as if pleading or repenting.

"...Wake up. I was wrong. I shouldn't have treated you that way. If you wake up, I'll agree to anything you ask. I'll never force you again. Please wake up. If you want to go back to Nanyue, go back. I won't stop you anymore. Please wake up..."

Gao An dared not listen any longer and quietly withdrew.

On the morning of the fifth day, Xie Qinglan's fever finally began to subside.

In his dream, Xie Qinglan felt something pressing down on his hand, heavy and hot.

He opened his eyes groggily and turned his head to see Xiao Jingyuan.

Xiao Jingyuan knelt on the ground, his upper body leaning over the edge of the bed, his face buried in his palm. The sleeves of his dark casual clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was a little messy—he was never like this on ordinary days. Xie Qinglan tried to pull her hand away, but as soon as her fingers moved, Xiao Jingyuan suddenly raised his head.

Xie Qinglan was stunned.

This person is crying.

It wasn't the kind of restrained, slightly red-rimmed sob, but a genuine, silent weeping. Tears streamed from his eyes, down his cheeks, soaking his stubble that he hadn't shaved for days.

His eyes were bloodshot, his under-eye area was dark and swollen, his lips were dry and cracked, and he looked like he hadn't slept for days and nights.

He really hadn't slept for days and nights.

"You're awake." Xiao Jingyuan's voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable. He stared at Xie Qinglan's open eyes, stunned for a long while, then a bright light suddenly burst forth in those bloodshot eyes, like a drowning person grasping at the last piece of driftwood, "You're awake! You're awake—"

He held Xie Qinglan's hand, buried his face in Xie Qinglan's palm, and his shoulders trembled violently.

"I thought you were going to die." His voice was muffled, thick with a nasal tone, hoarse as if it had been sanded. "I thought you were going to die. The imperial physician said he probably wouldn't make it through the night, so I thought—if you died, I would…"

He didn't finish his sentence. He swallowed the rest of his words, but just gripped Xie Qinglan's hand tightly, as if clutching a lifeline.

Xie Qinglan looked at him without saying a word.

He looked at the man's red eyes, tear-streaked face, messy hair, and wrinkled clothes—this man was usually dignified, aloof, and arrogant, with his hair neatly combed, his dragon robe perfectly worn, and his back ramrod straight when he sat on the dragon throne.

But now he's kneeling by the bed, crying like a child.

"Qinglan." Xiao Jingyuan raised his head, tears still streaming down his face. He didn't wipe them away, just looked at him with red eyes. "I'm sorry. I really know I was wrong."

"I shouldn't have forced you that day, I shouldn't have locked you in Lan Yue Pavilion, I shouldn't have stopped you from returning to Nan Yue—I've changed it all, I've changed everything. Please don't get sick, please don't get sick again, I can't bear it. I've never begged anyone in my life, but today I'm begging you—please live well, okay? What do you want? Tell me, I'll give you everything I have. Even if you want my life—"

He spoke very quickly, somewhat incoherently, wiping away tears with his fingers as he spoke, tears streaming down his face as he wiped them away, seemingly never stopping.

He choked for a moment, then finished saying, "You want my life? I'll give it to you."

Xie Qinglan stared at him for a long time.

Those eyes, like icy pools, remained expressionless, as cold and indifferent as ice in the twelfth lunar month. But if someone looked closely, they would notice an extremely fine crack on that layer of ice.

He didn't speak. He simply slowly withdrew his hand from Xiao Jingyuan's palm, turned around, faced the wall, and closed his eyes.

Xiao Jingyuan knelt by the bed, watching his back. Tears were still flowing, but the corners of his mouth curved slightly—not a bitter smile, but a smile of relief after surviving a calamity, a smile tinged with tears.

He's awake. It's good that he's awake. Whether he acknowledges him or forgives him doesn't matter. As long as he's alive.

He stayed by Xie Qinglan's bedside for another two hours until the imperial physician confirmed that Xie Qinglan's fever had subsided and his pulse had stabilized. Only then did he stand up. He had been kneeling by the bed for so long that his legs were numb, and he walked with a limp.

He paused at the door but didn't turn around.

"I... am leaving. Take good care of yourself. I have the imperial physicians guarding the side hall; call them if you feel unwell."

He paused, then said, "I will not bother you again. Don't worry."

The door closed.

Xie Qinglan listened as his footsteps gradually faded into the distance until they could no longer be heard.

He pulled his hand out from under the covers and looked at his palm. It was wet with Xiao Jingyuan's tears. He stared at it for a long time, then slowly clenched his hand into a fist.

In the days that followed, Xiao Jingyuan indeed did not bother him again. He stopped feeding him during the day and climbing through the window at night. He even dismissed half of the palace servants from Lanyue Pavilion, leaving only two old nannies responsible for cleaning and a female physician who prepared medicine.

It was as if he was using this method to prove to Xie Qinglan that what he said was true. He was telling the truth that he wouldn't force him, that he wouldn't disturb him, and that he wouldn't lock him up anymore.

But Xie Qinglan knew he hadn't really left.

Because he could hear a sound on the roof every night. The sound was very faint, as faint as a cat stepping on tiles, something an ordinary person could not hear at all. But Xie Qinglan's hearing was too good; he could tell—it was Xiao Jingyuan's footsteps.

The lightness skill he honed in the Northern Army allowed him to land silently, but the tiles of Lan Yue Pavilion were too old, and stepping on them would produce an extremely subtle friction sound.

He squatted on the roof, doing nothing, just squatting there. Sometimes he would squat there all night long.

Xie Qinglan lay on the bed, listening to the faint voice above her head, neither calling it out nor getting up.

He didn't know what Xiao Jingyuan was doing on the rooftop—maybe he was looking at the moon, maybe he was listening to his breathing, maybe he wasn't doing anything at all, just wanting to be closer to him.

In addition, some things that were not there before began to appear in Lanyue Pavilion.