Chapter Three: Releasing the Tiger Back to the Mountain (VI)

VI. Return to Yue

The news of Goujian’s return to Yue spread through the palace almost instantly. Xiangbao heard of it while she was playing with Sixiang.

“You mean… Goujian is returning to Yue today?” Her smile faltered as Xiangbao turned to look at Ziru.

“Yes, I heard the King mentioned it at last night’s banquet,” Ziru replied.

“Mother?” Sixiang noticed Xiangbao’s change in expression and tugged at her sleeve.

Xiangbao paid no heed.

Goujian, he had finally achieved his wish…

This time, Fuchai’s poisoning must have been his calculated move to ensure a smooth return to Yue. He had planned it all along, yet when she was flustered and helpless, he purposely coaxed her into revealing herself.

Such a terrifying man.

No longer in the mood for play, Xiangbao grew silent.

That afternoon, Xiangbao shut the door and sat alone in her room, unmoved even when the wind blew the window open. Only when she sensed someone behind did she come back to herself.

“Doctor Fan,” she said with a smile, not bothering to look.

Fan Li, standing behind her, stiffened slightly.

“You came to say farewell?” she asked softly without turning.

He did not reply. She turned and saw his face pale.

He gazed at her, greedily, as though wanting to memorize her features, yet said nothing. After a long while, he turned to leave.

“Doctor Fan,” she called suddenly.

His steps halted.

“That night in the dense woods, was it you who tried to assassinate me?” she asked.

He trembled, turning back.

“Was it you?”

“I would never harm you…” he finally spoke, his eyes desolate.

“I know.” Xiangbao smiled and nodded. She knew well—if it had been Wu Feng, she would have died that night, not escaped so easily.

“Xiangbao…” Fan Li could not help stepping forward, as if yearning to touch her, but restrained himself, “Yue will soon be restored, it won’t be long now. Will you… wait for me? Once I have repaid the King’s kindness, wherever you wish to go, I will follow you to the ends of the earth…” He spoke urgently, like a child desperate for a promise.

“Madam, madam! Open the door, please open the door!” Ziru’s voice called from outside.

Fan Li still looked at her, waiting for her answer.

“Madam has been inside alone for a long time, please open up…” Ziru’s voice carried a trace of panic.

Xiangbao stared at Fan Li, and he stared back, unmoving.

Someone was forcing the door.

“Still not leaving?” Xiangbao said suddenly, “If they burst in and find Doctor Fan in my chamber, even the King’s most cunning plot won’t save you.”

Fan Li stepped back, looking somewhat disheveled.

With a bang, the door was opened. When Ziru rushed in, she saw Xiangbao sitting alone by the window, her face neither joyful nor sorrowful.

“Madam, are you alright?”

“My head aches a bit. I wanted some fresh air.” Xiangbao turned and smiled.

In 490 BC, Goujian returned to Yue, accompanied by his wife and retainers.

After his return, Goujian planned to move the capital from Zhuji to Kuaiji.

“Moving the capital?” Fuchai lounged on his couch, smiling as he stroked the bite marks on his wrist, “I would have thought he’d show more restraint.”

Is he still unable to forget the humiliation of Kuaiji’s siege?

The coldest season passed; the old trees in the garden sprouted new green—spring had come again.

In a blink, three years had passed since Goujian’s return to Yue, but Shilian remained in Wu. Perhaps he was an abandoned chess piece, or perhaps… his presence was another scheme laid by Goujian.

Fuchai gathered all the craftsmen of Wu, busy with something mysterious.

“Ziru, there’s someone outside requesting to see Madam, says he’s an old friend.” Xiangbao had just drunk her herbal medicine and lay down when a maid quietly informed Ziru.

“Madam has just gone to bed, let him wait,” Ziru glanced at Xiangbao, saw her eyes closed, and waved her hand.

An old friend? Who could it be?

Xiangbao lay with her eyes closed for a while, unable to sleep, and finally rose: “Ziru, let him in.”

“Madam is awake?” Ziru was slightly surprised, then nodded and went out to bring the visitor in.

It was Wen Zhong; he had grown much thinner, with streaks of white in his hair.

“Brother Ziqin?” Xiangbao was surprised and delighted. She grabbed Ziru, “Ziru, he’s my brother. We haven’t seen each other in so long. Take everyone out, I want to catch up with my brother.”

Ziru nodded and withdrew with the attendants.

“Now that I see you’re well, I’m relieved,” Wen Zhong said, smiling.

“Of course I’m well,” Xiangbao replied with a bright smile. “Three meals a day with meat.”

She paused, startled by the familiarity of her own words. Who had asked her this before? Whom had she answered with such words? Those memories… were as distant as a previous life.

Wen Zhong laughed, then seemed to recall something. He took a coin from his sleeve—a coin from Yue.

“This is for you,” he handed the coin to Xiangbao.

“Oh, Brother Ziqin is the best, always remembering what I love most.” Xiangbao smiled as she accepted it.

“Shaobo asked me to bring it to you,” Wen Zhong said, watching Xiangbao.

Her hand faltered, but she still took the coin, wiped it with her sleeve, and examined it, smiling, “Money is truly the most lovable.”

“This time, I’m delivering sacred timber to Wu for Fuchai’s construction of Gusu Terrace. Shaobo wanted to come himself, but the King assigned him other duties, so he couldn’t leave…” Wen Zhong explained.

“Gusu Terrace?” Xiangbao blinked. So that’s what he’s been busy with, “Why is Fuchai building Gusu Terrace?”

“He’s a man of extravagant tastes; it’s not surprising,” Wen Zhong said casually. “We’re simply catering to his desires.”

“He’s not that kind of person,” Xiangbao instinctively frowned in protest.

Wen Zhong stopped, then stepped forward: “You’ve fallen in love with Fuchai?”

Xiangbao did not deny it.

“Xiangbao, he won’t come to a good end. You mustn’t…”

A sudden turmoil filled Xiangbao’s heart, and she no longer wished to speak. The joy of seeing Wen Zhong evaporated. Wen Zhong noticed her mood, gave a few more words of advice, and left, saying he had to return to Yue that night.

“Madam, you should rest,” Ziru said, bringing in some pastries after Wen Zhong’s departure.

Xiangbao felt restless and unable to confide in anyone. She nodded and climbed onto the couch, lying in a daze for a long time before finally feeling sleepy.

That night, Fuchai entered Drunken Moon Pavilion as usual but did not see Xiangbao spring forth to greet him, which puzzled him.

“Madam has gone to bed,” Ziru quickly explained.

“So early?”

“Yes, she took her medicine at noon and hasn’t gotten up since, not even for supper.”

Fuchai raised his eyebrows. What could be so serious as to make his wife neglect her meals?

“Wen Zhong from Yue visited,” Ziru added after some thought.

Fuchai understood, nodded.

In her muddled dreams, Xiangbao heard someone yelling by her ear: “The Yue army has breached the city! The Yue army has breached the city…”

Xiangbao was petrified. So soon?

With a crash, the door was flung open. Fuchai entered, sword in hand, his yellow robe soaked in blood, hair loose, looking like a ghost.

“Your Majesty?” Xiangbao called.

Fuchai narrowed his eyes, coldly watching her, his sword gleaming with blood. “The Yue army has breached the city. I am now a ruler without a kingdom.”

“Your Majesty…” Xiangbao rose, forcing her weakened body to stand before him. “Your Majesty…” She reached out, wanting to embrace him.

He avoided her hand with a sneer, “I am already a ruined king. No need for your pretenses.”

“No, I’m not…” Xiangbao shook her head, eager to explain.

“Fuchai!” A shout rang out. Fan Li burst in with sword drawn, attacking Fuchai.

Blood splattered everywhere…

“No!” Xiangbao screamed…

Hearing her cry, Fuchai hurriedly lifted the curtain and rushed into the room, seeing Xiangbao curled up on the couch, pale, eyes shut, trembling violently. Fuchai frowned; it had taken him much effort to break her habit of curling up to sleep, and she had not had nightmares for three years.

“Madam! Madam!” Fuchai shook her.

“No, no…” Xiangbao struggled, screaming.

“Madam!” Fuchai held her tightly. “Wake up, it’s nothing, just a dream.”

“No… don’t die…” Xiangbao shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Fu… Fuchai…”

Fuchai was stunned, looking at the woman in his arms as if she were trapped in a nightmare of terror and sorrow. What had she dreamed?

“Fuchai, Fuchai… don’t die…” she cried, her voice hoarse.

This time, Fuchai heard clearly.

“I’m alright,” he whispered against her ear, as if trying to imprint his voice in her heart. “Open your eyes. You’ll see me.”

Her tear-soaked lashes trembled slightly. Xiangbao opened her eyes, which shone brighter than the finest gem. She looked at him steadily, then slowly reached out, her cool fingertips touching his face as if to confirm he was real.

Fuchai lowered his head, gently rubbing his nose against hers.

“Uwaa…” Xiangbao suddenly burst into tears.

“Huh? What now?” Fuchai was startled.

Xiangbao kept crying, crying until she hiccupped.

Fuchai could only let her soak him with tears and snot.

Sunlight slanted into the room. Xiangbao raised her head slightly, watching Fuchai’s sleeping face. He held her, arms wrapped around her. She vaguely recalled a terrible dream last night—she had dreamed… he died.

She gently stroked his brows and eyes, feeling her eyes sting.

“You cried all night—still not enough?” he said suddenly, eyes still closed.

Xiangbao jumped.

His lips touched hers—soft, warm.

After Fuchai left, Ziru brought in medicine as usual, placing it on the table: “Madam, time to drink your medicine.”

Xiangbao sat before the bronze mirror, slowly combing her hair. The bowl of pale brown medicine still steamed in the morning sunlight. Xiangbao knew well what it was, but since Fuchai never spoke of it, she never asked. She drank it, though… it was bitter.

She hated medicine, but this one she had drunk for three years.

In 486 BC, Wu opened the Han Canal, linking the Yangtze and Huai rivers, creating a waterway to Song and Lu, pressing into the Central Plains.

Because the weather was stuffy, Xiangbao awoke early. Fuchai had come in the middle of the night and was still asleep. Sitting before the bronze mirror, Xiangbao combed her hair slowly. Ziru brought the medicine, set it on the desk, and left.

Xiangbao glanced at the medicine and felt inexplicably empty. Fuchai had risen at some point and was standing behind her, taking the comb to finish her hair.

“That medicine—I’ve drunk it for three years now,” Xiangbao said suddenly.

“Hmm,” Fuchai responded casually, his slender hands weaving through her black hair, carefully arranging it.

“Do I still have to drink it today?” Xiangbao asked softly. “And… will I have to keep drinking it in the future?”

His hand paused. Fuchai squinted, watching her blurred face in the mirror. “What does Madam wish to say?”

“That medicine…”

“What does Madam think it is?” He finished her hair, chose a hairpin, and inserted it into her bun, speaking in a calm tone.

Xiangbao bit her lip, suddenly turned, looking into his eyes. “Isn’t it for birth control?”

Fuchai shot her a cold look, set down the comb, and strode out of Drunken Moon Pavilion. Xiangbao stared at his back, biting her lip. The medicine had cooled, tasted even more bitter, but she drank it all in one gulp, straightened her dress, and walked to the window, gazing at the old tree outside, its branches lush… Summer seemed to have arrived all at once, the air hot and restless.

The sky was overcast, and by noon, the stuffiness made breathing difficult.

“Madam, come inside. It looks like it’s going to rain,” Ziru urged.

Xiangbao nodded, turning to see Sixiang at the corridor. He smiled and waved at her; the little boy from years ago now had a handsome outline, a beautiful young man.

Suddenly, lightning split the sky, tearing the gloomy canopy open and plunging it back into darkness. As it flashed, Xiangbao noticed Sixiang’s back stiffen.

A thunderclap boomed, startling even Xiangbao.

“Ah!” Sixiang suddenly squatted down, clutching his head and screaming.

Xiangbao was surprised. He’s afraid of thunder? That fearless child, afraid of thunder? Without thinking, she hurried over: “What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” She reached out and found his face wet with tears—Xiangbao was shocked.

“Mother… mother…” Sixiang threw himself into her arms, nearly knocking Xiangbao off her feet.

She felt his whole body cold and trembling. Xiangbao instinctively held him tighter: “It’s alright, it’s alright, don’t be scared.” She gently patted his back.

Sixiang, eyes closed, continued to tremble and cry in her arms, as if he couldn’t hear Xiangbao, shutting himself in a dark world.

Struggling to hold him up, Xiangbao tried to carry him back to his room but was stopped by Ziru.

“What’s wrong?” Xiangbao asked, puzzled.

“The Crown Prince is no longer a child. Madam is not his biological mother—there’s some propriety…”

“I am his mother,” Xiangbao cut her off. “Go put on a cloak and fetch the physician. He doesn’t look right.” Xiangbao spoke urgently, struggling to carry Sixiang back.

This body, after so much hardship, was not what it once was, and carrying such a big child was exhausting. Rain poured, thunder roared, and Xiangbao barely managed to bring Sixiang to the room, laying him flat on the couch.

“Mother… mother… Sixiang can protect you… mother…” Sixiang’s eyes were tightly shut, mind unclear, hands flailing as if to grasp something, but catching nothing. “Mother… don’t… don’t kill Sixiang…” He yelled, voice hoarse.

Her heart wrenched. Xiangbao grasped his hand: “Sixiang, don’t be afraid. Mother is fine, mother is here with you.” She softened her voice.

“Mother… Sixiang really… can protect you…” His closed eyes, lashes soaked with tears, face streaked, he murmured as if in a dream.

“Yes, Sixiang can protect me.” Stroking his hair, Xiangbao responded softly.

Holding Xiangbao’s hand, Sixiang gradually calmed, his body stilling.

“What’s wrong with you?” a voice suddenly rang out, urgent.

Startled, Xiangbao looked back—it was Fuchai. He wore only a thin robe, soaked through, water dripping from his hair.

“What are you standing around for? Get him checked!” Fuchai barked at the dumbfounded physician.

The poor physician looked from Xiangbao to Fuchai to the Crown Prince on the couch, unsure who was the patient and who was in charge.

Xiangbao glanced questioningly at Ziru, who was also drenched, pursing her lips and pointing to the couch. Xiangbao understood and stepped aside so Fuchai could see the patient.

Seeing Sixiang, Fuchai paused, a hint of awkwardness flickering in his eyes.

“Send out the order, the search for the Crown Prince can be called off,” he said, returning to his usual demeanor.

Xiangbao was baffled. Sixiang was only missing for a short while, yet guards were sent to search—isn’t that excessive?

“His mother died on a stormy night, so whenever it rains with thunder, his emotions become chaotic, almost deranged.” Fuchai spoke with a slight movement of his lips, taking a towel from a maid to wipe his face.

Xiangbao frowned but said nothing.

The physician hurried forward to take Sixiang’s pulse.

“How is he?” Xiangbao asked, worried.

“His pulse is calm, no major issues,” the physician replied.

Fuchai said nothing more, turning to leave.

“W-wait!” Xiangbao bit her lip and called out.

Fuchai paused, turned, raising an eyebrow at her, “Does Madam wish for me to stay in Drunken Moon Pavilion?” He stepped closer, his expression dangerously intense.

Ziru, sensing the mood, quickly led the physician and maids out, thoughtfully closing the door behind them.

Xiangbao’s brow twitched; his presence was overwhelming. She instinctively stepped back until her back pressed against the wall—no escape.

His slender fingers tilted her chin, “You wanted me to stay, so you must take responsibility.” His eyes were deep and dark. As he spoke, his cool lips pressed down, harshly ravaging hers—not a kiss, but a punishment.

Xiangbao’s lips ached from his kiss. She knew he was angry, but not what for, so she remained still, enduring his wild kiss until he dropped his head, burying his face in her neck.

“Well… um…” Xiangbao stammered, her lips tingling and sore—was that a kiss or a bite?

“You trust me so little?” he murmured by her ear.

Xiangbao blinked, “Uh?”

“It’s only tonic,” he muttered.

“Uh?” Xiangbao was stunned.

“The physician said you are weak and must take medicine to strengthen yourself.” His voice was muffled, and Xiangbao heard in it a strange, awkward grievance.

Three years, a bowl of herbal tonic every day, made from the finest ingredients—he had put so much effort, only for this heartless woman to treat it as poison…

The burden she’d carried for three years suddenly lifted. Xiangbao was dazed, then her lips curved upward, the smile growing, and she raised her hand to tightly embrace him.

Fuchai snorted, pushed her away, and turned to leave. Xiangbao stepped forward, giggling as she grabbed his sleeve.

“Let go.” He shot her an icy glance.

Xiangbao looked up at him, smiling, utterly unafraid.

“Let go.” His voice grew colder.

“No…”

“Let… go!” His words were gritted through his teeth.

“No~” Xiangbao tugged his sleeve, grinning.

Fuchai looked at the woman before him, grinning wide, showing her white teeth, and suddenly felt a headache. He had spoiled her into this unruly creature—truly self-inflicted.

“Hmph.” He snorted, but did not shake off her hand, letting her crumple his sleeve.

“Don’t be angry…” Her soft, childish voice was full of coaxing as Xiangbao nestled close.

“Hmph.”

“Hey… I hate bitter medicine, but since you gave it, I drank it all, even if it was poison.” She pouted, looking pitiful.

He knew she was feigning, but hearing her say it, his heart softened.

“Not angry anymore?” Xiangbao asked cautiously as his expression eased.

Fuchai glanced at her.

Blushing, Xiangbao pecked his lips, “There, not angry?”

He suddenly lowered his head; Xiangbao thought he wanted to kiss her, so she closed her eyes. But nothing happened. Just as she was about to open her eyes, he whispered, “Sixiang is watching…”

Xiangbao froze, covered her face, and dashed out, hearing Fuchai’s triumphant laughter behind her.