The pain that came from his grip finally reminded Fan Changyu that he was still holding her wrist.

She patted his hand and hissed softly, “Ease up a bit. That bastard bullied me on the city wall, I didn’t have a proper weapon. He came at me with a ring-pommel broadsword while I only had a boning knife. Then he dragged me down from the battlements, and my wrist got hurt in the fall. It still aches.”

Xie Zheng released her. Lowering his gaze, he saw the pale skin of her wrist mottled with bruises in the shape of fingers—not his. The web of her thumb was split, and the blood had already dried.

A flicker of killing intent flashed in his eyes.

Fan Changyu noticed his silence and realized her earlier words sounded too much like complaining—unseemly and delicate. She quickly added, “But I did get my revenge. I stabbed that little bastard several times, and before he ran off, I even kicked him in the face!”

Xie Zheng listened without a word, his eyes cold and heavy.

Fan Changyu felt that he had been unusually quiet all this way. She guessed he was probably brooding over failing to capture the bastard and tried to comfort him with a few words.

Before returning to town, Fan Changyu first went to report her safety to Head Constable Wang, lest he worry about Yan Zheng not coming back.

When Head Constable Wang heard they intended to travel back to town, he said, “It’s already dark, and the snow’s coming down hard. After what happened today, there are bound to be bandits lurking along the roads to take advantage of the chaos. It’s dangerous to travel at night. There’s an empty room at my house, stay here for the night. You can return tomorrow.”

Fan Changyu thought for a moment. She and Yan Zheng had both been exhausted from the day’s events, so she agreed with thanks.

Yu Bao’er, seeing her come in, ran out on short legs to ask, “Auntie Changyu, when will my mother come get me?”

That reminded Fan Changyu of Yu Qianqian. She looked up at Xie Zheng and asked, “Is Shopkeeper Yu still in the jail?”

Xie Zheng stood with his arms folded, leaning lazily against the carved doorframe. He shook his head slightly, his casual gaze falling on Yu Bao’er with a trace of something unreadable in it. After a pause, he looked away and said, “The murder case at Yixiang Tower hasn’t been closed yet. Who knows how the authorities will rule. Since she’s entrusted the child to you, until the case is settled, you should look after him for now.”

Fan Changyu thought of how well Yu Qianqian had treated her, and felt it only right to help care for Yu Bao’er for a while.

She had once discussed things with Yu Qianqian, thinking that the magistrate intended to seize Yu Qianqian’s property and side with the rebel prince—but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

If the authorities handled the case fairly and cleared Yu Qianqian’s name, all would be well.

If the magistrate schemed otherwise, Fan Changyu now held proof of his greed for merit and needn’t fear him making things difficult for Yu Qianqian.

Fan Changyu patted Yu Bao’er on the back of the head and said, “Your mother ran into a little trouble. Once she’s sorted it out, she’ll come to fetch you. For now, come back to town with me and play with Ning-niang for a few days, all right?”

When Yu Qianqian had been busy at her shop before, she had also left Yu Bao’er in the care of the household servant women, sometimes not seeing him for three to five days at a time.

Though young, the boy was already calm and sensible. He nodded obediently and asked curiously, “Then, Auntie Changyu, do you kill pigs?”

Fan Changyu thought for a moment and said, “Maybe I can.”

The turmoil that day had left the whole county unsettled. No one knew whether the marketplace would even open in the next two days—perhaps it would take some time before things returned to their usual bustle.

Yu Bao’er completely ignored the word maybe; having heard Fan Changyu’s answer, he was perfectly satisfied and let the maidservant take him off to wash and sleep.

From the time she had brought meat to Yu Qianqian at Yixiang Tower that morning until now, Fan Changyu hadn’t had a sip of water.

Madam Wang, knowing she must be starving, ordered the household maid to prepare food in the kitchen.

Fan Changyu hadn’t even thought about hunger all afternoon, but as soon as she smelled the aroma of the dishes, she realized her stomach was hollow and clinging to her back.

She had spent the entire day on her feet, working hard. With her stomach empty, she ate three full bowls of rice and was reaching for a fourth when Xie Zheng pressed down on her rice ladle.

He said, “You’ve gone hungry too long. Don’t eat too much at once, it’ll hurt your spleen and stomach.”

Fan Changyu reluctantly set down her bowl and chopsticks.

After the meal, Xie Zheng went out for a while. Since Head Constable Wang was often injured in the course of duty, there were always healing medicines kept at home. Xie Zheng asked Madam Wang for some ointment for bruises and a bottle of wound medicine.

When he returned to the room, Fan Changyu had just finished washing up.

He saw her wringing a cloth in the basin and frowned. “No one told you that wounds shouldn’t get wet?”

Fan Changyu glanced at the wound on her hand and replied carelessly, “It’s just a small scratch. It’s nothing.”

Then, catching sight of the ointment in his hand, she exclaimed, “Oh—you even went to get medicine for me?”

Xie Zheng lowered his eyes slightly and said in a mild tone, “Madam Wang gave it.”

Fan Changyu didn’t think anything of it. “Auntie really is thoughtful, she even noticed such a little injury of mine.”

Xie Zheng didn’t respond. Leaning against the doorframe, he asked, “Are you going to apply it or not?”

Fan Changyu thought that this man’s temper changed from one moment to the next, but remembering how he had saved her several times on the city wall, she didn’t argue. Tilting her chin, she said, “Of course I’ll apply it. It’s from Auntie, at least it’s a token of her concern.”

At the words token of concern, Xie Zheng looked up at her briefly, then averted his gaze again.

Fan Changyu first sprinkled the wound powder over the split skin between her thumb and forefinger. Seeing her biting one end of the gauze and struggling to wrap it properly, Xie Zheng went over, tied the bandage neatly, and fastened the knot.

But when she started applying ointment to her wrist, Fan Changyu realized she had made a foolish mistake.

She should have treated the wrist first. The ointment was oily and had to be slowly spread and worked into the skin. But now both her hands were wrapped in gauze—she could only scoop a bit with her fingertips and rub it in with her thumb, which was awkward and ineffective.

And because the ointment was so slippery, it wouldn’t easily absorb with just her fingers.

Fan Changyu gave it a perfunctory rub and was about to close the tin when a large hand caught her wrist.

Xie Zheng’s calloused palm spread the half-absorbed ointment over her skin, his tone far from gentle. “Are you this careless with everything you do?”

Fan Changyu, stung again, couldn’t help retorting, “It’s because my hands aren’t convenient right now!”

Xie Zheng seemed to pause for a moment. Then he said nothing more—he simply continued kneading the ointment into her wrist in complete silence, his movements firm yet careful.

Under the candlelight, her frost-pale skin took on the luster of warm jade, and the bluish marks circling her wrist stood out all the more starkly—so vivid they were almost shocking to behold.

In Xie Zheng’s mind suddenly flashed Sui Yuanqing’s taunting smile from earlier, when he had broken through the crowd.

An inexplicable surge of anger rose in his chest; his thin lips pressed into a tight line.

Between his palm and her wrist was a layer of ointment. While it was still wet, the motion of rubbing felt slippery and smooth, but as it absorbed into her skin, the texture beneath his fingers became distinct and real.

Perhaps because he had rubbed for too long, his palm grew hot—burning, like iron fresh from the forge.

Fan Changyu frowned, just about to say that it was enough, when he withdrew his hand before she could speak.

Her words stuck in her throat.

Xie Zheng put away the tin of ointment and went to the basin stand to wash his hands.

Lowering her eyes, Fan Changyu looked at her reddened wrist. It felt both hot and itchy, and she had to twist her face and suppress the impulse to rub it against her sleeve.

She thought ruefully that if she had known this ointment would make her whole wrist go numb and itchy, she wouldn’t have used it at all—better to wait until she got home and apply medicinal wine instead.

When Xie Zheng turned back, he saw her conflicted expression and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Fan Changyu waved her wrist slightly. “The medicine’s taking effect. I’m just not used to it.”

A night watchman’s clapper echoed faintly in the street outside, it was already the hour of the rat (11:00 pm – 1:00 am). The entire Wang household had long fallen silent.

Without her needing to say more, Xie Zheng went to open the cupboard in the room, only to find no spare quilt inside.

Fan Changyu, sitting at the table, noticed this as well.

At such a late hour, it would hardly do to wake Madam Wang and ask her for bedding to make a pallet on the floor.

After a moment, Xie Zheng turned back and said, “I’m not sleepy yet. You go ahead and rest.”

Fan Changyu thought to herself that he was fooling no one. He hadn’t slept well for several nights in a row, and that morning he had forced himself to help her sell pork.

And in this bitter midwinter weather, a person would freeze without a brazier—was he really planning to sit in the room all night?

Her gaze drifted to the bed, where only a single thick quilt remained. She offered, “Why don’t we… just share the bed for tonight?”

Xie Zheng’s heart gave a jolt. He frowned, handsome brows knotting, and looked toward her.

Fan Changyu, misunderstanding his reaction, quickly raised her bandaged hand in assurance. “Don’t worry, I won’t have any improper thoughts about you!”