Chapter Ninety-Seven: Overwhelming Fatigue

Zhan Yan sat beneath the osmanthus tree, inhaling the faint fragrance of the blossoms. Her heart overflowed with longing. It had been seven days since Zhongli Yu left, and she counted the days one by one, feeling as though time had frozen, refusing to move forward. The saying that a day apart felt like three autumns was true—she wasn’t even sure how many autumns had passed for her.

Qingyun noticed her lady lost in thought on the soft couch beneath the tree and couldn’t help but approach to keep her company. “Miss, are you thinking of the prince again?”

Zhan Yan gave a weary smile and confessed, “Yes, after just a few days apart, it feels so strange. Qingyun, this feeling is unbearable.”

Qingyun smiled gently. “Miss, though I don’t know what that feeling is, seeing you like this, it must be very hard.” She had sensed that her lady had been somewhat downcast these days, only showing a livelier expression when speaking gently to the baby in her belly. Otherwise, she was often lost in thought.

Tilting her head to look at Qingyun with a faint smile, Zhan Yan teased, “Qingyun, you’re no longer young. Isn’t it time you considered marriage?” She rubbed her forehead; in this era, a woman at twenty was considered of advanced age for marriage. The longer she delayed, the harder it would be.

Qingyun blushed and replied awkwardly, “Miss, please don’t joke with me. I want to serve you my whole life—I have no desire to marry.”

Seeing Qingyun’s embarrassment, Zhan Yan spoke earnestly, “Qingyun, life is long. It’s better to find someone to share the second half with. Living without experiencing a passionate love is a regret I don’t want you to have.”

“Miss, I’ve never thought about it. I’m just a maid; love is too unfamiliar to me.”

“Love knows no bounds of status. Because you haven’t experienced it, it feels strange. But when you meet the one destined for you, you’ll understand. Loving someone is truly a happiness.” The image of Zhongli Yu surfaced in Zhan Yan’s mind, a gentle smile curving her lips. He was the one who made her feel that happiness—a sweetness like savoring homemade grape wine, rich yet never cloying.

Qingyun looked at her lady’s satisfied expression with a hint of envy. Perhaps Miss was right. She wondered silently if she too would be lucky enough to meet her destined love. Gazing at the sky, Qingyun, at twenty, began to nurture a new hope.

Zhongli Yu stepped into the Pear Fragrance Courtyard and immediately saw his wife seated quietly on the soft couch. Her delicate hands gently cradled her rounded belly. A few osmanthus petals, loosened by the breeze, had drifted onto her snow-white silk skirt, but she paid them no mind. Her gaze was tenderly fixed on Qingyun, smiling softly, unaware that he had entered.

“Yan’er, when did you become so happy?” Zhongli Yu asked softly, heart warmed by her joyful smile. The arduous journey these past days suddenly felt worth every step.

Zhan Yan seemed frozen in place, dazed, then slowly turned around to see the man she longed for day and night. His hair was slightly disheveled, a shadow of stubble on his face, his eyes tired but sparkling with joy upon seeing her. Though his usually pristine clothes were rumpled, it did not diminish his striking presence—a man as captivating as ever.

Seeing his wife gazing at him so fondly, Zhongli Yu chuckled softly and stepped quickly to her side. As he reached out to embrace her, the woman who had been staring at him in a daze finally awakened and leapt into his arms, her small hands clutching him tightly, burying her head deep into his chest.

He was utterly pleased by her eager embrace, his heart melting like water. He wrapped her tightly in return.

Qingyun quietly stepped back, watching the couple embrace.

They held each other for a long while, unwilling to part. Zhan Yan lifted her head and whispered, “Husband, I’ve missed you so much.”

Those words seemed to dissolve the weariness from Zhongli Yu’s nonstop journey. Suddenly invigorated, he spoke hoarsely, “Yan’er, I miss you even more, to the point I cannot rest, just to return and see you sooner.”

Zhan Yan clung tightly to him, unwilling to let go. Then, unexpectedly, he released her, and a chill ran through her. Bending down, he scooped her up horizontally and carried her swiftly into the bedroom.

He laid her on the bed and said hoarsely, “Yan’er, I’ll go wash up.” What he truly wanted was to kiss her passionately, to claim her fiercely, but in his current disheveled state, he wisely decided to clean himself first.

By the time Zhan Yan realized, Zhongli Yu had already hurried to the inner chamber. Soon, the sound of running water came through. A smile played on her lips; the emptiness she had felt these days was suddenly filled.

When he emerged, Zhongli Yu saw his wife’s dazed smile. Zhan Yan hardly remembered ever smiling so foolishly before—love truly could transform a person.

“Yan’er, so happy?” Zhongli Yu asked cheerfully after quickly finishing his bath.

Zhan Yan frowned slightly, gently reproaching, “It’s late autumn now. The weather is cold. Why didn’t you dry your hair? You might catch a headache.”

“Could it be I’m not eager to see my lady?”

Zhan Yan stood and fetched a dry towel. Sitting on the bed, she gently patted his hair dry. Zhongli Yu’s hair was black and silky, like fine silk. She marveled that even a man’s hair was so soft—perhaps the water of ancient times truly nourished one’s body.

They remained silent—one focused on drying, the other quietly enjoying his wife’s tender care. In that quietness, words were unnecessary; everything felt so peaceful and beautiful. Yet, some mischief was inevitable. The little one inside Zhan Yan’s belly, perhaps awakened, stretched lazily and kicked her gently. Zhan Yan, who had been sensing movements for days, smiled softly, “This little one is kicking me again.”

Zhongli Yu, previously lost in the tender atmosphere, was startled by her words and looked at her belly in surprise. “Yan’er, you mean the baby is moving?”

“Yes. The night you left, it began moving. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep all night.”

Zhongli Yu pressed his head against her belly, listening intently, but the baby was quiet. He lifted his head and asked, “Why is it still now?”

Zhan Yan chuckled, “It’s still small, so it moves less. Probably fell asleep again.”

Unwilling to accept that, Zhongli Yu pressed his head back and murmured, “Baby, Daddy’s back. Do you miss me? If you do, give a little kick, alright?” Just as he was about to lose hope, the baby kicked again. His eyes sparkled with amazement—it was incredible that the baby could move so early, months before birth.

Zhan Yan grew even gentler, joy shining in her voice. “Looks like the baby really recognizes your voice.”

Zhongli Yu lifted Zhan Yan’s garment to reveal her rounded belly. She bore no unsightly stretch marks; her skin remained smooth as ever. He tenderly stroked her abdomen, chatting with the unborn child. Zhan Yan suspected her husband might have a knack for being a chatterbox.

After a while, Zhongli Yu looked at her now much larger belly with a flicker of pain in his eyes. It must be so hard on her carrying that burden, and as it grew bigger, his heart twisted with worry. Gently caressing her face, he said with concern, “Yan’er, you’ve worked so hard.”

Zhan Yan smiled softly, “Though it’s hard, it’s truly happiness.”

Gazing at her tender expression, Zhongli Yu was enchanted. She seemed made of gentle water, radiating maternal light, surrounded by a halo of happiness. Seeing her luscious lips curve slightly upward, he could no longer resist and pressed a kiss upon them.

Zhan Yan gave a soft murmur. Silence fell in the room, and the sweetness of reunion after separation filled the air. Both eager to express their longing, Zhongli Yu swept the curtains closed, hiding their tender moments from the world.

After their intimate encounter, Zhongli Yu sighed with contentment and soon fell into a deep sleep. Zhan Yan watched over him, noticing the faint blue tinge beneath his eyes, guessing he hadn’t rested well during his grueling journey. Her heart was both sweet and heavy.

Feeling drowsy herself from pregnancy, Zhan Yan nestled into his arms and gently drifted to sleep.

They slept long and deeply, until evening when Zhan Yan awoke. Zhongli Yu was still asleep, smiling peacefully in slumber. She dared not wake him, so she quietly caressed his handsome face. But when her hand touched his forehead, she was alarmed—the skin was burning hot. Checking his face, she found it equally feverish. He was running a high fever.

Panic surged through her. She grabbed his hand to feel his pulse. Having studied medicine recently with Doctor Meng, she was able to take a simple pulse diagnosis. It revealed internal injuries aggravated by exertion and continuous travel without rest.

Urgently dressing, she wrapped him in a simple inner garment and hurried outside to find Qingyun, instructing her to summon Doctor Meng. Her own medical skills were limited; she dared not prescribe medicine recklessly.

Upon hearing of Zhongli Yu’s illness, Doctor Meng dropped his work and rushed over.

“Yan, what’s wrong with Yu?” Meng Tao entered without waiting for a summons. The door was open; Zhan Yan had been expecting him.

Zhan Yan anxiously explained, “Grandfather Meng, he’s running a high fever. Please, take a look—what happened?”

Meng Tao took Zhongli Yu’s pulse and after a long moment said, “This young man has suffered serious internal injuries. He didn’t rest after being hurt and still used his martial skills, then pushed himself too hard these past days. It’s no wonder he fell ill.” He cast a reproachful glance toward Zhongli Yu; doctors despised patients who didn’t take care of themselves.

Zhan Yan understood it was his urgency to see her that drove him. Unsure what to say, she pleaded, “Grandfather Meng, please stop scolding and prescribe some medicine quickly. If this fever continues, what if it damages his brain?”

“Don’t worry, child. He won’t die. A few days’ rest and he’ll recover. But his internal injuries must be treated carefully. No martial arts until fully healed or the damage could worsen.” Meng Tao wrote out several prescriptions, and Zhan Yan immediately ordered the herbs to be gathered.

After giving some instructions, Meng Tao left. Zhan Yan used a damp cloth to wipe Zhongli Yu’s body, helping reduce his fever. Half an hour later, the medicine was ready, but he remained unconscious. No matter how much she called, he did not wake.

She had no choice but to support him up, resting his head on her shoulder. Gently, she held the medicine to his lips and softly coaxed, “Husband, time to take your medicine.”

Still, Zhongli Yu remained deeply asleep. Growing worried, she urged, “Husband, it’s Yan’er. Open your mouth.”

Hearing her voice seemed to rouse him. He parted his lips and swallowed the medicine.

Zhan Yan exhaled in relief and helped him lie back down.

This was the second time Zhongli Yu had lost consciousness before her. The first had been when he was severely wounded and took the Seven-Day Yellow Spring elixir, sleeping for seven days. Then, she had been anxious and fearful, only calming when Doctor Meng diagnosed the cause.

Now, he was injured and ill again, but knowing there was no life-threatening danger, her panic was less. Yet, her heart ached seeing him so weak, as if pierced by needles. She felt angry at his reckless disregard for his body, angry that he made her so worried. She truly feared for him. What if his injuries worsened and he still pushed himself like this? It could be fatal.

She looked at him helplessly, a mix of fear and gratitude filling her heart that he was still alive.

After settling Zhongli Yu comfortably, she sent for Lihun, who had just learned of his illness and hurried to her side. “Mistress, how is the young master?”

Zhan Yan shook her head. “No serious danger, but he’s still feverish. Tell me, what happened? Was he hurt in a fight with that apothecary? Has the man been caught yet?” They had been too caught up in their reunion to discuss these events thoroughly before Zhongli Yu fell ill. Now, only Lihun could fill in the details.

Lihun, unaware of Zhongli Yu’s injury, only knowing Zhou Lan had been hurt, recounted the past days carefully, leaving nothing out.

Hearing this, Zhan Yan was relieved to learn that Zhongli Yu had indeed captured the culprit. If he had not won, that would mean the opponent’s martial skill was formidable, complicating matters further.

She smiled gently at Lihun. “Thank you. You must be tired. Go rest now.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Night fell, yet Zhongli Yu’s fever lingered. Zhan Yan stayed beside him, waking frequently to check his temperature. Only when it began to ease could she rest again.

By the next day, his fever normalized but he still slept deeply. This injury had truly drained him. Zhan Yan cared for him attentively, letting him rest as long as he needed.

Two full days and nights passed before Zhongli Yu awoke. It was afternoon, and opening his eyes, he saw Zhan Yan seated by the bed, leaning on the frame, reading a book.

Hearing the movement, Zhan Yan looked up anxiously. Seeing him awake, she sighed with relief, whispering, “Husband, you’re finally awake.”

Zhongli Yu blinked in confusion. “Yan’er, have I slept that long?”

“You’ve been asleep for two days and nights,” she answered honestly.

“Why so long?” he frowned.

Zhan Yan gave him a helpless look. He didn’t even realize how long he’d slept. “You had a high fever. Don’t ever neglect your health like this again. You should rest when injured, yet you kept pushing yourself nonstop. Do you think you’re invincible?” Her tone grew more irritated, ending with a pout. “If you worry me like this again, I won’t speak to you.”

Zhongli Yu gazed warmly at the scolding little woman before him. She cared so much for him. With a tender, almost drowning-in-love tone, he said, “I’m fine now, so don’t be angry, okay? Yan’er, I just missed you terribly. Not seeing you made my heart ache. I couldn’t stop traveling day and night—only by moving could I forget the pain in my heart.”