The Princess’ Shadow Guard – Chapter 39
by Little PandaA Relationship Deeper than That of Master and Servant (Bound by the Knotted Hair)
The deep snow had swallowed half the carriage wheels.
Even the finest steed could not drag a carriage forward through such a blinding snowstorm.
Ming Qin spoke toward the carriage interior. “It’ll probably take a day or two for this heavy snow to let up before we can continue.”
Murong Yan did not answer. The carriage was utterly silent.
Finding this strange, Ming Qin pulled back the curtain and turned to look—only to find the woman slumped bonelessly on the seat, trembling all over.
She did not even react to the tiger cub gnawing at her hem by her feet.
Damn it!
Ming Qin leaped down from the driver’s seat and wrenched open the carriage door. She pressed her hand to Murong Yan’s forehead and was shocked by the searing heat.
The unconscious woman burned with a high fever, her lips bloodless. Even wrapped in a thick blanket, she still shuddered violently.
Ming Qin grasped the slender wrist and took her pulse. Her face darkened. The pulse was floating, slow, and faint—cold evil had already invaded the body, the lung qi had lost its diffusion, and there were clear signs it was worsening.
This couldn’t go on.
Watching Murong Yan gasp for air in the carriage, her consciousness fading, Ming Qin’s heart clenched with worry. She pulled the map from her bosom and scanned it quickly.
Then she wrapped the blanket tightly around the woman and cinched it with her belt. She scooped up the furry little ball rolling around beside her and stuffed it into Murong Yan’s arms.
“Be a worthy hand warmer, got it?” Ming Qin shot a deep look at the restless tiger cub as she draped a wide fox-fur cloak over the woman and cinched the hood tight.
She carried the unconscious Murong Yan out of the carriage, shielding her from the wind as best she could. With one hand, she drew her sword and sliced through the carriage’s shafts and leather traces, then led the horse out separately. Hoisting the woman and the cub in her arms, she mounted.
She pressed her legs against the horse’s flanks and drove forward through the biting wind, heading east.
Beneath a tree-covered slope, a house built of stone slabs sent a thin wisp of cooking smoke curling upward.
In the dead of a winter’s night, a violent pounding on the door shattered the peace of the hunter and his wife inside.
The husband tensely shielded his pregnant wife behind him, grabbed the iron shovel propped by the door, and cracked it open just wide enough to peer out.
The moment the door gave way, a hand red from cold clamped onto the gap. Ignoring the sharp shovel blade aimed at his chest, the black-clad figure carrying a woman pushed straight in, the weapon pressed against his own chest.
The hunter stared at the tall woman before him. An iron chain was wrapped around her neck, and snow dusted her shoulders. Without a word, she strode to the bed plank, gently set down the woman in her arms, then turned to add more wood to the fire.
“Hey! You… aah!” The man puffed out his chest to intimidate the uninvited intruder, only to leap back in fright as a tiger cub tumbled off the bed.
Ming Qin pressed the back of her hand to Murong Yan’s forehead. Barely glancing at the trembling couple huddled together, her voice was urgent: “Do you have any medicine for wind-cold here?”
Eyeing the long sword at the intruder’s waist, the hunter swallowed. “Yes… yes, we do.”
Still clutching the shovel, he shuffled slowly to the earthen jar beside the stove, fished out an oil-paper packet, and tossed it to Ming Qin.
The black-clad woman and the one lying nearby didn’t seem like bad people. The hunter’s pregnant wife gathered her courage and asked, “If I may ask, did the two of you run into mountain bandits?”
“Mountain bandits?” Ming Qin sniffed the dark, thumb-sized medicinal pellets and looked up at the woman, puzzled.
“There have been bandits around here lately. Six or seven big men, robbing everyone. We reported it to the authorities, but no one came,” the man said. He set down the shovel but still didn’t dare move, intimidated by the bared-teeth tiger cub.
“Those bandits are already dead. I killed them,” Ming Qin said flatly.
Ignoring the hunter couple’s stunned faces, she grabbed a handful of pellets, chewed them to a pulp, then leaned down, propped up Murong Yan’s neck, and fed the medicine into the feverish woman’s mouth.
She coaxed the groaning woman to swallow the saliva-mixed medicine, then lovingly stroked Murong Yan’s face. She turned to the frightened couple standing by. “Please allow me to stay here for a few days until my companion recovers.”
She pulled a money pouch from her pocket and tossed it to the man.
Weighing the heavy silver in his hand, the man looked at a loss and could only nod stiffly. “Yes… yes, of course.”
The tiger cub was probably hungry. It began sniffing around the whole house, then gnawed on a table leg. The pregnant woman, seated on a wooden chair, jumped at first, then spoke hesitantly to Ming Qin. “We have a goat out back that just had kids. I can have my husband milk some for the little tiger, if that’s all right?”
Ming Qin felt Murong Yan’s hand—no longer trembling—and let out a slight breath. She turned and nodded to the couple, offering a low word of thanks.
That night, the heavily pregnant woman shared the bed plank with Murong Yan, the man went to bed down in the stable, and Ming Qin sat rigidly on the wooden chair, not closing her eyes all night.
She stared at the frail woman before her, filled with self-blame.
As expected.
All she knew was killing. She simply couldn’t do the job of a protector.
If her shijie or shixiong had been the ones looking after Murong Yan, she might not have had to suffer like this.
Ming Qin buried her head in her hands.
Rarely did she feel so disheartened.
The next day.
The hunter’s wife rose early to cook congee. She watched Ming Qin, who was expertly splitting firewood in the open space before the stone house despite the wind and snow. In less than the time it took to burn one stick of incense, a neat pile of bundled firewood had stacked up beside her. The woman could only click her tongue in amazement.
A faint rustle came from the bed plank. Ming Qin dropped the axe and rushed inside.
Murong Yan was swaddled thickly in furs, struggling to open her eyes.
Her slightly cracked lips parted slowly. She looked at the tense-faced woman before her and whispered, “Ah Qin…”
Ming Qin half-lifted her into a sitting position and checked her forehead temperature repeatedly. “Feeling a little better?”
“Mm…” Her throat was still tight, her weak voice a little hoarse. “Ah Qin, don’t worry.”
Taking the bowl from the hunter’s wife, Ming Qin carefully blew on the steaming congee to cool it, then brought the spoon to Murong Yan’s lips. “Eat a little, all right?”
The woman obediently opened her mouth. The warm congee was plain—just the faint sweetness of rice boiled soft and tender. It slid down her throat into her empty stomach, bringing a long-missed warmth to Murong Yan’s body.
Only when she could eat no more did she wave her hand to signal Ming Qin.
Ming Qin set down the bowl, pulled out a few pellets, tossed them into her mouth and chewed them to pieces. Then she cupped Murong Yan’s face in both hands, lowered her head, and sealed the woman’s lips with her own.
Murong Yan tilted her neck and swallowed the crushed medicine. It was intensely bitter, but she—who usually loved sweets—did not mind at all. She docilely swallowed everything Ming Qin fed into her mouth.
After a long moment, the Shadow Guard pulled back, gently wiping the trace of moisture from the corner of the woman’s mouth with her thumb.
Just then, the hunter, who had gone out to check his traps, opened the door. His frustrated expression suggested he had returned empty-handed again.
Gripping Murong Yan’s wrist, Ming Qin shifted slightly to shield her behind herself, as if afraid the unfamiliar man might startle the newly awakened patient.
Murong Yan squeezed Ming Qin’s fingertips reassuringly, then spoke to the couple, her voice strained. “We are truly grateful for your hospitality.”
Seeing the woman awake, her features even more striking than when she slept, the hunter couple froze for a moment. Then the man’s face reddened a little, and he waved his hands nervously. “It’s nothing, nothing at all. Your… companion gave us money.”
The tiger cub batted at fuzz on the floor, bouncing around the room.
The stone house was crude but warm, and Murong Yan soon drifted back into a deep sleep.
The hunter’s wife, now convinced that Ming Qin was no threat, leaned against the doorframe with her pregnant belly and asked, “Was your master very good to you before?”
“Master?” Ming Qin was tidying the hair at Murong Yan’s forehead and looked puzzled.
The woman pointed to her own neck, gesturing toward the iron chain around Ming Qin’s. “If your master hadn’t been very good to you, why would you, a slave, care for her so attentively?”
Ming Qin did not refute her. She was silent for a moment, then said, “My master has shown me great kindness.”
“I may not be educated, but I know even a drop of water’s kindness should be repaid with a gushing spring.” The woman nodded in understanding, then smiled. “But your master must have done you an enormous favor. The way you two are with each other—it doesn’t seem like mistress and servant at all.”
“Not like mistress and servant?” Ming Qin tilted her head, confused.
But it was obvious—she had decided that Murong Yan was the person she would protect for the rest of her life.
“Yes, not like mistress and servant,” the hunter’s wife said softly. “I think it’s a relationship deeper than that.”
The way their gazes lingered on each other… it was more like a pair of lovers, lost in each other’s eyes. The woman did not finish the strange thought that had suddenly popped into her head.
That night, after the others had fallen asleep, Ming Qin looked at her hair in the dim lamplight. It had grown long enough to get in her eyes.
She grabbed a tuft from above her forehead and raised her dagger to slice it off—only to have the awakened Murong Yan pat her leg.
Ming Qin tilted her head toward the waking woman, still holding the hair in her hand. She looked adorably foolish in Murong Yan’s eyes.
The newly awoken woman beckoned, signaling Ming Qin to pick her up.
Murong Yan straddled Ming Qin, facing the rumple-haired Shadow Guard. She took the dagger from her hand, cupped Ming Qin’s face, and studied it carefully. Then, bit by bit, she trimmed the long, irritating stray strands.
Ming Qin held the woman steady to keep her from slipping, her head bowed docilely as she let Murong Yan fuss over her face.
The woman’s focused expression was lit by the oil lamp, making her eyes sparkle. Ming Qin felt the breath against her own face as Murong Yan leaned in. The warmth where their bodies touched through the layers of cloth… Her mouth suddenly felt dry.
After a long while, the leaning woman slowly pulled back and smiled. “If Ah Qin’s hair turns out ugly, would Ah Qin be angry with me?”
Ming Qin shook her head. Her throat couldn’t produce sound, so she just mouthed to the woman, Of course not.
Murong Yan let out a silent laugh, then reached up and brushed Ming Qin’s shortened hair. She reached behind her own neck, took a lock of her own hair, and cut it.
She mixed her own hair with the strands she had just cut from the Shadow Guard, cupped them in her hands, and held them up before Ming Qin.
“Can you tell which ones are mine and which are Ah Qin’s?” Murong Yan raised an eyebrow, her tone pleased.
In the dim lamplight, Ming Qin’s jet-black hair and Murong Yan’s soft, grayish-white hair seemed to blend together—indistinguishable even to the Shadow Guard’s keen eyes.
Watching Ming Qin shake her head, looking dazed, Murong Yan laughed softly.
She set down the items in her hands, wrapped her arms around Ming Qin’s shoulders and neck, sank her fingers into the dark strands of the woman’s hair, and gently, solemnly kissed her on the lips.
First, she traced the outline of Ming Qin’s lips, tasting her tenderly, then parted her own lips in invitation.
Ming Qin understood. Obediently, compliantly, she invaded. But the hands resting on the woman’s body involuntarily tightened.
As time passed, Murong Yan unconsciously clenched her fingers, tugging slightly at the Shadow Guard’s hair. She could no longer hold back; she pressed Ming Qin’s head down and tightened her legs.
Their bodies trembled almost imperceptibly, not waking the pregnant woman sleeping beside them. Silent, yet blazing.
“If only I had a piece of red cloth for a bridal veil,” Murong Yan murmured breathlessly when their lips parted.
“Never mind.”
“This is already perfect.”
She climbed into Ming Qin’s arms, their fingers interlaced.
The pregnant woman is sharp. Tough I also think they are pretty obvious.
Thanks for the chap!
Touch wood
The pregnant woman is sharp. Tough I also think they are pretty obvious.
Thanks for the chap!
Touch wood
Demnn. I hope they’ll go home safely
you jinxed it
Demnn. I hope they’ll go home safely
you jinxed it