The Princess’ Shadow Guard – Chapter 7
by Little PandaGet Lost With Your Sympathy and Pity (Misunderstanding)
“Master?” Ming Qin looked at the man before her, somewhat surprised by his rare sternness. “Is there a new mission?”
“Qinqin, where were you just now?” Her master, He Jingshou, crossed his arms. Even though he was seated, the pressure he exuded bore down heavily on Ming Qin as she stood before him.
“Cangyue Tower on Changshou Street,” Ming Qin answered honestly, her hands respectfully clasped behind her back.
He Jingshou frowned, his voice sinking. “Do you know who resides in Cangyue Tower?”
“It is the daughter of the Prince of Yu, Commandery Princess Chongwen, Murong Yan.” Ming Qin subconsciously straightened her spine.
Smack! He Jingshou slapped his palm onto the table and roared, “You knew who it was, and you still dared to run over there!” A deep palm print was left embedded in the mahogany wood. “Are you trying to anger me to death?!”
Ming Qin felt a surge of panic and wanted to explain herself, but seeing her master’s face flushed with rage, she could only stand obediently in silence.
After cursing for half a quarter-hour1, He Jingshou finally stopped to catch his breath. “As your master, I know your martial arts are formidable, but you are completely ignorant of the ways of the world.” Looking at his docile disciple and remembering how she had recently been left at death’s door to complete her mission, the man only felt a pang of tender ache for her.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead, and softened his tone. “It is just that the current situation in the Capital is turbulent. You have a simple nature and don’t understand the complexities involved. You must not casually involve yourself in this mess. Do not see her again.”
Hearing this, Ming Qin, whose arms had been hanging loosely at her sides, quickly looked up and cried out anxiously, “But Master—”
He Jingshou stood up and sharply reprimanded her. “Qinqin! No talking back. Obey me.” Seeing his disciple shrink her neck and fall silent, the man finally gave a satisfied flick of his robes and left.
Ming Qin stood blankly in her room for a long time. Her master had angrily fired off a rapid-fire barrage2 of words just now, but she hadn’t understood much of it.
Why couldn’t she go up Cangyue Tower just because she knew it was Murong Yan?
What did the turbulent situation in the Capital have to do with going to Cangyue Tower?
And what had she involved herself in?
Removing her bandages, Ming Qin sprinkled medicinal powder over her reopened wounds. She had always believed in her master, convinced that his decisions were always for the best. She had never questioned him and always submissively followed his orders.
But now, she kind of wanted to know the reason why she couldn’t see Murong Yan anymore.
The next day, Ming Qin went to buy breakfast sporting a pair of dark circles under her eyes, looking like a panda.
She listlessly gnawed on a steamed bun under the corridor, watching the snow fall. She had tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. She had pieced her master’s words together in her head over and over, racking her brains, but she still couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t allowed to see Murong Yan.
Ming Qin’s distressed, long face frightened several of her little shidi3 and shimei all day.
Immersed in her own mournful thoughts, Ming Qin wasn’t paying attention and unwittingly dislocated the arm of her shidi, Xu Jun, during their sparring session. It wasn’t until Xu Jun wailed in pain that she snapped out of it and released her tight grip.
“I’m sorry.”
Ming Qin felt deeply guilty. It was nearing dusk, and the heavy snow was intensifying. “Let’s stop here for today.” She dismissed the youths, not forgetting to pop the dislocated arm back into its socket before they left.
Watching the blizzard grow heavier, the cold wind howling and rustling the branches with a biting chill, Ming Qin suddenly thought of Murong Yan leaning over a desk, coughing dryly. She frowned deeply.
Arriving at the medical clinic, Ming Qin looked at Doctor Ren across from her, who was inspecting her wounds. She blurted out, “Doctor Ren, could you help me put together a prescription to nourish vitality, stop coughing, and soothe the lungs?”
Doctor Ren looked at the energetic, rosy-cheeked Shadow Guard before him—who, aside from the crisscrossing hard scabs and scars on her body, was clearly brimming with vigor and bouncing off the walls. He asked in confusion, “Shouldn’t the prescription you need be one to promote healing, build blood, and disperse bruises?”
“It’s not for me!” Ming Qin explained. “It’s for a friend. Her constitution is weak, and she can’t stand the cold weather.”
Doctor Ren agreed. Ming Qin was just about to happily leave the camp when she suddenly remembered something and turned back into the room.
Murong Yan’s body was so frail, and she was exceedingly delicate. It would be better if Ming Qin brewed the medicine for her.
Ming Qin commandeered a porcelain medicine pot from the kitchen and lit a charcoal fire in the corner of her room.
Squatting on the ground with a small fan, she stirred and checked the medicinal soup from time to time. The poor-quality charcoal smoked heavily, irritating her eyes until they were red and teary.
When a little shimei came by to ask for guidance, she stepped through the door only to see Ming Qin-shijie huddled on the floor, weeping with red eyes. Terrified, the girl quickly backed out of the room.
The brewing process was dry and tedious, causing Ming Qin to yawn repeatedly, but she kept her eyelids propped open and slowly fanned the flames.
By the time the medicine was ready, it was already the hour of the Rat4. Ming Qin wrapped the porcelain pot tightly in a cloth, strapped it to her back, and immediately left the camp. Under the moonlight, she used qinggong to sneak across the rooftops of the city’s households.
She climbed the tall tower with utmost care, terrified of spilling even a drop of the soup inside the pot.
Peering quietly through the window, she saw the room was dark with the lights extinguished. A tiny oil lamp was lit by the bedside in the distance, emitting a faint halo of light.
With her sharp eyesight, Ming Qin spotted the silhouette behind the bed canopy. Murong Yan had already gone to sleep.
Perfect! Ming Qin thought.
This way, she wouldn’t actually see the Commandery Princess. Master had said she couldn’t see Murong Yan, but he never said she couldn’t deliver medicine to her.
Breathing a sigh of relief inwardly, Ming Qin flipped into the room.
The Shadow Guard placed the porcelain pot on the tea table and turned to leave. She hesitated, remembering how inconvenient it was for the Commandery Princess to walk. She grabbed a small stool, placed it at the head of Murong Yan’s bed, and set the pot on top of it.
Recalling the Commandery Princess’s aversion to the cold, Ming Qin lingered a moment longer. She added some charcoal to the brazier beside the bed to make the room warmer. Then, afraid the medicinal broth in the pot would cool too quickly, she shifted the small stool closer to the fire. Finally, she took up a brush and ink, wrote down instructions for taking the medicine, and left the note by the bed.
Only then did Ming Qin nod in satisfaction and vault out the window.
For seven days in a row, Ming Qin delivered medicine to Murong Yan. Despite returning late every night, she felt light and refreshed.
The little panda-like dark circles under her eyes had long since vanished.
Today, Ming Qin had finished brewing the medicine early. It was only the hour of the Pig5, yet she was already crouching in the canopy of a tree, her head tilted up as she waited for Murong Yan to turn out the lights and go to sleep.
Ming Qin’s qinggong was exceptional. Standing on a single branch amidst the howling gale, her silhouette remained completely motionless as white snow settled upon her shoulders.
But right now, Ming Qin was a little worried. Murong Yan seemed to have already fallen asleep on the bed, her back turned and a blanket covering her, looking incredibly frail. For some reason, the window was half-open, and the freezing wind poured in, even flipping the pages of a book in the distance.
This will only make her illness worse. Ming Qin bit her lip, distressed.
Seeing the figure remain still for a long time, apparently fast asleep, Ming Qin finally made her move. In the next second, the branch trembled; the young Shadow Guard had already scaled the tall tower.
Flipping inside, Ming Qin quickly shut the window. She walked soundlessly toward the sleeping woman. Looking at her pale face, Ming Qin leaned over to gather the blanket around her and lift her into her arms.
The body in her embrace was ice-cold, making Ming Qin doubt whether she had been taking her medicine properly at all.
The slender, frail body drooped in her arms like a willow branch, seemingly devoid of weight. The Shadow Guard’s movements grew ever more gentle.
She lightly placed the person in her arms onto the soft mattress and pulled the quilt over her. Ming Qin untied the porcelain pot from her back and set it on the nightstand.
Just as she reached out to lower the bed canopy, she met Murong Yan’s open eyes.
Her gaze was clear and sharp—not at all like someone who had just been soundly asleep.
Oh no!
Master said I couldn’t see her!
Her heart tumbled. The instinct to obey orders, drilled into her since childhood, screamed in every fiber of Ming Qin’s being, continuously urging her to leave this place immediately.
But for some unknown reason, a surging emotion in her chest made it impossible for her to look away. Her feet felt glued to the floor, not moving an inch.
Murong Yan watched the conflicted, mortified expression on Ming Qin’s face and pressed her lips together. Then, she spoke. “What? Does my being awake inconvenience you so much?” Her voice was cold and distant. “If you don’t want to see me that badly, why force yourself to come?”
Ming Qin felt as if a thousand jin6 were weighing down on her chest. She simply twisted her fingers together, her tongue tied, not knowing how to explain.
Seeing her frozen expression, Murong Yan became even more certain. She sneered mockingly, “Sneaking up the tower every day—what a true grievance it must be for the great Shadow Guard.”
She let out a cold laugh, struggling to sit up.
“I… I…” Ming Qin had never hated her own clumsiness with words as much as she did in this moment. Seeing Murong Yan struggling to rise, she instinctively reached out to support her.
“Don’t touch me.” Murong Yan swatted away the Shadow Guard’s outstretched hand, suppressing an itch in her throat. “You truly make me sick to my stomach.”
Ming Qin stumbled back a few steps, her eyes growing red.
“Get lost.” Murong Yan grabbed the medicine by the bed and hurled it at the person whose head was bowed, seemingly using every ounce of strength in her body.
“Take your hypocritical sympathy and pity, and get lost!”
Ming Qin didn’t dodge. The porcelain pot smashed against her unhealed left shoulder and shattered violently.
The scalding medicinal broth drenched her body, but Ming Qin didn’t feel a thing. It was only the moment the Commandery Princess told her to get lost that she felt as if she had been granted a pardon. Her tense body shot out the window like an arrow leaving a bowstring.
Ming Qin clutched at her collar, her heart quaking.
It clearly wasn’t my chest that got hit, so why does it ache so much right here?
Inside the room, the woman collapsed weakly onto the bed, coughing uncontrollably.
Being this weak filled Murong Yan with intense irritation. Staring at her own emaciated wrists, she slowly curled her body into a ball.
In truth, she was far more irritated by her current, endlessly weeping self, and by the cowardly, hoarse cries echoing from the bottom of her heart.
Stay! Stay!
Whether it is sympathy or pity, don’t leave me.
Just stay!
The corners of the woman’s mouth slowly curved up into a bitter, self-deprecating smile.
Sure enough, she had nothing left.
Not even her dignity.
Murong Yan closed her eyes, praying she could escape this world a little faster.
Fortunately, she lost consciousness before dawn.
The author has something to say:
I spent a huge sum of money to buy a new cover—spending money to buy happiness, yeah!
Also, I realized that sometimes after publishing a chapter, if I find a typo and fix it, I have to wait for it to pass review all over again. The wait is agonizing because it takes so long.
So I’ll try my best not to have typos, but if I do accidentally make one, as long as it doesn’t affect the reading experience, let’s just Let it go~
Footnotes
- Bàn kè, a traditional measure of time. A full kè is equal to fifteen minutes, making this roughly seven to eight minutes.
- Pīlipālā, an onomatopoeia for a rapid, crackling sound, used here metaphorically to describe an overwhelming barrage of words.
- Shīdì, a junior male disciple or martial brother within the same sect.
- Zǐ shí, a traditional two-hour timekeeping period corresponding to 11:00 pm to 1:00 am.
- Hài shí, a traditional two-hour timekeeping period corresponding to 9:00 pm to 11:00 pm.
- A jīn is a traditional Chinese unit of weight, roughly equal to 500 grams. Used here metaphorically to describe a massive, crushing weight.
This is nice. Just stumbled upon this work. Everything is so goooddd!
Aw they’re both so cute
Thanks for the chapter!