Zhaoyue died.
The night Su Xinwei escaped to Lizhou to get married, she bumped into the little proton she had rescued in the snow ten years ago. Now he was standing in front of her in black clothes. He hooked the safety lock from her collar and slowly ran it over with his fingertips. His voice was cold and hoarse: "Are you here to get married? Then you'd better pray that you can marry your prince brother smoothly."
"If you want me not to reveal your identity, then be obedient, gain the prince's trust, and do things for me."
Until that night someone broke into her yard. Yan Qihuai bumped into her from the side and pinned her down. An arrow pierced through his back shoulder and stopped at the side of her ear. Blood dripped on her collarbone, burning her and making her shiver. He looked down at her, and his eyes, which had been cold for ten years, suddenly turned to something else, deep and hot. He clasped her hand, his heart beating against her bones, and said two words in a hoarse voice:
Don't move.
Later, when his fever had not subsided, he grabbed her wrist and said, "I asked you to gain his trust, but I didn't ask you to marry him!"
He paused and rubbed his thumb against the tenderest piece of skin on the inside of her wrist.
"After checking what you want, you can give it a try."
