Zhaoyue has fallen.
On the night Su Xinwei flees to Lizhou to marry for an alliance, she runs into the young hostage prince who saved her in the snow ten years ago. Now dressed in black, he blocks her way and hooks a finger beneath her collar to pull out her peace charm, slowly rubbing it between his fingers. His voice is cool and hoarse. “Have you come here to marry for an alliance? Then you'd better pray you can marry your Crown Prince Brother without a hitch.”
“If you don't want me to expose who you really are, then behave. Earn the crown prince's trust and work for me.”
That night, someone breaks into her courtyard. Yan Qihuai rushes in from the side and knocks her to the ground, shielding her with his body. An arrow pierces his back and stops beside her ear. Blood drips onto her collarbone, hot enough to make her shudder. He looks down at her, and something other than coldness, buried in those eyes for ten years, suddenly surfaces: something deep and burning. He grips her hand, his heartbeat pounding against her bones, and rasps out two words:
“Don't move.”
Later, while his fever still hasn't broken, he clutches her wrist and says, “I told you to earn his trust, not marry him!”
He pauses, then brushes his thumb against the tender patch of skin on the inside of her wrist.
“Once we've found what you're looking for, just try running away.”
