[Yaodu · Yao Manor]
When the yao-carriage tore into the city at full speed, the night wind over Yaodu seemed to split clean open.
The instant Si Mo Heng stepped down with Youqing in his arms—
the air froze under the weight of his killing intent.
He said only two words:
"Move."
The guards didn't dare breathe. Under the Third Prince's pressure—so taut it felt ready to crack—they could only step aside and clear a straight path.
Sacred Feather Residence lay on the eastern side of the manor: a quiet two-story lodge. Pine shadows swayed outside, and the steps were lit by Qingyao Light—a gentle radiance reserved for the Saintess line, meant to calm the soul and stabilize qi.
No palace lanterns. No gilded excess. Only night, timber beams, and silence.
It wasn't a palace—
but it was cleaner, stiller, more reverent than any palace could be.
Because the one who lived there was—
Imperial Daughter Youqing.
Si Mo Heng carried her straight into the eastern wing, moving so fast it was nearly a charge.
Seven wooden steps thundered under his boots—
thud. thud. thud.
Each step struck like a drum against everyone's chest.
Sang Qi followed close behind, issuing orders as he climbed.
"Warm water. Hot soup. Wake-the-soul incense—bring it all to the eastern room. No one approaches. No one."
His sleeve snapped up; diagnostic tools were already laid out with brutal efficiency.
Upstairs, the room was simple: white curtains, a sandalwood bed, a dim oil lamp by the window, and a small table.
No luxury—only quiet so clean you could hear breathing.
Si Mo Heng moved like he was racing the King of Death for seconds.
When he set Youqing onto the bed, his hands were impossibly gentle—
as if touching her too firmly would shatter her—
as if he were holding light he feared might vanish.
Her face was pale; her lips were so faint they looked almost transparent.
Si Mo Heng didn't let his eyes leave her for even a heartbeat.
As though if her breathing weakened by the smallest fraction, he would split apart.
Sang Qi stepped in and grabbed her wrist.
"Third Highness—move."
Si Mo Heng didn't.
Only when Sang Qi lifted his head and stared him down—voice harder than anyone had ever heard from him—
"You're obstructing me. If you want her alive, step back."
Si Mo Heng's throat jerked like he'd been struck. He retreated—half a step.
But his hand—
still held Youqing's fingers, refusing to let go.
Sang Qi took her pulse. Sweat beaded across his brow almost immediately.
At the doorway, Luo Ye stood with Ling Dang in his arms, face iron-dark.
"How is she?"
Sang Qi didn't answer right away. He first placed a soul-calming needle, then lit a stick of wake-the-soul incense.
"The soul-channel backlash is heavy—but it hasn't torn."
"If it had been even a moment later… she might truly not have come back."
The moment those words landed—
the Third Prince looked as if all strength had been drained from him, and yet his fear pulled him tighter still.
By the window, Cang Yuan—pants hemmed with blood—spoke in a rare low tone.
"She's been holding on with her life."
At the foot of the bed, Lin Lie clenched his fist and couldn't get a single word out.
Li Yan stood at the outermost edge like an immovable mountain.
Sang Qi checked the pulse again, then finally exhaled.
"She will wake."
Those three words were the only thing in the room that allowed anyone to breathe.
Si Mo Heng shut his eyes and let his forehead touch the back of her hand—so lightly it resembled prayer.
"…Youqing."
His voice was hoarse, not his own.
"Listen."
"Until you open your eyes, I'm not leaving. Not anywhere."
Elsewhere
Ling Dang was placed in the side courtyard. Luo Ye didn't leave her for a second.
The girl's breathing was weak, her cheeks fever-hot.
Luo Ye tucked the blanket around her, pressing his fire down until it burned into a near-sob.
"Dang'er… wake up."
"I'll take you to eat the best food, to see the stars… I won't be harsh with you again—"
His voice cracked into pieces.
"As long as you wake. That's all."
Sang Qi came in and checked Ling Dang's pulse. This time his tone was a little lighter than it had been with Youqing.
"She's steadier than Xingyu. The soul-line is injured, but it didn't collapse."
"Her body… can carry her through."
Luo Ye's eyes reddened.
"She… will wake, right?"
Sang Qi lifted his gaze—rarely gentle.
"She will."
It was like a mountain fell off Luo Ye's shoulders all at once.
He sat at the bedside, held her hand, and whispered—
"Then I'll stay here. I'll wait… until you wake."
A faint breeze slipped through the wooden rails, carrying medicine-scent and a trace of scorched earth.
Cang Yuan leaned against a pillar—quiet in a way that didn't look like him.
Lin Lie sat at the bottom step, clutching his device parts until his knuckles whitened.
Li Yan stood in the corridor like a fortress wall that didn't breathe.
After settling Ling Dang, Luo Ye returned to the eastern wing door and said nothing.
Sang Qi worked inside, mixing medicine—his hands occasionally trembling with fatigue.
No one left.
Because the person inside that room—
was their light.
The entire manor went unnaturally still.
Because everyone was waiting.
Waiting for Youqing to open her eyes.
Waiting for Ling Dang to wake.
And waiting for—
Si Mo Heng to crawl back from the edge of the abyss.
The quiet chamber on the second floor of Sacred Feather Residence glowed soft-white under Qingyao Light. Outside, ancient pines swayed; shadow and light breathed across the wall.
Youqing lay motionless, breath thin.
The spirit-lamp dimmed with each weak beat of her pulse—then brightened again.
Si Mo Heng sat at the bedside like a man nailed into place.
No movement.
No words.
No sleep.
Only his hand—still holding hers.
His grip was light—
as if one fraction more pressure would push her away from this world.
Sang Qi finished the second round of medicine and set the bowl down, unable to stop himself from murmuring—
"Third Highness… at least drink some water."
Si Mo Heng didn't respond.
Or perhaps he heard—
and simply refused to pull even a sliver of attention off Youqing.
Sang Qi looked at him—at the way he was driving himself toward madness—and could only sigh, retreating to the doorway.
Inside the chamber, only two sounds remained:
Si Mo Heng's breathing,
and Youqing's.
Another night wind passed.
Youqing's fingertip twitched—
not waking, just the tremor of a soul channel shifting.
But Si Mo Heng's head snapped up as if stabbed.
"Youqing?"
He leaned closer, the black in his eyes splitting open.
No response.
Only her breathing—thinner.
Si Mo Heng slowly lowered his head and pressed his forehead to the back of her hand. His fingers shook, barely held in place.
He whispered—
"You are not allowed to leave me."
Not an order.
Not a threat.
Not the tone of royalty.
A plea.
A tone he had never used on anyone in his life.
"Youqing… I know you don't fear death."
"You dared ferry Ye Yi. You dare everything."
He looked at her pale face, throat tightening like a chokehold.
"But I do."
He had never admitted weakness like this.
In front of her, there was nowhere left to hide.
"I'm… terrified."
He bowed his head into her palm, forcing the words through whatever was left of him.
"If you don't wake up…"
"I will truly go mad."
Deep night.
The spirit-lamp's glow thinned with Youqing's weakness.
Outside the door, Cang Yuan caught a glimpse through the crack and frowned.
"…He's really been scared to the bone."
Lin Lie remained on the stairs, never lifting his head.
Luo Ye kept watch beside Ling Dang, waiting in silence.
Li Yan stood in the outer corridor like a mountain that would not fall asleep.
When Sang Qi came upstairs again and saw Si Mo Heng unmoving—breathing so lightly it was as if he feared disturbing her—he murmured—
"Third Highness. Her soul-breath… is stabilizing."
Si Mo Heng didn't move.
He only closed his eyes slowly, his throat bobbing once—
like a man about to shatter finally catching a thread.
"…I know."
Because he could feel it—
Youqing's fingers were a little warmer than before.
That faint warmth was enough to return color to his entire world.
He bent down, lips near her ear, voice so soft it was almost just breath.
"Youqing… wake up."
"I'm here."