Rising Phoenix

The genuine tears that she had caught on her hand surprised her.

The tear on her finger quietly glistened and slowly evaporated as she kneeled numbly for a long moment; finally, she gathered her last strength and shifted the assassin’s corpse to check on Ning Yi; before she confirmed Ning Yi’s death, she refused to waste time crying.

If he was dead, she had no time to waste. Him, Chunyu, and the many hundreds of dead Chang Ying Guards were waiting — she had too many things she needed to do.

As she was reaching out to touch him, a hoarse voice lazily spoke: “How long are you going to wait until you come touch me?”

Feng Zhiwei’s hand froze in midair, and when she came to she clenched her hand and not ungently pounded Ning Yi’s chest.

Ning Yi called out with mildly amused pain before commenting: “What a venomous girl.”

He asked again: “What were you doing all dazed and still?”

Feng Zhiwei bit her lips and ignored his words, moving over Ning Yi’s cold body with her hand. When she had finished examining him her heart relaxed a little; Ning Yi must have killed the assassin mid fall and used him to cushion the landing. “You aren’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Ning Yi replied, “My ankle feels sprained.”

“You didn’t hit your head?”

Ning Yi eyed her with some surprise, quietly thinking that she was the one who looked like she had suffered brain damage; for a moment, he was about to tease her, but then he remembered how her voice had trembled as she called his voice and his heart softened, so instead he obediently replied: “I didn’t.”

“Good.” Feng Zhiwei smiled, her head falling into his embrace. “Then I can finally pass out…”

…

When Feng Zhiwei woke every part of her body ached like she had fought her way through a long march or battled ten thousand enemies in her dreams.

She lay where she woke, dazed and absent-minded; she was warm, and when she looked down at her body she recognized Ning Yi’s robe covering her.

The sun had risen, but only faint light reached the shadowed foot of the cliff. Ning Yi sat across from her in his underclothes, meditating with closed eyes, surrounded by gorgeous white mist.

Feng Zhiwei scanned the area; it felt completely different from the battlefield from the night before. She lay on soft grass and burbling water chuckled not far away; she had no idea how an injured Ning Yi could have brought a fully grown woman here.

Did he grab her ankle and drag her? Feng Zhiwei quickly looked over her body, afraid that she would find countless scratches and bruises.

The little noises she made shuffling around and checking herself woke Ning Yi; he opened his eyes and listened to Feng Zhiwei’s nervous fidgets and he could not help smiling: woman! What strange beings; so strong and calm in the midst of danger, but still so concerned about the smallest and pettiest of things.

He smiled quietly and his blind gaze carried a degree of unnoticed gentleness.

He thought back to when she had finally found him, so clearly and calmly asking after his health before fainting in his arms; truly, he did not know whether to laugh or cry, and his heart ached — what a strong woman!

She had lain in his arms, so soft and gentle, and her masks and walls of coldness were all thrown aside; she had been as quiet and fragile as a peach blossom petal. He had never seen this special side of her, and in that moment he could not resist…

Ning Yi blushed.

Feng Zhiwei just happened to look up, and she called out: “You’re up? Yi, you’re color seems a little off.”

Ning Yi touched his face and his flush faded. He chuckled and replied: “Really?”

Feng Zhiwei gazed admiringly at Prince Chu’s face: this man never needed a mask; if he wanted his face to be red it would flush, if he did not want it, then it would return to normal.

“Where are we?” She asked. “In the stories, when the main character falls off a cliff he should awaken in a cave and make himself a fire.”

“Not all cliffs have caves, and not everyone who falls of cliffs have tinder and flint.” Ning Yi chuckled. “And lighting a fire while enemies are searching for you? Did you hit your head?”

Feng Zhiwei smiled and sat up. “How bad is your ankle?”

“It’s fine.”

Feng Zhiwei got up and walked over, kneeling and pulling off his boot. “It still needs to be looked at or else it’ll just get worse as you walk.”

She carefully massaged Ning Yi’s swollen ankle, only ever using the exact strength needed. Ning Yi leaned against a large stone, his eyes lidding themselves as he enjoyed the treatment; suddenly, he spoke: “Have you studied this? You are better than the few… in my mansion.”

Feng Zhiwei smiled and replied: “Mother fought many times on the battlefield and has many wounds and scars that act up on rainy days, so I’ve been studying this ever since I was young.”

Ning Yi paused for a long, silent moment before finally saying: “Madam Feng’s life has not been easy.”

He did not say anymore and just lazed beside Feng Zhiwei, luxuriating in her gentle touch; comfort came over him and it was like he was soaking in a warm bath, and then suddenly he heard her say: “Finished.”

His eyes cracked open and he replied, surprised: “So quickly?”

Feng Zhiwei smiled prettily: “This humble woman truly apologizes that she is not as thoughtful and gentle as the concubines in His Highness’s mansion who have the time and patience to massage the Prince as long as he likes.”

Ning Yi cocked his head at her, and then his blind gaze seemed to brighten as his expression bubbled with subdued laughter: “Are you jealous?”

Feng Zhiwei let out a small cry of shock, and she touched her face; thoughts exploded through her mind — she was being jealous? her? jealous? How? Impossible? Why ….

Finally, Feng Zhiwei replied, her voice filled with sadness as she reasoned to herself:

“Those born into wealth will never understand the natural enmity of the poor who have struggled in poverty.”

Ning Yi eyed her fuzzy silhouette strangely, and after a moment he spoke again, his heart happy: “I didn’t finish speaking; the few … old servants … in my mansion.”

After a second of silence, a flowery smile blossomed on Feng Zhiwei’s face as she replied: “Aiya Your Highness it’s gotten so bright, we need to plan our departure.”

Ning Yi was in a great mood after this strange conversation and a small smile never left his lips; Feng Zhiwei could only glare gloomily at him, and she hurriedly changed the subject:

“Did the people above leave?”

As she spoke, she handed Ning Yi his robe and noticed a few broken bands on the clothing, as if he had rather forcefully torn it off of himself.