Chapter 7: The Sword That Owed a Debt

The path was quiet, no one passing by at this hour. Fuheng stood a few steps away, turning to look back.

His gaze swept over the cloud-patterned shoes on my feet, then took in my posture, crouched by the roadside, breathless and gasping for air.

He didn't step closer, nor did he urge me on, only asking calmly.

"Your feet hurt?"

The question carried no trace of gentle concern. More like the habit of someone accustomed to assessing another's condition during military training.

Seeing that I remained seated, showing no sign of getting up, Fuheng glanced toward the still fairly distant gate of the Palace of Eternal Spring, considered for a moment, then said.

"Rest for a quarter hour. Don't sit too long. The longer you sit, the harder it'll be to walk again."

Having said this, he walked over to a nearby tree, stood with his back to me, keeping his distance, and waited quietly. Not urging, not leaving either, simply waiting exactly the quarter hour he'd said.

The evening breeze stirred the branches gently, the whole path left with nothing but the rustle of leaves mingling with my breathing, gradually growing even again.

I sat there rubbing my aching calves, looking up toward him, my voice full of reluctant complaint.

"Could you help me up? There's no one around at this hour anyway."

I looked down at the cloud-patterned shoes on my feet, continuing to grumble.

"I'll have to ask Her Majesty for a pair of flat embroidered shoes instead."

Then, looking up, my tone carrying a touch of grievance.

"Do you know? Out there, I didn't walk, I flew. Wherever something new or exciting was happening, I was always there."

The corner of my mouth curved up slightly despite my exhaustion.

"Now that I'm in the palace wearing these shoes, even walking feels like a struggle."

I lifted one foot slightly, pointing at the shoe I wore.

"And these shoes are only for attendant maids, ordinary palace maids don't even get to wear them."

Fuheng looked at the shoes for a moment, then answered evenly.

"I know. Senior maids who attend Her Majesty directly usually wear that style."

He fell silent for a few beats, his eyes scanning the path, confirming that indeed no one was passing by at the moment.

Then he stepped forward, but instead of reaching out to take my hand, he unfastened the sword at his hip, holding it level with both hands, and extended the hilt toward me.

"Hold this. I'll pull you up."

His voice remained perfectly serious.

"No contact. No impropriety either."

Then he added a line entirely in keeping with his character.

"If you fall, let go of the sword. Don't pull me down with you."

Having said this, he stood still, waiting for me to decide whether to take hold of the hilt. I looked at the sword extended before me, then at him, and couldn't help but laugh aloud.

"So you do have a conscience after all."

Fuheng's brow lifted slightly, apparently not understanding the meaning behind the remark. I carefully took hold of the hilt, not pulling too hard, only using it to leverage myself up, my mouth still running.

"Don't worry, once you've helped me, tomorrow I'll make something delicious with my own hands to give you."

Fuheng's movement paused briefly. He looked at me and answered quickly.

"No need."

The moment I'd steadied myself, I looked up at him in surprise. Fuheng continued, his tone as even as before.

"I only did what needed doing. No repayment necessary."

He drew the sword back and refastened it at his hip. But seeing the look on my face, he likely guessed that if he kept refusing, I would still find some way to thank him regardless.

After a few seconds of thought, he added.

"If you truly wish to show gratitude, then don't get lost in the palace again."

A remark entirely true to Fuheng's character, accepting no gifts, no debts of gratitude, only hoping I wouldn't cause any more trouble.

Hearing this, I pouted, privately thinking this lord was truly difficult to please.

Someone offers heartfelt thanks and he brushes it aside entirely, but outwardly I only laughed it off.

Privately resolving that no matter how much he refused, tomorrow I would absolutely bring him a box of pastries made with my own hands, no matter what.