Fengguang had been walking on and off for who knew how long—maybe an hour—when suddenly, through the swirling sand, she caught a glimpse of white fabric. In that moment, her exhausted body surged with new strength. She lifted her feet and ran toward it, finding a man lying on the ground.
“Si Jia!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him and lifting him into a sitting position.
His face was pale, almost ghostly, and he looked weak. But he still forced his eyes open and whispered faintly, “Your Highness…”
“You’re hurt?” Fengguang’s eyes widened as she saw the blood seeping through his white robe. She didn’t hesitate—she pulled a handkerchief from her clothes and pressed it against the wound on his chest. “Si Jia, don’t die! I’ll get you out of here!”
“I… I don’t think I’ll make it out…” he said weakly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I won’t be able to take you back to the palace.”
“You’re the one who brought me out, so of course you’re taking me back. Si Jia, I won’t let you die.” A fierce determination lit up in her eyes. She gritted her teeth and said with force, “You’re going to live. You’re going to live a long, full life. You haven’t done half the things you’re meant to do yet—get married, have children, make friends, travel, not be some assassin, and not play the qin you hate.”
Si Jia’s gaze trembled. He blinked, surprised, then asked hoarsely, “Why do you say… I hate playing the qin?”
“Because you don’t love it,” she said firmly. “And if you don’t love it, how could it ever be your calling?”
He paused for a beat. “You’re wrong…”
“No, I’m not,” she shot back without hesitation. “At the palace banquet that day, I saw it. I heard it. Someone who truly loves music could never play without even a trace of joy in their eyes. Yes, your playing was beautiful, but it had the same hollow feeling as me banging on bowls with chopsticks when I was three—it was just something to do, not something you loved.”
That was why, back then, she had said he wasn’t suited for playing the qin.
He opened his pale lips to speak, but no words came out.
“Si Jia,” she said, her voice steady, “you haven’t found the thing you truly want to do yet. That’s okay. I’ll get you out of here. You’ll have time to figure it out. I haven’t given up—so you can’t give up either.”
Without waiting for a reply, she took one of his arms and threw it over her shoulder. Then, with great effort, she pulled him to his feet. Most of his weight fell on her, and she staggered sideways—but she gritted her teeth and didn’t fall.
He could’ve pushed her away. He could’ve refused her help. But in that first moment, he didn’t. And now, it was too late to push her away. He said, “Leave me. If you go on your own, your chances of survival will be much higher.”
“Why would I leave you?” she asked, confused. “You’re not a burden to me. You’re Si Jia—a living, breathing Si Jia. I’m not leaving you behind to be buried in this desert.”
“I’ll only slow you down.”
“No,” she said, lifting her head with a gentle smile. “You’re not slowing me down. You’re the reason I can keep going in this desert.”
He looked at her with dark, deep eyes, unreadable emotions flickering in them.
She continued, “Once we’re out of here, I want you to find the thing you truly want to do. Si Jia, I want you to live for yourself—for once in your life.”
Live for himself?
For the first time, his eyes filled with confusion, not doubt, but genuine bewilderment. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t grasp why she wasn’t the kind of girl he’d assumed—fragile and helpless, someone who couldn’t survive without protection.
Because clearly, she wasn’t.
Lucien On ABRWF Chapter 34.1