Waking Up to an Imperial Marriage with My Archenemy - Chapter 13

Qiao Wan slept fitfully that night. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar bed, but she tossed and turned, unable to find rest. At first, she felt stifled by the heat, but as time slipped away, a sudden chill seeped into her bones. She pulled the quilt tight, shivering for a long while before finally drifting into a muddled unconsciousness.

Snow was falling in her dreams. Qiao Wan watched as a flake landed on her palm—perfect, crystalline, and refusing to melt.

She was surrounded by brick-red palace walls. Following the path, a grand gate appeared before her. The plaque above it bore Two bold characters: Yaoquan Palace.

She pushed the door open and was suddenly indoors. A charcoal brazier sat before her. Shivering, Qiao Wan reached toward the embers for warmth, but even as her hand nearly brushed the coals, she felt no heat.

“They say handwriting reveals the character, but yours is a bit too unconventional.”

A voice rang out. Qiao Wan turned to see two women of similar stature standing by a desk. One sat while the other stood; their faces remained blurred.

“If it’s ugly, just say so. I won’t be angry. My family was poor back then; we couldn’t afford paper and brushes to practice,” the seated figure teased. “Why don’t you teach me?”

The standing figure sighed, leaning down to cover the other’s hand with her own. Guiding the brush across the paper, she murmured, “The character for ‘Qiao’ must be written like this to look elegant.”

After filling several sheets, the seated woman suddenly asked, “And ‘Feng’? How do you make that one beautiful?”

“Achoo!” A sneeze jolted Qiao Wan from her dream. she rolled over, her body feeling leaden and sore. Her head throbbed, and every joint ached.

Ah, I really did catch a cold.

She reached up to feel her forehead—a habitual gesture. Whenever she felt feverish, she would check, though without a thermometer, she never truly knew what temperature counted as a fever.

“Xiao Bai. Xiao Bai?” Her throat was parched and painful. She called out internally, but there was no response. She closed her eyes, searching her mind, but the small spirit was nowhere to be found.

This had happened twice before. Whenever Qiao Wan fell seriously ill, the system would vanish, reappearing only when her health improved.

Given her past experience, she didn’t panic over Xiao Bai’s disappearance. She propped herself up to sit, only to be wracked by a fit of coughing.

“Censor Qiao, are you awake?”

A maid’s voice came from outside. Qiao Wan croaked out a request for water.

As the maid handed her the cup, she noticed the rasp in Qiao Wan’s voice. One look at her flushed, sickly complexion confirmed she was ill.

This maid was one of the longest-serving attendants by the Princess’s side. Steady and efficient, she did not panic. She helped Qiao Wan drink, settled her back under the covers, and quietly withdrew to summon the Princess immediately.

Qiao Wan didn’t know how much longer she slept, but she woke to the sound of hushed, sharp whispering nearby. The speaker’s tone was rapid and urgent, as if scolding someone, yet the volume was deliberately kept low. In her dazed state, Qiao Wan couldn’t make out the words.

However, she recognized the voice instantly: Luo Fengxin. Over the last few years, the Princess had developed a volatile temperament—icy when calm, but explosive as a firecracker when provoked.

Across the room, Luo Fengxin sat at a table, reprimanding the maid who had watched over Qiao Wan. The girl is burning up; how did you not notice sooner?

The maid knelt on the floor, offering no excuses.

In truth, Luo Fengxin knew it wasn’t the maid’s fault. The imperial physician had already stated that Qiao Wan’s illness was peculiar—neither a standard chill nor a heat toxin. It wasn’t a lack of care; Luo Fengxin was simply agitated by Qiao Wan’s prolonged unconsciousness.

In all her years leading troops, she had never taken her emotions out on her subordinates. This was a first. After the lecture, Luo Fengxin leaned her head on her hand, supporting herself against the table. After a long silence, she waved her hand, dismissing the maid.

“Go see if the medicine is ready.”

“Yes.” The maid rose and exited, carefully pulling the door shut behind her.

Left alone, Luo Fengxin wrung out a cloth from a basin and approached the bed to wipe Qiao Wan’s face. The moment the damp cloth touched her brow, Qiao Wan’s eyes fluttered open. Startled, Luo Fengxin instinctively hid her hand behind her back.

“A-Feng.”

The name made Luo Fengxin’s heart skip a beat. Her breath grew heavy as she gripped the cloth tight, only relaxing after a long pause to respond, “I am here.”

“A-Feng.” Qiao Wan continued to murmur. She reached out from under the quilt, her hand grasping at the empty air.

Luo Fengxin leaned over and caught Qiao Wan’s wandering hand.

Qiao Wan felt the hand holding hers—it was damp and cool. The palms and fingertips were calloused from years of martial arts; though the texture was rough, it felt immensely grounding.

“A-Feng, don’t always frown.” Normally, Qiao Wan would never dare call her that. Their relationship was no longer what it once was; using such an intimate name was presumptuous and bound to be annoying.

But in the throes of illness, she felt a bit more entitled. She figured that since she was this sick, Luo Fengxin wouldn’t be heartless enough to throw her out, so she boldly clung to her.

The maid knocked and entered, placing the medicine on a low stool by the bed before slipping away again.

Luo Fengxin sat at the head of the bed, propping Qiao Wan up against her shoulder. She picked up the bowl to feed her.

The medicine was bitter, but Qiao Wan felt a strange sweetness in her heart. She glanced at the light filtering through the window. “What time is it?”

“Just past the hour of the Snake (11:00 AM).” Luo Fengxin carefully blew on a spoonful of medicine, feeding her slowly to ensure she wouldn’t choke.

“Ah, today’s lotus leaves haven’t been picked yet!” Qiao Wan said urgently.

“Forget the lotus leaves.” After finishing the medicine, Luo Fengxin set the bowl aside but did not move. She let Qiao Wan continue to lean against her. “You are this ill; just rest. Don’t think about anything else.”

“I’m fine. This has happened before; I’ll be better after a couple of days of sleep. But if I don’t go today, it will delay our plan.”

Qiao Wan’s insistence on picking lotus leaves wasn’t just because of Luo Fengxin’s unreasonable command from the day before. Rather, it was because of that command that she had to put on a show for the eyes watching them.

“I told you not to worry about these things. I will arrange the plan; your only job is to recover.”

Since Luo Fengxin had put it that way, Qiao Wan finally let her guard down.

A silence fell between them. After leaning against the Princess for a while, Qiao Wan suddenly spoke up. “I had a dream last night. I dreamed of the time we were still at Yaoquan Palace, and you were teaching me how to write.”

Back then, Qiao Wan had been transmigrated for less than a year. Having grown accustomed to electronic devices in the modern world, her penmanship was mediocre at best, let alone her skill with a brush, which she had almost never practiced. She wanted to be an official, which required proper calligraphy, so she had spent a great deal of effort practicing during her time at Yaoquan Palace.

In those days, Luo Fengxin wasn’t as acerbic as she later became. Seeing Qiao Wan’s unsightly handwriting back then, she had merely remarked that it was “too unconventional.” It was nothing like later years, when her comment of “A thousand words from the pen, yet the script looks like a dog’s crawl” had made Qiao Wan so angry she nearly threw her memorial at Luo Fengxin’s face.

Luo Fengxin didn’t respond. After a moment of silence, she helped Qiao Wan lie back under the covers. “Sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

With her eyes closed, Qiao Wan heard the door open and then click shut. A sense of melancholy washed over her.

She really still minds what happened back then, doesn’t she?

Zhang Zihe had been frustrated lately—terribly, exceptionally frustrated!

Ever since he was humiliated by Luo Fengxin outside the West Market, his circle of “brothers” had stopped looking for him. It was a constant, stinging reminder of how much face he had lost.

He had gone to the Ning Mansion, but his uncle spent his days either seeking immortality through Daoist alchemy or fooling around with his sister-in-law from the Chen family. As for his eldest cousin, upon hearing of the incident, he had merely given a genial smile and told Zhang Zihe it was no big deal, advising him not to take it to heart.

Not a big deal? There were so many witnesses! His reputation was in tatters; how could it not be a big deal?

He then went to find his second cousin, but after several attempts, he was turned away every time. The man clearly didn’t want to see him.

This was aggravating enough, but lately, he had been running into Luo Fengxin every few days despite having no prior overlap in their routines. If not for the fact that her carriage always hurried past without so much as a glance in his direction, he would have suspected she was stalking him.

To avoid her, Zhang Zihe had been forced to stay cooped up at home. But a man used to carousing and hunting in the countryside couldn’t stand being shut in; he was nearly going stir-crazy.

On this day, his mother was headed to the Qinglu Temple outside the city to offer incense. Zhang Zihe figured that since he had nothing better to do, he might as well go along to pray to the Buddha and wash away his bad luck.

After the prayers were finished, his mother stayed behind to listen to the Abbot’s sermon. Zhang Zihe had no patience for the old monk’s chanting, so he slipped away to wander the temple grounds and clear his head.

As he strolled, a cry rang out from above. He looked up to see a young gyrfalcon—a Haidongqing.

A gyrfalcon in a place like this?

Zhang Zihe was genuinely stunned. He had only heard stories of these birds and had never seen one in person until a few days ago, when he happened upon a Barbarian merchant who had one. No matter how much gold he offered, the man wouldn’t sell. The next day, he brought men to seize it by force, but the merchant had vanished from the West Market without a trace.

The more he looked at this bird, the more familiar it seemed. It had to be that merchant’s! Truly, one wears out iron shoes seeking something, only to find it by chance. His mother had brought a large contingent of guards for her protection today; as long as he found the merchant, he could definitely demand the bird.

Zhang Zihe sent his young attendant to fetch the guards while he chased after the falcon himself. But no man could match the speed of a gyrfalcon. He lost sight of it after a short chase, realizing he had wandered blindly into an unfamiliar part of the temple. Judging by the surrounding architecture and walls, he was still within the compound.

“I originally thought that once I resigned, His Majesty would promote you to Censor-in-Chief. I even specifically recommended you to him. I never expected he would betroth you to Princess Leping instead. Sigh.”

Hearing the title “Princess Leping,” Zhang Zihe felt a jolt of electricity run through him. He looked around and saw two figures approaching in the distance. He quickly ducked behind a building before being spotted, then peered out to observe them in secret.

The pair consisted of a man and a woman. The man was Jin Yanzhou, the former Censor-in-Chief who had recently resigned. And the woman beside him was none other than Qiao Wan—the former Palace Assistant Censor who had been betrothed to Luo Fengxin and thus severed from her political career forever!