Queen O's Timid Fugitive A - Chapter 49

49

As Jiang Ciqing stepped into the room and took in the scene before her, she inexplicably let out a sigh of relief.

Perhaps it wasn’t entirely appropriate to feel this way. After all, the person before her was still sprawled across the bedding, lying in an uncomfortable position with their head tilted to the side. The fever caused by an infected wound had left a flush across their face, fine beads of sweat dotted their forehead, and their eyes were tightly shut, exuding a sense of vulnerable disarray.

Having been deceived once before, Jiang Ciqing was now more cautious. She stood just out of arm’s reach from the bed, waiting for a moment to confirm that Xu Fusheng lacked the patience to feign unconsciousness for so long. Only then did she fully relax.

The servants had been thoughtful, preparing a basin of warm water and a towel in the room, as if they were expecting Jiang Ciqing to tend to the patient.

Jiang Ciqing dipped her hand into the iron basin, finding the water at a perfectly warm temperature.

A soft splash followed as she wrung out a soaked towel and gently wiped away the sticky sweat from Xu Fusheng’s skin. The head of the Jiang family, accustomed to being served, cared for the other with surprising tenderness and attentiveness.

At the very least, her gentle touch seemed to ease Xu Fusheng’s furrowed brows, as if they found some comfort in their feverish slumber.

Since the fever had subsided, Jiang Ciqing knew better than to keep wiping with warm water. The spring chill, carried by the rain, often seeped through the cracks in the room. Someone as frail as Xu Fusheng couldn’t withstand such cold; a fever tonight could easily turn into a chill by tomorrow.

With nothing else to do, Jiang Ciqing sat back down on the wooden chair. Her gaze swept the room, illuminated by a single warm yellow lamp struggling to light the space. Unlike the ostentatious luxury of typical noble households, Xu Fusheng had always preferred smaller, simpler rooms. The furnishings were minimal yet elegant, designed to allow a clear view of the entire space at a glance.

Jiang Ciqing had once asked about this preference.

Xu Fusheng had answered candidly: “This way, there’s nowhere for anyone to hide.”

The implication was clear—such a layout prevented assassins from finding a place to lurk.

At this moment, however, it also thwarted Jiang Ciqing’s attempt to distract herself.

Memories she thought had been buried by time were stirred up so easily, as vivid as ever. They were like thorny vines sprouting anew, their branches stretching and entwining relentlessly.

She tried to shift her thoughts, even grumbling to herself about how Xu Fusheng had insisted she come, only to fall into a deep sleep. She hoped this would suppress the waves rising in her heart.

But it wasn’t that simple. If she hadn’t willingly come, how could someone bedridden and uncertain of recovery ever force her hand? The bitter, corrosive tide of emotions surged like a rising sea, engulfing her.

In truth, Xu Fusheng hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was Jiang Ciqing who had approached with ulterior motives, using every means to achieve her goals. Whatever price she paid was only fair, considering she had already obtained what she sought. She had no right to be sentimental now.

Perhaps it was the repeated turmoil that had caused issues with her glands, leaving her in this state. Jiang Ciqing blamed it on the mark.

Yet, it didn’t make her feel any better.

The faint rustle of her rain-dampened white robe broke the silence. The strictly disciplined young head of the Jiang family bent down toward the person on the bed. Her posture caused the collar of her robe to loosen, revealing a faint bruise on her slender neck, like a delicate stroke of ink on rice paper.

The one who should have felt lighter instead felt a heavy discomfort, as if the collar hidden beneath the bed had once again fastened around her neck, binding her tightly.

Flashes of past memories surfaced—someone pretending to be deferential, bowing their head while secretly glancing at her neck. The brass bell on the collar jangled with every step she took.

Jiang Ciqing had once thought she didn’t care, that she could wear it openly and walk through courtyards and streets without shame. But looking back, she realized she had memorized every mocking, disdainful glance.

The spirited youth who once dreamed of riding horses and wielding swords across the three kingdoms had, at sixteen, had her horse taken, her blade broken, and her spirit crushed under Xu Fusheng’s influence.

Her heat cycle had long passed, so Jiang Ciqing could no longer cry recklessly as she once might have. She pressed her lips tightly together, her gaze fixed on the person in the bed.

Even now, she couldn’t discern what Xu Fusheng saw her as.

The only Alpha who had earned her complete trust, only to betray it?

Or a runaway puppy, punished and dragged back by its master?

Her past struggles had cost her her mother. From then on, Jiang Ciqing buried everything deep in her heart. The heir to a top-tier noble family, yet her bones were etched with cowardice. If Xu Fusheng hadn’t sought her out time and again, she would never have dared to harbor ill intentions or climb over walls to sneak in.

She never dared ask aloud. If Xu Fusheng didn’t speak, she pretended not to care. In secret, she pieced together clues, forming a complete picture. If she hadn’t confirmed that Xu Fusheng was truly on her side, she would never have reached out in that stream. If she hadn’t known Xu Fusheng remembered the past and shared her purpose, she would never have dared to cry so openly in front of her.

Xu Fusheng had said tomorrow night was far off, so Jiang Ciqing waited. But instead, Xu Fusheng returned injured, carried back. Jiang Ciqing, already suspecting the mastermind behind it all, understood her but also resented her for not sharing a single word, even staging that scene in broad daylight.

Perhaps it was the chaos of pheromones or the resurfacing of old memories, but a jumble of emotions pressed heavily upon her.

Jiang Ciqing blinked, trying to regain her usual cool and distant demeanor.

What kind of calming medicine had this doctor brewed? Xu Fusheng was lying in such an uncomfortable position yet sleeping so deeply. Her moist lips were slightly parted, and gauze wrapped around her rounded shoulder.

Jiang Ciqing averted her eyes, only to notice the red cord tied around Xu Fusheng’s wrist. What a brazen move—snatching it from her hand in the daylight and now wearing it openly, as if afraid Jiang Ciqing wouldn’t see it, even leaving it dangling outside the blanket.

She vaguely understood Xu Fusheng’s feelings. Though she knew the red cord was merely a casual gift from a child, with no special meaning, it still irritated her. After all, the cord carried a significant connotation, and it wasn’t something she had sought out to give to Xu Fusheng herself. Naturally, it left her feeling uneasy.

Staring at it for a long while, she finally decided to secretly remove it.

The cord was tied in a simple slipknot, loose enough that Xu Fusheng had easily taken it. Jiang Ciqing lowered her head, carefully tugging at the knot, gently pulling it apart until the cord loosened around the wrist. She slowly slid it off.

The room was silent, undisturbed by any tactless intruders. The fine rain outside fell like layers of mist, shrouding the world in a haze.

Afraid of waking Xu Fusheng, Jiang Ciqing moved with utmost care, like a thief, inching the cord off bit by bit. As she passed the widest part of the hand, she let out a breath of relief and was about to continue when a voice spoke softly.

“Does A’Ci really cherish this cord so much?”

Startled, the guilty Jiang Ciqing flinched and whipped her head to the side.

Xu Fusheng had opened her eyes, her beautiful peach-blossom eyes glinting with a teasing, half-smiling look. Who knew how long she had been watching?

Jiang Ciqing, easily frightened—as evidenced by earlier events—felt her heart race. She glanced nervously toward the door, as if the words “caught in the act” were written across her face.

Even now, her widened pupils made her dark eyes appear dazed, like a startled cat.

Xu Fusheng gently pulled her hand back, and the red cord slid back into place, rendering Jiang Ciqing’s careful efforts futile.

“You… when did you wake up?” Jiang Ciqing nearly bit her tongue, stammering in a mix of panic and embarrassment.

“Is A’Ci upset that I woke up too soon?” Xu Fusheng’s tone was casual, laced with her usual playful, winding cadence, like the most alluring and charming performer in a theater.

“N-no, that’s not it,” Jiang Ciqing, realizing Xu Fusheng was upset, quickly retracted her hand. Steadying herself, she explained, “It was a gift from someone else.”

“Oh~” Xu Fusheng drew out the sound, her narrow peach-blossom eyes half-squinting. Far from being appeased, her displeasure seemed to grow.

Jiang Ciqing’s mind finally caught up, and she hurriedly added, “From a five- or six-year-old child.”

Xu Fusheng’s expression softened slightly, and she let out a light tsk. “A’Ci is quite popular with children, isn’t she?” she said meaningfully.

How many others had given her red cords or flowers that she hadn’t seen?

Without waiting for an explanation, Xu Fusheng continued with a teasing smile, “So, what was the return gift for this little friend? A jade pendant you wear close to your heart, or a peace lock you crafted yourself?”

Her pettiness was unmatched, always keeping score and tossing out pointed remarks to catch people off guard.

Jiang Ciqing couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. The exchange dispelled her earlier gloom, and she said, “Just a few red envelopes.”

Mentioning red envelopes reminded her of winter. Xu Fusheng paused, guiltily sidestepping the topic, and asked, “And mine?”

What an audacious person, demanding a return gift before even giving one.

Perhaps because she had just been lost in old memories, her mind was filled with unusual thoughts. Jiang Ciqing’s gaze flickered, her voice tinged with the darkness of the night outside, low and husky. “Are you sure you want it?”

Xu Fusheng raised an eyebrow, her meaning clear.

Jiang Ciqing’s lips twitched into a faint smile. Her dark eyes were like a still pool, devoid of ripples, and her tone was serious, not joking. “I’d rather craft a pair of shackles for the master myself.”

Xu Fusheng caught the long-absent title and noticed the melancholy in Jiang Ciqing’s voice. Her brows furrowed slightly, but not knowing what had happened, she couldn’t ask.

The atmosphere grew heavy. In the distance, the sound of wind rattling a wooden door echoed, loud and grating. Someone must have forgotten to secure it.

“Go wash up,” Xu Fusheng said, her voice light, neither agreeing nor refusing.

“Huh?” Jiang Ciqing was momentarily stunned.

Xu Fusheng repeated, “Go wash up, then come back to bed.”

“Oh, oh, okay,” Jiang Ciqing replied, as if the one who had just made bold threats wasn’t her. She retreated into her obedient shell, dutifully following instructions.

It wasn’t their first time in such a situation. When Jiang Ciqing had taken a wound for her, it was also on the back, though their roles were reversed now. She wasn’t entirely lost, even somewhat practiced. After washing up herself, Jiang Ciqing brought fresh water and gently cleaned Xu Fusheng before climbing into bed.

The warm lamp remained lit, left on in case something happened during the night.

Having lain face-down all day, Xu Fusheng was understandably uncomfortable, no matter how soft the bedding. Jiang Ciqing lay flat beside her, then helped Xu Fusheng shift slightly to lean against her. Xu Fusheng let out a relieved breath—still not ideal, but much better.

Jiang Ciqing’s face remained tense, mindful of Xu Fusheng’s wound from the start. Only now did she relax, quietly asking, “Does it hurt?”

Xu Fusheng, half-draped across her, didn’t respond, rolling her eyes unceremoniously. Did it hurt? Obviously.

The awkward girl fell silent, gently wrapping her arms around Xu Fusheng’s waist to make her more comfortable.

Xu Fusheng, ever one to indulge, shifted closer, heedless of Jiang Ciqing’s comfort. Thanks to her high-grade Omega physiology, the wound had stopped bleeding after a bandage change that afternoon. Now, it felt like a thousand ants crawling over it—likely a sign of healing.

“Speak,” Xu Fusheng said, nestled in Jiang Ciqing’s arms. Her tone was languid, like a cat comfortably sprawled, giving a soft meow to its servant.

“Hm?” Jiang Ciqing, lying stiffly beside her, was puzzled, having already moved past earlier events.

Xu Fusheng had to prompt her, finding it amusing in hindsight. “The shackles,” she said with interest. “Did the great Lady Jiang forget her bold words so quickly?”

Jiang Ciqing’s slender frame froze, belatedly realizing the dangerous thing she’d said. Overwhelmed by emotion earlier, she’d spoken without thinking. Now, she felt a twinge of shame.

Did she want to bind Xu Fusheng to her side?

Jiang Ciqing unconsciously licked her lips, seriously considering what kind of steel to use, her heart stirring with the idea.

Xu Fusheng, both amused and exasperated, could see the impure thoughts written all over her face.

Due to her injury, the Omega hadn’t applied a suppression patch to her nape, allowing the rich scent of agave to waft out, subtly enticing the Alpha to keep thinking.

She was an Omega, after all—the chains couldn’t be too crude. Mithril was strong and beautiful, with no flaws except the time it took to craft…

Jiang Ciqing grew more absorbed in her thoughts until a sharp pain at her shoulder snapped her back. She hissed softly.

Looking over, she saw the ignored Omega had bitten down, leaving a clear, unmerciful tooth mark that quickly turned purple.

“It hurts,” Jiang Ciqing pleaded, knowing Xu Fusheng’s pettiness. If she didn’t speak up, the Omega might bite until she drew bl00d.

Only then did Xu Fusheng release her, still asserting dominance despite her vulnerable state. Her peach-blossom eyes sparkled with amusement. “Is Lady Jiang quite taken with the idea?”

No matter how taken, Jiang Ciqing didn’t dare admit it.

She gave a sheepish laugh, feigning denial. “No, no, I wouldn’t dare.”

Xu Fusheng tsked twice, neither agreeing nor refusing, and gave her a sidelong glance. “So, what’s got you so wronged?”

Panic flashed in Jiang Ciqing’s eyes. How was it that emotions she usually hid so well were so transparent to Xu Fusheng?

The Omega, seeing her thoughts, didn’t beat around the bush. “Silly dog,” she said bluntly.

“Your eyes are red.”

Jiang Ciqing cried easily but rarely showed it, often letting her eyes redden in secret before blinking away the tears. Xu Fusheng had noticed when she first woke, but Jiang Ciqing had been too busy sneaking the red cord to care about her tears then.

“Speak,” Xu Fusheng said, her tone firm and commanding as ever, like a mother hen protecting her chick, her sternness masking concern.

Jiang Ciqing hesitated.

How could she explain?

What Alpha was so petty as to keep a mental ledger of past grievances, feeling wronged without provocation, flipping through her little book of complaints?

Jiang Ciqing felt embarrassed, pressing her lips together to feign ignorance. But she forgot the Omega had ways to handle her. A flash of white teeth, a shrink of the Alpha’s neck, and she was instantly compliant.

“Someone called me Eleven just now,” Jiang Ciqing mumbled, her voice barely audible, feeling she was being overly sensitive.

The room fell silent, filled only with the soft sound of their warm breaths mingling. Jiang Ciqing, uncomfortable, turned her head away.

“I was wrong. I forgot to tell them to stop,” Xu Fusheng said softly, her voice gentle. She reached for Jiang Ciqing’s clenched fist, prying open the curled fingers and interlocking their hands.

“I… it’s not… it’s not your fault,” Jiang Ciqing stammered, unsure how to respond. It felt like ever since that day, Xu Fusheng had learned to apologize first, leaving her at a loss. She felt it was her own issue, not Xu Fusheng’s.

The cool warmth of Xu Fusheng’s palm held her tightly, preventing escape.

“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who can’t let go,” Jiang Ciqing said, steadying her voice.

“I’m the one clinging to the past.”

A light kiss silenced her self-deprecating explanations.

The night rain stretched on, unending. The crescent moon, hidden for days, peeked through the thinning clouds, gazing down. The scents of agave and bamboo intertwined, sticky and cloying.

Jiang Ciqing felt like crying again. Compared to Xu Fusheng, she was the sensitive, helpless Omega. Her lips were parted, bamboo honey drawn out, her warm, wet space claimed.

The deepening night seeped into the room, pressing against the dim yellow light, obscuring the scene. In the half-lit space, only the soft, broken sounds of kisses echoed, clearer and more captivating than the rain.

Someone whispered, “Shall we?”

A rustle of fabric followed, and the noisy door that had rattled all night finally stilled. The guards outside, changing shifts, exchanged a few words before stepping away through the rain.

Xu Fusheng leaned against Jiang Ciqing, feeling her racing heartbeat, like a child caught doing something naughty.