The Princess Smells So Good (GL) - Chapter 13
Wei Zhao took off her outer robe and laid it on a rock. She was already soaked through. After roughly rinsing the mud from her hair, she got to work. But when she got down to her inner clothing, she paused. After a moment of hesitation, she stopped undressing, shivered a few times, and braced herself against the cold wind.
“I… I have a fire striker in my waistband.”
The slave’s voice came, weak and soft.
Wei Zhao turned to look and saw the slave half-lying on a rock, eyes squinting at her. Her face was deathly pale—her normally sun-kissed skin now resembled a withered petal, drained of color and barely hanging on.
Wei Zhao walked over to her and grabbed the collar of the slave’s clothing. Her hand came away damp and smelling of river water. Frowning, she began unfastening the slave’s robes. The slave lowered her head to watch her, lifting a hand to stop Wei Zhao, but Wei Zhao quickly dodged it.
“You… you should light a fire… it’s cold…” the slave said. Her lips trembled—whether from the cold or from her injuries, or maybe both, it was hard to tell.
A sudden surge of nameless frustration flared in Wei Zhao’s chest.
It was like—just like she hadn’t known why she’d grabbed the slave’s collar and fought so hard to drag her out of the river. At that moment, it had felt like something was burning inside her. She hadn’t even known she had that kind of strength left.
Even now, she couldn’t recall exactly how they’d climbed up the riverbank. There was a strange gap in her memory. She only remembered being so incredibly angry. Angry that the slave didn’t care about her own life. Angry that she cared so much about the slave’s life.
“Shut up!”
The slave went silent.
Wei Zhao shot her a glare. Her fingers moved quickly, unbuckling the leather belt, loosening the waist support, and pulling off the fitted long robe. Just as Wei Zhao reached for the slave’s inner shirt, the girl shifted slightly.
“No, it’s fine…” she said.
Wei Zhao looked up and saw a faint blush on the slave’s pale face. She seemed embarrassed, but her injuries kept her from moving much—she only squirmed a little, as if hoping Wei Zhao would stop. Wei Zhao paused, then let out a short, mocking laugh.
“What’s there to be shy about? You’re just a slave. Every inch of you belongs to me. Since I was a child, all kinds of beauties have thrown themselves at me, trying every trick to get my attention. With your looks…”
Wei Zhao suddenly stopped, as if something had crossed her mind. Her grip tightened, and she gave a cold snort. “You think I care?”
As she spoke, she pulled up the slave’s inner shirt to examine the wound on her waist. The bleeding had stopped, and after being washed in the river, the injury revealed raw, pale flesh that looked painful to even glance at. Luckily, it was only a surface wound—no internal organs had been harmed.
Wei Zhao frowned and leaned over to rummage through the belt pouch for medicine.
“You said my name,” the slave suddenly said.
Wei Zhao looked up. The slave smiled faintly. “I heard it.”
“That was your imagination,” Wei Zhao replied flatly. “Any injuries on your back?”
“Yes. Hit a few rocks,” the slave answered honestly.
Wei Zhao placed a hand on her shoulder and flipped her over, lifting the back of her clothing. She had to check if the spine was hurt—if it was, she might have to give up on this useful slave.
The slave’s back was covered in old scars. Wei Zhao had never looked at her this closely before. Her gaze landed on the shoulder blades, where a blue-green phoenix mark was branded—emblem of the Princess Wei Zhao’s household. Wei Zhao tapped it with her finger. The body beneath her twitched slightly, and the slave let out a confused sound.
Snapping back to herself, Wei Zhao moved on, inspecting the bruises and open cuts. She carefully felt along the spine, pressing bit by bit.
“Does it hurt?” Wei Zhao asked.
“No,” the slave replied, then paused. “I heard it. I have very sharp ears.”
“Shut it,” Wei Zhao said, giving her a light smack. “I’m your master. If I say you didn’t hear it, then you didn’t.”
The slave let out a soft grunt of pain and stayed quiet. Wei Zhao felt relieved. The injuries weren’t serious. The slave had exhausted herself protecting Wei Zhao in the water, and that had drained all her strength. Of course, if Wei Zhao hadn’t managed to get them both back to shore, the exhausted slave would’ve died for sure.
Wei Zhao picked up the medicine to apply it, but the slave buried her face in her arms and murmured, “Don’t… don’t waste it… I just need to sleep a bit… the fire…”
Before she could finish, her words faded into soft snoring—the kind that only came from sheer exhaustion.
Wei Zhao sat in silence for a while, then opened the medicine pouch.
The slave woke to warm sunlight at noon. It was early spring, and the sunshine felt pleasant on the skin. She hadn’t slept long. When someone was completely worn out, sleep wasn’t deep—it was more like the body forcing itself to wake, as if any more rest might lead to never waking up again.
She felt warm and comfortable. Looking down, she realized she was wearing an outer robe with nothing underneath. Someone had changed her clothes.
A flicker of panic rose in her.
“You’re awake?” Wei Zhao’s voice sounded.
The slave looked up and saw her sitting nearby, also in just an outer robe. Their inner clothes were spread by the fire to dry.
Her gaze drifted from the clothes to Wei Zhao’s face, then back again. Wei Zhao saw this and immediately understood what the slave was thinking. She snorted.
“What? Think I’m useless or something?”
“No…” the slave replied. Her eyes curved in a small smile, and her voice softened. “Just… unexpected.”
“Hmph.” Wei Zhao raised her chin. “Watching you fumble around, even I learned by watching.”
The slave’s eyes lingered on the smudge of ash on Wei Zhao’s cheek before she let out a quiet laugh. “Yes. You’ve always been clever and quick.”
She turned her head slightly and noticed the bandage around her waist. It was tightly wrapped, but terribly messy—and topped with a crooked bow. It looked silly.
Wei Zhao saw her staring and gave a light cough. “How long before you recover?”
The slave looked up. Her eyesight was excellent, and even at a distance, she could see the redness at the tips of Wei Zhao’s ears. Her lips curved ever so slightly as she said, “I don’t need long. Just tired. If I eat a little and rest, I’ll be fine. It’s the kind of injury that needs care, but it won’t slow me down.”
“…Barbarian,” Wei Zhao muttered.
Even she couldn’t help being shocked by the slave’s recovery. After a moment of quiet, she added, “We gained a bit of time taking the river route, but we lost some too. Who knows how much time we really saved. How far are we from the nearest village?”
“We’re very close. Yesterday during the day, I used the telescope to check. Following the river, it won’t take long.”
Maybe it was the rest, but the slave sounded much more energetic now. She licked her chapped lips, pulled out a water flask and some rations, took a sip, then handed the food to Wei Zhao.
Wei Zhao hesitated, then took it. Her eyes briefly flicked to the slave’s cracked lips, and she felt a little guilty as she began to eat.
“If they haven’t found us yet, it means their numbers are limited,” the slave said after drinking, her voice stronger now.
Wei Zhao nodded. That was her thought too. They were understaffed and unfamiliar with the terrain—if she and the slave blended into the local crowd, they’d be safe.
“But we’ll only truly be safe once we reach the prefecture. I have the token to command the local garrison, but in small villages, it’s just civilian laborers. No real defense. If we’re attacked, they’ll just be cannon fodder.”
“Wise as always, my lady,” the slave said.
Wei Zhao didn’t reply. She was waiting for the slave to continue—to offer suggestions or ideas. But after a long awkward silence, the slave just stared at her.
Wei Zhao felt the same tight, suffocating pressure from when they first entered the forest.
She took a deep breath. This was her slave. Yelling or hitting her wouldn’t help. She composed herself and asked in a tone befitting a princess, “What are your thoughts?”
The slave lifted her head. It was like she’d been daydreaming, and Wei Zhao’s words snapped her out of it. Her expression looked dazed. After a pause, she finally said:
“My lady… why don’t you call me by my name anymore?”
Name, name, always the name. Is your name made of gold or something?!
Just because you said it once, the dignified Princess of Great Zhou is supposed to keep saying it?