Chapter 58 -

Chapter 58: Chapter

Zhengyu slapped her hands away from his waist, his face burning with a mix of fury and deep embarrassment. "I said, stop!"

Yimei didn’t flinch or step back. Instead, her playful smile completely vanished. Her face turned icy and dead serious, catching him off guard. She grabbed both of his wrists in one firm grip, pinning them against his chest.

"Listen to me, Zhengyu," she said, her voice dropping into a sharp whisper. "You are covered in freezing mud and wet snow from throwing yourself into the yard like an idiot. If you catch a fever tonight, the doctor won’t treat your legs. If your legs don’t heal, our lie falls apart and we both get licked out. Is your pride worth more than your legs?"

Zhengyu glared at her, his jaw tight. He wanted to shove her away, but he knew she was right. Letting out a sharp, bitter breath, he stopped fighting her. He dropped his hands into his lap and turned his face toward the wall.

"Fine," he growled, refusing to look at her. "Just hurry up."

Yimei let go of his hands. Quickly and carefully, she untied his wet sash and pulled the dirty, damp cotton robe off his shoulders. She slid the fabric down his arms, leaving his chest bare to the cool room air.

Despite his weak legs, Zhengyu’s upper body was strong and broad from years of training, covered with a few pale sword scars across his ribs.

He sat frozen like a statue, staring hard at the wooden wall. But no matter how hard he tried to look tough and unbothered, a bright red blush rushed up his neck, turning the tips of his ears bright crimson.

Yimei dipped the cloth into the warm water, squeezed it out, and pressed it against his collarbone. She gently wiped away the streaks of dirt and sweat.

Zhengyu’s breath hitched as her cool fingers accidentally brushed against his warm skin. His fists clenched tight on his lap, but he forced himself not to pull away.

Yimei noticed his bright red ears right away. A tiny, amused spark flashed in her eyes, but she acted like she didn’t see a thing. She kept wiping the warm cloth across his chest and shoulders.

"You’re too stiff," Yimei said softly, rinsing the cloth in the water. "Relax. I’m just cleaning off dirt, not hurting you."

"Just finish and shut up," Zhengyu muttered, his voice tight.

Yimei laughed quietly under her breath, pressing the cloth against his back to clean off the mud that had soaked through his clothes. She rested one hand on his back to hold him steady, feeling how tense his body was.

She leaned in a little closer, her warm breath hitting his red ear. "If anyone saw you right now, blushing like a young girl over a wet cloth, your tough image would be ruined forever."

Zhengyu snapped his head around, his dark eyes glaring at her with total fury. "Yimei—"

"Quiet," she interrupted smoothly. She set the cloth down, picked up the clean gray robe she had folded earlier, and draped it over his shoulders. "All done. See? You didn’t die."

Zhengyu quickly pulled the dry robe over his chest, tying the sash himself with fast, annoyed movements. His heart was pounding, though he would never admit it was from anything other than pure anger.

Yimei picked up the water bowl and walked toward the door. She stopped at the curtain, looking back over her shoulder with a sharp smile.

"Get some sleep, husband," she whispered. "We have to do this again tomorrow."

The next morning, the cool mountain air carried the sharp scent of pine and burning wood into the cottage. Yimei woke up early, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before heading straight to the kitchen to help Madame Zhang with breakfast.

By the time she stepped out into the hallway, Grandmaster Zhang was already inside Zhengyu’s room, carefully inspecting his legs and pressing silver needles into his pressure points.

In the kitchen, a pot of thick rice porridge simmered on the hearth while Yimei stood by the stove, fanning the small fire beneath a clay pot to brew Zhengyu’s morning decoction.

"You are a dutiful wife, child," Madame Zhang said warmly, stirring the porridge with a wooden spoon. "Not many young women would carry such a heavy burden without complaining."

"He is my husband, Madame," Yimei replied smoothly, putting on her sweetest, most devoted smile. "I only want him to get better."

A few moments later, heavy footsteps echoed down the wooden hall. Grandmaster Zhang wiped his hands on a clean cloth as he walked into the kitchen, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He looked over at Yimei, his sharp eyes unreadable.

"Girl," the old doctor said gruffly. "Leave the fire for a moment. Come outside. I need a word with you in private."

Yimei’s heart gave a subtle, cautious thud, but her face remained completely calm. She wiped her hands on her apron and followed the old man out onto the quiet back porch, away from Madame Zhang’s ears.

The morning air was crisp and biting. Grandmaster Zhang leaned against the wooden railing, stroking his gray beard as he stared out at the snow-covered trees.

"I examined your husband’s lower back and knees just now," the doctor began, his tone strictly professional and serious. "The blockage in his blood channels is strange. It is severe, but not entirely broken. I need to understand the true depth of his paralysis so I know how to adjust the needles."

Yimei tilted her head, acting attentive. "What do you mean, Grandmaster?"

Grandmaster Zhang turned to look her straight in the eye, dropping his voice to a low whisper. "A man with damaged legs... the paralysis can affect more than just his ability to walk. The nerves that control his lower body, his sensation, and his manhood can be affected depending on how severe the injury is."

Yimei froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

"Some men with dead legs can still function normally," Grandmaster Zhang continued, completely unbothered by the delicate subject. "Some can manage, but struggle to hold it. Others lose all sensation and function entirely. A man being unable to walk does not automatically mean he is completely dead down there. To treat the root of his blood stagnation, I need to know the truth. Tell me... how is his physical function when you two are together in bed? Is everything working down there?"

Total silence fell over the porch.

Yimei stood completely still, her mind racing at lightning speed. Her calm, calculating composure nearly shattered on the spot.

In bed?!

They were completely faking their love. They had never touched, let alone slept together. Zhengyu was a prideful, icy man who could barely stand her presence, and she was using him to get her revenge. How on earth was she supposed to know if his private parts functioned properly?

If she said yes, the old doctor might notice a flaw in his medical diagnosis. If she said no, she might ruin the medical treatmentor worse, insult Zhengyu’s manhood in a way that would make him explode if he ever found out.

Yimei opened her mouth, her mind frantically spinning a believable lie that would satisfy the sharp-eyed doctor without blowing their cover.

"Grandmaster—" she began, lowering her eyes to pretend to be a shy, embarrassed wife.

Before she could finish her sentence, the heavy wooden gate at the front of the courtyard creaked open.

"Grandmaster Zhang!" a loud voice called out from the yard. One of the village elders was walking up the stone path, holding a bundle of dried herbs in his hands. "Sorry to bother you so early, but my grandson has a terrible cough!"

Grandmaster Zhang let out an annoyed grunt, waving his hand dismissively at Yimei.

"Tsk. We will finish this talk later," the doctor grunted, turning back toward the kitchen door. "Go check on the fire, get that decoction off the stove, and go feed your husband his medicine."

Yimei let out a long, silent breath of relief as the doctor walked away to greet the visitor. She stood on the cold porch for a moment, pressing a hand to her chest as her mind spun with a dangerous, chaotic thought.

She had to go back into that room, face Zhengyu, and feed him his bitter medicine, all while carrying the most awkward, humiliating question she could ever possibly ask him.