Daily Life with Zhu Zhuqing
Three days. For Zhu Zhuqing, three days in the quiet, sun-dappled world by the lakeside were a lifetime removed from the relentless fear and cold duty that had defined her existence. The fever that had gripped her after the trauma of the chase had broken, leaving her weak but lucid. She awoke to the unfamiliar sensation of clean sheets, the smell of medicinal herbs, and the profound silence of a place untouched by human scheming.
Her first conscious sight was of a wooden ceiling, rough-hewn but solid. Sunlight streamed through a window, painting a bright rectangle on the floor. Memories flooded back—the chase, the terrifying shadows, the snapping sounds, and then... him. The shirtless young man with the easy grin standing amid the bodies of her pursuers. A shiver that had nothing to do with fever went through her.
The door creaked open, and the blinding light of afternoon silhouetted a figure. She shielded her eyes, her heart leaping into her throat. As the door closed, her vision adjusted, and she saw him clearly.
He was tall, nearly 1.8 meters, with the solid, balanced build of a warrior. But his face was youthful, handsome in a way that was both sharp and gentle. He was dressed in simple, clean robes of black and gold now, a far cry from the savage figure in the forest. He carried a wooden bowl that steamed gently.
"You're awake," he said, his voice warm and laced with a quiet relief that felt genuine. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the bowl on a small stool. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight. "How are you feeling? Is the pain manageable?"
Zhu Zhuqing studied him with large, dark eyes that held a lifetime of cautious observation. His presence was overwhelming, not just because he had saved her, but because of the sheer, unsettling normality he projected in this strange place.
"Did you save me?" she asked, her voice hoarse from disuse. It came out colder than she intended, a default defense mechanism.
Chu Tianxiu's smile widened a fraction. "Do you see anyone else here?" he replied, a playful note in his tone as he gestured around the simple, single-room lodge.
She swallowed, her pride warring with profound gratitude. "Um. Thank you. Thank you very much."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Don't mention it." Then his expression grew curious, his head tilting. "But, if you don't mind me asking... why were those men chasing you? They didn't seem like ordinary bandits."
Zhu Zhuqing's face closed off immediately. A familiar, icy mask slid into place, and she looked away, out the window to the serene lake. A silent struggle played out on her features—the instinct to guard her painful past against the undeniable kindness of this stranger.
Seeing her retreat, Chu Tianxiu didn't press. His voice softened. "Alright, if you don't want to talk about it, then don't. Everyone has their own secrets to carry."
Something in his tone, the lack of demand or pity, made the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. She nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible motion. She tried to sit up, to assert some independence, but a wave of dizziness and sharp pain from her injuries made her sway dangerously.
Just as she was about to topple, a strong, warm arm shot out and caught her, pulling her back against a firm, supportive chest. The sudden closeness was a shock. She could feel the solid muscle of his torso, smell the clean scent of sun and pine that clung to him. Even with her normally aloof demeanor, a hot blush crept up her neck to her cheeks. She was painfully aware of how she must look—weak, helpless, and now flustered.
Chu Tianxiu gently laid her back against the pillows and carefully tucked the blanket around her. "You need to rest," he said, his voice firm but kind. "Your body has been through an ordeal. Don't try to be strong just yet." He met her gaze, his own eyes serious. "You're safe here. As long as I'm around, no one can hurt you."
The words were simple, but they landed with the weight of a vow. Zhu Zhuqing had never heard such a promise before. Not from her family, who saw her as a political tool. Not from her absent, cowardly fiancé. This feeling—of being protected, of having her safety be someone's priority—was utterly foreign and disarming.
Mustering her courage, she whispered, "I... my name is Zhu Zhuqing. What's yours?"
His smile returned, warmer now. He reached out and, to her astonishment, gently patted her head, as if soothing a skittish cat. The gesture was so unexpectedly familiar it stole her breath.
"My name is Chu Tianxiu," he said. "It's nice to meet you, Zhu Zhuqing."
In that moment, with his hand on her head and his name in the air between them, something fragile and new took root in the cold soil of her heart.
The days that followed settled into a quiet, healing rhythm. Chu Tianxiu proved to be a surprisingly attentive caretaker. He changed her bandages with clinical efficiency but gentle hands, applied salves made from forest herbs that cooled the fiery pain of the claw marks, and brought her simple, nourishing food.
Her favorite, she discovered on the second day, was fish. He had caught them from the lake, grilled them over an open fire outside the lodge. The skin was crisp and golden, the flesh inside flaky and white. He had carried her outside, wrapped in a blanket, to eat by the water's edge.
"You haven't eaten properly in days," he said, holding a skewer of fish to her lips. "You must be starving."
She was. She took a small, hesitant bite. The flavor exploded on her tongue—simple, smoky, perfectly salted. It was, without exaggeration, the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. An involuntary sound of pleasure escaped her, and her eyes widened in embarrassment.
Chu Tianxiu chuckled, a rich, warm sound. "Good?" he asked, his eyes crinkling.
She could only nod, quickly taking another bite to hide her expression. As she ate, nestled carefully in the circle of his arms with her back against his chest, she listened to the lap of the lake water and felt the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. This feeling of being cared for, of being fed with such simple attention, was a kind of nourishment her soul had been starving for. She had survived on duty and cold ambition for so long. This was different. This was warmth.
One evening, as the sky turned to deep indigo and the first stars appeared, an awkward reality presented itself. The lodge had only one bed.
Chu Tianxiu, ever practical, nodded toward the floor. "You take the bed. I'll manage down here."
But a voice, small but firm, came from the bed in the darkness. "The bed is big enough. We can share."
Chu Tianxiu turned, able to make out her silhouette in the moonlight. He could almost feel the heat of her blush from across the room. After a moment's pause, a soft chuckle escaped him. In a flash, he had slipped off his outer robe and slid under the covers beside her, careful to keep a respectful distance.
The darkness was intimate, filled with the sound of their breathing and the distant call of a night bird.
"Goodnight," her voice came, barely a whisper from the other side of the bed.
Chu Tianxiu smiled into the darkness, a genuine, unguarded expression no one else ever saw. "Goodnight, Zhuqing."
And in that shared space, with a foot of carefully maintained distance between them, the lonely "little kitten" finally felt the first true sense of peace she had ever known.