The next morning Feng Xinzi sat by Ruoshui’s bed and, uncharacteristically sober, said, “We should leave. I can’t cure this. There’s nothing I can do.”

　　“Is the prince still not improving?” Ruoshui asked.

　　“He has…” Feng Xinzi left the rest unsaid. He did not notice that Ruoshui’s question was strange; she had watched Tang Di die the night before. Was it only a dream? Ruoshui felt deflated.

　　Feng Xinzi saw the cut at her wrist and asked anxiously, “What happened to your hand?”

　　“An accident,” Ruoshui lied, pulling at her sleeve to hide it.

　　“Be careful.” Feng Xinzi wrapped the wound with gauze. Seeing him fuss and worry, Ruoshui realized her feelings. “Feng Xinzi,” she called softly.

　　“Hm?” he didn’t look up, still binding.

　　“I… I was married.”

　　Feng Xinzi’s hand paused. “What did you say?”

　　“I was married. The man who saved me had a fiancée. I was tricked — the wine I gave him was drugged. Everyone thought I was the one who drugged him. For reasons I don’t know, he had to marry me, and then he abandoned me.” The old hurt resurfaced. “I was his lawful wife, so you…”

　　Feng Xinzi finished the dressing, stood, and walked away without looking back. He could not accept it: she was married, so what was he? The days they’d spent together meant nothing now. Abandonment, betrayed trust, and the despair of loving someone who would not return love — all hit him. He needed to be alone and think. That momentary, immature turning away changed everything.

　　Suddenly servants shouted, “The prince is awake! The prince is awake!”

　　It was a miracle — or an impossible rumor. People who had seen Tang Di die were stunned to hear he lived. Everyone rushed to the prince’s chamber.

　　Tang Di had indeed awakened. For Yu Lan, it was sheer joy. Servants and staff clustered outside his door, for Tang Di’s return meant hope for the Yunan household and perhaps for the city. Tang Di himself could not explain why he revived. Near death he had felt the underworld’s grip and then — he tasted blood. He asked, “What did you give me?”

　　Yu Lan shook her head. “I gave you nothing. I only stayed with you.”

　　Tang Di noticed dried blood on the tip of Yu Lan’s hairpin. Yu Lan touched her hair in confusion. “It’s my hairpin — how could that be…”

　　“Were you the only one here last night?” Tang Di asked.

　　Yu Lan nodded. She did not seem to be lying, but someone had been in the room and had given him something. Find that person and perhaps the city would have a cure. Tang Di felt a stir of hope. Then Ruoshui arrived, late, and he noticed the gauze on her wrist. He seemed to remember — the shadowy attendants of death, the taste of blood. He looked across at Ruoshui. She didn’t stay, only glanced and left. The brief meeting suggested an answer: the blood had been hers; she had fed it to him. If there were a medicine, the city might be saved — but by one person’s blood alone? If people learned her blood was curative, greed and danger would follow. He dared not think further.

　　News of Tang Di’s revival spread through the Sleepless City. Physicians flocked to the mansion, hoping to find a method to combat the plague. Tang Di, however, refused to see anyone; he laughed it off as an ordinary illness cured by rest. Few believed him. Amid the frenzy, Ruoshui slipped out the back door.

　　Outside, she saw the true depth of the city’s suffering. The imperial hospital could not hold all the sick. Streets were littered with bodies — some motionless, some barely alive, some struggling, some homeless, some unable to return home. Hearing reports and seeing it were separate experiences; now the horror was close enough to touch. Ruoshui felt an overwhelming ache, a choking sorrow.

　　She walked past street after street until sunset and reached the moat. There the air was still; a breeze lifted her hair like a gentle hand. She closed her eyes and breathed. As night fell she chose a spot, sat down, unwound the gauze from her wrist, drew her dagger, clenched her fist, and sliced. Blood ran in streams. She submerged her wrist in the moat, watching the crimson spread and be swallowed by the water like ink into the sea.

　　After a while her face grew pale; sweat dampened her hair. In the cold night she trembled and finally lost the strength to keep her eyes open. She collapsed, the sleeve floating on the water as she slipped into sleep.