"Princess Consort, what's wrong?"
A cry rang out inside the room, and the two maidservants who rushed in at the sound asked after her repeatedly.
Shao Liu'er, who had jolted upright on the bed, was panting heavily, still shaken to the core, her head drenched in cold sweat.
She had attended Hao Zhen day and night beside his sickbed for several days. Only after the accompanying cultivators had confirmed beyond all doubt that Hao Zhen was out of danger did she finally relax. Unable to hold on any longer, she had finally lain down to rest.
Yet the nightmare had come again—the nightmare of being submerged in the river inside a pig cage, one that had not appeared for a long time. This time, it had brought new scenes with it, jolting her awake. Even after waking, she could not regain her senses for a long while.
That scholar had asked her. They had agreed on three years—why had she not waited for him?
She had desperately tried to explain, saying that she had thought he was dead and the like.
But the scholar had kept asking why she had not waited for him. In the end, he had even drawn silver needles from his sleeve and stabbed them toward Hao Zhen, then toward her son.
What one thought of by day, one dreamed of by night. The reason she could have such a dream was because she had sensed something.
Whether Wu Xin admitted it or not, two people who had once truly loved each other simply could not have too much contact. Otherwise, they would not be able to hide it from one another.
During her stay at the residence of the Ghost Doctor's disciple, she had suddenly understood. It was not that he merely looked alike—the scholar