Zhao Qingyu, the Unfavored Princess

Song Palace.

In a secluded hall.

"Hiss—"

"It hurts!"

"Binghong, be gentler."

Zhao Qingyu lay facedown on the bed, her face twisted in pain as Binghong held a jar of ointment and applied medicine to her bottom.

Hearing her cry out, Binghong wiped away tears as well.

"Your Highness, please stop crying out. It does hurt a little, but once the medicine is applied, it will heal faster. When you cry out like this, I want to cry too."

"Why are you crying?"

Zhao Qingyu braced herself and tried to rise.

But she tugged at the injury on her bottom again, cried out in pain, and collapsed back down.

"Hiss! Damn it, they were far too heavy-handed."

"Wasn't it just sneaking out... I got back before the palace gate was locked!"

Zhao Qingyu muttered.

Binghong shed a few tears and said softly, "Who told us not to matter in anyone's eyes?"

"Your Highness, I'm applying the medicine again."

"Hiss—"

Zhao Qingyu clenched the bedsheet tightly.

After applying the medicine, Binghong carefully bandaged Zhao Qingyu again. Only after confirming everything was in order did she rise and sit on the other side of the bed.

Zhao Qingyu let out a breath, looked at Binghong, and asked, "Yesterday, when you gave those candied hawthorns to that Young Lady, did she really say that? That I should wait for her?"

"Yes."

Binghong nodded.

"Her expression was resolute, as if... she could see right through me!"

Zhao Qingyu frowned, finding it even stranger.

"From what you said, could she have learned my identity?"

"That can't be, can it?"

"You only met her once."

Binghong frowned upon hearing this.

Zhao Qingyu knitted her brows and said, "Then why did she ask you to bring me those words?"

Binghong shook her head.

"...Forget it!"

"Let's not