120 You feed me the medicine.

Duan Nanyu turned back, his expression devoid of any displeasure. Seeing Yun Xueyan in such a state, how could he harbor any hostility toward Feng Xilou? As long as she was safe, he would do anything.

He stepped slowly into the room. Gazing at the person cradled in Duan Nanyu’s arms, his heart ached, a pain visible to all, yet he could only look on as the sorrow in his eyes deepened.

"Yan'er, why must you torment yourself so?" Feng Xilou asked softly, a crease of distress etching his brow. "You are making it impossible for anyone to be at peace."

It was not just she who was grieving; Duan Nanyu was, and so was he.

Struggling to open her eyes, Yun Xueyan looked up at Feng Xilou. His gentle features were marred by pain, and the concern in his eyes made her feel guilty.

"I am fine," she replied faintly, closing her eyes once more.

"Still saying you are fine? Who could you possibly deceive in this state? Yan'er, when you torture yourself, you torture us," Feng Xilou shook his head, remaining where he stood, not daring to draw closer, even though he longed to hold her.

She was currently in another man’s arms; there was no room for him to intervene.

Yun Xueyan’s body trembled slightly. As she lay there, she wondered, when had she ever wanted to torment herself? She, too, wished for happiness, but fate never granted her the chance.

Just when she thought she had grasped happiness, it was cruelly snatched away and shattered.

She was powerless to fight back; she could not even find someone to blame. Whom could she fault? Duan Nanyu? Why should she drag another person into the agony she bore?

She blamed only herself—for her lack of ability, her lack of power, her inability to defy fate. She... she lacked the courage.

She heard their pleas, but though she listened, she had no strength to act upon them.

"Yan'er, get well, and I will let you go. I promise, and I will keep my word," he paused, a sharp pain radiating from his chest. "I mean what I say. So, if you want to leave me as soon as possible, then get well quickly."

He yielded—a defeatist, total surrender.

Feng Xilou narrowed his eyes as he looked at Duan Nanyu. This transformation was so drastic it caught him off guard. Was Yun Xueyan truly that important to him?

He had never seen Duan Nanyu act with such humble supplication. On the battlefield, facing thousands of enemy troops, he had never blinked, fighting through blood like a god of war.

As Duan Nanyu had once said, no one could lay a finger on his woman; he would rather see his possessions destroyed than let others have them. Yet, at this moment, that formidable aura was completely gone.

Yun Xueyan remained motionless and silent, lying there with her eyes closed.

Outside, Ziyu walked in carrying a tray. Seeing the two men, she lowered her head and approached cautiously, extending the tray. "Your Highness, the medicine has been freshly brewed."

Taking the bowl, Duan Nanyu supported Yun Xueyan with one arm. He glanced at the person in his arms, then frowned, looking toward Feng Xilou with reluctance. "Xilou, you feed her. This time, you must make her drink it. If she refuses food and medicine, does she even intend to live?"

It was unclear whether he was speaking to Yun Xueyan, to Feng Xilou, or to himself.

Feng Xilou was momentarily stunned, but he stepped forward, took the bowl, and blew on the medicine, spooning it toward Yun Xueyan’s lips. As he watched her open her mouth to drink, his nerves tightened, fearing she would vomit it back up.

Ziyu stood to the side, gripping the tray, watching with bated breath, afraid to even make a sound.