MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 235: Only time would tell

Chapter 235: Only time would tell

One week had passed since the final battle.

The palace still bore its scars—crumbled towers, shattered glass mosaics, walls scorched by fire and streaked with blood. But the wind now carried the sound of hammers and chisels instead of screams. The scent of death, while not gone, was slowly being replaced with sawdust, new mortar, and the fragrant smoke of temple incense.

The empire was rebuilding.

Soldiers patrolled the palace gates, their red-and-gold armor gleaming in the early spring sun. Artisans repaired broken archways, while scribes hurried across courtyards with scrolls and rebuilding plans. Even the gardens, torn apart by the chaos, had begun to sprout green again—tiny leaves pushing through blackened soil.

But in the west wing, in the quietest chamber, none of that life seemed to touch the room where Zhao Yan lay.

He had not woken.

Day after day, he remained there—still, silent, pale. As if frozen in time.

The royal physicians had done everything they could. The arrow had missed his heart by the slimmest margin, but the poison on its tip had done its work well. He’d been stabilized, yes, but only barely. He was breathing. He was warm. But he would not open his eyes.

And Hua Jing—Hua Jing had not left his side.

She sat beside his bed every day, through morning bells and evening lanterns. She ate in silence. Slept only when exhaustion collapsed her body. Spoke softly to him even when she knew he could not respond.

Now, in the dim hush of late afternoon, the sunlight fell in soft streaks through the window lattice. Zhao Yan looked like a statue of himself. Too still. Too beautiful. Too unreachable.

His skin had grown even paler. His once-strong cheekbones now stood sharp and sunken. He had lost weight, his body thinned by the battle he was still fighting within.

Hua Jing reached for the cloth she had dipped in warm water. Her fingers trembled slightly as she dabbed it gently across his forehead, down his temple, and along his cheek. The water was warm, but his skin stayed cool beneath it.

"You’re still handsome," she whispered, a half-laugh slipping past the crack in her voice.

She wiped his forehead again slowly. Carefully.

His lips were parted, shallow breaths rising from his chest. The sound of it was the only thing that told her he was still here. Still fighting.

"You’re stubborn," she whispered. "I always knew that."

The cloth passed down his cheek. She dipped it again into the bowl, watching the ripples.

The sunlight bled through the curtains, soft and golden.

He looked like a painting. Too perfect to be real. Like some sculpture crafted by divine hands and left to sleep for centuries.

She swallowed hard.

Her throat burned.

Hua Jing sat up a little straighter and looked at him—really looked at him.

"You know," she said quietly, "in the world we came from, there’s a story."

She let out a shaky breath.

"A princess. Sleeping Beauty. Cursed into eternal sleep. And her prince found her in a tower, surrounded by thorns. He kissed her, and she woke up."

Her voice cracked.

"And they lived happily ever after."

She laughed—soft, dry.

"I always thought that was the stupidest story."

She leaned forward. Her hand rested beside his.

"But now..."

She blinked.

"Now I wonder."

She moved in closer.

Her hair brushed against his collarbone. Her lips trembled.

"If this really is a curse," she whispered, "maybe all you need is someone to find you. And kiss you awake."

Her voice was no more than a breath now.

"And if that’s true... then let it be me."

She kissed him.

Soft. Slow. Nothing forced.

His lips were warm.

Her eyes stayed closed for a long moment.

She waited.

For anything.

A twitch of a finger. A breath that caught. A flutter beneath his eyelid.

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

And stillness.

And the warmth of a fading sun.

She pulled back.

Her hands shook. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder and let herself cry. Just a little. Not enough to break her. Just enough to keep going.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "It was a dumb idea anyway."

She sat back again.

Dabbed his lips with rosewater. Adjusted his sheets. Fluffed the pillow beneath his head.

She did it all like a ritual.

Like it would matter.

Like it might bring him back.

Time passed.

She didn’t count the hours anymore.

Outside, the palace buzzed. But it never reached this room.

She reached for a comb. Gently ran it through his hair.

"You’d hate how messy it’s gotten," she murmured.

The strands fell like silk through her fingers.

She paused.

Stared at his closed eyes.

"I don’t want to get used to this," she admitted. "This—version of you. Quiet. Still. Sleeping."

She leaned in again. Her forehead pressed against his.

"I want the one who argues with me. The one who rolls his eyes. The one who pulls me behind him when things go wrong. I want that man back."

The window rattled softly as a breeze passed.

She stayed like that for a long time.

Breathing him in.

Memorizing the sound of his chest rising and falling.

Behind her, the basin of water had gone cool.

Outside the chamber, life moved on.

Stone stacked upon stone. Cloth banners were dyed and hung. Names were carved into the Wall of the Fallen.

People bowed their heads in prayer.

But inside this room...

From the corridor, Wei Ling approached Hua Jing’s door but didn’t enter. He stood in silence, watching the curve of her back, the stillness of the prince’s form.

He didn’t have the heart to disturb her.

Instead, he turned back down the hallway, leaving her in the quiet.

He knew what she was going through too well because he seemed to be going through the same thing.

If the prince would wake.... Only time wound tell.

Inside, Hua Jing closed her eyes.

The voices beyond the window grew louder.

"The throne is empty."

"Will there be another coronation?"

"What if... he never wakes up?"