MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

Her body felt light.

Too light.

As if she were no longer tethered to gravity or pain or the agony of lungs filling with water.

Xia Lin floated—weightless, sensationless, like a leaf drifting on a slow wind. Somewhere distant, her own heartbeat whispered. Thump... thump... then silence again.

Was this what death felt like?

The last thing she remembered was the frigid splash as she plunged into the water. Cold hands had wrapped around her ankles, dragging her deeper and deeper. Her lungs had screamed. Her mind had blurred. Her last thoughts...

Not of herself.

But of her mistress.

Her Hua Jing.

She had kept quiet. Until the end. Even when her throat burned from the water, even when her body was wracked with pain, she hadn’t spoken. Not a single word. She hadn’t betrayed the woman who had treated her like family, who had laughed with her, cried with her, protected her.

And she would have died with that silence.

That, in itself, brought her a flicker of comfort in the dark.

If I am dying, she thought hazily, at least I didn’t fail.

A tiny smile tugged at her lips even now. Please... let her find the prince. Let them live. Just once... let them be happy.

They had never known peace.

Not even at their wedding, when all should have been joy and soft petals raining from the sky. Hua Jing had lost her memories in an accident just days after becoming the Seventh Consort. The honeymoon had turned into a nightmare. Bandits. Flames. Screams in the night.

Time and again—chaos.

Now the emperor was dead.

Zhao Yan, presumed dead too.

If they lived, if fate allowed them to breathe in the same world again, Xia Lin hoped with all her heart that one day, they would name their child after her.

Just a little girl. Bright and free. Not born into blood and thrones.

But born into peace.

That was all she wished.

And yet—

A strange warmth stirred at her fingertips.

She twitched. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Wait—

There was a pulse.

Not around her.

Inside her.

Her heart thudded again. Harder.

A sharp breath surged into her lungs—and her eyes flew open.

She gasped.

The first thing she saw was stone above her. Jagged, rough, wet.

She sat up too quickly, coughing, retching water from her lungs, hands trembling.

"What—where—?"

Her voice cracked, hoarse and fragile.

She looked around wildly.

A cave. Dim. The sound of running water nearby. Faint morning light filtered through the cracks above.

Her hands flew to her body—searching for wounds, for ropes, for signs of pain.

But there was none.

"I—I’m alive?"

She looked down at her soaked robe, clinging tightly to her skin. Her fingers dug into the fabric, still too numb to fully believe it.

"Am I... in heaven?"

Her voice was soft, almost reverent.

"Did my good deed melt Heaven’s heart?" she whispered to no one. "Did the gods take pity on me?"

A pause.

Then—

"You’re not in heaven."

She froze.

A voice—low, smooth, masculine.

"You’re not even dead."

She turned slowly, heart climbing into her throat.

There, by the cave wall, stood a man dressed in black.

His mask gleamed faintly in the soft torchlight. His eyes—sharp, unreadable—were the only visible part of his face.

Xia Lin’s breath hitched.

Her body jolted backward on instinct, crawling away as fast as her sore limbs could carry her. Her back hit stone.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t breathe.

He took a step forward.

"Don’t be afraid," he said calmly. "I won’t kill you."

Her eyes widened further.

"Th-that’s exactly what someone trying to kill me would say!"

He stopped.

His shoulders slackened—just a bit. As if he hadn’t expected that.

She was shaking now. Terrified.

This man had killed seven trained fighters with the grace of a dancer and the speed of lightning. Her own memory of the carnage was blurry, but not enough to forget the blood.

So much blood.

She braced herself.

But instead, the man stepped forward gently and knelt beside her.

Without warning, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

She froze.

He was so close.

"The fever’s almost gone," he murmured. "You’ll be fine."

Then he stood again and walked away.

Xia Lin blinked.

She stared at her own hands.

No pain.

No wounds.

No death.

"You saved me," she whispered.

"I’m repaying a debt," he replied, not looking back. "That’s all."

"If all goes well, then... all will go well. I can’t say more than that."

His words were strange. Cryptic.

But she didn’t question it.

The man moved toward the mouth of the cave, checking the trees outside. Cautious. Still silent. His every motion precise.

It was then Xia Lin realized—morning had come. The storm was gone. The world had changed.

She slowly stood.

The cave was small, rough. A narrow stream ran through it, glimmering faintly in the early light. She could see now—this must have been how they escaped.

He turned back to her.

"You need to leave. But not to the palace. That place will swallow you."

She frowned. "Where then?"

"Go west," he said. "When you reach the third village, ask for a man named Feng Mi. Tell him Sixth sent you. He’ll protect you with his life."

She stared.

"Can I really trust you? What if you’re sending me to my death?"

He turned slowly.

"If I wanted you dead," he said, voice quiet, "you wouldn’t have woken up at all."

She gulped. The memory of his blade flashing through the air came back in full clarity.

She believed him.

He moved to the edge of the cave and reached for a thick vine, pulling it aside to create a passageway out.

"You should go now," he said. "Before noon hits. Soldiers will begin searching. This is the last moment of safety I can give you."

Xia Lin hesitated.

But then—she nodded.

He helped her out through the cave mouth. The forest greeted them like a breath of freedom—sunlight dripping through green leaves, birds calling softly in the distance.

She took a step forward.

Then another.

But then—she turned back.

The masked man stood in shadow, watching her.

"What now?" he asked.

Xia Lin stood tall. Her voice was still soft—but steady.

"For this kindness... this young lady will never forget. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart."

And she turned.

And she ran.

The masked man didn’t move.

But behind the mask—his eyes trembled.

Just a little.

He didn’t move for a long time.

The forest was quiet now—too quiet. The girl’s footsteps had long faded into the undergrowth, yet the masked man stood there, cloaked in stillness, his eyes fixed on the space where she had disappeared.

Her frame had been so small.

Thin shoulders. Wet robes still clinging to her like second skin. A young maid—fragile in body, but unwavering in spirit. She had faced death with clenched teeth and never once begged for mercy.

Yet now she was gone.

And somehow... something felt missing.

He lifted his hand slowly and pressed it to his chest, fingers resting just above his heart.

It was trembling.

Not from fear.

Not from fatigue.

From something else.

What is this?

His brows knit beneath the edge of his mask.

He had never felt like this before. Never.

He closed his eyes—and in that quiet second, he remembered another face.

His brother.

Zhao Yan.

He remembered how the Crown Prince’s entire presence used to shift when Hua Jing entered the room. The warmth in his voice. The calm in his eyes. It had baffled him then, watching from the shadows, always the silent observer. He had wondered what it was—what caused that light in Zhao Yan’s eyes to burn so fiercely.

Now, maybe...

He understood.

That girl—Xia Lin—had already vanished into the trees, and yet she had left behind something inside his chest. A hollowness. A strange ache. Like part of him had gone with her.

It made no sense.

It was just a kiss. Just air. Just survival.

Then why do I still feel it on my lips?

He pulled himself from the thought with a sharp breath and turned.

No time for foolishness.

No time for hearts.

With a sudden sprint, he dashed back through the trees, weaving between trunks, vaulting over roots. His pace was fluid, practiced—this was a man who had long known how to disappear.

When he reached the palace outskirts, he slipped along the shadowed walls, avoiding the patrol routes he had memorized since boyhood.

Then—with one swift leap—he soared over the garden wall and landed in a quiet courtyard shaded by a willow tree.

He was home.

Within seconds, the black robes were gone, discarded into a basin.

The mask, placed beneath the floorboards.

He emerged wearing a fresh pale-blue robe, his long hair tied in a ceremonial knot. His face—now clean, noble, unreadable.

He looked like a completely different man.

From the corridor, the sound of footsteps—fast, urgent.

A palace guard rounded the corner and fell to his knees the moment he spotted him.

"Sixth Prince!"