Though Mu Xueshi quieted after his brief frenzy, his mouth did not. He chattered on without pause.
At last, the Third Prince’s patience thinned to its limit. For the first time, he began to doubt that this display was feigned. If Mu Xueshi were truly sane, then any single act of today—taken alone and placed upon the former cold, aloof Mu Xueshi—would have been impossible.
There was no time to disguise him.
The Third Prince pushed Mu Xueshi behind a curtain of pearl beads and drew down the gauze canopy, leaving only a slender wrist exposed.
Physician Li stepped forward and placed his fingers upon that wrist, his expression turning grave.
At the sight of the pale, jade-like hand extended from behind the curtain, the physician found himself momentarily dazed. In all his years of practice, he had never seen fingers shaped so exquisitely. Though the knuckles betrayed masculine bone structure, one could only imagine that the face must be peerless.
“No contagious illness here. No need to take my pulse,” Mu Xueshi commented casually, even as he pilfered two grapes and popped them into his mouth.
Behind the bead curtain, the Third Prince steadied him and cleared his throat.
Physician Li immediately reported, “Your Highness, this gentleman shows no grave ailment—”
“I—!”
Mu Xueshi abruptly cut him off, eyes gleaming with starlit brilliance as he stared at the prince. “You’re a prince? So you’re addressed as ‘Your Highness,’ right? I remember it’s—mmph—”
Before he could finish, the Third Prince covered his mouth with his palm. The supple lips still wriggled stubbornly beneath his hand, sending an inexplicable tingling through him.
The prince’s brows drew tight.
“Another word—and you will be executed.”
At once, Physician Li dropped to his knees, trembling. The Third Prince’s temper was rarely seen. If not for some grave provocation, he would not flare so easily. The physician’s heart pounded in fear that he had erred in diagnosis.
Mu Xueshi, too, fell silent.
The vibrant glow drained from his face like a blossom scorched by sudden sun. His large eyes fluttered once, twice. He dared a furtive glance at the prince—only to shrink back at the chill in that gaze. Lowering his head, he began to toy wordlessly with the ornament at his waist.
Do not anger him, he warned himself. You’ve finally survived. To be executed now would be the cruelest irony.
Only by living could he find the silver coin. And only by finding it could he return home.
At the thought, a secret smile curved his lips.
That smile—warm enough to melt winter snow—stilled the Third Prince’s expression.
How familiar it was.
Had he not once, by chance, glimpsed that very smile, Mu Xueshi’s head would already have rolled.
And now he offered it so freely.
To what end?
If not madness—then perhaps degradation? A willing fall from pride?
Trying to beguile me to preserve your life, Mu Xueshi? Very well. The more you scheme, the less mercy you shall find.
Noticing the faint disdain on the prince’s face, Mu Xueshi recalled the grotesque reflection he had seen in the pond. Perhaps now it was even worse.
Abruptly, he withdrew his smile and lowered his head, hiding his features.
Futile Devices Scans 
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