Er Ya continued to nag Duan Xinghui, desperately trying to persuade him not to go to the battlefield. The memory of rescuing him, bloodied and near death, haunted her. That scene had left an indelible mark on her heart.
Duan Xinghui was the only person in the capital she felt close to and could truly rely on. The thought of him leaving sent waves of panic through her; she would be utterly alone. The mere idea terrified her.
In the Duan Residence, Duan Xinghui was her sole source of comfort. The others regarded her with disdain, and Yuan Dong often treated her cruelly, while Madame Duan loathed her presence.
As Er Ya's fear intensified, her spirit began to wither. The beautiful innocence she once possessed faded away under the weight of Madame Duan's strict upbringing. She became preoccupied with whether her actions aligned with the rigid rules imposed upon her. Whenever she made a mistake, the older female instructors would punish her with a barrage of creative torment.
"Is it because you can't forget Princess Jiahui? You're following her because she's going to battle, aren't you? Dare you say it isn't because of her?" Tears streamed down her face, washing away her cosmetics and revealing her dark skin, leaving streaks that carved deep lines of distress across her features.
Duan Xinghui closed his eyes, a deep disappointment settling in. When he opened them again, he said, "This has nothing to do with Princess Jiahui. I've lost my position as general, and I must go prove myself."
"Dear, everything is fine as it is. You don't need to risk your life," Er Ya pleaded, her sobs punctuating her words.
Duan Xinghui took a deep breath, struggling to suppress his anger. He felt a wave of depression wash over him; Er Ya didn't understand his ambitions at all. Was he supposed to live the rest of his life without a single achievement to his name?
"I must go this time. I've accepted the marshal's orders. Are you suggesting I should be beheaded for refusing?" The annoyance in his voice was palpable. What he once saw as Er Ya's purity now felt like mere immaturity. She seemed blind to the larger picture.
Er Ya couldn't grasp his desires either. He wanted to reclaim his position through his own strength, and heading to the battlefield was the surest path to that. Wealth and honor rarely came without risks.
Duan Xinghui felt a sense of helplessness wash over him as he watched Er Ya weep. The image of Princess Jiahui's cold, stoic expression flashed in his mind. He had never seen her cry; she likely deemed such displays beneath her dignity.
Though they were both women, Princess Jiahui exhibited a fearless strength as she prepared for battle, while Er Ya had become a timid, fragile flower, clinging desperately to him.
He remembered the first time he saw Er Ya, with wildflowers in her hands, radiating brightness and purity. Her smile had struck him as the most beautiful sight in the world. But that vibrancy was now a distant memory.
To Duan Xinghui, it seemed that Princess Jiahui, who had always been constrained by rules, now embodied an unrestrained ease in her demeanor.
He felt exhausted, especially as he watched Er Ya's endless tears. A phrase echoed in his heart: too tired to love any longer.
When Madame Duan learned that her son was going to the battlefield again, she expressed her strong approval. Achievements were essential for restoring the Duan family's former glory. Yet, she noticed Er Ya's despondency and her demeanor suggested she thought her son was heading to his death.
Anger flared within her, and she silently vowed to deal with Er Ya as soon as Duan Xinghui left.
Er Ya trembled at Madame Duan's piercing gaze, sinking deeper into despair. She turned to Duan Xinghui, her eyes brimming with distress, but he was too preoccupied with his preparations to notice her pain.
Feeling as though she were submerged in icy water, Er Ya sat alone, drowning in her desolation.