CHAPTER 228: HE IS NOT!

For a moment, the world around Hua Jing vanished.

The arrow was buried deep in Zhao Yan’s chest, its fletching trembling with every ragged breath he took. Blood spread across the pale marble like a blooming flower, staining the white steps in vivid red.

Hua Jing stood there, rooted in place, her mind blank with shock.

She couldn’t hear the gasps of the crowd, couldn’t see the confusion and horror etched into every face around her. All she could see was the arrow—black as night—jutting from Zhao Yan’s chest. All she could hear was the faint, wet gasp of his breathing.

No.

The word formed in her mind, a desperate denial that grew louder and louder until it was a scream that threatened to tear her apart.

No. No, no, no!

This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. The heavens had already turned against Pei Rong—this was supposed to be the end of their trials, the moment they claimed victory. Zhao Yan was supposed to stand there, tall and proud, the rightful ruler at last.

Not like this.

The sounds of the courtyard pressed in on her at last, a deafening cacophony of disbelief and panic.

"The prince—!"

"He’s down!"

"Help him! Somebody help him!"

Men rushed forward, some to help, some to gawk in horror, and others to take advantage of the sudden chaos. Hua Jing’s breath caught in her throat as the world seemed to tilt around her, the green glow of the jade walls dancing with the flickering torches in a dizzying swirl.

But even then, she couldn’t move.

She saw Zhao Yan’s eyes searching the crowd, searching for her even as his strength faltered. That was what finally broke the paralysis that held her frozen.

He needs me.

Her legs moved before she realized it, the heavy red fabric of her robes trailing behind her as she broke into a run. The marble steps were slick with blood, but she didn’t care—she leapt over them, her only thought to reach him, to hold him, to tell him that she was here.

Zhao Yan’s head turned towards her, his eyes clouded with pain. There was a flicker of recognition there, a brief light that made her heart seize.

The light was fading.

No. Please. Not like this.

Her mind was a chaotic whirl. She remembered the way he had held her the night before, how his voice had been so sure, how he had promised her everything. She remembered the dreams they had shared, the future they had dared to imagine. She remembered the warmth of his hands, the quiet strength of his gaze.

She couldn’t let that slip away.

She dropped to her knees beside him, the red of her robes mingling with the crimson pool that spread from his chest. Her hands reached for him, trembling as they pressed against his shoulders, trying to hold him up, to keep him in this world.

"Zhao Yan," she choked out, her voice a raw whisper. "Look at me. Please, look at me."

His eyes fluttered, his breath a shallow rasp. She could see how much it cost him to stay awake, to focus on her.

"Hua... Jing..." he breathed, his voice so faint she had to lean closer to hear it.

Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back fiercely. "I’m here," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I’m here. You’re not alone."

All around them, the courtyard was a blur of motion. Shouts rang out—some calling for help, others calling for surrender. Soldiers jostled for position, their blades flashing as they tried to hold the fragile line of order.

But for Hua Jing, there was nothing in the world except the man in her arms.

This can’t be real.

She pressed a hand to his chest, trying to stanch the flow of blood, but it was too much. The warmth of it soaked through her fingers, through the silk of her sleeve, until it was all she could feel.

How could this happen? Her mind raced, denial crashing through her with every beat of her heart. How can he fall now, when we were so close?

Zhao Yan’s lips twitched, and he tried to lift a hand, but it fell back limply at his side. His eyes locked on hers, and she saw the fear there—fear not of death, but of leaving her behind.

"Don’t... cry," he whispered, his breath hitching.

She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks despite his words. "You can’t leave me," she said, her voice fierce through the sobs that threatened to choke her. "You promised me. You promised me everything, Zhao Yan."

His mouth curved in the faintest of smiles. "I... meant... it."

The crowd pressed closer, their cries growing louder. Some reached out to touch him, as if by their touch they could keep him here, in this moment, in this world.

Hua Jing’s mind was a whirl of memories—of how they had first met, of the way he had looked at her across the crowded hall, of how he had trusted her when no one else would. She saw it all in a single heartbeat, and it threatened to drown her.

This isn’t the end, she told herself fiercely. It can’t be.

She pressed her forehead to his, her breath mingling with his shallow, ragged gasps. "Stay with me," she whispered. "Stay with me, Zhao Yan."

But his eyes were growing distant, his strength slipping away like water through her fingers. Around them, the sky seemed to darken further, clouds churning overhead, the weight of fate pressing down on them both.

The blood was too much. The light in his eyes was too dim.

A voice rose from the crowd—a frantic cry. "The prince—he’s... he’s dying!"

"No!" Hua Jing snapped, her voice a whip crack of denial. "He’s not. He’s not!"

But even as she said it, her hands trembled against his cooling skin. She could feel the shiver of his body, the way his breath came slower, shallower.

Her world was crumbling around her, the marble floor slick and cold beneath her knees, the air heavy with the scent of iron and despair.

She looked into his eyes, searching for some sign, some spark that said he was still there.

Please.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath again. She could almost believe that it would be enough—that her tears, her voice, her love could keep him tethered to her.

Then, from the edge of her vision, she saw movement—a figure slipping through the crowd, unnoticed in the chaos.

An archer, his face shadowed by a hood.

The glint of an arrowhead caught the flickering torchlight.

Hua Jing’s heart lurched in her chest. "No!"