Ye Chutang took the handkerchief, and the startling splash of crimson on her slender neck was instantly covered.
"Thank you, Princely Heir."
Despite her disheveled state and faint breathing, she still curtsied with perfect decorum. Self-restrained and dignified, her every word and action were beyond reproach.
A lock of stray hair fell. She raised a hand to gently tuck it behind her ear, and when she looked up again, her dark, gentle eyes were once more calm.
It was as if she wasn't the one whose life had just been threatened, nor the one who had come moments away from death.
Shen Yanchuan's gaze fell upon the young woman's pale cheeks.
Her eyes showed no fear, only complete composure, as if nothing in the world could faze her.
Perhaps from a lack of oxygen, Ye Chutang's vision went black as she tried to stand. She staggered and began to fall backward.
Shen Yanchuan raised a hand to steady her, almost instinctively.
"Chu—"
"Chutang!"
