The Sickly Beauty Substitute Called It Quits-Chapter 189

3x update coz' i genuinely forgot about this novel until someone made a kind donation! This is for you <3

Update: Some passages are missing in the previous update. Thank you for pointing it out. I filled in the missing parts.

The dancer moved swiftly, carrying a faint fragrance with her movements. Shen Yu instinctively held his breath but still caught a trace of the scent.

Shang Junlin was even faster. With one arm shielding Shen Yu, he grabbed a plate from the table and hurled it outward.

The Hidden Dragon Guards stationed outside the hall burst in.

Before the assassination could even begin, it was already over.

The dancer was quickly subdued, along with the rest of the performers.

Shang Junlin held Shen Yu close as he stepped down.

The assassin knelt on the ground in silence, the dagger in her hand knocked away. Shen Yu’s eyes caught a glint of eerie blue along the blade—clearly poisoned.

The banquet was abruptly interrupted. After a moment of panic, the officials quickly regained their composure, ushering their families to the side.

This was the second assassination attempt this year, following the one during the autumn hunt.

Shang Junlin took a sword from a nearby guard and lifted the dancer’s chin with its tip, his gaze icy cold. “Who sent you?”

The dancer’s eyes lingered on him briefly before shifting to Shen Yu.

Shen Yu frowned.

His head was spinning, likely due to the lingering scent in the air. Since childhood, he had been sensitive to certain fragrances—and unfortunately, this was one of them.

“…This…”

The officials watched the scene unfold, their minds racing. Some quickly recalled that it was Shen Yu who had knocked over his cup just moments before the dancer made her move.

Shen Yu also remembered. His thoughts were sluggish, as if trapped in thick fog. Even thinking was a struggle, let alone piecing everything together.

His fingers clenched tighter against the fabric of Shang Junlin’s robe. He tried to stay conscious, but the dizziness only worsened.

Sensing something was wrong, Shang Junlin shifted his focus away from the assassin and looked down at the young man in his arms. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Shen Yu shook his head. He couldn’t afford to collapse now. In full view of the court, the assassin had acted only after he spilled his drink. If they didn’t resolve this quickly, it would lead to endless trouble.

Even if Shang Junlin trusted him, the court wouldn’t. The dancer must have had a backup plan—if they investigated further, the trail would likely lead back to him.

Shen Yu bit down hard on his tongue, the sharp pain cutting through the haze in his mind. Realizing its effectiveness, he reached out and grabbed Shang Junlin’s sword.

The blade sliced through his palm, blood trickling down the cold steel.

“Ah Yu!” Shang Junlin tried to pull the sword back, but Shen Yu held on tightly. Forcing it away would only worsen his injury.

The dancer’s expression flickered with surprise—she hadn’t expected him to hurt himself.

Pain shot through Shen Yu’s hand, clearing his mind.

He curved his lips into a smile—cold and distant, never reaching his eyes.

Shang Junlin’s grip on Shen Yu’s shoulder tightened. His other hand trembled as he struggled to hold onto the sword. Finally, he let go of Shen Yu’s shoulder and cupped his face instead, his voice tinged with barely restrained panic. “Ah Yu, let go. Be good.”

The officials were stunned, unable to comprehend how the situation had escalated so suddenly.

Shen Yu pulled away from Shang Junlin’s embrace, swaying slightly before steadying himself.

His injured hand still gripped the blade, blood soaking through his sleeve. It looked agonizing, but he seemed unfazed.

He took a step forward, fully exposing himself to the dancer’s gaze.

Meeting her incredulous eyes, Shen Yu’s smile deepened.

“Ah Yu!”

Shang Junlin reached out, grasping Shen Yu’s wrist. “If there’s something to say, we can talk it through. Just let go—don’t hurt yourself.”

Shen Yu glanced back at him.

For the first time, Shang Junlin saw an unfamiliar expression on Shen Yu’s face. It was both foreign and captivating.

His heart pounded violently in his chest—whether from fear or something else, he wasn’t sure.

He feared for Shen Yu’s safety, yet at the same time, he was drawn to the dangerous aura radiating from him.

Shen Yu saw the worry in Shang Junlin’s eyes. The warmth of his touch seeped into his skin. Slowly, he loosened his grip.

With a sharp clang, the sword fell to the ground.

“Summon the imperial physician!” Shang Junlin immediately checked Shen Yu’s hand.

Blood streamed down his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm. The wound was so deep that it was impossible to tell where the cut ended.

Shang Junlin cradled Shen Yu’s injured hand with utmost care, his eyes burning red with distress. He didn’t dare apply pressure, only holding it gently in his palm.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was soft, filled with raw emotion that couldn’t be ignored.

Shen Yu curled his fingers slightly, but Shang Junlin quickly pressed them still. “Don’t move—you’ll bleed more.”

Shen Yu stared at his hand for a moment. The pain kept his mind clear. “…It doesn’t hurt.”

How could it not hurt?

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Just looking at it made Shang Junlin’s chest tighten with agony.

He had endured countless wounds on the battlefield, never once flinching. But seeing this injury on Shen Yu made it unbearable.

Meng-gonggong, still reeling from the scene, snapped back to reality and hurriedly ordered several attendants to fetch the physician.

Mu Xi hesitated on the sidelines, wanting to step forward but afraid to.

She had been by Shen Yu’s side for years and had seen many facets of him—yet never this one. Everything about him screamed danger.

Blood continued to drip from Shen Yu’s hand, staining both his and Shang Junlin’s sleeves.

Shen Yu blinked and pulled his hand free, crouching in front of the assassin. He asked the same question Shang Junlin had earlier. “Who sent you?”

But the dancer knew—the question was different this time.

Shang Junlin was asking about the assassination.

Shen Yu was asking about the setup.

“Master… it was your own order…”

“Oh?” Shen Yu’s fingers tightened around her throat. “Do you really think a few words can frame me?”

The dancer struggled for breath, her face turning pale.

Shen Yu’s injured hand applied more pressure, causing blood to drip steadily.

It was as if he didn’t even feel it.

Once again, his wrist was seized. Shang Junlin pulled him back into his arms. “Ah Yu, be good. Let go. I know you had nothing to do with this—let me see your hand…”

With great effort, Shang Junlin pried Shen Yu’s fingers open and restrained his wrist to prevent further self-harm.

Mu Xi handed over a clean cloth, and Shang Junlin carefully bandaged the wound.

“Your Majesty, we should take the assassin away,” the Prime Minister suggested.

Shang Junlin held Shen Yu tightly. “Take her away. I want the mastermind behind this uncovered. If you fail, don’t bother keeping your titles.”

A minister hesitated. “But what if…” His gaze flickered to Shen Yu.

“There is no ‘what if.’ Ah Yu has been by my side day and night. If he had ulterior motives, why would he go to such lengths to stage an assassination?”

Shen Yu wanted to protest, but Shang Junlin pulled him closer. He whispered against his ear, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of everything.”

Shen Yu struggled slightly, but Shang Junlin held him firm.

Enveloped in the familiar scent of safety, Shen Yu finally relaxed.

The physician arrived. As chaos reigned, Shang Junlin carried Shen Yu to a rear chamber, leaving the ministers to sort through the aftermath.

The examination was swift. The wound cleaned, the bandage reapplied. Shen Yu hissed as the cloth brushed raw flesh.

"Now it hurts?" Shang Junlin’s voice was flat.

Shen Yu, still dazed, retaliated by biting his jaw. Not hard—just enough to make Shang Junlin’s breath catch.

"The fragrance," Shen Yu muttered. "It’s the scent. I can’t tolerate it."

"And yet you inhaled it like incense," Shang Junlin said darkly.

Shen Yu, wisely, stayed silent.

The physician checked both men. The scent had no effect on Shang Junlin. It was tailored for Shen Yu alone.

Orders were given. The Grand Steward scurried off.

"Will it harm him?" Shang Junlin asked, tracing Shen Yu’s fingers.

"Drowsiness, but no lasting damage," the physician said. "Though I’ll monitor him."

Mu Xi prepared the antidote. Shen Yu, pale from blood loss, coughed weakly.

Shang Junlin held him tighter—helpless.

The medicine was bitter. Shen Yu recoiled, but Shang Junlin coaxed it down his throat. "Just a little more."

——

When Shen Yu woke, the light had changed. The bitter taste lingered. He pushed at Shang Junlin’s chest. "Water."

A cup was brought. Then candied fruit to chase the bitterness.

They were in Yuzhang Palace now.

"The dancer—" Shen Yu began.

"Handled," Shang Junlin said. "The Prime Minister and Fang Jun will see to it."

Shen Yu studied his bandaged hand. It ached faintly when he flexed it.

Shang Junlin tucked it back under the quilt. "No straining it. No water."

Shen Yu nodded.

Shang Junlin caught his fingers, thumb brushing the wrappings. "Does it hurt?"

Before Shen Yu could answer:

"It hurts me."

"Seeing you wounded—it hurts me."

Shen Yu swallowed his words.

"You never need to hurt to prove yourself," Shang Junlin said, tilting Shen Yu’s face up. "Not while I’m here."

His grip tightened—just shy of painful.

"Remember that."

Shen Yu met his gaze.

Ah.

He was angry.