Was it the same?

Morning arrived quietly, the first golden rays of sunlight slipping through the wooden lattice windows of the Seventh Consort's courtyard.

Xia Lin, despite the lingering pain in her leg, made her way toward Hua Jing's chambers. The physician had treated her wound the previous night, but the dull ache remained, forcing her to limp slightly as she walked.

She carried a tray in her hands, balancing a small bowl of freshly made porridge. After all the chaos of the previous day, neither the prince nor Hua Jing had eaten anything. Now that the morning had arrived, it was only proper to ensure they had something warm to replenish their strength.

As she reached the doorway, Xia Lin took a deep breath, bracing herself. She wasn't sure what state Hua Jing would be in after everything that had happened.

But when she stepped inside—she froze.

Her eyes widened at the sight before her.

Hua Jing and Zhao Yan were locked in a tight embrace.