The morning came cloaked in a dense, oppressive mist, tendrils of gray weaving between the trees and clinging to every surface. The dampness seeped through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. Each breath I exhaled felt heavy, like the air itself was reluctant to leave my lungs. My arm throbbed, a deep ache radiating from the wound the Dumpling had inflicted the day before. The skin around it was swollen, and pulsing with heat. Infection, perhaps. The thought gnawed at the edges of my mind, but I forced it aside.

There was no room for weakness here.

"Honey Sesame, let's move," Hong Shao said, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. He was already packing up the camp with a precision that bordered on mechanical. His movements were brisk, efficient, and devoid of the smugness that had defined him the day before. It was as if he'd put on a different mask overnight—one of effectiveness and determination.

Not that it made him any easier to deal with.

We pressed onward, the forest tightening its grip on us with every step. The trees grew taller and denser, their gnarled branches intertwining to form a canopy so thick it devoured almost all sunlight.

Shadows writhed in the dim light, and the air grew colder, carrying with it a faint, metallic tang that made my skin crawl. My boots sank into the damp, spongy earth, and every step felt like a battle against the island itself. The oppressive silence pressed down on us, broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush.

My arm throbbed again, the pain sharper now, more insistent. My movements felt sluggish. Each step sent a jolt of pain radiating through my body, and I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead despite the chill. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Can we take a break?" I asked, my voice slicing through the oppressive silence.

Hong Shao turned to face me, his expression unreadable. His dark eyes assessed me with the precision of a hawk, and I could almost see the calculations running through his mind. "A break? Already?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" I shot back, my tone sharper than I intended.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his fingers catching briefly on the blue-dyed strands. "Fine. Five minutes."

I sank onto a fallen log, cradling my arm. The wound wasn't deep, but it refused to heal, the edges of the gash raw and inflamed. Heat radiated from it, and I could feel the faint hum of something unnatural. Magic, perhaps. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I'd heard stories of wounds like this—tainted by the island's curse, festering until the victim's mind unraveled. I clenched my jaw, refusing to consider the possibility. I had already admitted that I was having a high fever, though.

"You're slowing us down," Hong Shao said, his tone clipped, like he was stating an inconvenient fact rather than an insult.

"Why did you ask me to come?" I asked dryly, brushing a strand of damp hair out of my face. The mist clung to my skin, and I felt the chill sinking deeper, wrapping around my bones

He gave me a confusing look, as if that question didn't make any sense.

"You clearly like to do things alone," I said, "and even when you go out in teams, I wouldn't guess your least favorite palace maid to be your top choice."

"You think any of this was my choice?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "Trust me—"

"I don't," I interrupted, my voice cold.

He sighed, his jaw tightening as he considered his next words. "You know what, this isn't even worth it." He rose to his full height, slinging his bow and quiver back over his shoulder. The morning mist clung to him as well as he turned away without another word. "You're slowing me down. Stay here, follow, do whatever you want. Just don't expect me to wait for you."

I blinked, taken aback. For a moment, I considered shouting after him, but the ache in my arm robbed me of the energy. I stayed seated on the log, glaring at his back as he was swallowed by the trees.

"Fine," I muttered to myself. "Prince Prick."

The thirst hit me not long after. My lips were dry, cracked, and I could feel the fever from my wound creeping higher.

Desperate, I scanned the area, my gaze falling on a nearby tree with pale, smooth bark. The faint scent of something sweet lingered around it. I drew my knife and carved a small opening into the bark, watching as a milky-white liquid began to seep out.

"Please don't kill me," I whispered before taking a cautious sip. The liquid was sweet and cool, coating my parched throat like a balm. Relief washed over me, and I drank greedily, not caring what it was or what effect it might have. At that moment, it was life.

I had just wiped my mouth when a scream pierced the air, sharp and desperate.

I bolted upright, heart pounding. The scream echoed again, unmistakably human. My instincts kicked in, and I took off toward the sound, ignoring the sharp protest of my arm.

The sight that greeted me made me stop in my tracks.

There, hanging upside down by his ankle from a crude rope snare, was Hong Shao. His usually fawn face was red with anger—or possibly from the blood rushing to his head—and he was flailing uselessly, trying to grab the branch above him.

"Well, well," I said, crossing my arms as I stepped closer. "Looks like someone's not as self-sufficient as they thought."

He stopped flailing to glare at me, his dark eyes blazing. "Get me down. Now."

I tilted my head, feigning consideration. "Hmm. Let me think about that."

"Honey Sesame," he growled. "I swear—"

"You swear what?" I interrupted, smirking. "You'll leave me behind again? Oh, wait, you already did that."

"Enough! Just cut the rope!" His voice cracked, a mix of desperation and annoyance.

I took my time examining the trap. The rope was frayed and brittle, and the mechanism looked like it had been there for years. It wasn't the work of the island's current inhabitants but probably of someone who had come before us. Someone who had likely never left.

"Relax, Your Highness," I said, drawing my knife. "I'll get you down. Eventually."

I climbed onto the branch above him and carefully sliced through the rope. He fell with a grunt, landing in an undignified heap on the ground.

"You're welcome," I said, hopping down beside him.

He glared at me but said nothing, brushing dirt off his face and clothes. Half of it still stuck on him, though.

We had barely taken a few steps when the ground beneath us shifted. A low groan, like the creaking of ancient wood, filled the air.

"Move!" I shouted, grabbing Hong Shao's arm.

The earth gave way with a deafening crack, revealing a gaping pit below. We scrambled, dirt and stones tumbling beneath our feet.

I managed to grab hold of a sturdy root at the edge of the pit, my injured arm screaming in protest. Hong Shao dangled below me, his hands clutching my leg.

"Hold on!" I gritted out, my muscles straining as I tried to pull us both up.

"You think I'm not trying?" he snapped, his voice tinged with panic.

The pain in my arm was unbearable. My fingers trembled, the slickness of sweat and blood making it harder to maintain my grip. For a split second, the thought crossed my mind: Let him go. Save yourself.

But I couldn't. No matter how much of a pain he was, no matter how many times he sneered at me or smirked at me or called me Honey Sesame, I couldn't let him plummet to his death.

With a surge of determination, I dug my heels into the crumbling earth and heaved with everything I had.

"Almost there!" I gasped, my vision swimming.

Hong Shao managed to grab onto the ledge and pull himself up just as my grip faltered. He grabbed my arm and hauled me onto solid ground.

We lay there for a moment, side by side, gasping for breath.

I turned my head to look at him, expecting some kind of sarcastic remark or complaint. But he said nothing, his expression unreadable.

"You're... heavier than you look," I muttered, trying to lighten the mood.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile. "And you're stronger than you look."

It wasn't a thank you, but it was more sincerity than I'd ever gotten from the shitty prince.

For the first time, I saw something other than arrogance in his eyes. There was a flicker of understanding—or maybe even respect.

"I'm not doing that again, by the way," I said, pushing myself to my feet. My arm throbbed in protest, but I ignored it.

He stood as well, brushing himself off. "Right, let's keep moving."

I nodded, and together, we pressed on. The island wasn't done with us yet.

Nightfall wrapped the forest in an impenetrable darkness, the kind that made you feel like the trees themselves were watching. We set up camp in a small clearing, our fire crackling weakly against the cold. The flames cast flickering shadows across the gnarled roots and twisted trunks surrounding us. Hong Shao unrolled two mattresses and tossed a blanket onto each one without a word.

For once, I didn't complain. My body ached, my arm still throbbing, and the warmth of the fire was the closest thing to comfort I'd felt in days.

We ate in silence, the tension between us softened by exhaustion. Finally, Hong Shao broke it, his voice low and almost hesitant.

"You could have saved yourself back there."

I looked up at him, surprised. He wasn't meeting my gaze. His eyes fixed on the fire, his face lighted up in bronze shimmers and shades.

"Yeah," I said softly, "I could have."

He glanced at me then, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turned away. "Let me see your arm."

I hesitated, instinctively clutching it closer to my body. The wound was ugly, swollen, and still radiating heat despite my earlier attempts to clean it. "Why?"

"I can heal it," he said matter-of-factly. "Or would you prefer to let the fever kill you?"

Rolling my eyes, I relented and held out my arm. He moved closer, kneeling beside me. His surprisingly soft hands hovered over the wound for a moment before I felt the faintest hum of energy. It started as a warmth, but as his Congee began to work, the heat sharpened into a stinging, searing sensation. I clenched my teeth, refusing to make a sound.

"This will hurt," he said after the fact, as if I didn't already know.

"No kidding," I muttered through gritted teeth.

The greenish tint of the infection faded as his energy worked its way through my arm. Slowly, the swelling began to subside, and the throbbing dulled to an ache I could manage. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and I could tell the effort wasn't easy for him, either. Apparently, healing wasn't part of Prince Perfect's massive package of Congee talent.

He didn't stop what he was doing, but his hands faltered just slightly when he started talking. "My parents," he said, his voice tight, "wanted me to come here."

"For the princess?"

He nodded. "Yes. Someone had to save her, and apparently, it had to be me. A grand gesture, they called it. Imagine how it would look for our empire if the heir of Sichuan saved the heir of Dim Sum. Strengthening alliances, boosting reputations, all of that nonsense."

His tone was sharp, but there was something beneath it—resentment, maybe, or weariness.

"They wanted me to go alone," he continued, his voice softening. "But... I didn't want to."

My brows furrowed at that admission, but I stayed silent, letting him speak.

"So they let me bring someone. Though they didn't exactly give me much of a choice in the matter," he added with a bitter laugh. "Their way of mocking me, I guess."

I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for some kind of comment, but I kept my gaze on the fire. Maybe it was better this way—to let him vent without the weight of judgment.

After a few moments, he leaned back, letting out a breath. "That should help," he said, nodding at my arm.

The skin looked better already—less red, less angry. The fever that had been clouding my mind was starting to lift, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel like death was sitting on my shoulder.

"Thank you," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

He gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Try not to die before we finish this."

I almost smiled at that, the faintest flicker of amusement breaking through the tension between us.

As I lay down on the mattress, wrapping the blanket tightly around myself, I still couldn't fully relax. But for the first time since stepping onto this cursed island, the knot in my chest loosened slightly.

Maybe Prince Hong Shao wasn't as insufferable as I'd thought.