---
Morning sunlight filtered through the silken drapes of the royal bedchamber, but peace didn't last long.
"You have to attend this council meeting," Prince Xìn Xuān (still trapped in Shèng Lín's body) said, straightening the collar of his own royal robe now worn by his once-reluctant stand-in.
Shèng Lín, seated cross-legged in the royal chair, sighed. "I don't know anything about politics."
The prince smirked. "Then you'll learn today how tough a prince's life truly is. Sitting still for hours, smiling at snakes, and balancing words like swords."
Shèng Lín raised a brow. "Really? Then you should come to knight training today."
"Why should I? I'm the prince."
"But the prince is going to meetings," Shèng Lín replied smoothly, lips twitching in a half-taunt, "so Knight Shèng Lín must train hard to protect the princess. No slacking."
The real prince glared through Shèng Lín's face. "I swear, I will take my revenge."
With a huff, he stormed toward the training grounds—while Shèng Lín, composed and unreadable, headed for the royal council hall.
---
The meeting was tolerable.
Shèng Lín listened, gave simple nods, and avoided complex topics by pretending to be "deep in thought." Surprisingly, no one questioned it—his usual silence as a knight translated well to princely grace.
But across the palace—
Xìn Xuān was dying.
The knight's training ground was merciless. Sword swings, target dashes, combat drills—everything was ten times harder in Shèng Lín's lean, agile body. Muscles burned, joints screamed, and his pride took several hits.
"This is insane," he muttered between gasps. "How does he do this every day?"
By evening, the prince was drenched in sweat, shirt half clinging to his chest, hands trembling from the sword's weight. The world spun a little.
And then—
"Xìn Xuān!" called a familiar voice.
Shèng Lín—still in the prince's body—rushed toward him, eyes wide. Without hesitation, he caught the prince just as his knees buckled.
Gasps rang out across the field.
No one had ever seen Prince Xìn Xuān being carried. Not even by his own guards.
But now, the prince was cradled in Shèng Lín's arms, his face flushed with exertion, eyes half-closed.
Without looking at the onlookers, Shèng Lín barked, "Everyone return to your training."
He carried the exhausted prince through the palace corridors with swift steps, ignoring stares. Once inside the royal chamber, he laid him gently on the bed, then knelt to remove the heavy boots and unfasten the weighted belts from the armor.
"You really pushed yourself…" Shèng Lín muttered quietly, brushing damp hair from the prince's forehead.
The prince didn't respond—half-unconscious, lips parted slightly in sleep.
Shèng Lín paused.
He had never seen his own face look so vulnerable.
And the strangest part?
He didn't know whether the ache in his chest was concern… or guilt.
---