"Young Master?"
When Ji Qingwu saw Yuan Heng, she was first delighted, then surprised.
"You didn't go with them for the ancestral worship?"
So many people from the palace had gone, yet the Prince, who should have been the first to go, had stayed behind.
Yuan Heng was wearing a small mustard-yellow robe trimmed with gold-and-red silk. "I happened to catch a chill last night," he said. "I wasn't feeling well, so I asked Father Emperor for permission to stay in the palace and rest."
Hearing this, Ji Qingwu immediately crouched down, cupped his face in her hands, and studied his complexion.
Yuan Heng was already used to her sudden, handsy behavior.
His lips, usually a healthy pink, were indeed a little pale.
Ji Qingwu said, "Stick out your tongue. Let me see."
There were still guards at the door, so Yuan Heng pulled her aside.
He tilted his head back, patted his small chest, and said, "I'm fine. It was just a little chill, and I'm all better today."
