The buzzing of insects drowned out the evening sun, submerged amid the hubbub of voices. The brilliant sunset faded, blending into the blue horizon as nightfall descended.
The crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle dispersed, taking their doubts with them, and the surroundings quieted down.
Jiang Yinyue released her hands from Wei Qin’s ears and let them drop to her sides.
The young couple knelt entwined on the long street, one burying his head in his wife’s neck, the other gazing up at the firmament.
Clouds rolled and unrolled, changing in an instant; a person’s life held countless meetings and partings. Meetings were destined for separation, and partings might never reunite. A brush past could be eternal farewell, a glance back filled with regret.
Joy in reunion, sorrow in parting—it was human nature.
Jiang Yinyue raised her hand and stroked the ink-black strands of hair that had fallen loose from Wei Qin’s hair crown. “Let’s go home.”
The hazy moon hung from the treetops, shrouding the white gauze garments drying on the poles.
Stubborn bloodstains lingered on the fabric, like red plums fallen on snow—beautiful yet tragic.
Even the most vibrant flower plucked from its branch was doomed to wither, just like Tang Zhan’s brief life.
As the physician treated the wound on his abdomen, images of Tang Zhan laughing and cursing replayed endlessly in Wei Qin’s mind.
What he had thought was his own callousness could not withstand the self-reproach of failing to protect his classmate.
Intense pain radiated from his abdomen—even the physician treating it drew in a sharp breath of cold air—yet he did not furrow his brow.
Jiang Yinyue, the only one remaining in the East Wing Room to assist the physician, turned her face away, unable to bear the sight of the mangled flesh.
“It’s done.”
The elderly physician wiped his forehead and swiftly bandaged Wei Qin’s wound, instructing Jiang Yinyue, “Don’t let the wound touch water until it heals. Take the medicine on time, and eat nourishing foods.”
After seeing the physician out, Jiang Yinyue hurried back to the bedside and sat leaning against the edge, carefully observing Wei Qin’s complexion.
There was no color at all.
A man who had brushed death nine times out of ten had suffered a severe loss of vitality, as if three souls and seven spirits had been stripped away.
“Rest well. Leave all the trivial matters to me. Don’t get angry.”
Wei Qin listened intently and nodded, no matter how exhausted he was.
Jiang Yinyue took his hand and rubbed the back of it with her thumb, gradually increasing the pressure.
A man who feared heat burned like a furnace.
When the physician brought the medicine, Wei Qin had fallen into a deep sleep.
“This medicine must be taken hot.”
“I’ll do it.”
Jiang Yinyue took the bowl, blew gently on a spoonful of the bitter broth, and called, “Wei Qin.”
“Wake up. Time for your medicine.”
How was she to feed medicine to someone who was unconscious?
Her fingertips reddened from the heat of the bowl as the young lady glanced at the physician. “You go rest.”
The elderly physician, who would stay overnight at the Wei Family, stroked his beard and reminded her once more before leaving, “It must be taken hot.”
The door opened and closed, and the wing room fell quiet again.
Jiang Yinyue stirred the “hot potato,” her pearly ear tips tinged with red. She shook her head, refusing to let herself hesitate.
Caring for the wounded called for boldness.
She took a spoonful of the bitter broth into her mouth, leaned close to Wei Qin’s face, mumbled a few explanations of “mm-hmm,” and pressed her medicine-filled lips to his.
Her clear almond eyes flickered slightly, her reddened ear tips nearly bursting.
She strove to clear her mind of stray thoughts, pursed her pink lips, and passed the medicine bit by bit.
“Mm?”
Noticing the broth trickling from the corner of Wei Qin’s lips, she panicked in her one-woman chaos. She closed her eyes and used her tongue tip to pry open his slightly parted teeth.
One mouthful after another.
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed the medicine.
It took Jiang Yinyue a full half hour to feed him the small bowl, and she broke out in sweat.
She took out a handkerchief to wipe his neck and slowly let out a breath.
“Get better soon. I don’t have much patience.”
Miss Jiang muttered to herself, but her wiping motions were exceedingly gentle.
Late at night, she poured a ladle of water into the copper basin with a splash, droplets spattering onto Jiang Yinyue’s face.
She rubbed her face, wrung out the cloth, tiptoed to the bedside, and began wiping the exposed skin of Wei Qin.
A small lamp illuminated the woman’s busy figure.
The inky night was deep and dark; the goose-yellow silhouette rose like the morning sun.
Before dawn the next day, the rooster next door leaped onto the roof and crowed. Jiang Yinyue, who had dozed off by the bed, jolted awake and immediately checked Wei Qin’s breathing.
Confirming he was fine, she stood unsteadily, swaying her sore waist.
Footsteps sounded outside, cooking smoke curled up—Lady Gu was preparing medicinal cuisine with the physician.
After washing up, Jiang Yinyue sat alone at the dressing table and clumsily coiled her hair.
The dexterous girl ended up with a crooked bun, the hairpin thrust in at a haphazard angle.
“If you don’t wake up, no one will comb my hair for me.”
She dabbed on some rouge to improve her complexion, returned to the bedside, propped her cheek, and kept Wei Qin company. The usually restless girl felt no boredom at all.
Morning light spilled over streets and alleys. Wei Xichen, who had gone without sleep, visited the families of Tang Zhan and the other deceased before dragging his weary body back to the posthouse. He washed simply and sat by the window for breakfast.
The tabby cat climbed onto his lap, curled up, and contentedly swished its tail.
The Deputy Guard Commander knocked and entered, standing before the man. “Reporting to Your Highness, the coroners examined the bodies. All the assassins’ fatal wounds were at the heart. Minister Tao must have been careless and failed to equip them with breastplates.”
The guards accompanying the Heir Apparent on his southern tour were all equipped with bows, arrows, and fire muskets—elite troops from the palace allocated by the Shunren Emperor to his second son. To ensure absolute safety, where one could match ten, the Shunren Emperor had specifically instructed the Deputy Guard Commander to have them wear breastplates.
Wei Xichen set down his chopsticks and wiped the corner of his mouth with a brocade handkerchief. “Would Tao Qian be careless?”
“This subordinate can’t figure it out either. How dare Tao Qian send men to assassinate Your Highness?”
“No one but a high court official could supply guests with fire muskets. Tao Qian can’t escape involvement. With his vindictive nature, he is capable of killing Wei Qin to sow discord between us and Minister Jiang.”
But silencing Wei Qin and sending assassins to the posthouse was too anomalous.
The Deputy Guard Commander speculated, “Could someone be stirring things up from the shadows to frame Minister Tao?”
The Third Prince Wei Yangwan had not only Tao Qian under him but also Dali Temple Minister Xie Xun. Over time, two tigers could not share one mountain—perhaps one side wanted to borrow a knife to kill.
If Xie Xun was the oriole waiting behind, bribing Tao Qian’s guests to have them assassinate Wei Qin and the Heir Apparent at the same time—one, to use Tao Qian’s hand to drive a wedge between the Heir Apparent and Jiang Song; two, to use the Heir Apparent’s hand to eliminate Tao Qian. It killed two birds with one stone.
Wei Xichen pinched the bridge of his nose. Rings within rings, plots within plots—it was hard to discern for the moment.
But whether Tao Qian had orchestrated it alone or Xie Xun lurked behind, he could use the dead guests as leverage to interrogate Tao Qian, even put him to death, and thereby sever one of the Third Prince’s main pillars of support.
Had Xie Xun delivered him a great gift, or was it someone else?
Wei Xichen couldn’t help thinking of the group that had intercepted Gong Fei and abducted Yan Zhuyu—were they connected to Tao Qian or Xie Xun?
In a residence not far from the posthouse, Yan Yi chewed on a foxtail grass as he climbed onto the roof and sat beside the Silver-Robed Painter.
“Young Master risked assassinating the Crown Prince—was that too impulsive?”
The Silver-Robed Painter tucked his brush behind his ear and blew on the still-wet painting. “It wasn’t impulsive; it was thinking one step further. Risky, yes, but it diverts the Crown Prince and the others’ attention.”
“Explain in detail.”
“Think about it. Without the assassination attempt on the Crown Prince to create the illusion of the assassins splitting into two groups, wouldn’t the Crown Prince and the others focus all their attention on the Young Master? With all assassins mobilized, the bailiffs no match for them, and the Young Master no three-headed, six-armed monster—how could he escape alive? Wouldn’t they speculate on how he survived?”
“Mm.”
“The Crown Prince is suspicious by nature. Right now, most of his energy is on clearing the suspicions of court heavyweights. Who is Tao Qian? The Third Prince’s right-hand man—how could the Crown Prince not seize the chance to take him down!”
“What if he turns his attention back later?”
“Hey, I call you dim-witted, and you won’t admit it!” The painter knocked a chestnut on the young man’s head. “I already said it: we created the illusion of the assassins dividing forces, with the main attack aimed at the posthouse and the other route much weaker! The Young Master is highly skilled in martial arts. Even if he escaped by the skin of his teeth, he’s gravely wounded, which dispels the Crown Prince and the others’ doubts.”
Yan Yi rubbed his head. “I won’t think about it anymore. You lot are the brains; I’ll just follow orders.”
The painter left his masterpiece behind, climbed down the ladder, and wandered through the deep alleys to a scholarly household.
Wails of grief-stricken agony came from within the courtyard.
“Sigh!” The painter hung a plump money pouch on the door knocker, shoulders slumped as he departed.
This was the Young Master’s token of care. The Young Master had one more wish: to use the Crown Prince’s hand to eliminate Tao Qian and avenge these wronged souls.
“Thank you, Painter Xie.”
At a fork in the road, the painter turned at the voice and saw Wei Ying approaching, accompanied by her maid in her water-blue dress.
Wei Ying felt gratitude toward this man with unparalleled painting skills but knew only his surname, not his given name. Unwilling to pry, she addressed him as “Painter Xie.”
“The way you walk reminds me of an old acquaintance.”
The man smiled and asked, “May I ask which old acquaintance?”
“Manager Xie, a jeweler.”
The man straightened abruptly from his daze, resuming his tall and upright posture. Having disguised himself for so long, he had unwittingly slipped back into the role of a shady merchant.
This girl’s eye for people was sharp, but fortunately, she was innocent.
Still, when had he become her “old acquaintance”?
“That’s a shady merchant. The lady should steer clear if possible.”
“He never cheated me.”
Wei Ying’s face lit up at the mention of Manager Xie. Their connection was somewhat forced, but among the few outsiders she interacted with, he was the one she had dealt with most.
Painter Xie Jingcheng felt a mix of helplessness and relief. Who said a shadow couldn’t be remembered?
He smiled, nodded in farewell, and walked off into the fragrant breeze, hands behind his back, tall and imposing.
For several days in a row, the Wei Family old and young—including Wei Ying—all visited the Tang Family unannounced. On the day Tang Zhan was buried, Wei Qin attended, supported by Jiang Yinyue.
The young couple stood before Tang Zhan’s grave for a very long time, until the sun set.
Back at the residence, Wei Qin endured another night of recurring fever; the wound had become infected.
“It wasn’t treated promptly enough.”
The physician residing temporarily at the Wei Family flushed and cleaned Wei Qin’s wound again, staunching the blood with herbal compresses.
“Don’t venture out on your own again!”
The old physician was somewhat irritated, his anger incomprehensible to Wei Zhongchun and Lady Gu—was it pity for the patient, the healer’s benevolence?
From his tone, they seemed like old acquaintances.
But their son didn’t know this physician.
When Jiang Yinyue returned to the room with the medicinal cuisine, only Wei Qin remained in the East Wing.
Seeing him try to rise, she rushed to the bedside. “What are you doing? Lie down!”
“The wound is bleeding.”
Jiang Yinyue followed his pointing finger, her heart tightening.
Blood soaked his robe hem, spreading to his undergarments.
A sensitive area.
“Wait for me.” Jiang Yinyue set down the cuisine, coaxed and helped him lie back, and summoned the old physician once more to the bedside.
The old physician handled the wound deftly and ignored the rest.
With a wife present, did he need this old bachelor to step in?
The thorny task fell back to Jiang Yinyue. She hurried to the wardrobe, fetched a fresh set of undergarments, cleared her throat with a fist to her lips, and said, “I’ll help you lie down.”
“I can do it myself.”
Jiang Yinyue refused, stepped forward, bent down, and undid Wei Qin’s sash.
Her hands shook, her heart raced, her face flushed.
As she removed his robe, her gaze inadvertently swept over his toned chest. Little Lady Jiang’s eyes darted away. “Raise your arm.”
Wei Qin complied, letting the woman before him fuss over him.
The pear-blossom fragrance diluted the scent of blood, lingering between them.
Changing clothes should have been a simple matter, but the more flustered her heart, the more her hands trembled. Jiang Yinyue had to lean in repeatedly, finally standing between Wei Qin’s slightly parted knees to bend down and tie a butterfly knot.
“Done.”
She looked up with a smile, meeting Wei Qin’s lowered gaze.
“What are you looking at?”
“Miss is sweating.”
Jiang Yinyue glanced down at her own modest neckline, straightened up, and helped Wei Qin lie flat on the bed.
Caring for the wounded, needs must in emergencies; nothing to be embarrassed about.
She muttered to herself inwardly, pinched the ends at Wei Qin’s waist, and pulled downward. But after tugging for a long while, the pants barely got stuck on the man’s hip bones.
“Put out the light.”
“Okay, okay.” Sweat beaded on the tip of Jiang Yinyue’s nose as she turned sideways to blow out the candle, then groped in the dark to pull down the bloodstained pants. She reached out again in the darkness to grasp Wei Qin’s ankle.
Changing him into a fresh pair of undergarments took even more effort than secretly feeding him medicine last time.
Once finished, the young lady collapsed at the foot of the bed, utterly spent.
She still had to feed him the medicinal meal…
The delicate lady unused to such chores climbed back up and dutifully relit the candle. Spoon by spoon, she fed Wei Qin the entire bowl of nourishing soup and rice.
At the third watch, in the small room where the candle had burned out, she quietly lit a small gauze lantern and hung it behind the screen. She stealthily climbed into the bath bucket to wash away the hot sweat covering her body.
Water splashed everywhere as coolness gradually seeped in.
Finally, she felt comfortable.
A beautiful silhouette appeared on the flower-and-bird satin screen, its outline clear and lines soft and supple. It caught Wei Qin’s eye.
He had no intention of peeking, but his wandering gaze froze unconsciously.
Bathed in the glow of the small gauze lantern, it gained an ethereal charm.
Shadowy and indistinct, lively and seductive.
The sound of water breaking the surface, accompanied by a rich fragrance, assaulted Wei Qin’s senses.
“Knock knock knock.”
Du Juan’s voice came from outside the door. “Second Young Madam, this servant has brought the medicine.”
Jiang Yinyue quickly tied her skirt belt, slipped into her shoes, and hurried to the door. A gust of night wind poured in, chilling the damp clothes clinging to her skin.
“Give it to me.”
“The doctor said to drink it while it’s hot.”
Jiang Yinyue nodded. With her wet hair hanging loose, she walked to the bedside and softly called to Wei Qin, who was feigning sleep.
Had he fallen asleep again?
She held the bowl in one hand and swept her dripping long hair over her left shoulder with the other. She took a mouthful of the medicine into her mouth and leaned close to his lips.
She pressed gently against his lips, using the tip of her tongue to pry open his teeth.
“Mm? Mm!”
The “sleeping” man stirred to awareness. He clamped the back of Jiang Yinyue’s neck and sucked the medicine from her mouth.
Gulp, gulp. It slid down his throat.
His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed dramatically.
With her nape gripped tight, Jiang Yinyue tried to pull away, only to collapse onto Wei Qin’s chest instead.
The bitter medicinal broth spread between their lips before slowly vanishing entirely. They savored the warmth and slick softness of each other’s mouths.
Wei Qin held her neck fast, shackling it with the web of his hand as he suckled her sweetness.
Her lips were too delicate; after a few pulls, they swelled slightly.
Glistening with moisture, they grew even softer and more yielding.