Zhou Liu-lang stood up awkwardly, his expression a mix of shock and anger as he looked at Cheng Jiao-niang.
“You… you…” he stammered, seemingly unable to form words.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him and suddenly let out a soft laugh, which quickly grew louder. She raised a hand to cover her mouth as she laughed.
She used to smile only faintly—there might have been a trace of a smile on her lips, but never in her eyes.
But now, her eyes curved like crescent moons, and those once-intimidating eyes became softer, less overpowering. Her long eyelashes trembled slightly with her laughter, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly.
As those dazzling wings stirred, the young man’s face gradually turned bright red. His heart pounded like a drum.
What a pity—her laughter was still soundless. She hadn’t recovered yet.
And yet, even now, when not fully healed, she could already be this wicked—who knows what kind of enchantress she’ll become once she grows up?
Zhou Liu-lang flung his sleeve and strode off.
Hearing Zhou Liu-lang’s words, Young Master Qin burst into hearty laughter.
His laughter echoed through the hall.
The boy’s laugh was clear and bright like a mountain spring—what would her laugh sound like, if she were fully healed?
Her voice was hoarse. Was it something unchangeable, born from her natural dullness, or was it something that could be cured?
If even her illness could be healed, then surely her voice could recover too. Just like how, at first, she couldn’t even walk, and now, little by little, she was getting better.
When she was fully healed, would her voice sound like Aunt’s?
He had no memory of Aunt’s laughter. But her voice…
“Liu-lang, come to Aunt…”
Someone gave his arm a light smack, snapping Zhou Liu-lang back to his senses. He looked up to see Young Master Qin in front of him.
“I asked you a question,” Young Master Qin said.
“What?” Zhou Liu-lang replied, a little uneasy.
Young Master Qin gave him a once-over, then smiled.
“Are you going or not? Why don’t you go ask her what kind of potion she gave you?” he said, his tone full of hidden meaning.
Master Zhou didn’t return home directly after leaving Cheng Jiao-niang’s residence. Instead, he went to visit Secretariat Editor Liu’s home.
The small Liu household courtyard was bustling with visitors, the place in a bit of a mess.
“What’s everyone so busy with? It’s a complete mess—like the sky’s falling.”
“Well, isn’t it though?”
“Yesterday, Doctor Li filed a complaint against the Liu family in front of the Empress Dowager, saying they insulted him. He even threatened to return to his hometown. The Empress Dowager wasn’t pleased and summoned the Emperor.”
“And what did His Majesty say?”
“What could he say? The illness came on suddenly—he was desperate and lost his composure. He asked Doctor Li to be more understanding.”
“And did he?”
“No, not at all. This time, Doctor Li, for some reason, really stood his ground. He outright refused to treat Secretariat Editor Liu any further, no matter what was said.”
“Then His Majesty must’ve been furious?”
“He was, but it seems the Empress Dowager is siding with the doctor. She said that even in dire illness, one mustn’t take it out on the doctor…”
Upon hearing this, Master Zhou gave a quiet snort in his heart—so it seemed that Secretariat Editor Liu truly had run out of luck.
He straightened his robes, exchanged greetings with the officials chatting nearby, and then made his way toward Liu’s quarters.
It had only been two short days, yet there was already a faint smell lingering in the room.
But for someone who could move nothing but their neck, such things were inevitable.
Master Zhou came to a stop in front of the couch, looking at the man lying there.
As a military officer, he’d had little interaction with a civil official like Secretariat Editor Liu—especially one as low-profile as Liu, whose manner was completely different from the brash style of officials back in Zhou’s hometown of old Shan-zhou. They’d had no dealings at all.
In fact, Master Zhou could hardly recall what Secretariat Editor Liu used to look like, but he was certain it was nothing like the man before him now.
His face was waxen yellow. What had once been a lean face now looked gaunt and shriveled, skin clinging tightly to bone. His cheeks were sunken, his beard brittle, his eyes dull. Though drool no longer dripped from his mouth, there was a constant rasping sound in his throat.
A chill ran through Master Zhou’s heart.
From the moment that girl struck to the moment she brought him down, it had taken her just ten days.
Ten days—to take down a civil official. If it had been him, just making up his mind might’ve taken ten days, not to mention the time required to plan and carry it out. He might not have succeeded in a year.
As his wife had said, encountering that girl brought nothing good.
Fortunately—fortunately—he hadn’t actually tried to seize her property.
Fortunately—fortunately—there was still time to pull back.
At that moment, Secretariat Editor Liu regained consciousness. Sensing someone before him, he turned his head with effort, his eyes clouded with confusion.
Had his memory begun to fade as well? Why couldn’t he recognize the person standing in front of him?
“Master Liu,” Master Zhou looked at the old man, bent down slightly, and said in a low, respectful voice, “It’s me—Zhou Yue.”
Zhou Yue? Who was that?
Master Zhou leaned in closer. From this angle, no one else could see his expression.
“I’m Zhou Yue, the Guide General—you’ve looked after me many times,” he said, a faint smile curling at his lips.
Secretariat Editor Liu’s eyes widened instantly, and a hoarse, guttural sound escaped his throat.
“Master,” Master Zhou reached out and grasped Liu’s lifeless hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, don’t worry. You’ve always shown me such kindness and care. I will never forget it. Rest well and focus on getting better.”
His grip tightened heavily on Secretariat Editor Liu’s limp hand.
To the others in the room, it was a scene both touching and sorrowful—none of them noticed the anger, fear, and despair that flared in Secretariat Editor Liu’s eyes.
Not until Master Zhou followed the others out of the room.
“Why did Master faint again?”
The maids cried out in alarm.
The Liu family members rushed forward, wailing and calling out. It took quite some time before Secretariat Editor Liu regained consciousness. The moment he came to, he tried desperately to speak, but his tongue was slow and clumsy. It took a while before his family could make out what he was saying.
“Quick… leave…”
Leave?
The family members looked confused.
Leave? Why? Leave to where?
They assumed he was despairing over his illness, fearing for the future of his children and grandchildren.
Truly, illness makes the mind wander.
“Master, don’t worry, you mustn’t be anxious,” his family said with tears in their eyes and faint smiles on their faces. “Our family will be fine. Eldest and second sons have already received word and are on their way back. The third and fourth sons will soon receive official appointments under the court’s favor. You’ve served diligently for so many years and even fell ill in the line of duty. His Majesty is merciful—he won’t abandon us.”
Secretariat Editor Liu struggled more and more fiercely, his speech growing increasingly slurred.
Don’t come back. Leave—leave quickly!
For Zhou Liu-lang’s return, Cheng Jiao-niang wasn’t surprised—or maybe she was, but there was nothing on her face to show it.
The maid pushed over two cups of tea.
“Sixth Young Master, it’s the same tea as before. Or would you prefer plain water?” she asked with a smile.
Zhou Liu-lang lifted his cup and drank it all in one go.
Young Master Qin smiled gently as he took a slow sip.
“What kind of tea is this?” he asked.
“Calming, brain-boosting. Soothing and nourishing,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Zhou Liu-lang looked skeptical. Just that?
“Oh, that’s some fine tea,” Young Master Qin said with a smile. “Life isn’t easy. Overthinking wears a person down. It’s definitely good to nourish the body and calm the mind.”
“Don’t play riddles with me,” Zhou Liu-lang muttered, setting the cup down. “What kind of poison is this stuff, anyway?”
“There’s no poison in it,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
“Then how did it make him suffer from the wind stroke?” Zhou Liu-lang asked, glaring.
“That you’d have to ask him yourself,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “Illness comes from the heart. The only thing that can truly harm him is himself.”
“Master Liu is simply too cautious and careful. In life, one should live more freely and joyfully—laugh when it’s time to laugh, cry when it’s time to cry. Joy, anger, sorrow, resentment, frustration—they’re all part of being human. Isn’t it said that sometimes a good cry or a hearty laugh can also cure illness? But Master Liu has been overly self-disciplined all these years. It’s no wonder his heart feels so burdened,” Young Master Qin said with a smile.
Burdened in the heart, combined with the calming, nourishing scent of this ink tea—sometimes tightening, sometimes loosening; sometimes startled, sometimes cautious; sometimes revealing, sometimes hiding—it’s as if the string finally snapped.
Is it really that simple?
Listening to the two of them—one speaking plainly, the other in more elaborate terms—Zhou Liu-lang seemed to understand yet remained skeptical.
“This is good tea,” Young Master Qin said. “To investigate your father’s situation, I bought quite a bit and specially sent some to all the officials in the Ministry of Personnel, the Imperial Archives, and the Chancellery at the Council of State. I even kept some back for you. Want to take some with you?”
Zhou Liu-lang glared at him.
“Don’t worry, no need to be afraid. With your hot temper—jumping up and down, shouting every chance you get, wanting the whole world to know your joys and sorrows—you’ll never catch this wind stroke in your lifetime,” Young Master Qin chuckled.
The maid couldn’t help but cover her mouth and laugh along.
Zhou Liu-lang swung his sleeve and stood up.
“I’m leaving,” he said, and without waiting for a reply, strode off.
Young Master Qin smiled and rose, following him all the way to the door and into the carriage. But then he saw Zhou Liu-lang pull the reins, stopping the horse.
“What’s wrong?” Young Master Qin asked.
Zhou Liu-lang glanced toward the closed gate of Cheng Jiao-niang’s courtyard but said nothing.
“No rush, no rush,” Young Master Qin understood and smiled, lowering the carriage curtain.
The carriage and horses rolled into the bustling, noisy streets.
The streets remained as lively as ever—laughter, singing, shouting, and noise. For the vast masses of the capital, who falls ill, who dies, who arrives or leaves, was like a drop of water falling into the river—barely causing even a ripple.
Compared to the bustling streets, Desheng Pavilion was very quiet at this moment.
There were no brightly adorned courtesans chatting and entertaining guests on the bridge corridor, nor were there any wine vendors bustling about. The prosperity of Desheng Pavilion only revealed itself at night.
Inside one room, behind drawn curtains, sat a slender woman with her back turned. She seemed not yet washed or dressed; her black hair hung loose, and she wore only undergarments, exposing pale, slender shoulders. Just the sight of her silhouette stirred a pang of pity.
At this moment, her body trembled slightly.
“Really, really, is it true?” a voice like a yellow oriole rang out in the room.
“It’s true! That Liu has caught the wind stroke—no one can cure it. He can only wait to die.”
From within came a young maid, clutching a bronze mirror. She knelt down with an agitated face, gritting her teeth as she spoke.
The mirror reflected a delicate, blooming face—about sixteen or seventeen years old—with flawless skin as smooth as silk. At this moment she wore no makeup, but her autumn-water-like eyes shimmered with tears, captivating anyone who looked.
“Oh no—”
The beauty raised her hand to cover her face and broke into tears.
“Father, Mother, this day has finally come.”
The crying reached the door outside, where a ten-year-old maid holding a copper basin stopped in her tracks, hesitated a moment, and listened as the cries inside grew louder—not stopping, but intensifying, until it sounded as if two people were holding each other and weeping bitterly.
The little maid cocked her head in confusion, hesitated, then pressed her ear against the door. Before she could hear much, someone called out behind her.
“Chun Ling!”
Startled, the little maid quickly turned around and saw a yawning, disheveled courtesan.
“What can I do for you?” she asked politely with a smile.
“Has Sister Zhou washed already?” the courtesan asked.
“Not yet,” the little maid replied hurriedly. Before the courtesan could say more, she added, “Sister Mei, I’ll go fetch another basin of water for you right now.”
The courtesan nodded with some satisfaction.
“Good, you hurry. I like how clever you are. Later, tell Mama that you’ll come work with me,” she said, smiling as she appraised the little maid. “You’re quite pretty. With good guidance, you won’t do badly.”
The little maid gratefully thanked her. After the courtesan yawned and went back inside, the maid lifted her head, but there was not a trace of a smile on her face—only a hint of disdain.
“Go with you…” she muttered to herself, curling her lips and looking again toward the door from which the crying came.
No matter where she was, if she was going to follow someone, she would follow the powerful. If she was going to do something, she would be the one on top.
Only then would those who once looked down on her and scorned her get their comeuppance—and regret it.
Not just for herself, but for her sister too.
The little maid bit her lip, her eyes shining with a determined light.
