She had her own rules when it came to healing: first, she never made house calls; second, she would only treat those who were at death’s door. So, there had been a third rule.
Upon hearing this, Chen Shao shook his head and chuckled.
“This isn’t just an excuse on her part,” he said. “These really are her rules.”
His wife sighed, her brow still slightly furrowed.
“What kind of rules are these?” she said. “Who’s ever heard of such things?”
“Well, you’d never heard of a rule about only treating the dying before either,” Chen Shao remarked.
Madam Chen shot her husband a reproachful look.
“How is that the same?” she retorted. “Isn’t it often said that one should repay a life-saving favor with lifelong devotion? How could she set a rule forbidding that? The families who can afford her treatments are all wealthy or noble. By doing this, isn’t she cutting off any chance of marriage with them? For a woman, isn’t securing a good match the most important thing? Why would she block her own path like this?”
Chen Shao stroked his beard.
Indeed, she had blocked one path—the path of relying on her medical skills to secure a good marriage.
But it was just one path, after all.
The world was full of countless roads—what did one matter?
“She is a proud one,” he said with a nod, then shook his head with a hint of regret. “What a pity she was born a woman.”
Had she been a man, with such talent and his own willingness to assist, she could have easily achieved fame and success.
But as a woman, even with her medical expertise, she would ultimately remain nothing more than a lone physician. What else could she ever hope to accomplish?
When the coughing sound came for the third time, Cheng Jiao-niang stopped what she was doing and looked toward the top of the wall.
“Am I disturbing you?” Duke Jin’an quickly asked, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Are you ill?” Cheng Jiao-niang inquired.
The duke hastily shook his head.
“No, no,” he said. “I’m not ill. It’s just a slight irritation in my throat.”
As he spoke, another fit of coughing overtook him, leaving him looking somewhat embarrassed.
“Well… perhaps I am a little unwell. I should take my leave,” he said.
“Wait a moment,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, setting down the medicine pestle in front of her.
Duke Jin’an looked at her in surprise.
From his elevated position, the entire courtyard was laid out before him. He watched as the young lady stood, summoned two maids, and soon had them bring out a clay stove and a kettle.
“I’ve prepared some tea—perfect for brewing and serving to you,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, glancing up at him. “Will you come down and have some?”
The duke hesitated.
“But I might be ill,” he said.
So he’s too weak to climb over the wall now? The maid frowned at the young man.
“And I’m a fool,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
What in the world? The maid turned to Cheng Jiao-niang, even more bewildered.
But the young man atop the wall broke into a smile.
“Fetch a ladder! Fetch a ladder!” he called down eagerly.
As the ladder was passed over, Jin Ge’er and Ban Qin steadied it amidst some flurry. By the time the young man had clambered down, Cheng Jiao-niang’s tea was nearly ready.
This marked their second proper meeting since that first encounter at Puxiu Temple.
Standing in this modest courtyard, Duke Jin’an looked about with curiosity.
“Seeing it from above is quite different from being down here,” he remarked, taking in his surroundings. “Did you arrange all this yourself?”
Cheng Jiao-niang scooped a measure of salted vinegar into the tea, releasing a tart aroma.
“I only planned some of it. Most was done by my maids,” she replied.
“Quite impressive,” the duke said, trailing his fingers through the water at the base of the ornamental rock. “When I have a home of my own someday, I’ll arrange it like this too.”
He turned to glance at the woman beneath the courtyard tree.
“I’ll invite you over for tea when that day comes,” he added with a smile.
Cheng Jiao-niang offered a faint smile as she poured the tea and raised the cup.
Duke Jin’an hurried over, kneeling on the rush cushion a maid had placed for him. With a slight bow, he received the cup in both hands and lifted it to drink. The sharp, tart flavor instantly cleared his mind and focused his spirit.
“What manner of tea is this?” he asked in surprise. After just one cup, the irritating itch in his throat had eased completely.
Cheng Jiao-niang ladled out another serving for him.
“This is my own preparation—not truly tea, but a medicinal infusion,” she explained. “It’s made from fourteen herbs.”
Duke Jin’an took the cup and drained it again in one gulp.
“Ah! I’m cured,” he declared loudly after clearing his throat. “Truly cured! My throat doesn’t hurt anymore—how is this so effective? You really are a divine doctor”
“A minor trick, nothing more,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, handing him a compressed tea cake from the side. “Take this. It can regulate your organs and balance your qi-blood.”
The duke set down his cup and accepted it with both hands. He examined the tea cake for a moment, then suddenly smiled—pressed his lips together—smiled again. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.
“Well then, I suppose I’ll never fall ill again,” he finally said.
“Would that make me an immortal?” Cheng Jiao-niang countered as she cleaned the tea utensils.
“When someone pays you a compliment, must you immediately humble them?” the duke protested.
Cheng Jiao-niang paused, appearing to genuinely consider this.
“Then… I suppose you would be the immortal,” she conceded.
Duke Jin’an stared blankly for a second before bursting into hearty laughter.
The maid exhaled and nudged Ban Qin beside her with her elbow.
“Do you find this amusing?” she whispered.
Ban Qin let out a soft “Ah,” her face blank with confusion.
Clearly, whenever the lady smiled, Ban Qin would smile too—whether or not it was actually funny hardly mattered.
“Fine, consider my question wasted,” the maid said, laughing at herself first, and patted Ban Qin’s arm.
“Ban Qin, don’t worry,” Ban Qin murmured with a quiet laugh. “It’s rare for Miss to find someone who actually listens to her. I think… anyone who can truly listen to her couldn’t possibly be a bad person, right?”
The maid chuckled.
“Even if they were a bad person, what’s there to fear?” she whispered back, amused. “Honestly, we’d be more surprised to meet a good one.”
No sooner had she spoken than a head popped up over the neighboring wall.
“Y-Young Master…” The voice was tense, hushed. “Someone’s coming…”
Duke Jin’an visibly startled and quickly stood.
“I’d best take my leave, then,” he said, hastily climbing the ladder back up the wall.
The maid felt both exasperated and amused.
“What kind of absurd situation is this!” she muttered, though she didn’t dare delay. Together with Ban Qin and Jin Ge’er, she hurried to push the ladder back over.
From atop the wall, Duke Jin’an waved at Cheng Jiao-niang in farewell.
Just then, the gate thudded with urgent knocking.
“What’s this?” the maid exclaimed, staring as two servants carried in a small tree.
Young Master Qin entered behind them, leaning on his cane.
“The tea plant from Puxiu Temple, as Lady Cheng requested,” he said with a smile.
The maid’s eyes widened in shock.
“You dug up their entire tree?!” she cried.
“Only this way can it last,” Young Master Qin replied cheerfully, then turned to Cheng Jiao-niang. “Do you have any further instructions?”
In recent days, Cheng Jiao-niang had asked Young Master Qin to assist with several matters—first with the official liquor sales at Immortal’s Abode and Tai Ping Residence, and then with obtaining tea from Puxiu Temple.
The former, though seemingly complicated, had been relatively straightforward to arrange. The latter, however, appeared simple at first glance but proved far more difficult to procure. After untold persuasion and effort, he had not only succeeded but even managed to bring back an entire tea tree.
It was worth noting that these tea trees had been personally cultivated by Master Minghai, who treasured them like rare jewels.
“Nothing else for now,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, rising to bow in thanks.
Young Master Qin returned the courtesy with a smile, his gaze lingering on the tea set before her.
“Were you just having tea?” he couldn’t help but ask, his eyes shifting to the rush cushion placed opposite her on the other side of the table.
Whoever had sat facing her was clearly not a servant—someone must have visited.
“What kind of tea is this?” he inquired, sniffing the air. It was unlike any he’d had before.
“Not the kind you drink,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “If you have no further business, you may take your leave.”
The dismissal was direct and unequivocal. Young Master Qin chuckled and obliged with a respectful “As you wish.”
“Oh, one more thing.” Cheng Jiao-niang suddenly called after him, as if remembering something.
Young Master Qin turned back with an expectant smile.
“I heard you also practice archery?” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “How about a competition at Tai Ping Residence tomorrow?”
“With pleasure,” Young Master Qin replied with a nod.
Only after the servants had finished planting the tea tree in the backyard did Young Master Qin take his leave. As his carriage departed, Zhou Liu-lang—who had been watching from a tavern by the street—slowly withdrew his gaze.
“Young master, would you like more tea?” a waiter approached to ask.
Zhou Liu-lang glanced at his half-filled teacup, then stood up to ease his fullness. He shook his head and tossed a handful of coins onto the table with disinterest before striding out.
The streets teemed with bustling crowds—friends calling to one another, families guiding elders and children, laughter and chatter filling the air.
Zhou Liu-lang neither led his horse nor paid attention to the road. Hands clasped behind his back and head lowered, he wove through the ceaseless flow of people and disappeared.
When the first faint light of dawn crept in, a servant was roused awake by the sound of a cane. Rubbing his eyes, he saw Young Master Qin already moving about the room.
“Young master, what do you need?” the servant hurriedly asked, scrambling up.
“I need to prepare two bows,” Young Master Qin replied. “Where is that pearwood bow from last time?”
The servant quickly got up to help search.
“Young master, didn’t you say you wouldn’t leave until noon? It’s still early…” he couldn’t help remarking, glancing at the water clock.
Summer days dawned early—in truth, it was only nearing six o’clock in the morning.
Young Master Qin’s hands paused mid-motion. He, too, looked at the clock.
“Still early,” he murmured, his expression briefly stilled. Setting down what he held, he leaned on his cane and walked slowly outside, gazing at the brightening sky.
“…Why does time seem to pass so slowly?”
