The book in the hands of Duke Jin’an was slammed heavily onto the desk.
“She’s fallen unconscious?” he asked, his face full of shock.
“Yes. Several doctors have been summoned, but none have yet determined the cause,” the eunuch replied in a hushed voice.
Duke Jin’an stood up at once and made to leave.
“Your Highness,” the eunuch quickly intercepted him, shaking his head, “you mustn’t go.”
The duke halted.
“You’ve been going out too often these days. Both the Empress Dowager and His Majesty have already sent people to ask where you’ve been,” the eunuch whispered. “Though we’ve managed to explain it away each time, if you leave again now, it would be most imprudent. It would be too hard to conceal, and if Her Majesty finds out, it would bring trouble to Lady Cheng as well.”
Duke Jin’an took a few steps back.
Outside, the sunlight was bright, but within his chamber, it seemed as though the light had finally faded, leaving only shadows.
Looking at the young man’s face, half-lit by the shifting light, the eunuch felt a pang of sorrow.
But what could be done? He was a man of noble birth, exalted in status, yet powerless all the same. This was a place of the highest privilege, yet also a place of helplessness.
“Besides, Your Highness, even if you went, there would be nothing you could do. With us keeping watch, no news will be missed,” he added softly.
Duke Jin’an said nothing. He picked up the book again and lowered his head to read.
The eunuch exhaled slightly in relief and began to retreat on tiptoe.
“I will personally go to gather news,” he murmured before leaving, thinking of something else.
Inside the room, the young man remained engrossed in his book, his head bowed as if etching each word into his heart. He gave no response—perhaps he had heard, perhaps not.
The eunuch bowed silently and withdrew without another word.
As the sun set and rose again, daylight brightened the sky, and the courtyard gate of Cheng Jiao-niang opened. Madam Zhou hurriedly stepped out.
“Keep feeding her the medicine. I’ll go discuss with the master to find a better doctor,” she said over her shoulder, not waiting for Ban Qin to respond before boarding the carriage.
The carriage sped away.
Ban Qin stood by the gate, biting her lower lip, her eyes already red and swollen from crying.
She turned and went back inside, where she saw a maid supporting the unconscious lady on the bed with one hand while using a small pot to pour medicine into her mouth with the other.
Most of the medicine spilled from the corners of the lady’s lips.
The maid wiped it away with a handkerchief and continued pouring.
Ban Qin could no longer hold back her tears.
“Madam has left…” she said, her voice choked with sobs.
But it was less of a departure and more of a hasty escape—her eagerness to be gone was unmistakable.
“Let her go,” the maid said, glancing at Ban Qin. “Why cry over them? We don’t need them—we have each other. Miss will be alright. Come here and hold her steady!”
Ban Qin quickly wiped her tears and rushed over, kneeling to support the lady.
Madam Zhou hurried through the gates and alighted from her carriage. Master Zhou was in the main hall drinking tea when she entered, looking surprised to see her.
“Why have you come back?” he asked. “Has Jiao Jiao woken up? How is she? Is she alright?”
Madam Zhou sat down with a grim expression.
“I don’t think she’ll recover,” she said.
Master Zhou’s face paled in shock.
“What? Is she dying?” He nearly leapt to his feet as he exclaimed.
“She shows no reaction at all—we can’t even get medicine into her,” Madam Zhou said. “Several doctors have come, and they all say there’s nothing physically wrong, yet none can explain why she’s like this. Some even said her spirit is entirely gone, like a living corpse. A living corpse! Isn’t that just like when she was a child—mindless and senseless again?”
“Mindless again?” Master Zhou’s expression was stunned.
“Damn the Chen family! What have they done to our Jiao Jiao?!” He stood up and roared, “I’ll go confront them!”
“Stop right there!” Madam Zhou quickly rose and grabbed his arm, her face anxious. “Have you lost your mind? Confront them? On what grounds? Because they spoke a few words and gave her a letter, they killed her? Who would believe that?”
Indeed, who would believe it? Just as no one would believe that Secretariat Editor Liu had been struck by apoplexy and left half-dead simply from hearing a girl speak.
Master Zhou halted.
“Besides,” Madam Zhou continued slowly, “Master Chen is still Chancellor Chen, while she… has become a fool.”
A person pretending to be mad is terrifying, but a person who is truly mad… is no longer frightening.
Master Zhou’s expression darkened with conflicted emotions.
If the girl were still well, no matter how big the scandal, if she dared to point fingers, he would dare to act. But now…
“We must keep searching for a better doctor,” Master Zhou said, stroking his beard with deep concern before turning and pacing a few steps before sitting back down.
Manager Wu hurried out of the hall, with the maid seeing him off.
“Has the lady’s uncle not come?” he asked.
The maid gave a cold laugh.
“Unlikely that he would,” she said. “He sent word saying he was searching for a doctor—who knows where he’s looking? A whole day has passed, and there’s still no sign of him.”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I know a doctor who specializes in difficult and complicated illnesses. I’ll go fetch him at once,” Manager Wu said.
The maid nodded.
“Then we’ll trouble you, Manager Wu,” she replied.
“Helping her is helping ourselves,” Manager Wu said. “No trouble at all.”
Others might carry on just fine without the lady, but they couldn’t. So while others could stand by and do nothing, they couldn’t.
The maid nodded again.
She watched as Manager Wu rushed off, then stood dazed for a moment before stepping back into the hall.
“Still not awake?”
Duke Jin’an asked.
The attendant kneeling before him lowered his head in affirmation.
“Many doctors have examined her, and all say there is nothing physically wrong—they just don’t understand why she won’t wake up,” he reported, hesitating slightly before adding, “So they suspect it may be a recurrence of her old ailment.”
“Old ailment?” Duke Jin’an questioned.
“Your Highness, Lady Cheng… was once a simpleton,” the attendant said softly. “The doctors speculate that she… has lost her mind again.”
Lost her mind?
“Is this a young lady or an elder? She looks young, yet… speaks like an old matron?”
“It’s nothing. I’ve just been ill for a long time.”
“The fickleness of human hearts, the ruthlessness of the world, the tumult of emotions—the sick taste them all. What need is there for years?”
With a sharp thud, Duke Jin’an slammed his book onto the desk.
“Nonsense! She would never lose her mind,” he declared.
Never!
Her mind was still there—it had to be.
The chaotic sound of footsteps echoed incessantly in her ears, accompanied by the clamor of cries and shouts. That same scorching heat enveloped her once again.
“Put out the fire! Put out the fire!”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked around—darkness of night, flames dancing in red, and behind them, shadowy figures running frantically.
She felt as though she had been standing here for an eternity.
Slowly, she stepped forward, wanting to see who those people were, but her foot landed on something soft.
She looked down.
Under the flickering glow of the surrounding flames, corpses lay scattered everywhere—men, women, the old, the young, some intact, others mutilated.
What filled her vision wasn’t the red of firelight.
It was the red of blood.
They’re all dead. All dead.
A voice screamed in her mind. All dead.
Cheng Jiao-niang felt tears streaming down her face, yet she felt nothing—no sorrow, no pain—as if she were numb to it all.
The flames before her eyes vanished, and a tall figure gradually emerged, blending into the night. Yet she could tell—it was a man.
Fragments of memories had surfaced before—her father’s voice, fleeting recollections, and another man who had taught her medicine. So who was this one now?
“Who are you?” she couldn’t help but ask, trying to step closer, only to find her feet rooted in place.
“This… isn’t so bad,” the man’s voice came through—deep, hoarse, oppressive like the night itself. “This… is fine.”
What’s fine?
“Who are you?” Cheng Jiao-niang shouted again, straining to open her eyes wider, to see more clearly. But the uncontrollable tears blurred her vision.
A hand clamped over her mouth and nose.
Instant suffocation.
Cheng Jiao-niang struggled—or tried to—but couldn’t move. She could only endure the agony of asphyxiation, a torment beyond words.
Is this how I die?
The thought flashed through her mind just as another hand brushed over her eyes, wiping away the tears.
In the boundless darkness, a sliver of light abruptly pierced through, revealing a man’s face before her.
Or, more precisely—a pair of eyes.
Eyes as black as the night itself.
“Forgetting… is for the best,” he said.
Cheng Jiao-niang’s eyes widened abruptly—she could feel pain now! A searing agony in her heart!
She looked down.
A strange dagger was buried deep in her chest, blood spreading like flames. A vivid, pulsing heart was being carved out.
Is this… my heart?
She fell backward, her fading vision fixed on the man slowly retreating into the distance. His gaze remained on her as his lips moved, deliberate and silent.
He seemed to mouth a name—but no sound came.
Was it mine?
What was it?
Who am I?
Who… am I?
Jin Ge’er stood by the door, watching Ban Qin press her ear close to Cheng Jiao-niang’s lips, his face a mix of anxiety and worry.
“Ban Qin, what’s happening? Did Miss really speak?” he asked urgently. “What did she say? Is she waking up?”
“Miss’s awake?”
The maid, who had just stepped through the door, caught the words and cried out in delight. She rushed forward, pushing Jin Ge’er aside, and looked into the room.
The girl on the bed still lay motionless.
The maid’s heart sank.
“Miss… seemed to speak just now,” Ban Qin said, straightening up with an uncertain expression.
“What did she say?” The maid’s hope flared again as she pressed eagerly for an answer.
“It was… something like, ‘Who am I?'” Ban Qin replied hesitantly.
Who am I?
The maid froze for a long moment.
“Before fainting, Miss asked this very question,” Ban Qin said. “After reading the letter from Master Chen, she kept repeating it… And even now, in her unconscious state, it’s still haunting her. What could it possibly mean?”
The letter from Master Chen…
Everything began after the Chen family delivered that letter…
And those strange three words written on it: Who are you?
Miss had collapsed precisely because of the Chen family’s visit. They had already reported this to Master Zhou, but it seemed futile to expect any intervention from him now.
“The Chen family may fear consequences, but I don’t!” The maid gritted her teeth. “I’ll confront them myself!”
Meanwhile, at the Chen residence, Qin Shi’san-lang was striding swiftly inside.
“Young Master Qin, Young Master Qin! My lord is currently receiving a guest—please wait a moment!” The gatekeeper urgently tried to stop him.
“A guest? Wait?” Qin Shi’san-lang smiled coldly. “Unless His Majesty the Emperor himself has arrived today, everyone else can damn well make way for me!”
The Chen family’s gatekeepers stared in shock.
What did he just say?
“Chen Shao!” Qin Shi’san-lang shouted. “You’d better give me an explanation for this!”
With that, he shoved past the gatekeepers and marched straight into the inner quarters.
