“This is too much!”
The attendant shouted, struggling to his feet. He touched his swollen face and glared at the tightly shut street gate.
“Won’t even let us in? Fine! Even if you beg us to come later, we won’t!”
With that, he turned and stormed off in fury.
Back at the inn, the Wang family stared in shock as the attendant returned, his face red and swollen with rage.
“How dare they hit you!” the other attendants cried indignantly.
These were not ordinary servants—they were well-respected retainers from a prominent household, men whom even the younger generations of the Wang family treated with courtesy. Yet the Zhou family had the audacity to strike one of them.
This wasn’t just a slap to the attendant’s face—it was a slap to the entire Wang family’s dignity.
“Let’s go confront them!”
“Send word to the master!”
“We’re leaving—this marriage is off!”
The group shouted in chaotic uproar.
Wang Shi’qi, however, felt both lingering fear and a hint of relief.
“Uncle Gu, thank heavens you didn’t let me go. The Zhou family is truly ruthless,” he said. “You don’t know—before you arrived, when Cheng Si-lang and I visited the Zhou residence, they nearly had us tied up on the spot.”
The attendants were even more astonished.
“The Zhou family has gone too far this time! We must send word home immediately—no, we should leave right now…”
Amidst the clamor, the old servant had remained silent, his face grave as he furrowed his brows in deep thought. Hearing this, he gave a light cough.
Everyone fell quiet and turned to look at him.
“We cannot leave yet,” he said.
The group froze in surprise, but Wang Shi’qi quickly brightened.
“Given what you’ve said, and the Zhou family’s desperate attempts to hide the truth, it seems Lady Cheng’s illness must be quite serious,” the old servant remarked.
“Then shouldn’t we hurry back and inform the master, so he can call off the marriage?” a servant interjected.
“No need to rush. An illness can’t be hidden forever—even if it’s discovered on the wedding day, the engagement can still be broken. That’s no concern,” the old servant said, his frown deepening. “But doesn’t any of this strike you as… odd?”
Odd? How?
“What’s odd about it? That Cheng girl’s been a dim-witted fool since childhood, unwanted by anyone. Now that a marriage’s finally been arranged, she’s fallen ill—of course they’d hide it from us to keep the engagement from collapsing!” another servant scoffed.
The old servant spat in disdain.
“That part isn’t strange at all,” he said, then turned to the beaten attendant. “You claimed she’s ill. So why are there so many visitors calling on her? Why summon the imperial doctor? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
Odd?
The group stared at him, bewildered.
“…A girl like her—born dim-witted and unwanted, nearly drowned by the Chengs, then abandoned at a Taoist temple without even being allowed home, neglected by the Zhous who only cared about her dowry—why would anyone lift a finger if she fell ill? Her death would suit both families just fine. The Zhous could even reclaim their daughter’s dowry afterward. So why, as you claim, are they bustling about with streams of visitors and doctors?” the old servant said. “To lavish such care on a defective daughter they once couldn’t wait to discard—isn’t that strange?”
The group exchanged glances, then nodded gravely as realization dawned.
Strange. Unthinkably strange.
“And another thing—how could the Zhous attend the Lantern Festival on Heavenly Street? That contradicts Master Cheng’s account of their status entirely,” the old servant added.
“Who cares about their status? They’re not foisting some sickly half-wit on the Wangs!” another retainer snapped. “Even if they’re powerful, our Wang clan has no dealings with them. We’ve nothing to fear.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group—North and South, scholars and soldiers, our paths never cross anyway.
“Fear isn’t the issue,” the old servant acknowledged with a nod. “But knowing your enemy is wisdom. Better prepared than panicked. We can’t leave yet—we must observe, investigate. Learn the truth about the Zhous’ motives and Lady Cheng’s illness before sending a detailed report home.”
As the leader of this expedition, his word was final. The retinue bowed in assent.
“Young Master, what are your thoughts?” The old servant turned to Wang Shi’qi.
Throughout their discussion, the young master hadn’t been listening at all—merely hearing that they weren’t leaving yet had put him at ease.
“Do as you see fit. If she’s healthy, I’ll marry her. If she’s sick, we’ll call it off. No great loss,” he said with a careless wave. Beautiful women were hardly in short supply.
Especially after coming to the capital—he’d since realized just how many stunning beauties there truly were.
Now that he thought about it, that picturesque maiden wasn’t that exceptional…
Wang Shi’qi smacked his lips. But to give her up entirely…
“You must listen to me.”
The girl’s gentle smile surfaced in his memory—how she’d lowered her head demurely, then lifted her gaze to watch him with those quiet eyes…
Lovely and obedient. Not the usual bland compliance, but something else…
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Still, abandoning her now would be… a bit of a shame.
“Let’s find a doctor to examine her ourselves,” he declared.
When the maid returned, Lady Chen had already left with Physician Li.
“What did they say?” she asked Jin Ge’er.
“Nothing useful—just more talk about ‘deluded spirits’ and ‘blocked channels.’ I think none of them actually know what’s wrong. They prattle on, but didn’t prescribe a single remedy,” Jin Ge’er said, pursing her lips. “Doctor Li mumbled something about consulting medical texts later.”
The maid sighed.
“Go now. Keep the gate secure,” she instructed, eyeing Jin Ge’er.
Jin Ge’er nodded emphatically, tightening her grip on the door bolt.
The maid stepped into the chamber. The room was as quiet as ever, but the young mistress who usually sat reading in silence was nowhere to be seen.
Lifting the curtain to enter the bedchamber, she found Ban Qin turning Cheng Jiao-niang over in bed.
“…Miss, it’s time for calligraphy practice. I’ll go grind the ink… please wake up soon…” Ban Qin murmured incessantly.
The maid felt a sting in her nose and wiped away tears with her sleeve.
“If she can’t write, perhaps I should read to her instead,” she suggested.
“Sister, it’s not reading time yet,” Ban Qin said, looking up. “You go attend to your duties. The three shops can’t manage without you. I may be slow-witted and inarticulate, but you handle external affairs while I care for the mistress.”
The maid rubbed her nose and nodded.
“Very well. Leave the shops to me. You focus on tending the mistress.” With that, she turned to wash her face, reapply powder, and change her robes.
“Jin Ge’er, guard the gate well.”
Jin Ge’er nodded emphatically.
Taking a deep breath, the maid stepped out the door.
In the medical library of the Imperial Medical Institute, Doctor Li had been rummaging through books for hours, leaving the entire room in complete disarray.
“Master, what about this one?”
A young apprentice stood tiptoed atop several stacks of books, pulling a scroll from an even higher shelf. He turned back excitedly as he asked.
Seated amidst piles of texts with his head bowed over an unfurled scroll, Doctor Li didn’t even glance up at the question.
“Read it,” he commanded.
“‘Li Zhen’s Treatise on Miscellaneous Diseases…'” the apprentice began.
“Throw it here,” Doctor Li interrupted.
The apprentice obediently tossed the scroll, which landed among the heap of texts at his master’s feet, before immediately resuming his tiptoed search.
As dusk fell and the room grew dim, Doctor Li finally lifted his head from the scrolls.
His young apprentice sat slumped against a bookshelf, fast asleep with drool trailing down his chin.
“It seems… this time there’s no saving her,” Doctor Li couldn’t help but murmur.
No sooner had the words left his lips than he instinctively glanced around, as if afraid someone might overhear.
Catching himself in this reaction, he let out a derisive snort. Ever since that Cheng girl appeared, how many times had people summoned Doctor Li not for treatment—but simply to have him declare their loved ones beyond saving? It had gotten to the point where he dared not utter those words anymore, no matter how hopeless the case.
If anyone heard him now, they’d probably rush off gleefully to fetch that Cheng girl with their patient in tow.
Except this time… the patient being carried would be the Cheng girl herself.
Wasn’t this what they called the wheel of fortune turning?
Let this be a lesson for all her past arrogance!
Doctor Li exhaled deeply, feeling no schadenfreude whatsoever—only a leaden weight in his chest.
When others were beyond saving, they could turn to her. But now that she was beyond saving… to whom could they turn?
The thought brought an inexplicable pang of sorrow.
“Doctor Li! Doctor Li!”
A clear, resonant voice suddenly rang out beyond the door, accompanied by heavy, hurried footsteps.
Before Doctor Li could even rise, a loud thud sounded beside him.
“Master, don’t hit me!” the young apprentice cried out, clutching his head in panic.
It turned out the boy, startled awake, had knocked his head against the shelf and shouted in fright.
Caught between anger and amusement, Doctor Li scolded the boy to tidy up the room before stepping outside alone.
In the courtyard, several palace eunuchs were escorting Duke Jin’an, who strode forward with purposeful steps.
“Your Highness, what brings you here?” Doctor Li asked, then snorted. “Didn’t you say you’d found a miraculous cure and no longer needed my medicines?”
Duke Jin’an laughed heartily, clapping Doctor Li on the shoulder.
“Must one be ill to visit you? Can’t I simply miss you?” he quipped with a grin.
Doctor Li responded with another derisive snort.
Once seated in the main hall and the eunuchs had withdrawn beyond the doors, the prince cut straight to the heart of the matter:
“How fares Lady Cheng’s condition?”
Doctor Li started violently, staring wide-eyed at the prince.
“You know of this too? Has her fame spread so far already?” he demanded.
“She saved my life, just as you once did,” the prince replied, meeting his gaze with a faint smile.
Doctor Li gaped in astonishment.
“When did this happen?” he cried, leaping to his feet. “Why was I not told?”
When had His Highness’ condition deteriorated to such mortal peril?
How could so momentous an event have been concealed from him?
“Not here—it happened last year when I returned to pay respects at my royal father’s tomb,” Duke Jin’an explained with a faint smile.
With his trusted attendants guarding the doors, he recounted the incident without fear of eavesdroppers.
Doctor Li’s face darkened as he listened.
“The Gao family dared do this? Such audacity!” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“And such cunning. I never suspected that man could be bought,” the duke said calmly. “But what does it matter? No amount of virtue can overcome good fortune.”
A subtle smile touched his lips.
After all, fortune had favored him with her intervention.
But now she…
The duke’s smile faded as he looked up at Doctor Li.
“You examined her today—what truly ails her?”
Doctor Li sighed heavily.
“The case exceeds my skill,” he admitted.
Though he’d suspected as much, hearing the verdict from Doctor Li’s own lips made the duke’s heart plummet.
“How can it exceed your skill? What manner of illness is this?” he demanded.
“An extraordinary malady.” Doctor Li rubbed his tired eyes, pausing thoughtfully before continuing. “Though I’ve never encountered it myself, my late master spoke of such cases. Consulting the medical texts today, I found some corroboration.”
“What is it?” Duke Jin’an straightened from his kneeling position.
“Loss of Heart-Mind disorder,” declared the doctor.
Loss of Heart-Mind?
“Some profound shock has shattered her spirit, blocking the passages of consciousness,” Doctor Li explained. “It may sound fantastical, but such mental afflictions prove most intractable—no herbal remedy can cure what the mind has imprisoned. As the saying goes, ‘For heart-sickness, heart-medicine is needed.’ Her constant questioning of identity shows her awareness remains trapped, like a person confined in a chamber—still cognizant, yet unable to find the door… until…”
The doctor’s gaze locked with the duke’s as he made a cutting gesture across his throat.
“The mind perishes within its cage.”
