When you refuse to treat him, is it because you truly cannot, or because your rule forbids it?
The moment these words were spoken, even Ban Qin, who never bothered to think or understand, grasped their meaning.
She vaguely recalled a similar scene in the past, when the young man had casually asked her mistress how she knew the wolf pack was attracted there by human.
Back then, she hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the question, only the odd reaction of the clever Ban Qin, who seemed deeply frightened. Later, the clever Ban Qin explained to her the hidden danger beneath the seemingly harmonious atmosphere.
Now, was this young man suspecting her mistress again?
Did he think the mistress was intentionally refusing to treat the illness?
Was he about to get angry?
Ban Qin turned to look at Cheng Jiao-niang.
Cheng Jiao-niang’s expression remained unchanged.
“Rules are defined by what you yourself can or cannot do,” she said without the slightest hesitation. “Rules are not set for others, nor are they for others to see. They are for yourself, to remind yourself of how much you can handle – to know the limits of your own bowl.”
Ban Qin quickly turned to look at Duke Jin’an.
Would he believe it this time? Just like the last time, when he believed what the mistress had said.
“Chen Fang,” Duke Jin’an looked at her, “Weren’t you once a fool too? Weren’t you once just like this? Neither alive nor dead, devoid of knowledge or sensation, free from desires or pursuits, untouched by joy or fear – but weren’t you cured?”
He took a step forward, his voice trembling slightly.
“Didn’t you once suffer from the same foolishness as him? Dirty, ugly, dull-witted, despised by everyone – weren’t you cured? Since you recovered, why do you say he can’t be cured? Weren’t you healed?”
Ban Qin’s face turned pale, her eyes unable to conceal her shock.
Once healed, it was over – no one wanted to dwell on the past suffering, and even she had forgotten those times.
Yet he had spoken it aloud, questioning relentlessly.
Cheng Jiao-niang’s expression remained unchanged as she shook her head once more.
No, Cheng Jiao-niang had not been cured. It was not Cheng Jiao-niang who was healed – it was Chen Fang. The foolish Cheng Jiao-niang was already dead.
Duke Jin’an glanced at her but said nothing before turning and walking away.
So… he still doesn’t believe her after all…
Ban Qin sighed inwardly as she watched the young nobleman stride farther away, passing through the gate and vanishing from sight.
“Abbess! Abbess!”
Two young novices rushed in, calling out urgently.
Abbess Sun was in the middle of instructing her disciples on purchasing furniture. Cheng Jiao-niang’s residence had been given to the guests, while Cheng Jiao-niang herself was temporarily staying at the Grand Xuan-miao Temple down the mountain. Neither side could be neglected – both needed proper arrangements. Interrupted mid-sentence, she was visibly displeased.
“What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Abbess, Lady Cheng’s guest has left,” the novices reported.
Left? But he hadn’t even stayed – why would he leave so soon?
Abbess Sun rose in surprise.
“Abbess, look!”
Hurrying out of the main hall and standing at the mountain gate, the novices pointed downward.
On the mountain path, the entourage was already descending. Carriages and horses were brought out again, guards mounted their steeds, and the young nobleman clad in a cloak carried a child into the carriage. With a few shouts, the convoy set off.
Though the New Year was approaching, villagers with baskets still peddled small goods at the foot of the mountain. They watched the departure with curiosity, pointing and murmuring among themselves.
“Are these pilgrims visiting the temple?” a villager asked, stopping a young novice at the entrance of the Xuan-miao Temple.
“They’re not pilgrims,” the novice replied.
“Then what are they here for?” the villager pressed, curiosity piqued.
“I’m not sure,” the novice said, turning to another young novice nearby. “Weren’t they supposed to stay? Why did they leave so suddenly?”
The other novice hugged her arms and shook her head.
“Who knows,” she said, then noticed the villager still standing nearby. She frowned slightly. “Which family are you from? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
The villager chuckled awkwardly, pointed vaguely toward a direction behind him, mentioned a household name, and quickly walked away.
“The Guo family? From Guo Village? That’s quite far from here – what brings you here to sell things?” the novice murmured, shaking her head. “And right before the New Year too…”
Meanwhile, the villager walked away with his basket, turned a corner along the mountain path, and soon came upon a waiting carriage. He lifted the curtain and climbed in, and the carriage sped off.
The mountain path fell silent again, without even a whisper of wind. Only the sporadic sound of firecrackers from distant villages broke the stillness. Suddenly, a rustling noise came from a clump of withered bushes by the main road, and several figures emerged. Had anyone been passing by, they would have been startled.
The figures glanced around, brushed off their clothes, and without a word, turned and hurried in the direction the carriage had gone.
The mountain path returned to silence once more. It wasn’t until then that someone stood up from a nearby slope and rushed back toward the Xuan-miao Temple.
“There aren’t many of them, around seven or eight,” Steward Cao reported with a grim expression.
Ban Qin’s face turned pale.
“You mean someone is watching us? What do they want? Who are they?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Steward Cao shook his head.
“Whoever they are, I don’t think they’re on our side,” he said with a bitter smile. Then, looking up at Cheng Jiao-niang, he added, “Miss, perhaps we should delay our journey.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly and shook her head.
“It’s fine. Even if they’re not our people, the fact that they’re being so cautious and evasive suggests they operate by certain rules,” she said calmly. “As long as they follow rules, there’s nothing to worry about.”
It was as if the mistress could see the future. Since she said it was fine, then it must be. Steward Cao nodded firmly.
“Miss, I’ve already taken inventory of the two shops, as well as the two farm estates,” he reported. “I’ll complete the inspections as quickly as possible.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded in acknowledgment.
Since there were no longer any guests staying, Cheng Jiao-niang naturally moved back into Tai Ping Temple. Abbess Sun was overjoyed, chatting and laughing alongside her – though, of course, she did most of the talking.
As dusk deepened, two young novices lit the lanterns around Tai Ping Temple, listening to the abbess’s laughter drifting from inside.
“…Really, it’s true! That benefactor actually believed it…”
“…How could that be?”
The two novices glanced at each other and stuck out their tongues playfully.
“I never knew the abbess could talk so much,” one whispered with a giggle.
“People say our abbess speaks with the wisdom of the immortals – some are even willing to pay just to hear a single word from her,” the other replied with a smile.
“Well, the abbess must be making quite a fortune tonight,” the first one remarked.
The two leaned together, stifling their laughter.
The night did not hinder the journey of the carriage and horses. As the New Year approached, the distant sound of firecrackers could be heard along the road, adding a touch of festive cheer to the desolate and bleak winter night.
The carriage rocked gently, and the child nestled in his arms let out a few incoherent cries, flailing his arms aimlessly and kicking off the blanket covering him.
Duke Jin’an gently tucked the child’s arms back under the blanket and pulled it up to cover him again. He then took a handkerchief from beside him and wiped the drool from the child’s mouth, softly patting and soothing him before turning back to gaze blankly out the carriage window.
The last glimmer of hope was gone.
The shock and horror upon learning of the Second Prince’s accident, the panic and despair upon hearing the imperial physicians’ diagnosis, the rage that tore at his very soul when he thought about how it had happened –
Then came the determination to take the Second Prince out of the palace for treatment, the urgency of traveling day and night without rest, the hope that surged during the journey, the joy and relief he imagined feeling once the child recovered, and the sense of reassurance upon meeting that girl.
And now, hearing those words – “incurable” – he felt a chill from head to toe.
In just over a month, it felt as though he had experienced every emotion a lifetime could hold. It also felt as though he had lived an entire lifetime in this short span.
Duke Jin’an slowly let out a breath, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the carriage.
Was this all a dream? When he opened his eyes, when daylight came, would he still be in that small temple on the mountain? Would a maid come and gently ask him to open the door? Would that girl then enter, carrying medicine for Liu Ge’er? Or perhaps she would use golden needles to perform acupuncture on him. But Liu Ge’er would surely refuse to cooperate – he’d heard that she didn’t allow outsiders to be present during treatments. What would she do then?
Duke Jin’an frowned. That would indeed be troublesome. Yet, though the girl appeared dignified and gentle, she was decisive and efficient when it came to action. Perhaps she would simply have Liu Ge’er knocked unconscious.
A faint smile touched Duke Jin’an’s lips. Just then, the carriage jolted, and the child in his arms murmured softly, pulling him out of his reverie.
Even the finest carriage could not keep out the night wind entirely. The glowing charcoal brazier struggled to ward off the winter chill. Duke Jin’an shivered slightly, listening to the sounds around him – the rhythm of the carriage and horses, the steady breathing of his attendants, their occasional hushed conversations, and the sporadic bursts of firecrackers in the night sky.
This was no dream. This was reality – a cold, bleak, and hopeless reality.
No one would come to cure Liu Ge’er. His Liu Ge’er would never return.
Duke Jin’an buried his face in the child’s warmth.
Gone, forever gone. Nothing left.
He had nothing left.
Fang Bocong, Fang Bocong, don’t be sad.
Duke Jin’an wrapped his arms around himself and gently patted his own shoulder, as if offering comfort to the shattered pieces of his heart.
