A faint rustling sound reached his ears, but it soon fell silent again.
Duke Jin’an stirred slightly, then sank back into deep slumber.
Someone gently touched his hand, and in that same moment, something slipped from his palm and was drawn away.
Duke Jin’an abruptly opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of Cheng Jiao-niang.
In the soft morning light, her eyes were dark and bright, calmly fixed upon him.
Duke Jin’an scrambled to sit up in a fluster.
But Cheng Jiao-niang reached out, pressing a hand to his shoulder while using the other to free her hair from where it was trapped beneath him.
“It’s still early – sleep a little longer,” she said with a faint smile, her gaze sweeping over his face. “Or perhaps you sleep better when in pain, is that it?”
Her dark, bright eyes gleamed.
She was teasing him again!
Duke Jin’an’s ears warmed, and he simply spread his arms, lying back down.
“I sleep better alone,” he declared. “Don’t disturb me.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled softly, offering no reply, and rose from the bed. She let the bed curtain fall before stepping away.
Outside, the soft murmur of maids’ voices could be heard. Duke Jin’an pricked up his ears, almost picturing her entering the washroom, washing briefly, changing clothes, and then stepping out again. A maid from the outer chamber had already taken down the longbow hanging on the wall of the opposite room. After a series of light footsteps, everything fell quiet once more.
Duke Jin’an turned over and lay facedown on the bed, drifting back to sleep without even realizing it.
When he woke again, daylight was already streaming brightly through the room. The one who lifted the bed curtain at the sound of movement was none other than Eunuch Jing.
“Madam said Your Highness was tired and should rest longer,” he said with a beaming smile, his eyes wandering over the duke.
That gaze held a mixture of pity, sympathy, and even a touch of relief – a strange, unsettling blend that left one feeling uncomfortable.
Duke Jin’an propped himself up with one arm and rose from the bed.
“Ah, Your Highness, please take your time!”
Amidst Eunuch Jing’s exclamations, Duke Jin’an washed, dressed, and prepared for the day. Still, the lack of restful sleep left his eyes feeling dry and tired.
Eunuch Jing offered him a bowl of medicinal tea.
Was this another brew she had specially prepared for him?
A faint smile touched Duke Jin’an’s lips as he reached out to take it.
“Your Highness,” Eunuch Jing leaned in and whispered, “I simmered this all night.”
His gaze lingered on the faint shadows beneath the duke’s eyes, tinged with a hint of concern.
“This is highly nourishing – please drink it quickly, Your Highness.”
Duke Jin’an paused, staring at the bowl in his hand.
“You brewed this?” he asked.
Eunuch Jing nodded.
“What’s the need for such heavy nourishment?” Duke Jin’an set the tea down again, frowning. “I won’t just drink anything haphazardly.”
How could this be considered haphazard?
Eunuch Jing grew a little anxious.
“Your Highness, you are young and might not understand. You mustn’t rely on youth to be reckless in such matters,” he said. “If you drain your vitality without timely replenishment, it may cause lasting harm.”
What nonsense was this? Duke Jin’an frowned and was about to reply when a commotion rose in the courtyard.
“…My lady, something terrible has happened…”
He saw Cheng Jiao-niang stepping through the gate just as a maid rushed forward in panic to stop her.
What had happened?
Without hesitation, Duke Jin’an strode outside.
Doctor Li stood before a small courtyard, looking thoroughly dismayed.
“Old age, old age,” he sighed. “To think I could fall asleep even while preparing a decoction.”
Several young eunuchs splashed a bucket of water over the area, dousing the last wisps of smoke.
“It’s just a single stove that caught fire,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “What matters is that no one was hurt.”
“But this is no small matter of just a stove,” a steward shook his head, his expression grave.
This was the inner courtyard of the Duke’s residence, right next to Duke Jin’an’s living quarters. Today it might be a stove that burns – tomorrow, it could be an entire courtyard.
“These sorts of incidents are not serious matters,” Duke Jin’an’s voice sounded from behind.
Everyone promptly turned and bowed.
Duke Jin’an’s gaze fell on Cheng Jiao-niang, who still held her bow and arrows in hand.
“Clean this up,” he said, then turned and walked away.
Since he had dismissed it, Cheng Jiao-niang left it as well. She followed him back inside, washed, changed her clothes, and soon breakfast was served.
“This is just how things are in my household.”
Duke Jin’an spoke suddenly.
Cheng Jiao-niang paused, her chopsticks held mid-air, and turned her gaze to him, listening.
“It’s not just the residence – it’s always been like this, wherever I’ve been. The people around me have always been a mixed lot. Anyone can come and go as they please,” Duke Jin’an continued. “It’s as if there are holes in the walls around me. Even the color of my undergarments, if someone outside wants to know, they can easily find out.”
A snort of laughter escaped from Ban Qin, who stood in attendance nearby, before she quickly covered her mouth.
Cheng Jiao-niang also smiled.
“That’s how it should be,” she said. “Even the daily movements of princes outside the capital are observed clearly under the Emperor’s eyes. What more could you expect, as a prince’s son raised within the palace?”
Duke Jin’an laughed.
He always knew that speaking with her was both easy and effortless.
“There is nothing one does that cannot be spoken of to others. Lay it all out in the open – let them look if they wish,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Whether to allow others to see is one’s own affair. As for whether they truly see through things or not, that becomes their own matter.
Duke Jin’an smiled again, picking up a piece of side dish with his chopsticks and savoring it with a touch of contentment.
“Please, eat,” he said, glancing at Cheng Jiao-niang’s chopsticks resting on the table. “I’m used to talking while dining, especially when with Prince Qing – otherwise, he can’t sit still.”
Ever since he began speaking, she had set down her bowl and chopsticks.
This seemingly casual gesture actually reflected her deep sense of propriety, carried out so naturally and effortlessly that it appeared almost innate.
“I can sit still,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Duke Jin’an couldn’t help but chuckle. Without saying more, he picked up his bowl and began scooping rice with his chopsticks.
Ban Qin watched from the side, her eyes brimming with hidden delight as she observed the couple sitting face-to-face, sharing a meal in such harmony.
After the meal, Eunuch Jing brought Doctor Li back to deliver a report.
“How many?” Duke Jin’an glanced at them briefly before cutting straight to the point.
“I don’t know,” Eunuch Jing replied with a bitter smile.
The eunuchs who could remain in the inner courtyard and serve close to Doctor Li were all meticulously chosen individuals. Losing even one meant one fewer trusted person – and looking back, the number of those still remaining could almost be counted.
Whenever another was lost, aside from anger, a pang of sorrow was almost inevitable.
“Since it was aimed at me, why act so clumsily as to burn the medicine?” Duke Jin’an smiled faintly. “Shouldn’t they have added something instead?”
“Perhaps it wasn’t meant for Your Highness’s medicine,” Doctor Li said, drawing a small box from his sleeve.
What was this?
Both duke Jin’an and Eunuch Jing looked at him in surprise.
“Madam, I’ve kept it close to me at all times – it hasn’t been lost,” Doctor Li said.
Cheng Jiao-niang reached out, and Su Xin promptly took the box from Doctor Li and handed it to her.
“Have you opened it and counted?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
As soon as these words were spoken, Doctor Li’s face abruptly changed color. Simultaneously, with a light snap, Cheng Jiao-niang opened the box.
“Two sticks,” she said, shaking her head as if slightly dissatisfied.
Immediately, Doctor Li dropped to his knees with a thud.
The atmosphere in the room instantly grew tense.
…
In the spacious, well-lit chamber, Gao Lingjun extended two fingers and, holding a thin, dark-red incense stick with a handkerchief, slowly rotated it in the sunlight to examine it closely.
“Is this it?” he asked.
“Yes. Though the details were not clearly overheard, it is certain to be related to counteracting the poison that afflicted the Duke,” an advisor replied.
“Can a single stick of incense neutralize poison?” Gao Lingjun frowned.
“A paper kite can also summon thunder,” another advisor remarked.
That was true – the girl had no shortage of peculiar and unconventional methods.
“The messenger stated that he personally participated in Eunuch Jing’s inspection of the scents in the bridal chamber. Once he obtained it, he also gave it a sniff to confirm it was indeed this,” a trusted attendant added.
A sniff? Gao Lingjun instinctively brought the incense closer, but paused just before it reached his nose.
“Find out what kind of incense this is,” he said, placing the stick back into its box and casually discarding the handkerchief. “Once identified, have them adjust the prescription accordingly.”
The advisor was momentarily taken aback.
“Your Excellency means to continue using that particular substance?” he asked. “Surely, the other side will be on guard now?”
“That’s precisely why you need to identify what this incense is, so adjustments can be made to counteract it,” Gao Lingjun replied.
The advisor suddenly understood – it was indeed a risky move. The other side would surely be prepared, likely switching to new countermeasures. Yet if their side persisted with the same method, the opponent’s new tactics might prove ineffective, and even their old methods could fail.
“Understood,” he replied, accepting the two sticks of incense before withdrawing.
Once the room had cleared, Gao Lingjun stepped out onto the corridor. The sunlight was bright and the late summer heat intense, but a faint chill settled in his heart.
They had still been too careless, and now their efforts had fallen short. Truly, accomplishing anything in this world was never easy.
A servant hurried into the courtyard, his expression tense with worry.
“Your Excellency, the Old Madam has started coughing severely again,” he reported in a low voice.
Gao Lingjun’s brow twitched. His father had passed away early, at a time when his own official position was not yet prominent. He had dutifully observed the mourning period at home for three years, which had actually allowed him to conserve his energy and build his strength. His mother had always been in good health, but even the strongest constitution could not defy the passage of time – she was now in her seventies or eighties…
It was neither too early nor too late – she simply could not fall ill now…
If he thought about it, luck really hadn’t been on his side. Ever since the lunar eclipse incident, when Chen Shao had ensnared him, things had constantly gone awry.
The Emperor, Prince Ping, the Imperial Consort, the Empress Dowager – one issue after another, each more serious than the last…
Not only did these problems arise one after another, but any single one of them would have been enough to unsettle most others.
Such misfortune…
Take his mother’s health, for instance. It had been robust before, but as soon as he had casually mentioned using the need to attend to her as an excuse to return to the capital from his provincial post, she had begun to ail…
Could this be what they called “speaking misfortune into existence”?
As this thought flickered through his mind, Gao Lingjun snapped back to attention.
He had never believed in luck or ominous prophecies. Human affairs were human affairs – only through human effort could matters be accomplished.
He absolutely must not, because of this young lady’s many strange actions, start thinking like those foolish, superstitious commoners.
Once fear took root in one’s heart, actions would inevitably become constrained. For someone in his position, even the slightest hesitation or restraint could lead to grave mistakes.
All of this was merely a calculation – everyone could scheme, and it all came down to whose calculations were sharper and more cunning.
“I will go see my mother,” he said, taking a deep breath and steadying his expression. He spoke with a tone of calm inquiry, “Which imperial doctor has been summoned?”
Just as he was about to step forward, someone burst into the room in a rush.
“Father, Father, something terrible has happened!” Young Master Gao shouted.
Gao Lingjun felt his breath catch. He reached out to steady himself against a nearby servant.
Young Master Gao, seeing his father’s pale expression, was also startled.
Gao Lingjun had already regained his composure and now glared sternly at his son, his brow furrowed.
“What is it?” he asked in a steady voice.
