Gleaming silver needles pierced pale, delicate skin, the room filling with the scent of medicine, light through the flower-patterned window revealing wisps of curling smoke rising and drifting.

Li Jingyun watched quietly, his long, slender fingers tapping absently near the bamboo-knot pendant at his waist, dark light shifting in his eyes.

“Young Master.” Badou returned from outside, standing beyond the partition, speaking softly. “Everything’s been arranged. The main courtyard hasn’t caught wind of it. But the Steward’s Courtyard… they may want an explanation.”

Wen Guzhi’s hand paused at this, and he turned in astonishment. “The Steward’s Courtyard?”

“Mm.” Li Jingyun responded absently. “Keep working the needles.”

“No, Third Young Master, if this were some minor incident, your brothers wouldn’t even ask.” Wen Guzhi frowned. “But if you pulled this person out of the Steward’s Courtyard, you really ought to give us some warning beforehand.”

What sort of place was the Steward’s Courtyard? On par with the Cabinet in authority, personally overseen by the Empress herself, ostensibly there to uphold proper family conduct among the capital’s nobility by punishing servants and setting things right—but everyone understood clearly what it was actually used for.

If this young master went in to rescue someone from the Steward’s Courtyard, word could reach the palace before he’d even finished the act.

Whether the matter was big or small aside—under normal circumstances, there was no reason for this to be reported to the palace at all.

“You can finish saving her first before we talk.” Li Jingyun waved a hand, sleeve drawing back slightly. “I can handle it.”

Wen Guzhi looked at him with a complicated expression, then suddenly crooked his little finger and, mimicking the eunuchs’ affected tone, said, “Ohh, those who do great deeds fear nothing more than a beauty who brings ruin~. Little one sees your posture here, quite reminiscent of a doomed emperor of ages past. Why don’t we just not save her—one needle sends this little calamity to the afterlife, saves you the trouble of hesitating later and ruining the greater cause.”

Li Jingyun rolled his eyes and gave him a merciless glare. “Get lost.”

Withdrawing his affected gesture with a sigh, Wen Guzhi said, “Third Young Master has always handled things cleanly, never once implicating his brothers—I’ve nothing to worry about there.”

“But my lord, we’ve all shared the oath-brother wine. There’s no reason it should always be you shouldering things alone. That’s not right.”

Picking up the last silver needle and examining it, Wen Guzhi laughed softly. “Next time something like this happens, please include us.”

Silver light glinting, it made the face before him look especially cold. He swept a glance over, expression rather disdainful, but after a moment of silence, he still nodded.

“Mm.”

Wen Guzhi relaxed, brows unfurling, and briskly inserted the last needle.

**The person’s brow furrowed slightly, a soft groan escaping.

“What is it?” Li Jingyun leaned in to look, frowning. “You’re an imperial physician, and you’re being careless with the needles? Did you hit the wrong spot?”

The earlier joy vanished entirely; Wen Guzhi’s nose nearly twisted with indignation. “Third Young Master, I am an imperial physician—a divinely skilled physician, do you understand? What divinely skilled physician hits the wrong spot?”

“Then why is she making that sound?”

“If you had this many cuts on your body, wouldn’t it hurt enough to make you groan? She’s lucky to still be able to make any sound at all, means there’s hope yet—what are you panicking about?”

Expression easing slightly, Li Jingyun said with disdain, “I’m not panicking.”

“Right, and the sky outside hasn’t brightened either—this humble one’s just blind.” Wen Guzhi rubbed his cheek, muttering under his breath, “An old iron tree finally blooms, it’s enough to make one’s teeth ache watching.”

**This person’s lips seemed to move. Li Jingyun no longer had time to argue with Wen Guzhi, bracing himself against the bed frame to lean in and listen.

Warm breath tickled his ear; the person mumbled indistinctly for a while, then let out an inexplicable word.

“Magnolia?” He repeated it blankly, then straightened up, staring at Wen Guzhi in disbelief. “She’s in this state and she’s still dreaming about flowers?”

Wen Guzhi spread his hands. “That, I can’t cure.”

Li Jingyun wiped a hand over his face, feeling like he’d saved her for nothing. Even Wangfu wagged its tail after eating a steamed bun—this person had just escaped death and, instead of properly thanking him in her dreams, was off dreaming about some random nonsense.

Unwilling to give up, he leaned in again, wanting to hear more, but Yin Huayue said nothing further, her cracked lips pressed tightly shut—so tightly they began bleeding again.

“Tch.”

He reached out, wanting to pry her lips loose, but the moment he applied a little force, two lines of tears slid down from the corners of her eyes and fell.

His fingertips twitched, and Li Jingyun withdrew his hand quickly. After a pause, he looked toward Wen Guzhi, instinctively explaining, “I didn’t use much force.”

Wen Guzhi found this hilarious—such a small thing, and he felt the need to explain himself?

But Li Jingyun’s expression was deadly serious, staring at the tear-tracks at her eyes as if staring at some crime scene, dark shadows stirring faintly in his eyes, his jawline tense.

Wen Guzhi burst out laughing, doubling over against the partition, gasping for breath. “What kind of treasure is lying there, exactly?”

Half his face darkened, Li Jingyun scoffed coldly. “Treasure, my ass.”

Just a dog he’d only just finished taming.

“Young Master.”

Badou came in from outside again, catching the word “treasure” and looking startled. “How did you know there was a treasure? The Han residence sent this over—the General’s meaning is that you should think of a gift in return.”

Wen Guzhi fell silent, and the two exchanged a glance.

Li Jingyun pressed his lips together, lifted the curtain, and held out a hand toward Badou. “Give it here.”

A sandalwood box; inside, a piece of southern Yang jade cicada, strung with a pale green cord, meant to be worn as a waist ornament.

“What does this mean?” Wen Guzhi couldn’t make sense of it. “A perfectly ordinary waist ornament being sent over—this isn’t exactly a token of romantic devotion.”

His gaze turning slightly cold, Li Jingyun closed the box. “When I rescued her, this lord gave away the seven-bamboo-ring jade pendant. I’d guess it ended up in Han Shuang’s hands.”

Wen Guzhi raised an eyebrow, thought it over briefly, then understood. “Then she’s being rather generous—not even a word of reproach, and she sent you one back instead.”

Han Shuang had always swallowed her grievances where he was concerned; she knew that questioning him would yield nothing.

But correspondingly, Yin Huayue wouldn’t be getting off easy.

Li Jingyun turned to look at the figure lying on the ** bed.

Her palm-sized face still had no color to it, her thin wrists exposed—two fingers could nearly circle all the way around them. The tear tracks at her eyes hadn’t dried yet, her brow still tightly furrowed, as if caught in some terrible dream.

“Magnolia.”

A sigh slipping between clenched teeth—in the dream, it was pure, unguarded joy.

Huayue trailed her long mountains-and-rivers-embroidered skirt as she stood beneath the magnolia branches, tilting her head back to see spring light filtering through the leaves. She reached up to try to pick a flower, but fell just short.

After many failed attempts, she pouted, on the verge of tears, but before the tears could fall, the kind man behind her lifted her onto his shoulders, coaxing gently: “Reach again, higher, there you go—good girl.”

The pure white, soft-petaled flower landed in her palm, and Huayue’s tears turned to laughter. Turning to look back, the gentle woman sat by the stone table, holding an embroidery hoop half-finished with a handkerchief, clapping toward her: “Come here, girl—come see how pretty this flower is?”

A pale blue handkerchief, embroidered with a jade-colored flower, its fragrance filling the air. She marveled, reaching out to touch it.

But this time, just as her fingertips reached the spot, the flower vanished, the handkerchief too, the stone table and the man and woman disappearing entirely, the surroundings darkening, and with one breath she could smell dust and dry grass.

With a creak, a door opened nearby, light spilling in from outside, illuminating countless drifting motes of dust, stinging her eyes.

Someone entered along with the light, looking down at her from above.

“Do you really think this lord has no way to deal with you?”

A cold voice, making her spine go rigid. Huayue instinctively shook her head, retreating sharply.

The ground beneath her vanished, and a sense of falling followed immediately.

“Stop squirming.” Someone scolded her irritably, catching her, and instantly her body was pulled back into somewhere soft and warm.

Feeling returned to her fingers, and her ears suddenly caught sounds around her. Huayue startled, slowly opening her eyes.

Outside it seemed dawn had just broken, the candle on the table not yet burned out. Li Jingyun was reaching for the medicine bowl; from this angle, she could see the tense line of his profile.

Blinking in confusion, she spoke. “Young Master.”

Her voice came out hoarse as thread scraping against wood. Li Jingyun startled at the sound, glancing down, lips pressing together. “So you do know how to wake up.”

He brought a spoonful of medicine over, tone stern. “Now that you’re awake, drink it yourself, so this lord doesn’t have to force it down your throat.”

“…” Whatever she’d dreamed might have been fiction, but dream or waking, this man was equally fierce either way.

Huayue pressed her lips together, reaching out to take the spoon, but she was too weak—her fingertips couldn’t even grip the handle, instead knocking the bowl with a clatter.

“Forget it.” He took her hand away with distaste. “Badou’s not here. This lord will condescend to look after you this once—consider it repayment for the favor you did me last time.”

Nodding sluggishly, Huayue obediently opened her mouth.

This man clearly had never tended to anyone before—didn’t know to tilt the spoon properly, didn’t think to catch drips with a cloth at the corner of her mouth. Huayue strained to extend her tongue and sip, trying her best not to let the medicine spill.

Her small, soft tongue darted quickly to draw in the liquid, looking exactly like Wangfu drinking water.

Li Jingyun wanted to mock her a little, but as he watched, he found himself looking away, oddly uncomfortable. “Drink faster.”

She nodded, and just as she tried to take a bigger gulp, he suddenly touched the side of the bowl again. “Never mind, take your time.”

Huayue: “…”

She was the one who’d been beaten, and she hadn’t developed anything strange—why was this young master the one acting off?

Finishing the medicine at a moderate pace, Huayue wanted to ask something, but her vision kept darkening in waves, and she could only close her eyes and catch her breath.

“Wen Guzhi says you need to replenish your blood and energy, at least ten days of rest.” Li Jingyun’s voice came from above her. “Let me be clear first—this lord isn’t the type to show mercy easily. If you think I’m meddling too much, I’ll send you straight back to the Steward’s…”

Before he finished, his sleeve moved.

Li Jingyun paused, glancing sideways to see the fabric of his own sleeve bunching, slender, soft fingers twisting around the deep blue material, giving it a gentle tug.

Exactly like the tip of a tail wagging, from that fierce dog Wangfu finally giving in.

Huayue had little strength left, and she’d spent it all on this—gripping his sleeve and giving it a tug. Seeing no response, she tugged again, movements careful and small, soft and docile.

But he still didn’t respond.

Growing a little anxious, Huayue forced her eyes open, wanting to say she absolutely did not want to go back to the Steward’s Courtyard.

But when she looked up, she saw the man beside the bed had turned his face away.

The candle flame died out; dawn broke.

In the shifting light and shadow, she thought she saw him smiling.