When Zhao Yanning saw that the patient was a young woman, most of his anger dissipated. After taking her pulse, the remaining anger completely transformed into shock.

“I’ve only heard of dead people coming back to life, but I’ve never seen a living person with just a layer of skin left,” he said in astonishment, turning to look at Fuman. “This person’s blood is nearly drained dry, yet she’s still alive?”

Fuman nodded. She had no intention of telling anyone about the scene she witnessed that night, only gesturing to him: Miss Liu lost a great deal of blood along the way to save me.

Hearing this, Zhao Yanning’s expression grew serious. He took out the cloth bundle he carried with him, first performing acupuncture to sustain her life, then carefully wrote out three prescriptions for blood replenishment, instructing the waiter to fetch the medicine.

Shen Qiyuan stood watching at the doorway and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let’s go,” he said, leading Zhou Tingchuan downstairs.

Zhou Tingchuan looked back worriedly with every step: “Just leaving Miss Liu with Yanning like this? That mouth of his…”

“With Fuman there, it’s fine.” He thought for a moment, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Besides, if they clash, who knows who would anger whom to death?”

Zhao Yanning just had a foul temper and loud voice, but Liu Ruyi was domineering, tyrannical, and unreasonable.

The smile vanished instantly as he fell into deep thought.

Before imperial favor was bestowed, the Bureau of Ancestral Affairs would customarily conduct thorough investigations of those receiving such grace. He had been tied up with official duties for those few days, but several deputy ministers had investigated earnestly. According to the records, Grand Preceptor Liu was pure and untainted, with no legal entanglements whatsoever.

But hadn’t there been too much commotion at the Grand Preceptor’s mansion these past few days?

The inexplicably dead wet nurse, the house servants chasing Liu Ruyi, the silenced Jian Deng—none of it seemed simple.

Ruyi had a nightmare where flames burned fiercely, and Jian Deng sat dazedly in the center of the fire.

She was so frightened that she shouted, wanting to reach out and pull her, but no matter how many steps she took forward, the distance between her and Jian Deng never shortened. The fire grew larger and larger, like a massive monster that swallowed her whole in the blink of an eye.

Ruyi felt suffocated in her chest. Just as she was about to cry out, she saw another person in the fire on the other side.

That person wore a married woman’s hair bun, had graceful features and a gentle demeanor, but was being gradually consumed by flames licking at her dress. She looked up toward Ruyi, with a long blade prominently piercing her chest.

“Nuan nuan,” she beckoned to her, saying softly, “Good child, don’t run around. Come back quickly.”

Ruyi frowned, not daring to step forward, but stared fixedly at the blade in her chest.

This was Liu Ruyi’s mother—she indeed had not died of consumption.

A shadow passed by her, running toward Lady He.

“Mother,” she called out affectionately, allowing the firelight to engulf both herself and her mother.

Ruyi was stunned.

She remembered that stormy night when this young girl sat pitifully in the formation with clasped hands, making her vow: “This faithful woman is willing to use her flesh and blood as payment. I beseech the gods to bring down punishment upon evil, fulfill my long-cherished wish, and appease my resentment—”

Now she leaned in Lady He’s embrace, though her eyes held laughter, her body was half-transparent—a sign of impending dissolution.

Ruyi’s eyes snapped open.

Sunlight streamed through the carved window, bright and dazzling—it was nearly noon.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes. After adjusting for a moment, she turned to see Fuman bringing medicine: “You, you, you’re finally awake. Quickly take, take some medicine. These past few, few days, when I fed you, you, you always spilled quite a bit.”

The turbulent emotions instantly calmed. Ruyi pulled at her dry, cracked lips and let Fuman help her sit up slightly against the pillow: “I slept for a long time?”

Fuman held up three fingers with a serious expression.

With a soft tsk, Ruyi took the medicine and drank it down in one gulp, finally showing a smile: “So that means you’ve learned quite a few dishes too?”

After sleeping so long, the first thing she asked upon waking was this?

Fuman didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: “Why, why don’t you ask, ask about Sir Shen?”

Remembering this matter, Ruyi raised an eyebrow: “Did something happen to him?”

“No, no. It’s just that he, he went to, to the Grand Preceptor’s mansion some days ago, and Grand Preceptor Liu somehow, fell ill.”

This was quite pleasant news. Ruyi stroked her chin: “Then we should find a way to make him go a few more times.”

Someone nearby chuckled.

She turned her head and saw a man standing by the table. He had refined features but looked unfamiliar.

Fuman introduced them: “This, this is Zhao Yanning, a former, former colleague from the Ministry of Justice.”

Ruyi found the name familiar: “Also one of Shen Qiyuan’s people?”

Zhao Yanning bowed to her with reasonable courtesy: “Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Ruyi looked him over twice, musing: “Then are you lacking work? Ever since the murder case at my tavern, most of the staff have fled. I need a few waiters.”

Fuman’s expression changed. She tried to stop him, but it was too late—Zhao Yanning readily agreed: “Good.”

Ruyi nodded, looking puzzled at Fuman, who seemed to want to speak but hesitated: “What’s wrong? Don’t you want him to stay here?”

“No, no, it’s not that he can’t, can’t stay.” Her expression was complex. “Miss, give him, give him a different job. It’s best, best if he doesn’t interact, doesn’t interact with customers.”

“Now that’s strange. He’s good-looking and well-built—he’d be perfect for interacting with customers,” Ruyi said, completely puzzled.

Two hours later.

Ruyi sat in a grand chair by the second-floor railing, wrapped in a thick cloak, watching the chaos in the hall below, her mouth twitching.

“If you can’t walk properly, get your feet chopped off. What’s the point of stepping on other people’s shoes? Are your eyes growing out of your ass like a slop bucket?”

“You what? First, wipe the lard off your face. Arguing with you creates such a glare that my eyes hurt.”

“If you don’t want to pay, just say so directly. I don’t mind treating you to these few bites of food, but what’s all this whining and complaining about, you turtle spawn?”

“…”

Ruyi rubbed her face and gently took Fuman’s hand: “It would be better to have him work as an accountant.”

Fuman nodded seriously.

So when Shen Qiyuan returned, he saw the hall empty of people, with only Zhao Yanning sitting behind the counter, methodically calculating accounts.

He stopped, somewhat surprised: “You and Fuman plan to stay here?”

Yanning also found it surprising: “Didn’t you say you avoid women, sir? How is it you come to see our boss more often than you eat meals?”

Great, another person who had already started calling her “boss.”

Shen Qiyuan was too lazy to argue with him and simply went upstairs.

When Ruyi woke up, her spirits were excellent, but her complexion was still pale, and she was still drinking the ginseng soup Fuman fed her.

She glanced sideways at the doorway and snorted with laughter: “Sir Shen is honorable and upright elsewhere, but here with me, he acts like a thief.”

Shen Qiyuan stepped through the door, his expression complex: “With Zhao Yanning downstairs and you upstairs, this Huixian Tavern truly is a hell of sharp tongues.”

Fuman laughed at this, nearly unable to hold the soup bowl steady.

Ruyi quickly had her set it down, looking irritably at the person beside her: “If you know it’s hell, why do you still barge in, sir?”

Shen Qiyuan fell silent for a moment, then took out a brocade box from his sleeve.