Yin Huayue’s injuries were severe—drifting in and out of consciousness, hazy—and it took two full days before her mind cleared.

She could open her eyes and speak now, but movement was still difficult.

She lay against the head of the bed, frowning at the man before her.

Li Jingyun had just returned from outside, still carrying the bustling energy of the streets with him. He sat down at her bedside, in good spirits, and asked, “Hungry?”

She was occupying his main bedroom; he hadn’t had her moved elsewhere, and she hadn’t dared ask why. Every day she watched him climb over the wall out of the estate like some unbridled wild horse, then slip back in silently, bringing food back for her along the way.

Her stomach growled loudly. Huayue nodded at him. “Hungry.”

Li Jingyun took out a paper-wrapped package and opened it, setting it directly on the low table by the bed.

The thousand-layer cake from Jing’an Hall was vividly colored and fragrant—on an ordinary day, she could have finished it in one sitting without pausing for breath. But unfortunately, she was an invalid now, and invalids could only manage thin porridge.

After a moment’s hesitation, she still picked up a piece and took a bite. The cake was sweet and fragrant, but hard to swallow; she struggled to get down half a piece, her throat so tight she could barely breathe.

The teapot sat on the other side of the low table, a bit out of reach.

Li Jingyun leaned against the bedpost, watching quietly, fingers tapping idly against his forearm, seemingly waiting for something, making no move to help.

Huayue glanced at him, then decided to manage on her own—bracing herself against the bed frame, she leaned her upper body forward, but the motion was too large and pulled at the wound on her back, pain draining the color from her face.

A hand reached past her ear and effortlessly hooked the teapot up.

Huayue startled, turning her head, to see Li Jingyun had pulled up a stool and sat down beside her bed, saying irritably, “Put your hands together.”

Puzzled, she glanced at him but complied.

“Bow toward this lord, like this.”

Her small hands, pressed together, slowly bowed toward him.

Li Jingyun nodded, satisfied, poured her some tea, and pressed the cup into her hands. “Drink up.”

Huayue blinked blankly, then gulped the tea down to the last drop, dazedly handing the cup back to him. Li Jingyun took it, set it aside casually, then brought over a bowl of porridge.

Steam rose visibly as the spoon stirred.

“Want some?” he asked her.

Her stomach growled audibly. Huayue swallowed, pressing her lips together.

He was clearly toying with her—if he really meant to feed her, why would he even need to ask?

Huayue turned her face away, clutching the thousand-layer cake. “This servant will just have this.”

The white porridge was moved right in front of her eyes. “Really don’t want it?”

Huayue answered solemnly, “Plain porridge has no flavor—nothing like the soft, sweet richness of thousand-layer cake. One layer of this cake is steamed with mugwort, which helps stop bleeding from wounds too. Two pieces and I’ll be full.”

The more she talked, the more she nearly convinced herself. Huayue clutched the wax paper, expression the picture of pure indifference to worldly pleasures.

And yet, a spoonful of plain porridge was brought right up to her, and Li Jingyun commanded, expressionless, “Open.”

“Ah.”

The porridge slid down her throat; her chin was cupped, and Li Jingyun leaned in slowly, wiping the corner of her mouth, instructing her word by word: “Say it’s delicious.”

“…Delicious.”

“Say you want more.”

“…Want more.”

“Say please.”

“…Please.”

A satisfied smile spread across his face, and he scooped another spoonful for her. “Good girl.”

That was the phrase she used to praise Wangfu.

Huayue looked at him, her heart filled with grief and indignation, swallowing the spoonful, wishing she could bite the spoon in half.

“Oh, right.” Li Jingyun stirred the porridge unhurriedly. “Once you’re mostly healed, why don’t you go back to the main courtyard?”

Her stuffed cheeks froze. Huayue glanced at him, swallowing. “Young Master, the General ordered…”

“My father had you watch over me, but if it weren’t for me this time, you’d have died in the Steward’s Courtyard.” Li Jingyun raised an eyebrow. “Letting you go back to the main courtyard is already a kindness—you don’t even want to accept it?”

That did seem to make sense. Huayue nodded, then asked respectfully, “Does Young Master still remember why this servant ended up in the Steward’s Courtyard?”

“…” Li Jingyun guiltily looked up to count the carved patterns on the roof beam.

Huayue smiled softly. “If it had been some other offense, and Young Master wanted this servant to return to the main courtyard, this servant wouldn’t say a word against it. But this servant offended someone of noble standing and was summoned by the Steward’s Courtyard—going back now would only mean certain death, and might even implicate the Madam.”

Li Jingyun shot her a look. “Why aren’t you worried about implicating me?”

“Young Master can protect this servant.” She lowered her eyes. “In this entire General’s residence, only Young Master can protect this servant.”

If it had been some proper, formal charge, the General and Madam might still have been able to shield her. But this kind of vague, inexplicable jealousy from a young lady, compounded by the Princess Imperial’s favoritism—even the General would have no way around it.

This person saw things quite clearly. Li Jingyun felt a flicker of surprise, studying her for a moment, then laughed softly. “If you insist on staying in the East Courtyard, then you’ll have to listen to me.”

Huayue’s smile froze.

The man before her began counting off on his fingers, dark amusement swirling in his eyes. “First, when I want to leave the estate, you’re not to stop me. Second, wherever I go, you’re not to tell my father. Third, you’re not to trick me into going to the main courtyard. Fourth—”

She hastily reached out and pressed down on his extended hand, wrapping it in her warm palm, smiling as she pressed his fingers back down one by one, coaxing. “This servant needs to make a living here.”

Li Jingyun lifted his chin, displeased.

Huayue smiled apologetically, straightening his fingers back up one at a time for him. “First, this servant can agree not to stop you, but this servant will come along. Second, this servant can agree not to tell the General where you’ve gone, but if you need this servant to lie, Young Master will need to help cover for it. Third…”

Rubbing his ring finger, she sighed, looking troubled. “The Madam really does want to see you.”

Li Jingyun turned his face away, his expression instantly weary, the air around him growing cold and heavy. He tried to pull his hand back; Huayue noticed and quickly summoned all her strength to hold his hand firmly in place.

They were mother and son by blood, after all—what grievance could be so great that it couldn’t even be mentioned?

Still, since she was the one asking a favor, after a moment’s hesitation, Huayue pressed his ring finger down anyway. “Fine, this servant will agree to this too. You don’t have to go to the main courtyard, but buying a hairpin and letting this servant deliver it—that should be fine, shouldn’t it?”

Li Jingyun looked utterly baffled. “Where do you get the nerve to bargain with this lord?”

Huayue blinked, then, remembering what he’d taught her earlier, pressed her palms together and bowed toward him obediently, brows lowered. “Please.”

Li Jingyun: “…”

He wiped a hand over his face, feeling inexplicably aggrieved himself, and stood, sleeves sweeping, shoving the bowl back into her hands irritably. “Finish the porridge. Keep recovering.”

Was that a yes or a no? Huayue looked up, opening her mouth toward his retreating back, but before she could ask, he had already vanished out the door.

Huayue hugged the porridge bowl, her expression souring into worry.

“Steward Yin.” Not long after, Badou poked his head in from outside, smiling. “The kitchen girl Xiaocai says she’d like to see you—asked if you have a moment?”

Huayue paused, recalling the maid she’d seen in the hallway that day, eyes flickering. “Won’t it disturb the Young Master’s rest?”

“It won’t, it won’t.” Badou glanced outside. “Young Master’s gone out again.”

“Mm, then let her in.” Huayue smiled faintly. “I don’t know many people in this household anyway.”

Badou nodded, suspecting nothing, and promptly let Xiaocai in.

An unremarkable young girl, a few faint freckles on her cheeks, walked a few steps to Huayue’s bedside and knelt, voice light and quick. “Just got word—a few days ago, assassins got into the palace. That person’s been furious, hunting them down, seems to be considering moving out of the palace to live elsewhere.”

Huayue glanced toward the door, lowering her voice. “Was he hurt?”

“No.” Xiaocai paused. “But the palace lost someone—seems fairly important.”

Given how tight palace security was these days, it went without saying—to pull someone out right from under his nose, the assassin responsible must have been formidable indeed. Huayue found herself rarely curious, asking one more question. “Whose people did it?”

Xiaocai shook her head. “Not sure, but they have a lead—the assassin dropped a jade pendant. They’ve already had it sketched and are searching everywhere.”

“Here’s the sketch, this servant brought a copy too. Take a look.”

In a mood for some idle entertainment, Huayue unrolled the paper.

A mandarin-duck jade pendant, paired with a sandalwood-colored cord, finely made and rare.

Smiling as she looked, Huayue’s smile soon faded.

The white jade mandarin-duck pendant from Baolai Pavilion.

This was the token the Madam had personally selected, meant for Li Jingyun to give to Miss Han—Huayue had watched her fasten it at his waist with her own hands that very day, watched him wear it out the door.

She touched the pattern on the sketch, eyes narrowing.

“Why is the mandarin-duck pendant the Young Master wore out that day missing?”

“Missing is missing—it’s not even a particularly fine piece, quite vulgar really.”

“Where did the Young Master go tonight?”

“You’re a servant—don’t you know the less you know, the longer you live?”

Li Jingyun’s tone had always been carelessly flippant, an eyebrow raised, a hint of disdain at the corner of his eye—every bit the pampered young master oblivious to the hardships of ordinary life. He’d deflect with a sentence or two, and she’d genuinely never pressed further.

Crumpling the sketch abruptly, Huayue closed her eyes.

“Steward?” Xiaocai looked at her, puzzled. “You recognize this?”

“I don’t.”

The denial came out instinctively; Huayue nearly bit her own tongue.

It was only a moment later that she registered, belatedly, her own irritation—why deny it at all? It wasn’t her jade pendant. If Li Jingyun had truly done something foolish, that was on him to bear.

Stuffing the crumpled paper back into Xiaocai’s hands, she said, “Keep watching. I still need to recover from my injuries—I can’t be of help right now.”

Xiaocai tucked the paper away, studying her a moment longer. “You’re… all right?”

Huayue glanced at her, smiling without warmth. “Only asking now? Isn’t that a bit late?”

Embarrassed, Xiaocai lowered her eyes, stood, seeming to want to say something more, but catching the mockery in Huayue’s gaze, she pressed her lips together and quietly withdrew.

The room fell quiet again. Huayue lay back down against the soft pillow.

Things were progressing smoothly—her life was safe, that person in the palace was beginning to show cracks, everything moving in a favorable direction. As for Li Jingyun—someone that capable didn’t need her to worry about him.

Smiling contentedly, she closed her eyes.

But… half an hour later.

Huayue’s eyes opened. There was no trace of sleepiness in them.

Li Jingyun’s jade pendant—why had it turned up in the palace?

If he really were caught and mistaken for the assassin, what would he do then?