Regret.

Lu Tong had heard many poems about regret.

Lu Rou had told her that regret meant sorrow, helplessness, and remorse.

Young Lu Tong thought there were many such things—when she accidentally broke her most beloved porcelain figurine, when she fought with the Liu brothers over the last piece of sugar cake on the table, when she missed the final night opera at the temple stage because she was busy catching fish…

In her noisy, bustling life, she was always filled with sorrow, helplessness, and remorse.

But in that moment, she finally understood the true meaning of regret.

Regret was not having the chance to say goodbye.

She reflected countless times afterward—if only she had left a letter for her parents, or found someone to pass along a message. Why had she been so foolish and inflexible? If she had been like Lu Rou and Lu Qian, reading more books and being a bit smarter, perhaps she could have thought of another way.

Each time she reflected, the regret deepened.

Again, she comforted herself with the poetry Lu Qian had taught her on the mountain: “Though parting is most sorrowful, like waters flowing east and west, eventually they shall meet again.”

It would be better once she came down the mountain, better once they reunited.

She thought the regret was temporary, but unknowingly, it had already become forever.

She would never again have the chance to say goodbye to her family.

The night was long and the wind cold, a single lamp like a grain of rice in the darkness.

Lu Tong heard her own calm voice: “I left in haste, there wasn’t time.”

This answer was somewhat perfunctory.

Pei Yunying stared at her thoughtfully: “So you’re called Seventeen because you’re your master’s seventeenth disciple?”

Lu Tong remained silent.

Back then at the ruined temple in Sunan, she had forced Pei Yunying to write an “IOU” on the temple wall, signing it as Seventeen—she didn’t want to use her real name.

Seeing her apparent acquiescence, Pei Yunying pursed his lips: “Your master’s medical skills are quite remarkable. Why isn’t he famous? What kind of person is he?”

“Lord Pei.”

Lu Tong suddenly spoke, interrupting Pei Yunying: “At the Huangmao Ridge hunting grounds, the Crown Prince was in danger, and the Third Prince was also attacked. Who do you think the culprit was?”

Not expecting her to suddenly ask this, Pei Yunying paused, then looked at her: “Who do you think it was?”

Lu Tong smiled: “Perhaps it was neither of them.”

“When I was small, I often fought with the Liu brothers. Sometimes, for revenge, I would secretly eat both their sesame candies, then instigate between them, making each think the other had eaten his candy, when it was actually all me.”

The young man sitting across from her showed a slight change in expression, his gaze becoming complex for a moment.

Lu Tong looked at him calmly: “Marshal, you have your secrets, and I have mine. Between you and me, we understand each other—let’s stop here and not pry further.”

She sat at the table, her expression cold and distant, rejecting others from a thousand miles away, cold and clear like quiet snow in the mountains.

Pei Yunying gazed at her quietly.

This girl—calm, indifferent, rational—could take someone’s life with an expressionless face, could gamble everything for revenge with mad determination.

The secret message from Changwu County described Third Miss Lu as proud, willful, lively and spirited, often causing the Lu couple headaches. Even during his brief encounter with her years ago at the ruined temple in Sunan, he remembered her as someone who would be afraid, displeased, and would mischievously try to pull off his face covering—still retaining some childish playfulness.

She bore no resemblance whatsoever to the woman before him now.

In just five or six short years, what had she experienced?

Clearly, he had just felt her attitude softening, so why did she bristle with thorns the moment her master was mentioned, refusing to let anyone approach?

The gaze falling on him was like scorching sun, burning and piercing. Lu Tong paused for a while before speaking: “Where is the Marshal’s ring?”

He started, then lowered his head with a smile, pulling out a silver ring from his chest.

Too much time had passed—the ring had gradually darkened, gleaming with a dim, cold luster under the candlelight.

Lu Tong picked up the ring.

She said: “Years ago in the ruined temple at Sunan, I stitched up the Marshal’s wound, and you promised me a favor.”

“I wonder if that promise from years past still counts.”

Pei Yunying looked at her, his lips curving upward: “Of course.”

“You saved me, and favors must be repaid.”

He asked: “Do you want to kill Qi Yutai? I can help you.”

Lu Tong looked at Pei Yunying.

The young man’s tone was relaxed, his eyes smiling, as if it were casual banter, but his dark eyes were like stars, quietly and seriously watching her.

As if he would agree the moment she spoke.

After a long silence, Lu Tong looked away: “Don’t you have your own things to do?”

She raised her head: “How long would we need to lie low to kill him? Six months, a year? Or longer?”

He frowned slightly: “Are you in a hurry?”

“Yes, very much so.”

She really didn’t want to waste another moment.

Pei Yunying lowered his head in thought, then looked up: “Then what do you want to do?”

“I’d like to ask Lord Pei for a favor.”

“What favor?”

Lu Tong looked at him, speaking after a long pause.

“I’d like to ask Lord Pei to paint a picture for me.”

…

The night gradually deepened.

Lu Tong left the Marshal’s residence. Pei Yunying escorted her to the carriage, with Qing Feng protecting her on the return journey to the Medical Officials’ Academy.

Not until the carriage disappeared at the alley entrance did Pei Yunying return to the Marshal’s residence and call Chijian into the room.

He handed the written letter to Chijian: “Pick a few men to go to Fengle Tower and do as written above.”

Chijian accepted the order and left.

Xiao Zhufeng had returned at some point and sat at the table, watching him coldly: “Before, you helped her out of sympathy. Now it’s because of obligation. What about later—because of feelings?”

As soon as he finished speaking, a voice came from behind: “Feelings? Who has feelings?”

Duan Xiaoyan’s head poked out from behind the door, looking shocked: “Who? You, big brother? You have feelings for Medical Official Lu?”

Pei Yunying glanced at him: “Get out.”

Duan Xiaoyan made an “oh” sound and sheepishly pulled his head back, closing the door for the two of them.

“Do you know what incurable disease exists in this world?” Pei Yunying said helplessly: “Xiao Er, when did you become like Duan Xiaoyan, with nothing but romance on your mind?”

“I just don’t understand.”

“What if I said I hope she can achieve her great revenge?”

Xiao Zhufeng looked at him.

Pei Yunying lowered his eyes and spoke calmly: “I hope she can succeed, truly.”

…

The cool summer night faded away, and when dawn broke again, the sun carried more scorching heat—it was now deep summer.

The sun was like a blazing fire, its light so intense it hurt the eyes.

The Medical Officials’ Academy and Imperial Pharmacy boiled heat-relief medicine to distribute among the various departments for relief from thirst. In this sweltering summer heat, several events occurred in the Imperial City that set people talking.

First, Palace Front Command Marshal Pei Yunying and Privy Council Commander Yan Xu had a private fight, with Pei Yunying beaten by Yan Xu until his mouth was bruised and swollen. Many palace servants saw this when he passed through the eastern corridor.

These two had always been like fire and water, but such undignified brawling was a first. Everyone speculated about the cause, discussing it with great interest, making it the talk of the town for a while.

The other matter was more sensitive and not dared to be discussed openly—the friction between the Third Prince and Crown Prince was becoming increasingly sharp. Several times in court the scenes were ugly, and Emperor Liang Ming’s illness, which hadn’t improved, grew worse day by day.

However, these undercurrents and disputes deep within the palace gates ultimately had little to do with ordinary citizens. It was the veteran ministers and pillars of the court who were frequently summoned by Emperor Liang Ming for late-night audiences, with the lamps in the Yangxin Hall often burning until the fifth watch.

On this night, near midnight again, a carriage stopped before the Grand Tutor’s residence, and the old steward helped Grand Tutor Qi Qing into the mansion.

The summer night made sleep difficult. Qi Qing wore a thin black Taoist robe, his beard and hair completely white. As he descended the steps, a gentle breeze passed through the courtyard. From afar, he looked like a long-browed immortal with natural celestial bearing.

He held a handkerchief to his lips and coughed softly several times.

The old steward said: “Master has been staying up late for days. Today, Medical Director Cui sent some heat-relief medicine. The kitchen has it brewing and cooling to the perfect temperature. Why not have a bowl to nourish your qi?”

Qi Qing shook his head.

“When one grows old, it’s always like this. No need to waste effort.”

Emperor Liang Ming had summoned him into the palace for late-night audiences five nights in a row. For an old man like him, such exhaustion for several days left him feeling chest tightness and difficulty breathing, walking like scattered, withered pine wood, ready to crumble at any moment.

The old steward bowed his head, his voice even softer: “The Crown Prince’s residence has also sent several invitation cards.”

Qi Qing’s steps paused.

When the previous emperor was alive, he had established the rule: if there’s a legitimate heir, establish the legitimate heir; otherwise, establish the eldest or most virtuous.

The position of Crown Prince had already fallen to the Crown Prince, yet over these years Emperor Liang Ming had been cold toward the Crown Prince, instead showing extreme favor to Third Prince Yuan Yao and his mother, Noble Consort Chen. All the court ministers could see this—how could the Crown Prince not sense it?

Seeing the Third Prince’s influence gradually growing, the Crown Prince was naturally anxious, and the Grand Tutor’s residence, as the Crown Prince’s greatest ally and strongest support, was naturally seen by Yuan Zhen as his final lifeline.

“I’m starting to regret it now,” Qi Qing suddenly said.

The night was quiet and long, with low insect chirping from dense bushes. The steward stood behind the old man with bowed head, like a dark shadow, silently and loyally following his master’s footsteps.

The courtyard was utterly silent.

After a while, the old man let out a long sigh.

This sigh in the deep night was so heavy it was frightening. He turned back, remembering something, and asked: “Has the young master gone to bed?”

The steward lowered his head: “The young master went out at dusk and hasn’t returned yet.”

Qi Qing closed his eyes.

“That scoundrel.”

…

Yanzhi Alley was bustling.

The eastern district wasn’t like the southern district with its prosperity and luxury, soft and misty with rouge, designed specifically for noble guests, nor was it like the western area with its filth and mud, rural houses and fields, where people walked carrying hoes in coarse clothes. It was located in the eastern part of the capital, not far from Tan Bridge River, with rows of deep lanes and small alleys.

It was decent but not overly expensive—a good place where wealthy merchants in the city often came to relax. When night fell, it became quite lively.

At night, river winds swept along both banks. By the riverside stood a row of delicate, small wooden pavilions, the entire wine house built and topped with stacked wood, hidden among clusters of green bamboo, creating a charming and lovely scene.

Shen Fengying yawned as he walked past the row of riverside buildings, stopping at a cart vendor.

A small red lantern with gold thread hung at the front of the cart, its red light illuminating a large jar with an opened lid, containing fried sandwiches, sheep intestines, spicy feet, and other foods.

Yanzhi Alley wasn’t like Qinghe Street in the south, full of wine houses and restaurants. Most were riverside buildings and tea houses. Except for Fengle Tower’s expensive wine prices, the delicate snacks in the tea houses within the district were refined but lacked flavor.

So in summer, many cart vendors came to the riverside to sell various hot and cold mixed foods. People playing in the tea houses and pavilions often sent their maids here to buy plenty to take back to their rooms, listening to the wind by the river, admiring flowers for late-night meals. Though not as wealthy and magnificent as Yuxian Tower, it had its own charm.

However…

While convenient for customers, it was truly troublesome for the patrol guards.

Shen Fengying glanced at the stove fire burning beside the cart—vendors often fried and cooked on the spot here. He knocked on the cart and shouted: “Who gave you permission to light fires here? Didn’t you hear fires aren’t allowed here?”

During deep winter and midsummer, the patrol house’s work was much heavier than usual. Just this month alone, the fire tower had reported six or seven fires. Fire prevention was under military patrol jurisdiction—if fires exceeded a certain number, the patrol guards would be fined!

He irritably pulled out a small booklet from his chest: “Lighting stoves and fires here violates regulations—fine of one string of cash!”

The cart vendors were a middle-aged couple. The husband only mumbled responses, but the wife hurriedly came forward ingratiatingly, scooping a bag of pork skin from the jar and stuffing it into Shen Fengying’s arms, smiling: “What a mistake! Sir, we’re outsiders, new here and don’t know the rules, but now we understand our error.”

“We’re all small business—one string of cash… we’ve only earned less than one string total today! We have elderly above and children below, still waiting for these coins to buy rice!”

The woman pleaded: “Sir, forgive us this once. In such hot weather, still patrolling everywhere—how hard that must be!” She stuffed a cup of sugar, green bean, and licorice ice water into his hand. “Drink some ice water to soothe your throat. We’ll leave immediately.”

The cool touch in his hand instantly dispelled some of the summer heat. Shen Fengying looked down at the bamboo cup in his hand, then at the woman’s flattering face, finally sighing and pointing with the hand holding the pork skin bag—

“See that Fengle Tower?”

He said: “It’s all built with wood—looks good, but if your sparks catch it, this building would burn, and even selling your whole family couldn’t pay for it!”

“Hurry along.” He waved his hand, out of sight out of mind, no longer mentioning the fine.

The couple hurriedly pushed their cart away. Shen Fengying held the pork skin bag in one hand and the ice water in the other, taking a sip. The green bean water was ice-cold and sweet, refreshingly cool. He slowly walked forward in the river breeze, and when he reached the wooden pavilion ahead—Fengle Tower—he saw a carriage parked in front.

The carriage looked merely ordinary and spacious, not particularly luxurious, but the two horses pulling it were especially eye-catching. Both horses were tall, strong, and magnificent—clearly fine breeds at a glance, with golden saddles and silver bridles, the bridle heads even set with tiny pearls that sparkled with rippling light under the pavilion’s lanterns.

Obviously the mounts of wealthy young masters.

Probably not just wealthy young masters—to brazenly display such a mass of gold and silver at the door without fear of theft, they must be at least sixth-rank officials’ sons.

Shen Fengying looked down at his own peeling leather belt.

Sometimes it wasn’t even person to person—just person to beast seemed like a vast difference.

He spat.

With so much money, why come to Fengle Tower? Wouldn’t Qinghe Street in the south be better? Purely stabbing people in the heart! How hateful.

Jealous and red-eyed, he stood under Fengle Tower and vindictively drained the ice water in several gulps until he couldn’t suck out another drop, then threw the empty bamboo cup into the waste basket at the door.

Forget it—with so much money, it was probably ill-gotten wealth anyway. Better not to earn such money.

He comforted himself for a while, feeling somewhat better, then turned and left.

Xiao Er: There’s an incurable disease in this world.

Little Pei: Lovesickness?

Xiao Er: Love-struck brain [eye roll]