Marquis Kaiping’s Residence.

The moment Lang Jiuchuan returned to the residence, every courtyard within heard the news. The younger generation, though envious and resentful that she could freely roam about even during the mourning period, dared not come before her to say anything sour. After all, the image of her domineering presence at Huguo Temple that day was still fresh in their memories.

Word had it that the Lu fellow from the Rong family was still locked up in the Surveillance Bureau’s prison. She had even dared to provoke someone from the Rong family — why would she spare the likes of them, a bunch of little imps who hadn’t yet grown into themselves? She was living outside the residence and the elders hadn’t said a word about it. Did they really think they could overstep the elders? Best not to go offering themselves up to be made an example of.

Cui Shi had just returned from paying her respects at the Shoukang Hall when she came face to face with Lang Jiuchuan, and her steps faltered.

Lang Jiuchuan stepped forward and bowed. “Wishing Madam well.”

Cui Shi stared briefly as Lang Jiuchuan raised her head, then looked her over from head to toe before asking stiffly, “You’ve recovered?”

“Yes.”

The two stood facing each other in silence.

Nanny Cheng immediately stepped forward to liven the atmosphere, saying with a smile, “Miss has truly recovered fully? Madam once went with the Marquis to visit Miss at Tongtiange, you know.”

“Nanny.” Cui Shi frowned.

Nanny Cheng paid no attention, and looked at Lang Jiuchuan. “Although Manager A’Piao said Miss had merely exhausted her vitality and was in recovery, Madam worried for several days nonetheless. Now seeing Miss fully restored — truly, the Bodhisattva watches over us. This old servant can see that Miss’s aura is far better than it was before.”

She was not speaking falsely. She simply felt that Lang Jiuchuan seemed somehow different from before. Though still slender, the sickly pallor had left her face.

Truly remarkable, what Daoist cultivation could do.

They did not know what exactly Lang Jiuchuan had undergone, but as the Marquis had said, she had some mastery of Daoist arts and must have achieved some level of cultivation. This bout of unconsciousness, they’d heard, had come from crossing techniques with another and suffering a drain on her vitality, bearing the weight of karmic consequence.

Everything she did was dangerous.

And yet they seemed to have no standing to say anything about it.

Cui Shi knew this, and the more she knew, the less capable she was of facing her as she once had. Their interactions had become awkward.

Lang Jiuchuan glanced at Cui Shi and said evenly, “Excessive worry harms the body. Take care of yourself, Madam. I heard First Uncle has taken ill — I’ll go look in on him.”

With that, she gave a slight nod of farewell and made her way toward Lang Zhengping’s courtyard.

Cui Shi, her heart full of bitterness, took Nanny Cheng’s arm. “Let us return. I’m tired.”

Nanny Cheng coaxed gently, “It’s rare for Miss to return to the residence. Even if she has recovered, her vitality was still strained. This old servant will have the small kitchen prepare a ginseng broth to supplement her recovery. Tonight, why not dine together with Miss?”

Cui Shi hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Though it was unseemly to partake of meat during the mourning period, ever since Lang Jiuchuan had spoken those words about Pan Shi’s pregnancy that time, Pan Shi had occasionally taken some meat broth. The younger generation sneaked bites of snacks bought outside, and the adults turned a blind eye. Besides, the old matriarch was frail and could not sustain herself on a purely vegetarian diet indefinitely.

Moreover, the grandchildren were observing mourning for one year, and nearly half a year had passed. People were living, breathing beings; the rules were rigid constructs. So long as they gave outsiders no handle to exploit them, it was acceptable enough.

Lang Jiuchuan had assumed Lang Zhengping was feigning illness to avoid dealing with the Marquis of Zhenbei, but to her surprise, he was truly sick. The courtyard was thick with the smell of medicine, and when she inhaled, she caught the scent of several herbs used to treat wind-chill ailments.

Inside the room came the sound of First Aunt-in-law Madam Fan’s scolding, followed by Lang Zhengping’s coughing. Upon hearing that Lang Jiuchuan had come, the voices within fell silent.

A maidservant lifted the curtain and Lang Jiuchuan walked in. The combined smell of medicine and stale, damp air made her brow furrow.

The third month brought many spring rains, and these past few days had clearly seen a great deal of it. The air carried a musty, damp smell, and with the doors and windows shut tight, the sickly air within the room had no means of escape.

Seeing her arrive, Madam Fan rose. “Ninth Miss is back.”

Lang Zhengping’s eyes lit up the moment he saw her, a spark of vitality surging into them.

Lang Jiuchuan bowed to Madam Fan, then looked toward Lang Zhengping — and that already-furrowed brow deepened further.

Lang Zhengping had been observing a vegetarian diet for the half year of mourning and had thinned considerably. Though he could not eat meat, the residence’s kitchen staff were skilled enough to prepare good vegetable broths daily. His condition should not have been poor, but it should not have looked like this — utterly devoid of vigor or spirit.

His cheeks had hollowed out dramatically, almost sunken in. A sickly pallor enveloped his entire face, leaving him looking haggard and lifeless. The white hairs at his temples had multiplied, and his complexion was ashen.

This was no ordinary wind-chill. He had lost the very essence of his vitality.

“How have you fallen so gravely ill in so short a time, First Uncle?” Lang Jiuchuan’s brow was tightly knit as she walked forward and, without ceremony, sat in the very chair Madam Fan had been occupying. She pressed two fingers to his wrist to take his pulse.

Lang Zhengping’s eyes shifted guiltily, flickering with unease.

Madam Fan let out a snort. “You’ve asked exactly the right person. Some people, instead of sleeping at night, go out into the cold wind — of course the cold then invades the body.”

Lang Jiuchuan read the pulse, then looked at Lang Zhengping. “It’s not merely a wind-chill invasion. You’ve been drinking as well? Phlegm and dampness are obstructing the channels…”

Lang Zhengping broke into another fit of coughing. In that coughing, Lang Jiuchuan heard even more.

“Phlegm is accumulating, and your qi and blood are out of balance.” Lang Jiuchuan withdrew her hand and said flatly, “It is currently the third month, the plum rain season, when dampness is naturally heavy. With phlegm and dampness unresolved and your worry bearing down on you, this seemingly mild wind-chill could very well take your life if left unchecked.”

Madam Fan cried out in alarm. “It’s only a wind-chill — how has it become so serious?”

“First Aunt-in-law, I need hardly tell you how many people have died of wind-chills. You’ve lived in Wu Jing long enough to have heard plenty of such cases. Wrong treatment allows a mild wind-chill to drag into a serious illness at any moment — especially with a persistent cough that does not heal, which can drag into consumption of the lungs, and that is far harder to treat.” Lang Jiuchuan looked toward the maidservant beside her. “Bring me the prescriptions to look at.”

The maidservant quickly retrieved the prescriptions written by the physicians — two or three sheets, in different handwritings. Clearly, two or three different physicians had already been consulted.

Lang Jiuchuan glanced at Lang Zhengping again but said nothing. She simply asked the maidservant to bring paper and brush, then adjusted several medicinal ingredients and dosages on the prescription and handed it back. “Have this new prescription prepared and the medicine decocted and brought to the Marquis at once.”

The maidservant received it with both hands, looked to Lang Zhengping and Madam Fan. Lang Zhengping said, “Follow what Ninth Miss says.”

The maidservant immediately withdrew to prepare the medicine. Lang Jiuchuan turned to Madam Fan and said, “Would First Aunt-in-law please help First Uncle loosen his clothing? I will administer acupuncture to dispel the cold and expel the dampness. Combined with the decoction, he will recover more quickly.”

Lang Zhengping’s heart sank at the sight of trouble. He was worried his great-niece was angry — what if she was using the needles to teach him a lesson?

Madam Fan saw that Lang Jiuchuan had already turned away behind the folding screen to give them privacy, and blinked, extending her hand toward Lang Zhengping.

“There’s really no need to—” Lang Zhengping laughed sheepishly.

Lang Jiuchuan’s voice drifted from behind the folding screen. “Concealing illness and refusing treatment is no good at all, First Uncle. Best to listen to the physician. If it’s left to drag on, I’m afraid your life—”

“The needles! I’ll take the needles!”

Shut that prophetic mouth of yours, would you?

Once sufficient clothing had been loosened, Lang Jiuchuan returned with a row of silver needles, her expression impassive, her hands swift.

In a matter of moments, Lang Zhengping’s anguished cries rang through the room.

He had known it. These needles were not going to be pleasant.

By the time the needling was done and the decoction was brought to him, he took one sip — and promptly soiled the bedding, his face screwing up in misery as if he had bitten into a bitter melon.

Was there not half a pound of golden thread mixed into this medicine?