So that was the truth of it.

It was almost exactly as she had imagined.

Ling Jingshu let out a long, slow breath, the crease between her brows smoothing away. “I see. I had been wondering about it — Empress Xu, however much she favored men, had never repeatedly summoned a palace attendant in that manner before.”

She thought for a moment, then could not help asking in a low voice, “The night the Emperor suddenly came to the Pepper Blossom Palace — was that also something you arranged in secret?”

Wei Yan raised an eyebrow, acknowledging it without hesitation. “It was. Chief Eunuch Huang of the Imperial Bedchamber Registry had once fallen gravely ill. I saved his life. The man is somewhat greedy and timid, but he remembers who helped him — he has maintained a quiet connection with me ever since. I had prepared carefully for a long time, and something as crucial as that was naturally planned from the very beginning.”

Ling Jingshu regarded him steadily, something complex moving behind her eyes.

Caught beneath that clear, direct gaze, Wei Yan felt his heartbeat quicken and a warmth begin to rise within him.

He did not dare let his thoughts wander further — wary of doing or saying something rash. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I admire you greatly.” Ling Jingshu gave a barely perceptible sigh, her gaze full of genuine respect. “I never imagined you would dare to set a trap against Empress Xu in secret. Still less did I imagine you would arrange it so cleverly that no one would think to suspect you.”

He was merely an imperial physician, without power or position at court. And yet he had moved against a reigning empress.

Not only had he dared to do it — he had succeeded. That truly could not help but command one’s admiration.

Wei Yan gave a faint smile. “In truth, there is a trace to every action ever taken. If the Emperor were truly to investigate thoroughly, he might well find his way to Chief Eunuch Huang, and from there come to suspect me. After all, it was only a few days prior that I had prescribed that prescription for Empress Xu.”

“However, given the Emperor’s nature — having suffered such a catastrophic humiliation, he would never pursue it to the root. A fury, a wave of executions, the deposition of Empress Xu — and then the matter buried, never spoken of again.”

“My willingness to act was precisely because I had calculated that this would be his response.”

“Whatever the case, the fact remains that you succeeded.” Ling Jingshu said sincerely, “From this point on, Empress Xu can never force your hand again. You can breathe a little easier now.”

Wei Yan curved his lips, a note of dry self-mockery in the gesture. “Yes. I have at last managed to keep my virtue intact.”

Ling Jingshu let out a startled laugh. “Enough — however I phrase a response to that, it will come out wrong. Consider that an ill-chosen remark on my part. Do not take it to heart.”

“It is simply the truth. What is there for me to take to heart?”

Wei Yan said it with a remarkable ease. “This face is what my parents gave me. Whether I would have it or not, I have it regardless. These years I have remained alone — in part because Empress Xu pressed closer and closer, and rather than provoke her openly, I chose to endure in silence. I had no wish to implicate Elder Sister or An Ya.”

“But the more important reason was that I had never met a woman I truly cared for. If there was no one I cared for, then whether I married or not was of no great consequence.”

Wei Yan paused here, a subtle hesitation settling over him for just a moment, before he continued in a quieter voice:

“When I did find the woman I wished to spend my life beside, I finally felt the genuine desire to be rid of Empress Xu. Whatever it took, I needed to remove that blade hanging over my head — and only then would I have the right to tell her: I care for her.”

…

It was the most understated, the most gentle, and the most unadorned declaration Ling Jingshu had ever heard.

No florid language. No sweeping vows or fevered pronouncements. No imperious insistence that she and no one else would do. It was like a quiet stream finding its way into the heart, bringing with it a feeling of peace and ease.

Just as he had always made her feel. Steadfast and accepting. Tender and deeply sincere.

Ling Jingshu’s heartstrings pulled taut with a sharp, trembling resonance.

When they had first met, he had been cool and composed — not moved in the slightest by her exceptional beauty, and not entirely gentle in the way he had spoken to her then.

Then later, when she accompanied A’Xiao to his acupuncture sessions, they had gradually grown more at ease with each other.

She could not say when it had begun — but his gaze had started to rest on her more and more often. He had looked after her and shown her care in quiet, unobtrusive ways, doing much for her without ever drawing attention to himself.

For a while, she had lied to herself, refusing to look too closely at what lay behind that tenderness.

Then the dungeon came. In those moments when she had felt most adrift and helpless, he could have chosen to protect himself and stay well clear of it all — but instead he had gone to considerable lengths to see that she was cared for. On the day of her coming-of-age ceremony, the bowl of longevity noodles and the ebony hairpin had made his feelings unmistakably plain.

She could no longer deceive herself. Nor could she any longer refuse this affection that ran as deep and as constant as water.

How extraordinarily fortunate she was — to have encountered a man who gave her everything he had.

Ling Jingshu moved her lips slightly, as if on the verge of saying something, and then found she could say nothing at all.

Wei Yan appeared composed, but within he was wound nearly to breaking. In these brief few moments, his heart was pounding so rapidly it seemed ready to escape his chest.

He had finally gathered the courage to speak what was in his heart.

What would her response be?

A regretful and apologetic refusal?

Or a shy, joyful acceptance?

It seemed a long time before Ling Jingshu’s soft, faint voice finally came. “Wei Yan.”

Wei Yan held his breath — like a man awaiting sentencing, tense with the wait for his fate to be declared.

“Wei Yan,” Ling Jingshu’s voice, too, carried a faint, uncharacteristic tightness, “the truth is, you do not truly know me. There are many things I have kept hidden from you.”

At least it was not a flat refusal.

The heart that had been lodged in Wei Yan’s throat dropped back to its proper place, and with it came a return of his usual steadiness. “I know.”

Her illness could not possibly be as simple as she had made it sound.

The fact that she had set her mind on coming to the capital, then found her way into the palace by going along with the current — that too suggested purposes of her own.

And then there was the way she thought she had concealed herself so well, the hatred showing itself only in unguarded moments when no one was watching — hatred directed, unmistakably, at Empress Xu and Princess Changping. She was merely a young woman from a respectable household. How had she come to carry something so complicated within her?

Yet none of that mattered. What mattered was that he cared for her.

Did she, for her part, feel even a small measure of the same toward him?

Ling Jingshu bit lightly at her lip and spoke quickly. “You know my situation as well as I do. The Emperor has set his sights on me and will not let this go easily. If your feelings for me were to come to the Emperor’s attention, it could bring you a mortal danger…”

Even knowing all of this — do you still dare to care for me?

The question never left her lips, but it was written plainly in her eyes.

“A’Shu, I understand all of it. You need not say it a second time — it will not frighten me away.” Wei Yan looked at her steadily, and a radiance flared in his eyes that was almost dizzying. “I will face every difficulty alongside you. I will do everything within my power to keep you safe.”

“I only want to ask you one thing: will you accept my feelings?”

“Will you, someday, walk out of this suffocating palace with me — out of the capital entirely? We could find a place of clear mountains and still water. You could grow your flowers and tend your plants. I could open a small clinic. We could live quiet, peaceful days together.”