When Zhang Zhixu returned — bathed, changed, incense burnt, and hair properly arranged — this was the scene that greeted him.

The young woman, already pale as paper from her injuries and slight as a sheet of it, was weeping pitifully in the bed, her shoulders trembling continuously, her body instinctively retreating into the corner of the mattress.

He turned and shot Jiuquan a glare: “Didn’t I tell you to watch her carefully?”

Jiuquan looked perfectly innocent: “I was watching, sir — nothing at all happened.”

Nothing happened, and yet she’s frightened like this?

Zhang Zhixu took the chair with some skepticism, and placed the elmwood box back within her reach.

Chen Baoxiang cried herself quiet, her hands finding the box — she clearly wanted to pull it toward herself, but couldn’t quite manage the strength.

He chuckled, nudging the box over and into her arms: “Pathetic.”

Jiuquan’s pupils gave an involuntary contraction.

Sun the Medicine Sage had once said that the master was someone who had stepped beyond the three realms and out of the five elements.

He was not particularly close to his parents or relatives, had no interest in anything, lived through each day in an empty, aimless way, and no one knew when he might simply drift away from this world.

Yet after waking from this grievous injury, the master seemed to have suddenly developed emotions.

He had rushed urgently to the prison to rescue someone. He had used his authority ruthlessly to force the northern city prison to yield. He had felt pain at the severity of Baoxiang’s wounds. And he had felt happiness that she still lived.

And now he was even speaking to someone with this tone — this warm scolding, like a fond reproach between people who know each other well.

It was as if — as if the long winter night had finally passed, and the bare, withered courtyard was slowly coming back to vivid, flourishing life.

Jiuquan’s throat tightened. He gripped his master’s sleeve tightly.

In the past, Zhang Zhixu would only have found such a gesture baffling.

But now, he seemed to sense what it meant. He patted Jiuquan’s arm: “You’ve all worked hard. Have Ningsu take silver from my private treasury — every servant who laboured tonight is to receive a red envelope of two liang.”

“Two liang?”

“That’s right.” Zhang Zhixu nodded. “Four thousand, eight hundred copper coins.”

Zhang Zhixu rarely thought in copper coins — in his mind, the smallest unit of money had always been one liang of silver.

But Chen Baoxiang liked to convert silver into copper, because her monthly wages were paid in copper, and that way she could work out exactly how many meals it represented, and how long she’d have to save up for it.

Four thousand, eight hundred copper coins could buy a great many pork buns for a long time — could get one through quite a few banquets hosted by wealthy households — could even buy forty-eight ordinary blades, or pay for sixteen sessions learning blade dances, or purchase eight buckets for slop collection.

Thinking of the slop-bucket and the strange series of events that had brought the two of them together, his gaze softened. He lightly brushed the hair back from Chen Baoxiang’s face.

Get well. There is a world of extraordinary fortune waiting for you.

“By the way.” He asked Jiuquan, “What is Cheng Huaili’s reaction?”

Jiuquan replied quietly: “He had no proper grounds to imprison Baoxiang in the first place, so naturally he has nothing to say. But they say now that he’s heard you’ve woken, he’s been building his nerve to enter the palace tomorrow.”

Most likely he intended to press the new emperor again to investigate the assassination attempt at the Burning Tail Banquet — but the new emperor would not pursue the matter further. He wanted only to smooth things over between the Zhang and Cheng households.

Zhang Zhixu stifled a yawn, then lightly patted the sleeping Chen Baoxiang: “Jiuquan, bring a quilt — I’ll sleep on the small couch beside her.”

“Ah?”

Jiuquan shook his head repeatedly. “Master, that couch is both small and hard — how could you possibly sleep on it?”

What of it? It was cleaner and more comfortable than the small bed in the Pei family’s guest room.

As long as Chen Baoxiang was within his sight and he could ensure she wouldn’t get into any more trouble — he could sleep soundly.

He insisted that his own soft pillow and embroidered quilt be brought over, and Zhang Zhixu closed his eyes without even the slightest fuss about the unfamiliar bed. This left Jiuquan stunned into a daze, crouching watch at the bedside, keeping guard at the edge of the frame for fear the master might roll off in his sleep.

By the time Chen Baoxiang woke again, the sky was already fully bright.

She stared blankly at the embroidered canopy above her head for a good while before murmuring: “The gold-thread embroidery on this thing is simply gorgeous.”

Something to one side of the bed stirred, and then a voice offered: “That is the full extent of your taste.”

She startled, and managed to turn her head toward the sound — then let out another little gasp of wonder: “What a radiant, lovely person — have I arrived in the Moon Palace?”

Zhang Zhixu felt the tips of his ears flush red at this entirely unexpected, overblown compliment.

He said irritably: “Clearly the fever has gone to her head — she’s already talking nonsense. Jiuquan, give her the medicine.”

Jiuquan carried the medicine that had been prepared and waiting — but before he reached the bedside, Zhang Zhixu stopped him.

“Never mind — I’ll do it. This person is very difficult to handle.” He muttered to himself as he stood, taking the medicine bowl and settling beside her on the bed.

A moment ago, Chen Baoxiang had still been a little dazed and couldn’t quite place the face before her. But as it drew nearer, her consciousness slowly pulled back together.

“You look……” She drew a quiet breath. “You look just like the second young master of the Zhang family, the one who lies in bed and can’t move.”

The person across from her smiled without warmth and moved the corners of his mouth: “The one who lies in bed and can’t move right now is you. Open your mouth.”

A spoonful was pushed into her mouth. Chen Baoxiang choked and coughed, and the movement pulled at the injuries all over her body, finally bringing a sharp edge of pain.

With the pain came greater clarity. She stared at him, coughing without stop: “Zhang — you — Zhang Zhixu.”

“Some discernment, at least.” Zhang Zhixu scooped up another spoonful. “Finish this first.”

Chen Baoxiang was alarmed into a fresh round of coughing and choking — how could she possibly drink the medicine now?

In her heart she cried out: Great Immortal — save me, Great Immortal — Zhang Zhixu is awake. Is our scheme about to come to light — the silver we tricked him out of, the great house we occupied, even pretending to be his woman?

I don’t want eighty strikes of the board. And I especially don’t want to be hung at the city gate.

Great Immortal, say something!

Her mind echoed, hollow and empty. No one answered.

After a moment, Chen Baoxiang accepted reality — the Great Immortal was gone again.

She would have to face this powerful, well-connected injured party entirely on her own.

Her eyes shifted. Chen Baoxiang promptly feigned weakness and flopped back against the pillow.

Zhang Zhixu’s hand moved swiftly — he let go of the spoon and caught her before she could fall properly, his eyes narrowing slightly: “That trick might work on someone else, but it will never work on me. Sit up properly and keep drinking.”

Chen Baoxiang lay with her eyes shut, her scalp prickling.

She knew the rumours — he was said to be an exceptionally shrewd young master — but she hadn’t expected him to see through her performance with a single glance. She could fool even Pei Ruheng, and he wasn’t even acquainted with her — how could he catch her out every single time?

After forcing through two brief moments of pretended stillness, she steeled herself and sat up to drink the medicine.

Zhang Zhixu had no skill at caring for anyone. He administered the medicine very roughly, and several times she had to reach out herself to intercept the spoon, or the medicine would have spilled all over the brocade-embroidered cotton quilt that was obviously worth a small fortune.

But this young master seemed entirely unaware, and in one go finished feeding her the medicine, then tucked the quilt back around her: “Master will come to examine you again shortly.”

His tone was perfectly familiar. But Chen Baoxiang was afraid.

She thought Zhang Zhixu was deliberately putting her at ease, waiting for her to confess her crimes, before having her strung up at the city gate.

She shrank deeper under the quilt and didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Zhang Zhixu found himself somewhat unsettled by her sudden silence.

He looked at her with puzzlement: “What’s wrong with you?”

“Noth — nothing……” She hemmed and hawed without answering, and even tried to roll over and present him with her back.

Zhang Zhixu considered this, and concluded she was probably hungry. He had food brought to the room.

The Zhang family’s breakfast was far more lavish than the Pei family’s — there was bamboo shoot broth, rich and tender, made from a single chicken per portion; rare mushrooms in minced meat, difficult to procure; flaky roasted goose; a five-colour platter of vegetables; and an easily digestible silver rice porridge, mild and fragrant.

Zhang Zhixu placed the small table on the bed and fanned the aromas toward her.

Chen Baoxiang had obviously caught the smell — her whole body was twitching with the effort — but she somehow held herself back, and turned away from him with: “I’m not hungry. Please, everyone eat without me.”

Something was wrong.

Zhang Zhixu raised an eyebrow, and finally understood what the problem was.