Ling Xiaoyuan was Shi Ting’s residence within the Shi family estate. Compared to the separate courtyards occupied by the eldest son Shi Qian and the second son Shi Guang, his courtyard was noticeably smaller.

But this little courtyard was planted with rare and exotic flowers and plants. A grapevine trellis arched across the center of the yard, and more than a dozen birds of various sizes were kept there. A lazy dog named Jianguo lay sprawled by the entrance, drowsy and half-asleep.

From a workroom in the inner quarters came the sound of clanging and tapping—only quieting when a servant entered.

“Seventh Young Master, Er Yitai has come.”

Shi Ting removed his goggles, set down the tools in his hands, and washed up at the basin before stepping outside.

Er Yitai was seated in the parlor drinking tea. She appeared to be under forty, dressed in a silver-blue qipao with a hand-knitted pale white shawl draped over her shoulders. On her wrist gleamed a bracelet of deep, lustrous green jade, its surface smooth and radiant.

“Mother.” Shi Ting walked up to her. “It’s so late—why haven’t you gone to rest?”

Luo Huaimeng studied her son with gentle eyes and set down her teacup. “I heard all that clanging and banging from outside. What are you tinkering with now?”

“Just making something.” Shi Ting sat down on the other side of the tea table. “Mother, have you been taking your medicine on time these past few days?”

“Not a single dose missed,” Luo Huaimeng said happily. “The medicine you brought back is truly effective—I’ve had so much more energy lately.”

“Good.” Shi Ting poured himself a cup of tea.

Noticing the small cuts on his hands, Luo Huaimeng was filled with tenderness. “You’re in charge of the Military Police Division now—you have so much official business to attend to. Why do you still waste your time making little gadgets? Look at those wounds on your hands—it breaks your mother’s heart.”

Shi Ting lowered his eyes and said calmly, “It’s nothing. Mother needn’t worry.”

“Aih.” Luo Huaimeng let out a soft sigh and set down her teacup. “Xingzhi, tell your mother—what kind of girl are you looking for? Your mother can have people search around, and we can start making plans early.”

“Mother, you know I’m busy with official duties. I’m not ready to think about such things right now.”

“Your mother may be only a concubine, but I still want to try my best for you. Your current position isn’t as favorable as your eldest and second brothers’. The Marshal clearly places more importance on Shi Guang, and your eldest brother’s in-laws include the Director of Political Affairs at headquarters. Though Shi Guang’s match is somewhat lesser, the Yan family is among the wealthiest merchants in Shun Cheng, rich beyond compare.”

At the mention of “the Yan family,” Shi Ting finally lifted his head. “Mother, a betrothal that hasn’t been formalized shouldn’t count, should it?”

“Though it’s only a verbal agreement, it does count—after all, the Marshal has given his word. He can hardly go back on it.”

Shi Ting picked up his teacup. His hair fell forward, concealing the deep and complex expression in his eyes.

“I’ve heard that the Director of Finance’s family has a daughter. If you agree, I can have someone look into it…”

“Mother, I truly have no heart for marriage right now. What I want is to do my job well at the Military Police Division.”

Luo Huaimeng frowned, a trace of irritation crossing her face. “The Military Police Division, the Military Police Division—everyone knows the Marshal gave you that position just to keep you occupied. That division has no power, no troops, no authority. It’s only good for killing and burning—how will that ever help you rise to greatness?”

Shi Ting said nothing.

Luo Huaimeng seemed to realize her tone had been too harsh. She softened somewhat before continuing, “I know you have your own plans. But your mother only wants to help you. A good match can give you a real foothold.”

“I understand.” Shi Ting said, “Thank you, Mother.”

“As long as you understand my intentions, that’s enough.” Luo Huaimeng shook her head. “I was once Madam’s maidservant—low in standing—and so I’ve always been reserved and restrained within the Shi family. But I don’t want my son to be looked down upon or overlooked because of my position.”

Luo Huaimeng had been the personal maidservant who accompanied Madam Shi into her marriage. Her exceptional looks had caught the Marshal’s eye. Only after Madam Shi had given birth to three children did the Marshal take Luo Huaimeng as a concubine. She had enjoyed considerable favor for a time, but happiness was short-lived. The Marshal had soon transferred his affections to a dancing girl, spending his nights in revelry and rarely visiting Luo Huaimeng’s quarters anymore.

A year later, that dancing girl crossed the threshold into legitimate standing and became San Yitai of the Shi household—the same Du Linghua who now held sway over half the inner quarters.

“Xingzhi, your second brother already has a chamber maid, yet your quarters have only a single manservant. Why don’t I find you two maids of good looks and decent background to serve as chamber maids first…”

“Mother.” Shi Ting interrupted Luo Huaimeng. “I don’t need that.”

“Xingzhi, you’re already twenty-two…”

“Mother, I have my own plans.”

Seeing the impatient look on Shi Ting’s face, Luo Huaimeng knew he was truly averse, and said no more.

After Luo Huaimeng departed, Shi Ting drew a white handkerchief from his pocket. On the soft silk cloth, the faint outline of a bamboo pattern was just barely visible.

He gazed at that handkerchief for a long while, then carefully placed it back, rolled up his sleeves, and returned to his workroom. He put on his goggles and resumed tinkering with the small components.

~

A week later, the wound on Shi Ting’s leg had healed completely.

Yan Qing unwound the bandage from his leg, thoroughly satisfied with how well it had healed.

“All right—no need to change the dressing anymore.”

Watching the smile that curved at the corner of her lips, the long lashes fluttering like a fan as she spoke, Shi Ting felt something almost like reproach toward himself for having recovered so quickly.

His wound was healed. She would have no reason to come anymore.

“Oh, I have something I want to give you.” Shi Ting pulled down his trouser leg, took a few steps, then turned back. “How about—close your eyes first.”

Yan Qing stared at him blankly. “Close my eyes?”

Shi Ting himself felt the words had been too forward, yet he forced a composed expression. “Just a joke.”

But when he returned from the corner of the room, he found Yan Qing sitting exactly where he had left her, eyes dutifully closed, the thin skin of her eyelids trembling faintly as her eyes moved beneath them.

She was wearing a lotus-pink mandarin collar blouse today, the ingot-shaped collar wrapping around her slender neck, making her face look even more delicate and refined.

Shi Ting stood rooted to the spot, momentarily forgetting entirely what he had set out to do.

“Is it ready?” Yan Qing waited a moment, but heard no movement from Shi Ting.

“Ahem.” Shi Ting quickly cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment. “Yes—go ahead and open your eyes.”

Yan Qing opened her eyes obediently. A brand-new wheelchair came into view.

“This—did you buy this?” The surprise was written plainly on her face.

But even as she asked, she felt it couldn’t be right—because the wheelchair’s design was extraordinarily distinctive. Never mind Shun Cheng; even abroad you’d be hard-pressed to find something like it. The wheelchair her father had made for her had been custom-built, requiring a great deal of time and effort, and yet this one was even more advanced than that bespoke piece.

“I made it.” Shi Ting had no idea that his offhand remark would send such a shock through Yan Qing.

“You made it?” Yan Qing’s mouth fell open, the surprise too great to remember to close it.

“Is that so strange?” Shi Ting gave the wheelchair a pat. “It was simple enough.”

Yan Qing: “……”

She suddenly felt that there truly was an innate wall between ordinary people and geniuses.

“Want to try it?” Shi Ting wanted to test the results of his work. However fine the craftsmanship, only the owner’s approval would give it real value.

“Yes.” Yan Qing was already eager.

Shi Ting lifted Yan Qing into the new wheelchair—a motion that had come to feel natural and effortless, with not the slightest awkwardness between them.

Because Yan Qing’s delight in the new wheelchair had already swept everything else from her mind.

The chair was far lighter, with much stronger independent maneuverability. With a single lever, it could even clear a threshold—and thresholds had truly been one of the most difficult barriers for Yan Qing to overcome.

“Is this a bookshelf?” Yan Qing pressed a red button on the side, and a shelf immediately popped out. Judging by its width and height, it was perfectly sized to hold books.

“With that shelf, you can read anywhere, anytime. The bag on the back of the wheelchair can hold books—stretch your hand back and you can reach them.”

The shelf was something like the phone and tablet holders that modern people commonly used, and yet Shi Ting was not from the modern era—and still possessed this kind of far-ahead thinking. If patents could be applied for, he would certainly earn a great deal.

Yan Qing was like a curious child, poking and prodding here and there. When her fingers touched a button marked with a red “X,” a long, slender hand suddenly covered the back of hers, stopping her from going any further.

“What is it?” Yan Qing looked up, puzzled.

Shi Ting gently moved her hand away. “Don’t touch that button carelessly.”

“Why not? Is it some kind of hidden mechanism?” Yan Qing teased.

“Care to find out?” Shi Ting raised an eyebrow.

Shi Ting positioned her wheelchair in front of a window, pointed outside at a poplar tree, and said, “Watch there.”

He lightly pressed the red button. From the armrest, a steel tube roughly ten centimeters long shot out. Shi Ting adjusted the aim, pressed the switch again—there came a sharp crack, and a chunk of bark was blasted clean off the trunk of the poplar tree, exposing the pale white wood beneath.

Today, Yan Qing had exceeded her daily quota for astonishment.

“There are ten rounds loaded inside. To fire, you need to adjust the barrel toward the target. At close range, the force is even greater.” Shi Ting slowly straightened up. “Unless it’s a critical moment, don’t trigger it.”

“Shi Ting, can you apply for a patent on this wheelchair?” Yan Qing’s eyes were shining. If it were mass-produced, it would certainly sell remarkably well.

“A patent? What’s a patent?”

Yan Qing laughed, no longer dwelling on the question of patents. Instead, she happily maneuvered the wheelchair in a circle. “I feel just like Conan.”

Conan had the professor’s tranquilizer needles—and she had Shi Ting’s wheelchair gun.

“Conan… and who is that?” Shi Ting was puzzled.

“A detective.” She lifted her face with a smile. “A character from a novel. If we get the chance, I’ll tell you his story.”

“You always enjoy reading such peculiar books.” Shi Ting gave a light shake of his head. “I do wonder how many more strange and unusual things are packed inside that head of yours.”

Yan Qing smiled softly.

“Don’t move.” From the corner of his eye, Shi Ting noticed that the backrest cushion of the wheelchair had slipped to one side. Thinking of how inconvenient movement was for her, he leaned forward to adjust it. The motion brought him bending over her, his arms enclosing her on either side—a scene that, to Bai Jin, who had just stepped through the door, immediately looked rather difficult to describe.

—