The child was tense, his eyes wary, his whole body coiled like something that might bolt or fight without warning.

Hua Zhi did not dwell on what he might have been through. Whatever it was, it could not have been good. But this could not go on — the inside of her carriage was already smeared with blood, the cushions soaked through.

“Is there someone you need to meet?”

The child nodded, then shook his head.

Hua Zhi nodded. She asked nothing further. “Will coming with me now bring trouble your way?”

“No one saw.”

“Very well, then. Cao Cao — take a look at him and check whether any vital areas are struck. If not, go back first and clear away everything after. All traces must end at this restaurant.” Patrons of the Yun-Lai Restaurant were exclusively the wealthy and the powerful. Only by cutting the trail there would others think twice about pursuing it further — and Hua Zhi herself would not attract undue notice.

Shao Yao gave a nod, stepped forward to take the child’s pulse, then put on her veil and climbed out of the carriage. She gestured to Ying Chun to get in and take her place.

Ying Chun took one look at what lay inside, clapped both hands over her mouth, and moved on reflex to put herself between her young miss and the sight before her. Hua Zhi drew her back. “It is fine. Sit down.”

The carriage moved off slowly. Shao Yao and Zhu Ziwen were not acquainted; he gave her a nod as she descended, and rode his horse after the carriage.

Wu Bi led his horse over, then paused — his nose caught something. He frowned. “Blood. Where is that coming from?”

Shao Yao looked around, then lowered her voice to the barest thread of sound. “There is a child hidden in the carriage. No more than ten years old. From the quality of his clothing and his bearing, he is not from an ordinary household. Go and find out whether anyone in the capital has recently lost a child. If no one comes forward to report it…”

Shao Yao’s eyes went cold. “Then there is something rotten going on. Dig until you find it.”

“Understood. I’ll go at once. When you get back, let Wang Rong know — have him stay close to the Hua Family for the next few days and not wander off.”

“I know.” They went their separate ways. Shao Yao headed to the back courtyard alley beside the Yun-Lai Restaurant, glanced in both directions, then vaulted over the wall into the yard within — the area where carriages were parked and housed.

In the innermost corner of the stable, Shao Yao found blood. She followed the trail of bloodstains, clearing them as she went, tracking them to a narrow gap between structures. Every surface — floor and walls alike — was darkened with stains that had long since dried to near black, the color of old blood left over time. The child must have hidden here for at least a full day.

Shao Yao pressed a hand to her head as it began to ache with an almost splitting intensity. Flashes struck her: blood, fire — images that were strange to her, yet which she did not feel were strange at all.

These were, in all likelihood, the memories she had lost. She had no wish to recover them. Not a single fragment.

Her temple was soaked with sweat, her lips drained of color. She thought: she needed to mix herself a medicine — something that would make the forgetting more complete.

When the worst of the pain had ebbed, she positioned herself outside the hidden gap in the wall and struck several concentrated blows against its outer surface. The wall began to give way from the base, collapsing inward — the bottom section crumbling most thoroughly, large chunks falling to fill the cavity below, heavy stones settling on top. When it was finished, it looked exactly as if it had always been this way. Satisfied that no trace remained, Shao Yao slipped away as quietly as she had come.

Shortly after, another group of people entered the courtyard. They searched every corner with careful thoroughness, then exchanged silent looks and shook their heads. They left.

By then, Shao Yao had already returned to the Hua Family’s residence and passed word to Wang Rong.

Wang Rong lowered his voice. “You should not have left the residence today. The Prince’s household has likely already learned that you are staying with the Hua Family.”

“Let them come if they aren’t afraid of dying by my hand.” Shao Yao’s mood was vicious, her entire bearing sharp with barely leashed ferocity. This was a Shao Yao Hua Zhi did not know — the one that Wang Rong and their companions had always known. In the old days, Shao Yao had been exactly like this. Once she went off, no one could bring her back.

“Miss Shao Yao, you’re back! The young miss was worried you might have run into trouble — she sent me to see whether you had returned.” Bao Xia came quick-stepping toward them in her small, rapid pace, caught Shao Yao by the hand, and began pulling her along. “Quickly, the young miss is waiting for you!”

The menace that had been building in Wang Rong dissolved. He had been genuinely afraid, at first, that Shao Yao might lash out at the guileless maid. Yet the moment the girl mentioned the Hua eldest young miss, he had seen it clearly — that Shao Yao who had drawn every jagged edge inward and looked back at him, her eyes restored to their usual clarity.

He let out a quiet breath. He was beginning to understand why the Shizi had wanted Shao Yao to stay with the eldest young miss. It was not only to protect her. It was also, in part, to offer Shao Yao something to hold onto.

Thinking of the Shizi, Wang Rong’s brow furrowed. The Shizi had been gone far longer than anticipated, and no word had come back. There was no knowing what the current situation was. And now the capital was beginning to stir, quietly, with some barely perceptible unease…

The worry Wang Rong had only just set down rose up in him again.

Shao Yao stepped into the room and was immediately struck by the dense, sharp smell of strong liquor. Maids carried clean water in; other maids carried out basins of bloody water. She moved aside to let them pass.

“You’re back?” Hua Zhi looked over her shoulder, and the glance was enough — she motioned for Ying Chun to take over tending to the child’s wounds, and walked over to Shao Yao, searching her face in a low voice. “What happened? Did something go wrong?”

Shao Yao said nothing. She simply held onto Hua Hua and stood still, letting the quiet settle her.

She did not believe the saying that a healer could not heal herself. After her master had told her that her affliction was beyond medicine, she had prescribed herself a number of remedies and believed herself recovered. Yet today she knew: she was not recovered at all.

Hua Zhi said nothing either. She put her arms around her in return and stroked the back of her neck in slow, steady motions. When she felt Shao Yao fully relax, she said quietly: “There is nothing to worry about now. Go and lie down on my bed for a bit. I will be right there.”

Shao Yao straightened up and looked over at the child on the bed.

Hua Zhi understood the unspoken question. She smiled gently. “I have asked Doctor Chu to come to the residence. His wounds are numerous, but none of them struck anything vital. He can still hold on.”

“Let me do it.” Shao Yao crossed to the bedside and looked down at the child — who was sweating through the pain yet still refusing to lose consciousness. She respected him for it. She did not knock him out. She turned back and said: “Bring me my medicine case.”

Bao Xia went at a run.

In short order Shao Yao had the child’s tattered clothing stripped away. He was eight or nine years old — too exhausted and too weak even for embarrassment, though the discomfort was plain enough in his averted eyes.

The maids all turned their faces away. A boy and girl of seven ought not to sit together — and this child was well past seven.

Hua Zhi sent the maids out of the room and stepped forward to look at the wounds covering him. She asked the child, whose body trembled in faint, involuntary shivers: “If there is anyone you wish to contact, we will help you reach them if it is within our means.”

The child looked at her steadily. His dark eyes were stubborn and resolute — so transparent, so unclouded, that it was impossible to look into them and feel any ill will. Hua Zhi realized she had already taken a liking to this child. She had always been drawn to people who refused to break.

“There is no one I can contact.”

The child braced himself, expecting her to turn him away now that he had become a burden. Instead, he heard her ask: “What should we call you? How about A’Jian?”

Hua Zhi was quite satisfied with the name. A’Jian — easy to remember.

Shao Yao agreed at once. “A cheap name is easier to raise. I think it suits him perfectly.”

Under the gaze of the two of them, the child accepted his new name.

“How is he?”

Shao Yao dried her hands. “All fresh wounds — no more than three days old. Judging by the varying depths, they were not inflicted by the same person.”

A’Jian’s hands curled into fists. His chest rose and fell visibly.

Shao Yao shrugged. “Looks like I was right.”