“You ask me so suddenly, I can’t think of anything at the moment.”

Ni Su carefully wiped his face clean, tossing the cloth into the basin. “I’ll tell you once I’ve thought it through.”

She knew he would never willingly remove his blood-stained garments in front of her, nor would he reveal the wounds beneath his robes to her, so she said nothing and went to fetch clean willow leaf water.

Ni Su came and went, and when the door closed behind her, Xu Hexue propped himself up from the bed’s edge with one hand, struggling to rise. Not knowing how many of the scab-covered wounds had torn open, his pale fingers hooked open his sash as he slowly removed his outer robe and inner garment. The plain silk screen half-concealed his pale, emaciated body, which in truth was no different from before his death. Due to his five years at the border, having wielded long halberds, gripped swords and blades, and tamed fierce horses, his frame had developed smooth sinews and well-defined musculature, unlike the typical slender youth.

Only the lacerations covering his body were too numerous. Dark red blood trickled down as he wrung out a cloth from the basin and silently wiped himself. In the bright candlelight filling the room with floating dust motes, he saw his body ever more clearly. Even through the intense pain, he wiped himself over and over again.

Not until the wounds stopped bleeding did he dress himself piece by piece, fastening each button. Only after completing this did he lie down on the bed, pulling the quilt over himself.

Two glass lamps sat on the stool by the bedside, their translucent shades glowing with warm yellow firelight. He pressed his cheek against the soft pillow, staring at those two lamps.

These lamps—they had bought them on their way to find Jiang Xianming, when Ni Su had knocked on the door of a glass-making shop.

She had said that this way, from then on, neither of them would need to fear going out on rainy nights.

Xu Hexue closed his eyes. He had no sleep, nor would he dream, yet at this moment, hearing the night rain rustling, wearing clean garments and wrapped in brocade bedding, he felt at peace.

However, at midnight, he suddenly threw off the covers and rose. In the bright candlelight filling the room, he walked with extremely difficult steps to the writing desk, splashed water to grind ink, spread out paper, and began writing to the accompaniment of falling rain.

The unnamed persons in that secret ledger had already been identified by Jiang Xianming for the most part, all recorded by Jiang Xianming in the account book as annotations.

Shortly after, a dozen more names appeared on the paper.

Xu Hexue sat at the desk, one hand supporting the corner of the table. Though the ink had dried, he still could not yet find any connection among these names.

These people had been sending money to Du Cong and those above him day in and day out for fifteen years. Even Du Cong, whose ledger showed considerable silver transactions, had not even half that amount in wealth confiscated from his home by the Night Patrol Bureau.

Fifteen years, precisely fifteen years.

Xu Hexue raised his eyes again to scan the names on the paper.

Not a single capital official among them.

For several consecutive days the spring rain continued without cease. Yun Jing was always shrouded in a layer of moist mist, and within the imperial palace, beyond the rain and fog, an even darker gloom settled.

Emperor Zhengyuan followed the Dao. Several days earlier during a purification ceremony, he had ordered Prince Jia, Zhao Yi, to present the ceremonial petition. However, Prince Jia delayed for a day or two before finally kneeling outside Qinghe Hall and crying out: “Yonggeng is foolish and does not understand the Way, unable to put brush to paper.”

This action immediately enraged Emperor Zhengyuan. That very night, Prince Jia was taken by the Palace Guards to Chongming Hall for confinement.

Those who came to interrogate him changed shift after shift. Prince Jia was terrified beyond measure, unable to speak though he had much to say. Naturally nothing could be extracted from questioning. When Princess Consort Jia, Li Xizhen, obtained permission to enter Chongming Hall from nightfall to daybreak, Prince Jia sat alone in thick shadows, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes vacant and unfocused.

“Your Highness.”

Li Xizhen carried a food box toward Prince Jia and crouched before him, carefully examining his face. Her brows and eyes were full of heartache as she couldn’t help but reach out to touch his face.

“Xizhen.”

Prince Jia murmured her name. “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

“Your Highness wishes to take me back to Tongzhou, doesn’t he?” How could Li Xizhen not know how many heavy thoughts her husband harbored in his heart?

Prince Jia did not answer but raised his eyes to look around. After a long while, he said: “Xizhen, when I was young I was made Prince Jia in a daze. I lived here then, and all the palace servants knew His Majesty disliked me, mistreating me in countless ways both openly and secretly. Later when Prince An arrived, sometimes I couldn’t even get a full meal. If it weren’t for Zi…”

The moment that name left his lips, Prince Jia’s eyes moistened and he could not continue. “After that, he met with trouble, then Teacher and Minister Meng also met with trouble. I was imprisoned here for three full years. This place has never been anything good for me, Xizhen. I’m even afraid of this place. In all the days since returning, I haven’t dared to sleep or dream, yet my mind is still filled with those years of walking on thin ice in the palace…”

“I know of Your Highness’s experiences, and I understand. His Majesty has no son. This time he suddenly asked you to remain for an extended stay—he must have given it considerable thought. If not for this, you wouldn’t have risked refusing to write the ceremonial petition.”

Li Xizhen and Prince Jia had been childhood sweethearts. She knew his temperament and everything he had experienced.

Prince Jia felt heavy fear toward Emperor Zhengyuan, with insufficient respect and affection.

The knot in his heart was a shadow that had loomed over his entire life. Having finally escaped with his life, he was unwilling to live under that shadow again.

This act was deliberately meant to anger Emperor Zhengyuan, so that he would, as before, banish him completely with absolute disgust, treating him as an incompetent foster son.

“Xizhen, you know I came back to see Teacher.”

Prince Jia’s hair was disheveled, several strands of fine hair falling before his temples. He reached out to hold his wife’s shoulders. “Since Teacher refuses to see me, there’s no need for us to remain in Yun Jing any longer. Let’s go back, back to Tongzhou. I want nothing, I seek nothing. I only want you to be healthy, for us to live out this life together…”

Li Xizhen fell silent. She looked at the man before her. She had seen what he looked like as a child and had accompanied him through his youth. “Your Highness, do you truly… not want it?”

She suddenly asked.

Want what?

The jaw beneath Prince Jia’s sprouting stubble tightened somewhat. His voice was hoarse: “I don’t want it, Xizhen. I only want to return with you.”

——

Ni Su returned with another basket of incense and candles. Just as she entered the main hall of the medical clinic, she heard a voice behind her: “Madam, this seems to be the place.”

She turned to see two female attendants supporting a plainly dressed woman. The moment she turned around, the woman looked her up and down.

“May I ask if Madam has come for medical consultation?”

Ni Su set the basket aside and approached to inquire.

“I have medical staff at home, no need to trouble the young lady.” The woman spoke with a very gentle tone.

Ni Su paused, then nodded. “If that’s the case, may I ask what brings Madam here?”

“Are you surnamed Ni, called Ni Su?”

The woman examined her while asking.

“Yes.”

Ni Su nodded. Noticing the woman’s left knee seemed to bend slightly, she asked, “Is your knee uncomfortable? Why don’t you come in and sit for a while?”

The woman thought for only an instant before nodding and being helped inside by the attendants.

The hall was kept very clean and tidy. Even someone as particular as she could find not a single flaw in this young woman’s dwelling.

Hot tea and small pastries sat on the table. The woman had been seated only briefly when she saw the young lady emerge from the back, carrying hot water with the fragrance of mugwort even before drawing near.

“Your knee hurts. If you don’t mind, please apply this mugwort water compress.” Ni Su placed the basin on the stool. Since attendants flanked the woman, she did not act herself.

The two attendants looked toward the woman.

The woman regarded Ni Su for a moment, then nodded lightly to them.

Behind a screen, the attendants lifted her skirt and rolled up her silk trousers, applying the wrung-out hot cloth to her knee.

“I heard people outside say that the young lady is a very remarkable woman. Your brother’s situation is truly lamentable.”

The woman’s brow relaxed somewhat as she suddenly spoke.

“I truly cannot bear the title ‘remarkable.’ As blood kin, I merely did what I should do.” Ni Su tended the charcoal in the brazier and prepared fresh tea.

“Recently with the overcast skies and frequent rain, if Madam’s knee often troubles her, please use this method more often. It can at least reduce the pain somewhat.”

“How much?”

The woman lightly patted an attendant’s shoulder. That attendant immediately moved to take the purse from her person. Ni Su quickly shook her head with a smile: “It’s only some mugwort water, and I’m not the one applying the compress. How could I take your money?”

The woman said nothing, fingering a string of prayer beads in her hand as she looked at Ni Su. Only after the attendants finished her compress did she rise to take her leave.

From beginning to end, she never stated her purpose in coming.

“Madam, what do you think of her?” After leaving the medical clinic, one attendant helped the woman into the carriage and inquired carefully.

The woman fingered her prayer beads, sitting properly in the carriage. She reflected carefully on the young woman’s behavior and conduct just now. “She appears to have excellent character and knows propriety and proper behavior. One can see she received good upbringing at home. If her family hadn’t met with such misfortune, she likely wouldn’t need to show her face in public to make a living. For a young lady, it must be extremely difficult.”

The carriage departed from the clinic entrance. Ni Su cleared the items from the table. Across the way in the medicinal herb shop, the proprietor’s young daughter A Fang, only twelve or thirteen years old, had been coming to play at Ni Su’s place these past few days. She propped one hand on the table corner, muttering: “Didn’t you also buy the mugwort from my family? Doesn’t that cost money? Besides, she was strange—who knows what she came for.”

She had been playing outside when that woman arrived.

“It’s not worth much anyway.” Ni Su gave her a candy, then said: “Did you see the fabric she wore? Such fine clothing—she must not be from an ordinary family.”

Ni Su naturally had her own thoughts. Even if that woman had no need for her medical services now, it was never wrong to treat her courteously.

A Fang said nothing. Her mother had said that women who treated female patients had no good reputation, but the elder sister before her was strange—she specialized in treating women, yet no one could say her reputation was bad. Everyone both admired her courage in seeking justice for her brother while remaining deeply reticent about her medical practice.

“Sister Ni, are you also waiting for the rain to stop?” A Fang sat in a chair, chin propped on one hand as she changed the subject.

Ni Su glanced at the fine misty rain outside, thinking of that person who hadn’t seen moonlight for days and could only bathe in willow leaf water. She nodded.

“I knew it! You must be secretly making a kite!”

A Fang laughed.

A kite?

Ni Su was bewildered. “What kite?”

“I saw several bamboo poles here yesterday!” A Fang snorted, pointing toward the wall corner. “How’s your kite coming along? Hurry and show me!”

“I’m not making one—what would I show you?” Ni Su laughed and touched her head.

Before long, A Fang was called home by her mother for dinner. Ni Su returned to the back corridor and smelled the fragrance of cooking. She looked up toward the kitchen area to see a young man in a light azure round-collared robe, his hair neatly bound and secured with a white jade hairpin, sitting in the eaves corridor holding flexible bamboo strips.

“Xu Ziling, didn’t I tell you these past few days you needn’t cook for me?” Ni Su hurried over, set down the basket of incense and candles, and lifted her skirt to sit beside him.

“Do you know what you looked like last night, hiding in your room eating sweet cakes?” Xu Hexue’s brows and eyes always carried a certain coldness, and in this rainy mist, his features took on an even colder quality.

“What… how did you know?” Ni Su was immediately embarrassed.

“Your window was open.”

At that time, Xu Hexue had just emerged from his room. Looking up, he saw through that window her cheeks puffed out as she chewed sweet cakes, as if she’d drunk a bowl of bitter medicine.

“I was reading medical texts and forgot the time. Those things are very convenient.” Ni Su spoke softly, then noticed the bamboo strips in his hand. Recalling what A Fang had said, she couldn’t help asking: “What are you… planning to do with those?”

“That night when you said you couldn’t sleep and came to keep watch by my bed, you fell asleep leaning against the bedside before long,” Xu Hexue used a knife to lightly scrape burrs from the bamboo strip. “You talked in your sleep.”

Ni Su stared blankly. “What did I say?”

“Why won’t my kite fly…” Xu Hexue’s emotionless voice did not imitate her tone but simply stated it plainly for her to hear.

Ni Su felt a bit embarrassed and lowered her head. “Though I don’t remember, it must have been a dream about playing outdoors with my brother when I was small. My kite could never fly, and my brother wouldn’t help me.”

“So you’re making a kite for me?”

As she asked this question, she pressed her lips together inexplicably and raised her eyes to look at him.

“Yes.”

Xu Hexue’s fingers gripped the bamboo strip as he asked her: “Do you still want to fly a kite now?”

“…I do.”

Ni Su’s voice became very soft.

Hearing this, Xu Hexue turned to look at her. “That’s good. I was worried this was something you liked as a child but might not enjoy now.”

“You…”

Ni Su looked away from those clear, beautiful eyes of his. For a moment she didn’t even know where to put her hands. Rain wet the wooden steps as she watched the droplets fall. “How do you know how to make these?”

Xu Hexue stopped looking at her and focused again on the task at hand. “In my youth, one of my close friends wanted to please a young lady he’d grown up with, so he learned to make them himself. But he was a bit clumsy—after several attempts he still couldn’t manage it and even got his hand pricked by bamboo strips. He dragged me along to learn with him. In the end, he took the one I made and gave it to that young lady.”

Ni Su finally heard him mention his past again. She propped her chin on one hand and smiled. “Why did he take yours? Was yours better looking than his?”

“Yes.”

Xu Hexue paused in his movements, one hand resting on his knee, as if carefully recalling. A faint trace of amusement appeared in his eyes: “If I remember correctly, the one he made was so ugly as to be unbearable to look at.”

His form was faint as mist. Perhaps the wounds on his body had not yet healed, but under such torment, as he recalled certain lighter memories from the past, this person who seemed assembled from frost and snow showed signs of melting, however slightly.

Ni Su looked at him and suddenly wanted very much to touch him.

But she did not do so.

The rain fell softly, the mist was damp. Xu Hexue quietly organized the bamboo strips while Ni Su watched him from the side and said: “Like this, I’ll look forward to the rain stopping.”