Stars hung over the open plains; the moon suspended above a thousand mountains.
Palace lanterns were lit one by one. The banquet tables were laden with an array of pastries. The performers, both front and backstage, were already in position—string and woodwind instruments hummed softly, waiting only for their mistress’s command to begin the shadow play.
But the appointed time had long passed, and Jiang Nong was still nowhere to be seen.
An autumn breeze blew through. Though a canopy had been set up, Jiang Yuan, ever fond of beauty, was dressed too thinly. She shrank her shoulders against the cold.
Her guard tried to drape a cloak over her; she shrugged it off. He tried again; she shook it off again, shooting him a glare. The guard silently placed it back on her shoulders once more—the two locked in their wordless tug-of-war.
The head maid paced back and forth at the palace gate several times, meeting Jiang Yuan’s expectant gaze each time—and each time, shaking her head.
Jiang Yuan’s bright eyes dimmed. Tears began to pool. She snatched up the melons and loquats in front of her and hurled them out one by one in frustration.
“Liars! All liars!”
She’d said she’d come to watch the show—all lies! Just making fun of her!
She’d known it all along—Jiang Nong had never been particularly nice to her. Why would she suddenly act so close?
She was about to sweep the entire table clean when Jiang Nong finally arrived, late.
Jiang Yuan’s eyes lit up. She instinctively started to rise, then restrained herself, her pout so pronounced it could hang an oil jug: “Did you crawl up from underground? You look a mess.”
Jiang Nong took her seat, somewhat distracted, and offered a vague smile: “Got held up on the way.”
Jiang Yuan decided not to hold her tardiness against her. She clapped her hands in delight and called for the performance to begin.
The play was Han Xin Musters His Troops. Jiang Nong watched absentmindedly, chin propped on her hand, her mind stuck on Yu Lingxin.
She began to doubt whether her thinking since her rebirth had been right at all.
On stage, the singers warbled on, but all Jiang Nong could see was Yu Lingxin—pitifully propping himself up, crouched on the ground, carefully hiding his face.
Yes, he would become a tyrant in the future. But right now, he was only a pitiful wretch—even a kind one, who would shield those weaker than himself.
She lacked the decisiveness and courage to act. If it had been Jiang Su, she probably would have figured out a much better way.
Jiang Nong didn’t know what to do when faced with someone so pitiable. If heaven would only let Yu Lingxin die by some accident, she would pray for him every day, wishing him a good rebirth.
Jiang Yuan had some precious fruit wine and kept urging her to try it, pushing her choicest fruits toward her. Jiang Nong’s head ached from thinking, so she drank a few extra cups—only to find her head pounding even more afterward, her chest tight and heavy.
Jiang Yuan leaned in again and shared her latest news: in a few days, during the autumn hunt, envoys from the Dang Kingdom would arrive.
She was always well-informed—it wouldn’t be false.
Jiang Nong didn’t remember who the envoys were in her past life. She supposed it wasn’t important—it had nothing to do with her anyway.
“Why do you keep frowning? Is the show not good?” Jiang Yuan, of course, would never question her own taste—if Jiang Nong dared say it wasn’t good, she was ready for a fight.
Jiang Nong seemed to get along with everyone, but in truth, she wasn’t close enough with any of them to share her true feelings.
She thought to herself: if she asked Jiang Su, Jiang Su would say “Strike first or suffer later.” Jiang Miao would say “That’s so scary, I don’t know what to do.” But now, Jiang Yuan seemed like the most practical one.
She asked: “Suppose you knew someone would become a great villain in the future—that you would even die because of him—but right now he seems like a good person. What would you do?”
Jiang Yuan examined her nails, glanced at the silent guard beside her, and said: “That’s not something I need to think about. Xifeng would kill him for me ahead of time.”
Jiang Nong: …
She shouldn’t have asked.
Jiang Nong closed her eyes, not wanting to watch this sweet little drama between the loyal guard and his willful princess—or perhaps, star-crossed lovers.
Xifeng was a member of the Imperial Guard that Lady Li had specifically requested from the king for Jiang Yuan. He had been by her side since childhood—and he was also the one Jiang Yuan had tried to elope with in her past life.
To be honest, in her previous life, the moment Jiang Nong learned of her own arranged marriage, her first thought had been to elope with Yu Lingxin—anywhere far away would be better than a political marriage. But her mother had wept and begged her, and Jiang Yuan and Xifeng’s tragic deaths had made her falter. In the end, she gave up on Yu Lingxin.
By the time the banquet ended, the moon hung high overhead.
Jiang Yuan had drunk too much and was helped back to her chambers by her maids. Xifeng handed a return gift to Rong Mian. He was tall and lean, with the vigor of a martial man—handsome and stern, his broad palms crossed with scars.
Jiang Yuan wasn’t the type to think of giving return gifts—and her maids were as simple-minded as she was. This was probably Xifeng’s own doing.
“Please, Ninth Princess, do come visit often. Her Highness was very happy today.”
Jiang Nong had once doubted Xifeng’s motives—transferring from the Imperial Guard to inner-palace duty meant throwing away any future advancement. But now it was clear: Xifeng bore no resentment toward Jiang Yuan at all. On the contrary, his feelings were genuine. He had prepared this gift himself, only hoping that Jiang Nong would keep Jiang Yuan company.
“If Ninth Princess treats Seventh Princess with sincerity, and there is ever anything you need, you may come to me.”
Seeing Jiang Nong unmoved, he quickly added.
He was constantly worrying about Jiang Yuan, knowing full well her willful, spoiled nature made her unpopular with her peers. He was terrified that Jiang Nong—the only one willing to associate with her—would drift away, to the point of offering himself up as leverage.
A guard who had come out of the Imperial Guard was a rare and valuable asset within the palace.
Jiang Nong gave him a slight nod, indicating that she would visit regularly in the future.
Xifeng’s expression relaxed. He signaled for someone to escort her back to her palace.
The moment Jiang Nong returned to her quarters, a dark figure waiting at the gate dropped to his knees: “Ninth Princess, I beg you—please save our master! This evening, he was struck on the head, and no imperial physician has come to see him. Half an hour ago, he developed a fever—he only just nearly drowned, and his body cannot withstand such torment. Please save him, I beg you!”
It was Xunliang, Yu Lingxin’s eunuch attendant.
Jiang Nong’s headache worsened. She could barely get a physician for herself—how was she supposed to help him?
Besides, if Yu Lingxin burned to death with fever, she’d truly be relieved.
She was about to brush him off when a flash of inspiration struck. She whispered something to Rong Mian, then told Xunliang to go with her to retrieve the prescription from her last fever and take it to the Imperial Medical Academy to get the medicine. She herself would wait at Yu Lingxin’s lodgings for their return.
Jiang Nong had always been warmhearted. Though Xunliang felt embarrassed, thinking of his master’s condition, he still thanked her and sprinted off toward the Medical Academy with Rong Mian.
For now, in Yu Lingxin’s cramped little room, there were only the two of them.
Everything had been smashed; the room was bare. A small oil lamp cast a dim glow. A curtain partitioned off half the bed—Xunliang slept on the other side. A simple makeshift stove had been set up for the master and servant to manage their daily needs.
It was hard to imagine that a prince—however lowly—could live in such poverty.
Though Jiang Nong wasn’t highly regarded, she had never wanted for anything.
A medicine pot sat atop the stove. Jiang Nong added some water, then, when she saw Yu Lingxin was still unconscious, sprinkled a pinch of powder from her sleeve into the pot.
This was the first time she had done something like this. Her heart pounded so hard it might burst from her chest. She calculated that the dose was small enough not to kill him and wouldn’t implicate the physician. She patted her chest, trying to calm herself.
When flustered, she needed something to do. She crouched down, searched around, and pulled out two pieces of dry firewood to shove into the stove—but she couldn’t get a flame going. After more fumbling, she found a rag and tried to wipe the pot, but her sleeve knocked over a nearby bowl, sending it crashing to the floor in pieces.
On the sickbed, Yu Lingxin slowly opened his eyes. His weak gaze met Jiang Nong’s flustered one as she scrambled to pick up the shards.
Jiang Nong froze, unsure how much he had seen.
Yu Lingxin managed a pale, faint smile and struggled to sit up: “I… let me do it…”
His face alternated between pale and flushed—whether from shame or fever, she couldn’t tell.
Afraid he might come over and discover something, Jiang Nong hurriedly pushed him back onto the bed.
His skin burned hot. Beneath the thin fabric, his bones pressed hard against her hands—lean and unyielding. His bedding and clothes were clean, carrying the faint scent of soap. Uncomfortable, Jiang Nong patted him and pulled the covers up: “You’re sick—rest. Don’t move.”
She didn’t know her own strength; the blanket covered half his face. Obediently, he didn’t move. His eyes sparkled, fixed on her without blinking, his voice muffled through the quilt: “Sister… are you not angry with me anymore?”
When he looked at her like that, it always reminded her of someone—a tiny child, nuzzling in her arms. Her heart ached. She reached out and pressed her hand over his eyes, looking away: “I’m not angry. That night, I meant to pull you up—I just slipped.”
She was a terrible liar. Yu Lingxin obediently kept his eyes closed, his thoughts already muddled with fever. He rubbed his burning forehead gently against her cool palm and murmured: “Sister… my body hurts so much… but I’m so happy. No one… no one has ever been this good to me. No one ever explains things to me. No one ever worries if I’m sick… Please… don’t abandon me…”
Jiang Nong’s resolve, so carefully hardened, wavered for a moment—then steadied again: “Don’t worry. I won’t abandon you.”
With this dose, Yu Lingxin would most likely become a simpleton. She had always been on good terms with him, so no one would suspect her—they would only think Wen Zuhuan had truly damaged him, and that the delayed treatment had burned his mind to ruin.
If he became a fool in the future, with no one to care for him, she could at least take him in after marriage. Chao Ning was a good man—they would keep Yu Lingxin clean and well-fed, far better off than here. He wouldn’t be able to bring calamity upon the world, and he could live out his days in peace.
“I knew it… Sister is the best…” Yu Lingxin murmured, a blissful smile curving his lips.
Not long after, Xunliang and Rong Mian came rushing back, clutching the medicine. Jiang Nong took it and quickly threw it into the pot. Xunliang was so moved he dropped to his knees and kowtowed to Jiang Nong several times: “The Ninth Princess is a living bodhisattva! Even if I die and become a ghost, I will never forget your kindness!”
Jiang Nong’s hand trembled at his words, nearly spilling the medicine.
The little kitchen was old and poorly maintained; the firewood sent up wisps of smoke as it burned. Xunliang hurriedly ushered them out, saying it was getting late and he would watch the pot himself, begging them to go rest.
Jiang Nong couldn’t relax—she was terrified that Yu Lingxin wouldn’t end up drinking that medicine.
The moon’s shadow crept half an inch eastward. A faint flame flickered in the stove. Jiang Nong propped her head on her hand, nearly falling asleep by the bed. Footsteps approached—she jerked awake. A quilt that had somehow been draped over her slipped off. She turned to see Rong Mian carrying the medicine bowl out: “It’s ready.”
The blanket must have been placed on her by Yu Lingxin. She tucked it back over him. Xunliang helped him sit up, propping him against the headboard with two soft pillows behind his back.
Jiang Nong took the medicine bowl, stirred it with a spoon, steadied her trembling hands, and brought it to the dazed Yu Lingxin. In the gentlest voice she could muster, she called: “A Xin, time to take your medicine.”
Yu Lingxin’s phoenix eyes, heavily shut, slowly opened—then closed again. His breathing was labored. He raised his hand and took the bowl.
Everyone watched him with expectant eyes. His downcast gaze fixed on the medicine—a faint ring of red powder swirling imperceptibly in the dark brown liquid.
“Do I have to drink it, Sister?”
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