Lin Jinlou scooped her into his arms and carried her out the door. Xianglan huddled under the covers, her head throbbing with pain, her stomach churning, her face burning with a fiery sting, and her entire body weak and devoid of strength. She simply lowered her head and let Lin Jinlou do as he pleased.
They encountered no one along the way. The sedan chair was waiting just outside the inner gate. Lin Jinlou placed Xianglan inside the sedan and ordered Xiao Juan to bring a pot of osmanthus tea to attend to her along the journey. Only then did he take the reins, mount his horse, and set off.
Gui Yuan was initially startled to see Xianglan wrapped up like a silkworm cocoon and carried out by Lin Jinlou. She didn’t dare look at Xianglan’s face and instead stole a glance at Lin Jinlou, only to notice several bloody scratches on the left side of his face, clearly made by fingernails. Gui Yuan was horrified and quickly averted her gaze, not daring to stare at Lin Jinlou’s face any longer.
Just then, Xiao Juan lifted the sedan curtain and beckoned, calling out, “Little Gui Yuan, come here.”
Hearing this, Gui Yuan hurried over with an eager, flustered gait, her face breaking into an ingratiating smile. “What do you need, Sister Xiao Juan?” she asked softly, then added in a whisper, “What’s wrong with our mistress? Is she ill?” As she spoke, she glanced toward Lin Jinlou and shot Xiao Juan a meaningful look.
Xiao Juan rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t ask about things you shouldn’t.” With that, she handed a bundle to Gui Yuan, shoving it into her hands. “Take this. It’s some soiled clothes that have a smell. I’m afraid the mistress might feel dizzy if she catches a whiff. Give it back to me when we return to the residence.”
Gui Yuan accepted it with a pained expression. Xiao Juan chuckled softly, then used a handkerchief to hold out four pieces of pastry. “Here, take these to eat. They’re still warm. When we get home, I’ll have the mistress reward you.” Having said that, she let the curtain fall.
Seeing that Xiao Juan was unwilling to say more and noticing her slightly reddened eyes—a clear sign she had been crying—Gui Yuan didn’t dare press further. She simply followed at a distance, holding the clothes and keeping clear of her masters’ ill temper.
Xianglan continued to feel unwell throughout the journey. Xiao Juan poured osmanthus tea from the pot and fed it to her to counteract the effects of alcohol, then used a hairpin to press on several of her acupoints. Only then did Xianglan begin to feel a little better. By the time they returned to the Lin residence, she was already drowsy and disoriented. In her haze, she felt someone lift her and place her on a bed. The bedding and pillows carried a strong scent of mint and camphor, entirely different from the subtle, soft fragrance of her own bed. Uncomfortable, she shifted slightly, and her hand brushed against a round headrest. She hugged it to her chest, curling her body into a ball. As her swollen face rubbed against the pillow, a sharp pain made her gasp softly. In a voice full of grievance, she whispered, “Mother, it hurts…” A tear rolled down from the corner of her eye.
A moment later, someone wiped the tear from the corner of her eye and covered her with another quilt. Soon after, a rough finger applied ointment to her face, but the friction only made the pain worse. She shook her head but couldn’t avoid it. A harsh voice grumbled, “Stay still. What are you squirming for?” After things quieted down, she hugged the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.
She had no idea how long she slept before she woke up thirsty, her mouth parched. Faint voices reached her ears.
“…So that old fool Zhao Jin actually submitted a memorial like that? Hah, he’s got some nerve. In recent years, the Emperor has treated him with such favor that it’s gone to his head. The position of Crown Prince concerns the fate of the nation. The Emperor has always been stubborn and self-willed—how could he tolerate others meddling?” The speaker was Lin Jinlou, his tone carrying its usual laziness and arrogance."You were once Zhao Jin's grandson-in-law, calling him 'old fellow' isn't very respectful." Yuan Shaoren chuckled softly, while Lin Jinlou snorted dismissively. Yuan Shaoren continued, "Zhao Jin is the foremost scholar of the court, now chief grand secretary. His memorial regarding the establishment of the crown prince is only natural."
"The Eldest Prince is benevolent but frail and sickly. The Emperor favors the Second Prince, saying his demeanor, speech, and temperament closely resemble his own. His Majesty is utterly delighted. When still a prince, the Emperor once said, 'Strive hard, for the heir is often ill.' The Second Prince's eyes glare like a starving tiger—his wolfish ambition is no small matter. Just count how many troops he's amassing to understand."
Xianglan, who had been drowsy, instantly awoke upon hearing their conversation. She suddenly realized these two were behind closed doors, recklessly discussing court affairs—particularly matters involving the Eastern Palace succession. Unconsciously, she recalled the tragic fate of the Shen family in her past life, and cold sweat broke out. Surveying her surroundings, she saw above a canopy embroidered with golden threads of vines and joyful spiders, symbolizing continuous good fortune. The bed curtains were tightly drawn, the bedding luxurious—not her usual bed. She quietly sat up and noticed several books by the bedside, along with exquisite daggers and two or three folding fans, all used by Lin Jinlou. It dawned on her that this was his study.
Then she heard Yuan Shaoren say, "According to seniority, the Eldest Prince is the legitimate firstborn, previously chosen as heir by the late emperor. He holds the advantage. Memorials from court officials reportedly flood the grand secretariat, all supporting the Eldest Prince. Now even Zhao Jin, the grand secretary, has submitted a memorial—this momentum may be unstoppable. The Eldest Prince also has an exceptionally intelligent son, whom the Emperor dearly loves. Zhao Jin's memorial advocating for the Eldest Prince as Eastern Palace heir lists this 'excellent imperial grandson' as the foremost reason."
Lin Jinlou laughed, "If the Second Prince's dreams are shattered, that old man Zhao Jin will surely earn his hatred. Currently, the Emperor is in his prime and still quite fond of the Second Prince. For Zhao Jin to make such a move is betting his entire clan's lives and fortunes—more foolish than even the Shen family back then. At least the Shen family had principles. Zhao Jin, ever talented and outspoken, could have taken a roundabout approach but instead exposed himself as a target."
Yuan Shaoren chuckled again, "You think everyone is like your Old Master—slippery and elusive."
Lin Jinlou also laughed briefly before pausing and adding, "The Second Prince has sent me three invitations recently. I've declined with excuses, but further refusals might offend him. Everyone's burning with ambition, craving merit from supporting the rightful heir. The princes keep recruiting followers, but I can't be bothered with their petty squabbles. After my audience with the Emperor, I'll return to Jinling and lay low."
Yuan Shaoren shook his head. Lin Jinlou had truly inherited his Old Master's legacy—never taking the lead, maneuvering skillfully between sides, full of schemes. The Lin family, deeply rooted and prosperous, acted quietly without fanfare, bowing to whoever occupied the throne. Court officials often mocked them, "Where is their ministerial integrity?" Yet each generation of Lins produced capable officials, adhering to a slick, moderate path. Thus, while many great families declined and became embroiled in disputes, the Lin family remained unshaken. He said, "I've received his invitations too and meant to discuss with you. Since that's the case, next time we'll accept once—discussing only leisure, nothing else."Xianglan noticed an enamel famille-rose teapot by the bedside. Reaching out to touch it, she found the pot still warm. Quietly, she took a matching teacup from nearby, poured half a cup, and gulped it down in one breath. She poured another half cup and was about to drink when she heard Yuan Shaoren teasing, "Alright, enough of that... I say, Yingyang, what happened to your face? Who scratched you?"
"Bullshit, I got this during a spar."
"Heh, who are you trying to fool? It wasn't there yesterday, and today you're marked up. Besides, what grown man keeps nails that long? Unless he's a catamite. So, which girl scratched you? Definitely not one from the brothel—those ladies would practically worship you... Could it be the one in your chamber? Who'd have thought such a quiet one would have such a temper? Did you bully her?"
"Get lost, go away. I told you it was from sparring. Believe it or not."
"Oh, getting defensive now? I'm just looking out for you, taking my kindness for ill will. You should really work on that temper of yours. Who'd want to live with a firecracker every day? No wonder you specially invited me over today—can't show that face in public, huh?"
"Tch, why do you have to talk so much nonsense!"
"Fine, fine, I'll stop. Let's go outside and practice. I haven't stretched my limbs in days."
"You go first. I need to change." Lin Jinlou pushed the door open and raised his voice, "Shuangxi, Shuangxi! Prepare hot tea and snacks, and bring out the weapons for Eldest Master Yuan to choose from." With that, he walked to the adjacent bedchamber. Just as he pulled open the wardrobe to get clothes, he paused, turned to the window, and drew back the curtain. There sat Xianglan, disheveled on the bed, hugging the quilt, still holding half a bowl of warm tea. Having just woken, her eyes were even more swollen, like two peaches.
Xianglan stared at him, her heart racing, palms turning cold. Earlier, fueled by seven parts drunkenness, she had thrown a fit, venting her resentment and fury at Lin Jinlou. Now sober and clear-headed, fear crept in. She stole a glance upward. Lin Jinlou's left cheek was toward the window, illuminating the scratches she had made in stark relief. A mix of satisfaction and dread twisted inside her, and she lowered her head in turmoil.
Lin Jinlou raised an eyebrow, hooked the bed curtain onto a silver hook, and pinched Xianglan's chin, examining her from all angles. He said mildly, "Good, the swelling's gone down. Apply the ointment once more, and it'll be unnoticeable by evening."
Xianglan hadn't expected such words from him. Wide-eyed, she stared at him in astonishment.
Lin Jinlou nodded, withdrew his hand, and turned with elegant composure to change his clothes.
Xianglan's head still felt heavy and muddled. She sat there stunned, feeling as if she were in a dream. After a while, Lin Jinlou finished changing and left. Soon, the sound of a door slamming shut echoed. Only then did Xianglan snap out of her daze. She wondered what was wrong with that scoundrel. Could he actually feel guilty? That was impossible—the man had no sense of right or wrong, acting solely on his whims. She had thrown a tantrum, scratched his face, and cursed him out. He must have taken it as an insult and was surely seething with hatred toward her...Xianglan was lost in her thoughts when she heard the door pushed open again. Shu Ran entered, carrying a tiered food box in her hand, and said with a smile, "Madam, you're awake. Are you feeling better?" As she spoke, she set up the kang table on the bed and took out the food from the box. "When you first returned, your face was deathly pale—it gave us such a fright. But now you look much more spirited. After waking from a drunken stupor, you probably have little appetite. The Eldest Master instructed me to bring you something to eat, and I thought it best to prepare something light."
On the kang table were arranged three plates of fresh, green, and fragrant seasonal vegetables, a plate of freshly steamed small round rice cakes, and a bowl of soup. Xianglan, now truly feeling hungry, ate for a while. Shu Ran then ordered a young maid to clear the remnants of the meal and personally attended to Xianglan as she rinsed her mouth. She then fetched her own dressing case and combed Xianglan's hair.
Suddenly, the sound of "thump, thump, thump" footsteps was heard at the door, followed by a young boy's clear, crisp voice calling out, "Father! Uncle Lin!" before he burst into the room.
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