Chun Tao was extremely careful as she brewed the medicine. She had carried the small brazier into the most secluded corner of the Jinse Pavilion’s back courtyard, shielding it with folding screens, and had deliberately chosen the servants’ midday rest to avoid prying eyes.
The medicine pot bubbled on the fire, steam curling upward, a pungent herbal scent spreading through the air.
“Miss,” Chun Tao whispered, “the smell is so strong… won’t someone notice?”
Shen Jin lounged on a wicker recliner, lazily fanning herself with a palm-leaf fan. “If they notice, let them. Just say I caught a chill and am taking medicine for it.”
“But Doctor Li’s prescription—what if someone recognizes it?”
“Doctor Li encrypts his formulas,” Shen Jin replied. “He uses aliases—‘yunling,’ ‘baizhu,’ things like that. Ordinary people wouldn’t understand.”
Chun Tao nodded, half-convinced. When the decoction was ready, she strained it twice through gauze and poured it into a blue-and-white porcelain bowl. The liquid was thick and black, its bitterness sharp and lingering.
Shen Jin took the bowl, frowning at it. “Can this stuff really be swallowed?” she muttered.
“Miss, maybe…” Chun Tao hesitated. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink it? Doctor Li said it harms the body.”
Shen Jin stared at the murky brew, her heart uneasy. She had never taken contraceptive medicine before and didn’t know what side effects it might bring. But compared to the risk of pregnancy, a little harm seemed a small price. She drew a deep breath and raised the bowl to her lips— Just then, a commotion sounded outside the gate.
“Madam is here—”
Chun Tao’s face drained of color.
Shen Jin’s hand jerked, nearly spilling the medicine. She thrust the bowl into Chun Tao’s hands and hissed, “Hide it!”
Flustered, Chun Tao shoved the bowl behind a clump of flowers. She had barely straightened when the courtyard door swung open.
Madam Zhou entered with two maids in tow.
It was Shen Jin’s first close look at her stepmother: thirty-five or thirty-six, well-kept, with fair skin and dignified features. She wore a lotus-colored jacket, her hair adorned with a gold-and-pearl hairpin, every gesture radiating gentle propriety. She looked like someone easy to get along with. But Shen Jin knew what kind of heart lay beneath that soft face.
“Jinshu,” Madam Zhou smiled warmly, “I heard you were ill, so I came to see you.”
Shen Jin rose from the recliner and bowed. “Madam.”
The smile froze for an instant.
In the past, Shen Jinshu had called her “Mother”—reluctantly, but at least she had said it. Now it was “Madam,” distant as a stranger.
“Why call me Madam?” Madam Zhou’s smile didn’t falter. “Mother will do.”
Shen Jin smiled faintly. “It’s all the same.”
Madam Zhou’s eyes flickered, then softened again. “Are you feeling better?” she asked, settling onto a stone bench. “Doctor Li said you were only overtired, nothing serious. But child, you’re so careless with your health—spending nights outside without even an extra layer of clothing.”
The words sounded like concern, but the reminder was clear: *I haven’t forgotten you spent the night away.*
Shen Jin sat back down, fanning herself lazily. “Thank you for your concern, Madam. I’m sturdy—one night’s sleep and I’m fine.”
“That’s good.” Madam Zhou glanced around the courtyard, her gaze sweeping past the screens. “I thought I smelled medicine outside. I wondered if you were taking something.”
“Oh,” Shen Jin said evenly, “just for a chill. Chun Tao, bring the medicine for Madam to see.”
Chun Tao’s face went white.
The bowl was hidden in the flowers—fetching it now would expose everything.
“What are you waiting for?” Shen Jin’s eyes flicked toward her. “Go.”
Chun Tao forced herself to crouch behind the flowers, pretending to retrieve the bowl. Then she froze.
Behind the flowers— Empty. The medicine bowl was gone.
Eyes wide, she pawed through the leaves, but there was nothing. She turned back to Shen Jin, terror written across her face.
Shen Jin sensed something was wrong, but her expression remained calm. “Chun Tao, where’s the medicine?”
“The… the medicine…” Chun Tao stammered. “I swear I just put it here…”
“Forget it.” Shen Jin waved her hand. “Maybe a stray cat carried it off. Madam came at the wrong time—she didn’t see what I was drinking anyway.”
Madam Zhou smiled, but suspicion flickered in her eyes. “In that case, I won’t disturb your rest.” She rose gracefully. “Take care of yourself, and don’t wander about. Your father has ordered you confined for three days—you must obey.”
“Rest assured, Madam,” Shen Jin replied with a smile. “I’m the most obedient person you’ll ever meet.”
Madam Zhou left.
The moment the courtyard gate closed, Chun Tao nearly collapsed.
“Miss! The medicine is gone!”
“I know.” Shen Jin stood, walked to the flowerbed, and crouched to inspect.
On the ground lay a faint indentation—the mark of a bowl’s base. But the bowl itself was gone. The medicine was gone. No footprints, no signs of anyone passing near the screens.
Shen Jin straightened, narrowing her eyes at the courtyard wall. The walls of Jinse Pavilion weren’t high—barely two meters. Anyone agile could easily climb over. And during her brief exchange with Madam Zhou, less than the time it takes to sip a cup of tea, someone had scaled the wall, snatched the bowl, and slipped away. Clean. Efficient. Without a trace.
Cold sweat prickled down Shen Jin’s back. Someone in the General’s manor was watching her. And not just anyone. Ordinary servants couldn’t move like that.
“Miss…” Chun Tao’s voice trembled. “Could it be… Madam’s doing?”
“No.” Shen Jin shook her head.
If Madam Zhou had discovered the medicine, she wouldn’t have stolen it in secret—she would have exposed her on the spot. Whoever took it wasn’t trying to harm her. They didn’t want her to drink it. Who would stop her from taking contraceptive medicine?
A name exploded in her mind. Xiao Heng. The heir of Marquis Dingyuan. The man she had spent last night with.
Shen Jin’s face turned pale.
“Miss? Miss, what’s wrong?” Chun Tao shook her arm in panic.
“I’m fine.” Shen Jin drew a deep breath. “No medicine, no matter. It doesn’t mean I’ll definitely get pregnant.” She said it lightly, but inside she was fuming. What was Xiao Heng playing at? Stopping her from drinking contraceptives—did he actually want her to bear his child? Impossible. He didn’t even like her. Why would he want that? Maybe he just… just…
Shen Jin thought and thought, but no reasonable explanation came. Forget it. No use overthinking. The medicine was gone. She’d just have to let it be.
Night. Dingyuan Manor.
A lamp burned in Xiao Heng’s study.
On the desk sat a blue-and-white porcelain bowl, half-filled with dark, bitter medicine.
A man in gray knelt before him. “My lord, the medicine has been retrieved. Miss Shen did not notice.”
Xiao Heng lifted the bowl, sniffed it, and frowned at the acrid scent.
“Pour it out.”
The man hesitated. “My lord… shouldn’t we analyze the ingredients?”
“No need.” Xiao Heng set the bowl down. “Contraceptives—what else could it be?”
The man bowed his head, silent.
Xiao Heng leaned back, fingers tapping the desk. He had ordered surveillance on Shen Jin to understand her sudden change after last night. He hadn’t expected trouble so soon.
Contraceptives.
She wanted to erase any consequence of what happened. No responsibility, no entanglement, no lingering ties.
Xiao Heng couldn’t quite name the feeling in his chest. Rationally, it was natural—any unmarried girl would panic at the thought of pregnancy.
But still, it irked him. Irritation. Displeasure.
For twenty-two years, Xiao Heng had been the pride of the capital. Countless noble daughters dreamed of marrying him, and countless families sought his favor. And Shen Jinshu? After sleeping with him, her first instinct was to run. Her second: pretend it never happened. Her third: drink contraceptives. As if to say, *I have nothing to do with you, and never will.*
Never in his life had Xiao Heng been so dismissed.
“My lord,” the gray-clad man asked cautiously, “shall we continue watching Miss Shen?”
“Watch,” Xiao Heng said. “But don’t take anything else. This time it was medicine—next time, if she notices something missing, she’ll grow suspicious.”
“Yes.” The man withdrew.
Xiao Heng sat alone, watching the spilled medicine seep into the cracks of the floor. He recalled her belt that morning—tied the wrong way. A general’s daughter, yet she couldn’t even fasten a belt properly?
And her words.
“Adults.”
“One-night stand.”
“Let it rot.”
Phrases he had never heard before. As if she came from another world.
He picked up a letter from his informant at the General’s manor. It detailed her odd behavior all day.
She hadn’t used the word “help.”
She hadn’t called her father “Father.”
She hadn’t called Madam Zhou “Mother.”
And she had said: *A rotten life needs no explanation.*
Xiao Heng read that line several times, then chuckled softly.
“Rotten?” He rolled the word on his tongue. Intriguing.
What kind of life makes someone speak of rot so casually? He set the letter aside and walked to the window. The moonlight was bright, silvering the courtyard. For the first time, he found himself anticipating tomorrow. What unexpected thing would she do next?
Morning. General’s Manor, Jinse Pavilion.
Shen Jin was shaken awake by Chun Tao.
“Miss! Miss! Something’s wrong!”
Shen Jin blinked groggily. “What is it? Fire?”
“No fire!” Chun Tao’s face was flushed. “It’s… it’s Marquis Dingyuan’s people!”
Shen Jin snapped awake. “They came? For what?”
“To deliver something!” Chun Tao handed her a card. “They said it’s from the heir himself—a gift of apology.”
Shen Jin unfolded it. Four words stared back at her: ‘For yesterday’s offense, a small token. Please accept with a smile.’
Signed: Heng.
Shen Jin stared at that single character, her mind echoing one thought.
Xiao Heng—what on earth are you trying to do?