“So, according to you, Xuan’er will recover as long as he abstains from wheat flour?”
Princess Shouyang asked eagerly.
Feng Qingsui nodded.
“Yes. However, given that Young Master Xuan has been ill for a long time, he should also avoid foods like cow and goat milk, soybeans, and eggs.”
After speaking, she took a piece of paper from her sleeve and handed it to the servant waiting nearby.
“I’ve listed the prohibited foods. As long as he abstains for ten days to half a month, significant improvement will be visible. Abstaining for six months will lead to a complete recovery.”
The list was long. After the servant presented it to Princess Shouyang, Ji Peiyuan glanced at it from the side and gasped in shock.
“This can’t be eaten, that can’t be eaten—how is anyone supposed to live like this!”
Feng Qingsui replied expressionlessly, “If the Consort believes that indulging one’s appetite is more important than life itself, I have nothing more to say.”
Ji Peiyuan: “…”
Princess Shouyang glared at him. “It’s not you who has to abstain, so why are you making such a fuss?”
Ji Peiyuan looked embarrassed. “I’m just thinking of Xuan’er. His favorite foods are soup dumplings and steamed egg custard…”
“Indulging a child is akin to killing them!”
Princess Shouyang said sternly.
“Xuan’er is nearly at death’s door, and you still want to indulge him by letting him eat these poisons?”
Ji Peiyuan fell completely silent.
After reprimanding her consort, Princess Shouyang’s expression softened slightly as she asked Feng Qingsui, “Aside from dietary restrictions, is there anything else to be mindful of?”
“Maintain a regular daily routine and eat at regular intervals,” Feng Qingsui replied.
She then took her leave.
“Head to Nanbei Dajie,” she instructed Wuhua after boarding the donkey cart.
“Yes, ma’am!”
Wuhua tugged on the reins, and the cart moved forward cheerfully, the donkey’s hooves clip-clopping along.
Nanbei Dajie was the busiest and most bustling street in the capital. Feng Qingsui had come here to inquire about the type of ink used to write the words on Xun Shan’s note.
She hadn’t been able to identify the floral scent mixed with the ink’s fragrance, likely because it was relatively rare.
If she could find the owner of that ink, it would narrow down the search and help her find the person who ordered her sister’s murder more quickly.
“Shopkeeper, could you please show me all your floral-scented inks?”
After entering the largest ink shop in the capital, Feng Qingsui said.
The shopkeeper pointed to the right side of the shop. “All the floral-scented inks are over there.”
Feng Qingsui looked over and saw a seven-tiered wooden shelf on the right side of the hall, holding nearly a hundred ink sticks.
She walked over, picked them up one by one, and set them down again.
“Is this all you have?” she asked the shopkeeper.
“Are there no other varieties?”
The shopkeeper replied, “No, these are all. My shop has the most comprehensive collection of floral-scented inks in the capital, unless you count the collection of that person from Fanlou.”
Feng Qingsui looked puzzled. “That person from Fanlou refers to…?”
The shopkeeper was surprised. “You haven’t heard? It’s Qiao Zhenzhen, the most renowned songstress in the capital. She enjoys collecting floral-scented inks. When scholars and literati go to listen to her songs, they can pay with gold or, if they have no gold, with ink.”
Feng Qingsui fell into thought.
After leaving this ink shop, she visited several others. As the shopkeeper had said, none of them had as comprehensive a collection of floral-scented inks.
So, she began to consider Qiao Zhenzhen.
However, upon inquiring, she learned that to meet Qiao Zhenzhen, one not only had to make an appointment three months in advance but also pay a deposit.
The deposit was either one hundred gold, a newly written poem of high quality, or a rare and valuable floral-scented ink not yet in Qiao Zhenzhen’s collection.
Feng Qingsui, who had none of these: “…”
On the donkey cart back to the residence, she asked Wuhua, “Our Second Master can compose poems, right?”
Wuhua replied, “Probably. After all, he once topped the imperial examinations.”
“That makes sense.”
Feng Qingsui began pondering how to trick Ji Changqing into writing a good poem for her.
“Achoo!”
Ji Changqing, who was buried in account books at the yamen, suddenly felt a chill.
“Baifu, add some charcoal.”
He instructed his attendant.
Baifu acknowledged the order and went to the charcoal yard, which managed the charcoal supply for all government offices, to fetch several dozen catties of silver-frost charcoal.
Ji Changqing worked until the moon was high in the sky before heading back to his residence.
On the way, he heard the sound of mourning music.
Lifting the carriage window curtain to listen, he realized it was coming from a medical clinic by the roadside.
Thinking of the memorial that had been suppressed by the Emperor—the one impeaching Princess Shouyang for abusing private punishment and flogging a renowned physician—he furrowed his brow.
He instructed Baifu, “Find out whose funeral it is.”
Baifu went to inquire at a nearby tavern that was still lit and returned to report.
“It’s for Physician Xun of Ping’an Hall.”
Ji Changqing’s expression turned colder. “Is this Princess Shouyang’s doing?”
Baifu scratched his head. “The tavern owner said Physician Xun went to the Princess’s Mansion for a consultation the day before yesterday and returned safely. Unexpectedly, he broke his leg while leaving the city yesterday, developed a blood clot, and the clot dislodged, blocking his lungs and causing his death.”
“Has the coroner examined him?”
“Yes, he has.”
“Hah—”
A trace of mockery escaped Ji Changqing’s lips.
“A physician known as the ‘Saint of Women and Children’ loses his life from a broken leg? Who would believe that?”
Having started his career as a county magistrate and handled countless cases, he knew at once that Xun Shan’s death was suspicious.
It seemed Princess Shouyang had learned to cover her tracks.
But as this thought crossed his mind, he suddenly remembered a certain woman.
“He went to the Princess’s Mansion the day before yesterday and left the city yesterday?”
Baifu was puzzled. “Yes.”
“What a coincidence.”
Ji Changqing curled his lips slightly.
He then ordered, “Investigate tomorrow. I want to know all of Xun Shan’s movements yesterday.”
The next day, Ji Changqing was on leave. Baifu reported the information he had gathered early in the morning:
“…Physician Xun stayed at the clinic all day yesterday until the late afternoon. Suddenly, he rushed to the carriage house, ordered the coachman to harness the horses, and then drove out of the city alone. He didn’t return to the clinic until dusk.”
“After the apprentice helped him back to his room, he stayed inside alone. Even when his grandson cried and called for him, he didn’t open the door. The apprentice managed to soothe the grandson to sleep. The next day, when they knocked and got no response, they forced their way in and found he had been dead for some time.”
“After that, they reported it to the yamen. The coroner went to examine the body and concluded that death was caused by a pulmonary embolism.”
“He left a suicide note, entrusting the clinic and his family’s wealth to his daughter-in-law and relatives.”
Baifu had also borrowed the suicide note.
As someone who had dealt with writing tools for over twenty years, Ji Changqing could tell at a glance that the note had been written no more than three days prior.
It was almost certain that the note had been written on the day Physician Xun broke his leg.
The handwriting on the note was steady, definitely not written during a pulmonary embolism. Someone suffering from a pulmonary embolism wouldn’t think of writing a suicide note; they would be fighting for their lives.
After a moment of contemplation, he asked, “Was his grandson at the clinic when he drove out of the city?”
Upon hearing Baifu’s reply, he smiled.
He must not have been.
He set down the suicide note and strode out.
Arriving at Ci’an Hall, he saw Madam Feng sitting in the courtyard with his mother, basking in the sun. With a smile, he asked, “Mother, what would you like for lunch? I’ll cook.”
Feng Qingsui glanced sideways.
This man could cook? And it seemed his culinary skills were quite impressive.
She noticed Madam Qi’s eyes light up. “Honey-sweetened pickled plum kidney beans, braised edamame, Buddha’s delight…”
After Madam Qi finished listing the dishes, Ji Changqing turned his gaze to Feng Qingsui.
Feng Qingsui: “I can eat anything.”
“Alright.”
Ji Changqing nodded, took two steps toward the courtyard gate, then turned back.
“Sister-in-law, have you heard? The physician Xun you met at Princess Shouyang’s Mansion the day before yesterday was bitten to death by a dog.”