Jiang Congli’s voice was deep and steady.
The next second, Pei Shuyi actually swallowed.
One sip, two sips, three sips.
Soon, the bowl of medicine was empty.
Aunt He stood by, utterly dumbfounded.
The young lady usually made such a fuss about taking medicine, needing to be coaxed for ages. How did this man manage it with just a few words today?
Two minutes later, Jiang Congli placed the empty bowl on the table, stood up, and straightened his cuffs.
“She might run a fever again in the latter half of the night. Please keep a close eye on her.”
Aunt He was taken aback for a moment. “Sir, thank you so much!”
She could already feel that Pei Shuyi’s temperature had dropped significantly.
Jiang Congli gave a slight nod, then turned and walked toward the door.
He had just taken a step.
A faint rustling sound came from behind.
A slender hand, unnoticed until now, had slipped out from under the blanket and grasped his palm with unerring precision.
Her fingers slid between his, slowly, almost greedily, with an instinctive kind of dependence, and curled into his palm.
Seeing this, Aunt He froze completely.
So did Jiang Congli.
He looked down at the hand nestled between his fingers.
Pale, slender, with distinct knuckles. The fever hadn’t fully subsided, and her fingertips still carried an unnatural warmth.
The wind from the corridor seeped through the door crack, gently stirring the hem of Jiang Congli’s shirt, but his body remained as still as if nailed in place.
Aunt He gasped softly beside him. “Young lady…”
Jiang Congli raised a hand, silencing her next words.
The man gazed down at that hand.
Then, he slowly knelt down.
His eyes fell on her face—from her tightly furrowed brow, to her flushed eyes, to her slightly parted lips.
“Sleep.”
His voice was soft, as light as a leaf falling on a lake.
Yet with just those two words, Pei Shuyi’s tightly knitted brow gradually relaxed.
And Jiang Congli simply stayed there, kneeling by the bed, letting her hold his hand, motionless.
Moonlight from outside the window peeked through the clouds, spilling across the floor.
Aunt He stood in the corner, quietly turning away, pretending she hadn’t seen anything.
Amitabha.
The next afternoon, Pei Shuyi woke up.
The confusion from last night’s high fever had completely faded, and her mind felt somewhat clearer.
She lay with her eyes open, staring at the wooden beams overhead for a long while.
Aunt He was dozing in a chair by the bed, a thin blanket draped over her.
Pei Shuyi propped herself up slowly, the blanket slipping down as a chill brushed against her.
She looked down at her right hand, lying open on the blanket.
Her palm was empty.
She turned her hand over, examining the back, then turned it back again, studying her palm.
Something felt missing.
Aunt He hadn’t been sleeping deeply and woke at the sound. “Young lady!”
She hurried to the bedside, reaching out to feel Pei Shuyi’s forehead. After a long moment, her expression shifted from worry to relief.
“Amitabha, Buddha be praised, the fever’s finally gone…”
Then she helped Pei Shuyi sit up against the headboard and handed her a cup of warm water to sip slowly.
“Aunt He.”
She set the cup down.
“Yes, young lady, what is it?”
“Last night…” Pei Shuyi paused, as if weighing her words, “besides you, who else was here?”
Aunt He’s hand stilled.
She glanced up at Pei Shuyi, her expression unreadable, as if recalling something.
She folded and refolded the towel in her hands, finally saying, “Mr. Jiang from next door stayed here until four in the morning last night before leaving.”
Pei Shuyi’s eyelashes trembled slightly.
Next door.
Mr. Jiang.
Was it Jiang Congli?
“He prescribed a new formula for you,” Aunt He said while discreetly observing Pei Shuyi’s expression. “You were burning up badly. He said your body couldn’t handle the original medicine, so he rewrote a gentler prescription. Later, he was afraid your fever might spike again in the middle of the night, so he stayed by your bedside.”
“He knows how to write prescriptions?” Pei Shuyi asked.
Aunt He nodded. “He said his elders practiced traditional Chinese medicine, and he learned from them. I woke up several times during the night, and each time he was sitting there watching over you. He checked your pulse multiple times and changed the towels several times. It wasn’t until after four, when your fever had completely subsided, that he left.”
Pei Shuyi lowered her eyes, gazing at her right hand resting on the quilt.
“Did anything else happen?” she asked.
This time, Aunt He looked uneasy. After hesitating, she lowered her voice. “Last night, when you were delirious from the fever, you held onto his hand and wouldn’t let go.”
Pei Shuyi fell silent.
Oh.
No wonder she felt like something was missing from her grasp.
The room remained quiet for a long time.
Aunt He watched her young mistress’s expressionless face, unable to discern what she was thinking.
“Miss, would you like to lie down a little longer? Aunt He will go prepare something for you to eat.”
“No need,” Pei Shuyi said, pushing back the covers. “I’ll go thank him.”
Aunt He was taken aback. She opened her mouth, wanting to say that Pei Shuyi wasn’t fully recovered yet, but seeing that she had already gotten out of bed, she swallowed her words.
Pei Shuyi changed into a light green dress that draped over her slender frame, letting her dark hair fall loosely over her shoulders.
Dressed in muted colors, she appeared ethereal yet solitary.
The afternoon at Qingtan Temple was quiet, with the scent of incense lingering everywhere. Sunlight filtered through the ginkgo leaves, scattering shards of gold on the ground.
From her room to Jiang Congli’s was only five or six steps away, and she arrived quickly.
She knocked, but no one answered.
Pei Shuyi stood at the door without speaking.
A young novice passing by noticed her, clasped his hands together, and bowed. “Benefactor.”
Pei Shuyi returned the gesture and asked softly, “Do you know where the occupant of this room has gone?”
The novice thought for a moment. “Are you referring to Benefactor Jiang? He left early this morning with the old madam to offer incense. They said they were going to the Great Buddha Hall in the back mountain.”
“When did they leave?”
“They probably left at daybreak.”
Pei Shuyi glanced at the sky outside—the sun was already high.
“Did they say when they would return?”
The novice shook his head. “That I don’t know. The back mountain is far; the round trip will likely take most of the day.”
Pei Shuyi nodded, thanked him, and turned to leave.
Qingtan Temple was vast, occupying half the mountainside. From the temple gate to the Great Buddha Hall in the back mountain, the walk alone took over an hour.
The blazing sun persisted until the mountains were bathed in twilight, the sunset dyeing the entire Qingtan Mountain amber.
Pei Shuyi sat on a stone stool in the courtyard, idly twirling a ginkgo leaf in her hand, her gaze fixed on the courtyard entrance.
After what felt like a long time, two figures appeared one after another, slowly making their way from the end of the mountain path.
The one in front was the old madam.
The one behind, dressed in dark clothing, walked with steady, unhurried steps, following closely behind her.
The setting sun’s rays fell upon him, casting a faint, warm glow over his cold, hard contours.