Chunxi hurried to Wen Ning’s side, whispering anxiously: “Madam… what should we do?”
She had thought that handing the matter to Steward Fang would be enough. Who could have guessed her mistress would take on such a deadly responsibility herself? If they failed to identify the intruder, how could they explain it?
Wen Ning steadied herself and murmured, “As long as that man is among them, I can find him.”
There hadn’t been enough time for him to escape. And if he were on duty tonight, his absence would be suspicious.
She stepped forward under the gaze of all, slowly approaching the assembled men.
The Protector’s household was well‑trained. Though crowded, they stood in perfect order: guards to the left, servants to the right, row upon row.
Wen Ning moved among the guards, subtly flaring her nostrils. Her sensitivity to medicinal scents was ingrained—if someone had touched herbs, however faint the trace, she could detect it. She sought the smell of millettia, honeysuckle vine, and gentian root—remedies for inflammation and skin ailments. Whoever used all three likely suffered from some disease. Focused, she didn’t notice the stares around her.
Not far off, Chen Jinbo frowned, scoffing: “Look at her—if this is an act, she plays it too well.” Like Fang Wu, he suspected another concubine’s ploy to catch his brother’s attention. Yet her boldness intrigued him. How would she end this charade? He turned to his brother. “Second Brother, what do you think?”
Chen Jinfeng’s lips curved faintly, his voice slow: “If it’s an act, all the better.”
Chen Jinbo blinked, then understood. His brother had focused on external enemies for two years, leading the clans to believe he was lenient. The recent Minzhou rebellion bore their shadow. Now, with outside foes subdued, it was time to deal with the arrogant clans within Jin. Was his brother planning to start with the Wen family? Poor girl—she had stumbled right into the trap.
Seeing her as a fish on the chopping block, he lost interest in watching and began chatting idly: “Second Brother should have cleaned up the inner court long ago. They’ve grown bold. Wuyou told me a concubine surnamed Feng keeps blocking her path, pretending to ‘accidentally’ meet her. It’s so annoying that she vents her temper on me. And sooner or later, you must marry properly. At least silence the rumors. Third Sister‑in‑law said people are whispering you prefer men, too afraid to admit it. The gossip is outrageous…”
Chen Jinfeng didn’t even glance at him, calmly tightening his wrist guard.
“If you’re so idle, tomorrow go to the barracks and train the new recruits.”
Chen Jin‑bo grew anxious. “Second Brother, times have changed. Every move you make is watched. Even if you don’t care about marriage, you can’t let outsiders slander you!”
But Chen Jinfeng only smiled lazily. “Why rush? And how do you know the rumors are false?”
Chen Jinbo felt thunderstruck. Not false? Which rumor—illness, or fondness for men?
Fang Wu sighed at the sight of the flustered young lord. How many times had the Protector teased him? Yet he still hadn’t learned that his brother’s nature was deliberately cruel, impossible to predict.
Just then, they saw Wen Ning halt abruptly among the guards.
Chen Jinfeng’s eyes narrowed.
Wen Ning lifted her gaze, staring at a tall, handsome young guard three men away, her eyes widening in shock. She stepped back, whispering: “You…”
At her look, Chen Jinfeng swiftly assessed the guard. His face was taut, eyes unfocused, complexion pale. He turned his head unnaturally aside, as if avoiding a gaze. His fists clenched tight.
Cold light flashed in Chen Jinfeng’s eyes. He straightened, barking:
“Seize him—”
But the man moved faster. With a sudden roar, he lunged at Wen Ning. Her heart lurched. Her eyes had been fixed on his hands, covered in dense red rashes. More alarming, she had noticed spots on his palms—rare, but common in patients with venereal disease. She glanced at his hair. Though concealed, patches showed irregular insect‑bite‑like baldness, another symptom. Damn it—he had syphilis!
In an age without penicillin, it was nearly incurable. Worse, it was contagious, blood being one route of transmission. She herself had a bleeding wound. If their injuries touched…
No time to think. Wen Ning turned and fled.
The other guards, hearing Chen Jinfeng’s order, drew their swords and surrounded the man. But he had become a beast, thrashing wildly, wounds opening across his body.
Wen Ning’s instincts as a doctor surged. She cried out: “Careful—don’t touch his wounds!”