The evening air inside the guest pavilion was still, carrying the faint, lingering scent of sandalwood incense from the main halls.
Lian’er stepped into the chamber bearing a large tray, setting it down with meticulous care upon the small dining table beside Rulan’s daybed.
The spread was modest compared to imperial palace banquets, yet substantial: a steaming bowl of broth, a plate of steamed buns, pickled mustard greens, and a bowl of fragrant jasmine rice.
Rulan sat up, her right ankle throbbing with a dull, mild ache.
The fall on the mountain trail had been entirely staged, but the physical impact against the hard earth had been real enough to leave a light, genuine bruise.
She picked up her chopsticks and began to eat.
Her body, thoroughly drained by the day’s physical exertions and the lingering drag of her internal weakness, absorbed the hot meal gratefully.
“Your Highness seems to have recovered her appetite remarkably quickly,” Lian’er observed softly, a small smile touching her face as she poured a cup of warm tea.
“After such a frightening fall in the woods, I was worried you would be too weary to eat.”
Rulan swallowed a piece of the bun, wiping her lips with a linen napkin.
“Food has always been the most reliable form of medicine, Lian’er. A full stomach solves more problems than people realize.”
A low knock echoed against the outer wooden frame, followed by the heavy step of iron-soled boots.
General Meng stepped past the threshold, halting five paces away in the reception hall.
He offered a short, rigid bow, his silver armor catching the dim lantern light.
His expression remained entirely formal, professional, and unreadable—the picture of an escort commander performing his duty without personal flourish.
“Your Highness,” General Meng said, his deep voice even.
“I come to inform you of an adjustment to the security arrangements for the remainder of our stay.”
Rulan set her chopsticks down.
“Another adjustment?”
“Yes. Given the circumstances, I must request that Your Highness remain within the designated bounds of this guest compound for the remainder of the visit. You are not to attempt another walk along the mountain trails without my explicit authorization and a full escort.”
Rulan let out a small breath, resting her chin lightly against her hand.
“So I am effectively defeated by a combination of an assassin and an exposed cypress root.”
General Meng’s face didn’t crack a single smile, nor did he offer a polite protest.
He simply maintained his soldierly posture.
“I am merely ensuring that you return to the capital intact, Princess. I will personally oversee the final departure arrangements.”
Then General Meng added:
“Furthermore, we will be departing White Cloud Temple tomorrow morning. The monastery is no longer considered sufficiently secure for the imperial party to remain longer than necessary.”
Rulan went quiet, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Meng confirmed.
“His Majesty’s instructions were clear: your safety takes absolute precedence over the original schedule. The carriages will be packed before sunrise.”
He bowed low once more, turned on his heel, and marched back into the courtyard, the doors closing soundlessly behind him.
The news hit with an unexpected weight.
She had managed to secure a pulse read from Lu Zhen only because of a staged accident, but she still didn’t know exactly what he had discovered about her condition.
She possessed his written prescription, but possessing a list of herbs was vastly different from having a private, detailed consultation.
Now, her window of opportunity was closing soon.
Once General Meng’s convoy rolled down the mountain road toward the capital, she would be dragged back into the suffocating, heavily monitored environment of the Imperial Palace, beneath the watchful eyes of Physician Zhao and the Household Bureau.
“Lian’er,” Rulan asked casually, keeping her tone light.
“How far is the eastern medicinal garden from the main departure gate where the carriages align?”
Lian’er paused while clearing the tea cups.
“The eastern garden? It lies completely on the opposite side of the upper slope, Your Highness. Why do you ask?”
“I was simply curious about the layout of the mountain,” Rulan replied smoothly.
“If we depart early, could a small party pass near that eastern trail?”
Lian’er shook her head firmly.
“Oh no, Your Highness. The escort guards will be clearing and controlling the main southern road hours before dawn. General Meng will certainly not allow any detours to the upper woods, especially with your sprained ankle.”
Rulan leaned back against the bolsters, staring at the ceiling.
Lian’er was right.
Demanding to visit a secluded, unregistered physician on the morning of departure would raise immediate red flags.
General Meng would grow suspicious, the guards would start asking questions, and Lu Zhen’s quiet existence at the temple would become considerably less quiet.
She couldn’t risk exposing him.
She would have to watch for a chaotic opening at dawn; if none appeared, she would leave with the convoy and rely entirely on the paper hidden in her desk.
The rest of the evening passed in quiet, somber silence.
Rulan stood near the window, watching the transformation of White Cloud Temple through the dark lattice.
The serene mountain sanctuary she had envisioned days ago was entirely gone.
Torchlight flickered along the high stone walls as black-armored sentries paced the perimeter every thirty yards.
The low, polite chatter of noble families had vanished, replaced by the hushed, nervous murmurs of visiting aristocratic households packing their trunks early.
Servants moved swiftly and cautiously through the corridors, terrified of drawing the attention of the Imperial Guard.
The temple was no longer a peaceful retreat.
It had become a tightly controlled compound where everyone seemed to be waiting for the departure to begin.
Before retiring to bed, Rulan pulled out the small porcelain vial containing the decoction Lian’er had prepared according to Lu Zhen’s prescription.
She held it beneath the lamp for a moment.
The liquid was dark and carried a harsh, earthy smell, completely unlike the sweet, perfumed tonics Physician Zhao had always prescribed.
She drank it down in a single, steady swallow.
The bitterness coated her tongue and lingered down her throat. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
A faint warmth followed, spreading slowly through her chest and abdomen.
Rulan waited for a moment, nothing dramatic happened.
She set the empty vial aside.
Whatever Lu Zhen had intended the medicine to do, she would have to wait and see.
For the first time since transmigrating into this world, she wasn’t merely surviving day to day; she was taking active, physical command of her own body.
Night fell over the mountain, heavy and silent.
Rulan lay beneath the thick silk quilts, listening to the distant, rhythmic hum of the night wind rustling through the pine trees outside.
Her mind was tired, her body exhausted, and she simply allowed sleep to claim her, accepting that tomorrow’s departure was entirely out of her control.
Dawn arrived with a pale, cold grey light filtering through the mountains.
The guest pavilion was already alive with frantic activity before the second bell chimed.
Junior maids scurried back and forth through the corridors, carrying polished wooden trunks, folding traveling robes, and organizing the luggage.
Outside in the main courtyard, the metallic clatter of armor and the stamping of warhorses signaled that General Meng’s cavalry was already forming up.
Rulan woke to the sound of activity outside and allowed Lian’er to help her into a thick travelling cloak of deep plum silk.
“Is there any opportunity to walk near the eastern terrace before the carriages are loaded?” Rulan asked, watching the courtyard preparations from her window.
“None at all, Your Highness,” Lian’er replied, hurriedly fastening the silver clasps of her cloak.
“General Meng’s officers have already cordoned off the entire eastern walkway. The carriages are being lined up directly at the main southern gate now. We are expected to board in less than one incense stick’s time.”
Rulan let out a quiet breath, relinquishing the idea.
There was no getting around it.
She was leaving without seeing Lu Zhen again.
She sat at her small breakfast table, sipping warm broth while watching the chaos of the departure from the windowpane.
A small, dry, humorous thought crossed her mind as she reviewed the entire excursion.
She had come to White Cloud Temple hoping for quiet, an improvement in her health, and a few days far away from the suffocating politics of the capital.
Instead, she had survived an assassination attempt, ruined a perfectly good dress, bruised an ankle, and found a reclusive physician who looked utterly terrified the moment he touched her pulse.
Rulan considered the trip carefully.
It had not exactly gone according to plan.
Then—
A sudden, violent commotion erupted outside in the main courtyard.
It was not the organized noise of servants loading luggage or cavalrymen forming ranks.
Heavy, frantic footsteps thundered across the flagstones.
Several voices raised at once, shouting confused, urgent commands that cut sharply through the morning air.
Lian’er froze mid-stride, dropping silk ribbon onto the floor.
Rulan stood up instantly, her eyes narrowing as her instincts went to full alert.
From the hallway outside, a voice shouted:
“Princess!”