“Girl, I know your sister’s health is poor, but you also know…” The thin, withered old nanny furrowed her brows and cautioned, “Don’t delay—today the old lady wants her meal early.”
These past two days, the old lady had been overjoyed at her eldest grandson’s return to the manor, taking her meals a few minutes earlier than usual. That made things hard for them in the kitchen, where fresh ingredients had to be bought daily, always racing against the clock.
Shi Jun understood and mustered her spirits, offering a word of thanks.
Qinghe’s illness had struck harder than before. Two nights ago, she had writhed in pain, crying out “Sister” again and again.
She and Qinghe had depended on each other for three years now—how could her heart not ache to see her suffer like this?
For days on end, she had tended to Qinghe with the utmost care, yet there was no improvement. Yesterday, Qinghe had grown so delirious she could no longer recognize people, her whole body burning like a branding iron.
The old nanny knew Shi Jun was anxious over her sister, but unfortunately, at this critical moment, no one could afford delays.
She sighed and glanced toward Shi Jun, startled to realize the girl had grown more comely with each passing day. No wonder Nanny Liu kept such a watchful eye on her, guarding her like a precious pearl, afraid anyone might get too close.
Meanwhile, Shi Jun turned, lifted her skirts, and hurried through the crowd.
Rain had fallen the night before, leaving the streets slick and dotted with puddles.
The long street paved with bluestone bricks was quaint and old-fashioned, worlds apart from the ancient town ruins she had seen in her past life.
Flanking the road, teahouses and eateries stood in close array, while peddlers in plain clothes roamed about hawking their wares—a lively, bustling scene.
Three years had passed since she’d been transported to this place, yet Shi Jun still wasn’t familiar with it. The marquis’s household had strict rules forbidding maidservants from leaving the estate freely, and besides, she and Qinghe had signed indentured contracts with no way out.
Qinghe was still young and had been frail since childhood.
In the three years at the marquis’s estate, Shi Jun had not saved a single coin, spending everything on Qinghe’s medical care.
In the past, she’d always had Nanny Lai from the outer courtyard bring the medicine, but Nanny Lai was illiterate and could never relay messages clearly.
Afraid of mistakes that might worsen Qinghe’s condition, Shi Jun felt she had no choice but to go herself to be at ease.
Inside Renji Hall, the scent of herbs hung thick and heavy.
Shi Jun described Qinghe’s symptoms over the past few days in detail, then brought up the prescriptions Nanny Lai had fetched before—what the formulas were, when they’d been decocted, how Qinghe’s fever had spiked even higher after taking them. She recounted every word with perfect clarity.
“Young miss, Nanny Lai already told me about Qinghe’s condition…” The physician with graying temples changed expression several times, his brows knitted tight. He sighed. “It seems Qinghe has been weak since childhood—her constitution is too fragile. I’ll write a prescription. Take it back, decoct it, and have her drink it… As for the rest, leave it to fate.”
Those last four words drifted down lightly, yet they struck Shi Jun’s heart like a stone.
Shi Jun opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt as if someone had seized it. Her lips trembled a few times, yet no sound came out—the tears fell first.
As she reached the doorway, her foot caught and she nearly stumbled over the threshold.
Stepping out of Renji Hall, the sky had changed drastically.
Though it had been overcast on her way here, there was still some light. Now, however, clouds rolled in like ink, pressing down from the west and blanketing the entire street in heavy gloom.
The wind picked up, gust after gust, whipping up mud and dust from the ground, carrying a rank smell against her face.
Shi Jun stood on the steps, squinting against the wind.
She hurried back with unsteady steps, but before she could gather her wits, she saw a crowd gathered before Yuanlai Inn, blocking the way on both sides with no path through.
Drawing closer, she learned that someone had died inside Yuanlai Inn. The authorities were investigating and had sealed off Vermilion Sparrow Street.
Shi Jun clutched the medicine tightly and looked ahead with raised brows.
The yamen runners, swords at their waists, barked harshly at anyone approaching Yuanlai Inn.
If she didn’t pass through here, she feared she wouldn’t make it back to the marquis’s estate in time.
Just then, the sound of carriage wheels grinding over the stone street rang out.
The crowd stirred and parted to make way. Seeing the commotion, Shi Jun also stepped aside.
A luxurious carriage rolled slowly past Yuanlai Inn, with the yamen runners deferentially clearing the way and offering apologies to whoever was inside.
There was no need to guess—whoever rode within was no small figure, at least someone the authorities would treat with utmost respect.
The carriage passed slowly before Shi Jun, and a waft of fragrant breeze swept by as one corner of the carriage curtain was lifted by the wind.
Shi Jun held her breath, her gaze fixed on the carriage with complicated emotions.
She truly feared offending some noble personage, but Qinghe was gravely ill on the other side…
At that thought, Shi Jun steeled herself and stepped before the carriage, speaking with gentle tact. “I never intended to disturb your honored carriage. But my younger sister is gravely ill and needs her medicine, and the street is sealed off. I beg your lordship’s mercy—might you send someone to escort me across?”
The young man driving the carriage said nothing, a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he discreetly glanced toward the curtain.
Even his master’s carriage—someone actually dared to block it.
Cold sweat beaded on Shi Jun’s palms, and she dared not raise her eyes.
The long wind after the rain swept through Vermilion Sparrow Street, occasionally lifting the carriage curtain. Through the gap, the person inside gazed calmly at Shi Jun.
After a long moment, a clear, gentle voice emerged from within.
“Hemu, take her across.”
The young man, named Hemu, received the order and nimbly jumped down from the carriage, saying to Shi Jun, “Please, miss.”
“Your lordship is kind. Thank you.”
Shi Jun was deeply grateful, and a sudden weight lifted from her heart.
Hemu led Shi Jun through the streets. As they passed a carriage, Shi Jun inexplicably glanced inside—the curtain only revealed a sliver, and beyond a set of green robes, she could see nothing else.
Just as she looked in, the person inside the carriage unconsciously looked out.
Shi Jun hurried past, leaving behind a faint trace of orchid fragrance.
After Hemu delivered her, he returned to report. A clear, crisp voice sounded from within the carriage: “No need to rush back to the Marquis’s residence. Go to the Duke’s mansion first.”
At this, Hemu turned the carriage toward the eastern side of Vermilion Bird Street.
Shi Jun made it back to the side gate before the head matron. The old matron praised her for being sensible and understanding, but noticing her reddened eyes, knew she had been crying.
“That little girl Qinghe has always been sickly. These past few years, you’ve nearly worn yourself out tending to her illness! Setting that aside, think of yourself for once—while you’re still young, find someone in the household whose background you know well. Don’t let your own future slip away.” The old matron’s words were genuinely for Shi Jun’s benefit.
But Shi Jun had never harbored any thoughts of marriage, and the one lying ill in bed now was her beloved younger sister, her only companion.
Here, she had no kin left, no one dear to her…
At this thought, grief welled up in Shi Jun’s heart. She replied coolly, “Ahe is my sister. No matter how much I do for her, I do it willingly. As for my marriage prospects, I won’t trouble you to worry, Nanny.”
With that, Shi Jun turned and headed back to the Eastern Courtyard.
The old matron, silenced by Shi Jun’s retort, sneered inwardly—she’d gotten some favor from the Lady and now thought herself above everyone else.
Shi Jun hurried anxiously back to the Eastern Courtyard, rushing through the covered corridor.
As she passed through the moon gate, a dark figure blocked her path. She stopped abruptly and, seeing that it was Nanny Liu’s son, stepped back two paces.
Tang Zhisheng could hardly hide the disappointment in his eyes, though he inwardly blamed Shi Jun for being oblivious. He’d come to the Eastern Courtyard this time and received good news.
Previously, he had showered Shi Jun with attention, only to be rejected every time.
Now her sister was gravely ill—the perfect moment for a beauty in distress to seek comfort.
Tang Zhisheng had heard from others about Qinghe’s condition—she likely didn’t have long. He knew everything about Shi Jun’s situation: once Qinghe died, no matter how aloof Shi Jun acted, she would still need money for her sister’s burial.
And where would Shi Jun get the silver?
At this thought, Tang Zhisheng set aside his irritation and instead felt a flicker of pity for the woman before him.
He observed that Shi Jun’s face was as fair as powdered jade, her lips as red as vermilion.
She truly was a striking beauty.
“Qingwu, I heard Qinghe is ill. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to manage on your own, so I waited here for you. Is there anything I can help with?” Tang Zhisheng barely restrained himself from stepping forward, though his lecherous gaze remained fixed on Shi Jun.
Shi Jun understood Tang Zhisheng’s intentions, but her ambitions lay elsewhere—she had no desire to spend her life in the Marquis’s residence, living at others’ mercy.
With Qinghe gravely ill and not recovering, Shi Jun was exhausted from dealing with everything alone. After some thought, she realized that having someone to help would be better than scrambling to find assistance elsewhere.
In the grand households of nobles, people fawned over the powerful and trampled the weak. Without silver, one could only stare helplessly.
Nanny Liu was the dowry maid of Lady Cui, the Marquis’s wife, so she and her son commanded a fair amount of respect in the household.
“Brother Zhisheng, Ahe is very ill. Could you have someone cover my shift tending the orchids for the next couple of days?” Shi Jun lowered her brows and spoke in a very soft voice.
He had been pursuing Shi Jun for months and had never once heard her make a request.
The moment she spoke, he felt as though he would gladly walk through fire and cross boiling seas for her.
“Of course, that’s only right. You rest these two days—I’ll find someone to cover for you. If you need anything else, just come find me. I’ll also come check on you.” Seeing Shi Jun’s softened attitude, he couldn’t resist stepping forward.
Startled, Shi Jun quickly retreated several steps and hurriedly bowed before taking her leave.
As she left, Tang Zhisheng lingered in the fragrant breeze, greedily inhaling the lingering scent in the air.
Shi Jun hurried back to the servants’ quarters. The moment she pushed open the door, the bitter smell of medicinal broth made her stomach churn.
Qinghe’s face was pale, and she coughed without pause. The cloth on her forehead was already soaked through with sweat.
After changing the cloth, Shi Jun was about to go prepare the medicine when a burning-hot hand gripped hers tightly.
“Elder Sister… Elder Sister… I’m sorry, Elder Sister…”
Qinghe’s eyes were tightly shut as she wept without stop.
Shi Jun gently patted her hand, watching her sister toss and turn in discomfort, and couldn’t hold back her own tears.
Qinghe was only nine years old—still a little girl who knew nothing of the world.
When Shi Jun was Qinghe’s age, she had spent her days wrapped in her parents’ love.
Her father would bring her cake when he returned from patrol, and her mother would tell her the news the moment she stepped off the operating table.
But Qinghe had no parents—only an elder sister to rely on.
And her real elder sister seemed to be gone too.
Three years ago, Shi Jun had transmigrated into Qingwu’s body, with only Qinghe holding her hand.
Telling her, “Elder Sister, Auntie doesn’t want us anymore.”
Remembering the past, Shi Jun wept freely, sobbing, “Ahe, you haven’t done anything wrong to me. Ahe, when you get better, I’ll take you away from here, alright?”
At her words, Qinghe suddenly quieted, though her body still burned fiercely.
Seeing Qinghe calm down, Shi Jun tucked the blanket around her, then went to the western corridor to prepare the medicine.
The firewood crackled as it burned. With a soft pop, a thunderclap flashed across the sky, and rain came pouring down like scattered pearls.
At the third quarter of the hour of Shen (around 4:45 PM), Shi Jun gently woke Qinghe to feed her medicine. Qinghe swallowed it in a daze.
She dared not stray far from Qinghe, only keeping vigil by the bedside, listening to her murmurs in sleep.
Until the hour of Hai (around 9-11 PM), Qinghe made no further sound. Unease crept into Shi Jun’s heart as she tremblingly raised her hand to check Qinghe’s breath.
“Ah He, don’t leave your elder sister.”
A faint breath flowed across her fingertips, and in that instant, the taut string in her heart loosened slightly.
Shi Jun thought that perhaps Qinghe, being blessed by fortune, would survive this ordeal as well.
Clinging to this sliver of hope, Shi Jun gripped Qinghe’s hand and listened to her whisper, “Elder sister… don’t…”
Shi Jun could not make out her words—the rain outside was too heavy, and Qinghe’s voice too soft.
At some point, Shi Jun fell into a groggy sleep, slumped by the bedside.
Until a sudden clap of thunder, as if splitting heaven and earth apart, with flashes of white light like daylight.
The window lattice was blown open by the fierce wind, and cold air poured into the room, sending a chill through everything.
Shi Jun jolted awake, startled by the chaotic scene in the room—wind and rain blowing inward.
She hurriedly rose to close the window, then rushed back to check on Qinghe, who lay with her eyes gently shut, the cloth on her forehead dry.
It seemed everything was taking a turn for the better.
“Ah He, it will be fine.”
The taut string in Shi Jun’s heart finally relaxed. She tiptoed back to the bedside, removed the cloth, and felt Qinghe’s forehead again.
Cool to the touch.
Shi Jun wondered if it was because of the rain, but Qinghe’s temperature had dropped too quickly—so quickly it was alarming…
Suddenly, a thought flashed through her mind.
Just then, a streak of white light passed, illuminating Qinghe’s paper-pale face in the room, utterly lifeless.
She slowly moved her hand to Qinghe’s nose, her eyelashes trembling uncontrollably, her whole being already detached from her body.
When Shi Jun confirmed what she feared, all strength seemed drained from her. She collapsed to the ground, instinctively reaching for Qinghe’s cold hand.
Shi Jun’s tears broke through the dam, and she could only rub Qinghe’s hand desperately, as if that might bring warmth back to it.
Qinghe was gone…
There was no one left in this world who was her kin.