The study was so quiet that the crackling of the candle wick could be heard.
Lin Qianqian knelt on the cold golden brick floor, acutely aware of three pairs of eyes fixed upon her—the prince’s scrutinizing gaze, Fu Bo’s concerned look, and the sharp, probing stare of the elderly imperial physician.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest, as if it might burst through her ribs. She knew that a single wrong word at this moment could spell disaster.
She forced herself to calm down, inhaled deeply, and lifted her head. Her gaze did not flinch but met Xiao Yu’s steadily. Her voice, though tinged with reverence, was clear and composed:“Your Highness, it was I who added it.”
A flicker of faint surprise crossed the depths of Xiao Yu’s eyes, as if he had not expected her to admit it so directly. His long fingers tapped lightly on the scroll before him, silent, waiting for her next words.
The imperial physician could not contain himself any longer. He stepped forward, his tone sharp with reprimand:“Do you know that sour jujube seeds can calm the mind, but are inherently astringent? Used alongside the prince’s usual invigorating medicinal soups, they could affect their efficacy. Your Highness’ precious constitution—how dare a mere kitchen maid alter it at will!”
The last words were harsh and cutting.
Lin Qianqian felt her heart rise into her throat, but she knew retreat meant certain doom.
She bowed once more, forehead lightly touching the floor, then raised her head again, eyes earnest as they met the physician and Xiao Yu:“Your guidance is well taken, honorable physician. I fully understand my overstepping. I dared not touch the medicinal herbs recklessly. It’s just that in preparing the recent soups for Your Highness, I observed your complexion, noticed subtle expressions of pain across your brows, and saw your occasional pressing at the ribs. Having heard of your old injuries… I dared to speculate that Your Highness’ restless nights may not stem solely from unease of mind, but from lingering pain.”
She paused, feeling Xiao Yu’s fingers halt their tapping on the scroll—proof that she had struck some truth—and mustered courage to continue:“Sour jujube seeds calm the mind and also reduce night sweats. I thought, if Your Highness is restless from pain, sweating and unable to rest, these seeds might offer some relief. I am but a simple cook, versed in only a little dietary therapy, wishing solely for Your Highness’ comfort. I had not considered the potential conflicts with the medicinal soup and nearly caused a serious error. I beg Your Highness and the imperial physician for forgiveness!”
Her explanation was half-truth, half-deception. The truth lay in her keen observation: she had correctly noted that Xiao Yu’s old injury might be causing sleeplessness and cleverly cited the seeds’ astringent property to explain her choice, downplaying the sensitive point of interfering with invigorating herbs. The false part was her deliberate presentation as a “well-meaning but naive” servant.
The imperial physician’s brows furrowed, and his gaze softened from reprimand to curiosity. This maid’s observation was astonishingly precise, and her words were not without reason.
Fu Bo stepped forward at the right moment, bowing slightly to Xiao Yu:“Your Highness, I have investigated. Lin Qianqian has indeed recently inquired meticulously about the properties of various herbs from the warehouse, showing great caution. Perhaps this… is merely a difference of thought, yet her loyalty is evident.”
Xiao Yu’s eyes never left Lin Qianqian. They were deep as night, seeming to pierce the heart itself. He observed her trembling eyelashes, her upright back despite kneeling, and her honest, clear gaze… tinged with a subtle spark of intelligence.
Was she truly naive, or did she have another aim?
After what felt like an eternity, just when Lin Qianqian feared her doom, Xiao Yu finally spoke. His voice remained calm, though softened from its previous coldness:“Rise.”
Lin Qianqian froze, almost thinking she had misheard. When Fu Bo subtly signaled her, she realized, quickly bowed, and said:“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Her legs felt weak as she rose and stood with head lowered, daring not to meet his gaze.
“Physician Shen,” Xiao Yu addressed the elderly physician, “your thoughts?”
Shen stroked his beard, pondering:“Your Highness, her words are not without merit. Your lingering old injuries can flare in damp weather or after exertion, disturbing sleep. Using sour jujube seeds is not… a serious mistake. Still, all future medicinal soups should be prepared with the utmost care.”
His words offered Lin Qianqian a way to step back gracefully.
Xiao Yu nodded, glancing once more at Lin Qianqian:“Did you hear the physician’s words?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I will be extremely cautious in the future and will not act on my own again!” she quickly promised.
“Mm,” Xiao Yu responded lightly, waving his hand. “You may go.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” she replied, as if granted a pardon, bowing and exiting the study. When she stepped outside, the cool night air hit her, and she realized her inner garments were soaked with cold sweat, her legs trembling.
She steadied herself against the cold corridor pillar and drew several deep breaths.
She had taken the right step!
Though risky, she had exposed the crucial detail of the old injury and at least initially gained Shen’s acknowledgment—or at least, avoided his disfavor.
More importantly, Xiao Yu had not punished her. Could it be that he tacitly approved of her “guesswork”?
In the study, after Lin Qianqian left, Shen looked at Xiao Yu thoughtfully:“Your Highness, this girl… is not simple. Her observations are meticulous, and she seems to understand more about herbs and dietary therapy than she lets on.”
Xiao Yu picked up the scroll again, though his gaze did not fall on the pages. He stared out into the heavy night, fingers unconsciously brushing the soft fur of his coat.
“Fu Bo.”
“I am here.”
“Check thoroughly. Who has she interacted with recently? What has she said? Also, keep an eye on Zhang Dehai [Master Zhang] and the Lan Yue Pavilion,” his voice low, carrying a subtle chill.
“Yes, Your servant understands,” Fu Bo responded sharply, bowing.
Xiao Yu said no more. Silence returned to the study, broken only by the flickering candlelight.
Lin Qianqian… are you innocent, or scheming? You’ve observed my old injuries with such care—what is your ultimate intention?