The news that the pastries gifted by Consort Liu were returned untouched spread through the rear courtyard of the mansion as if they had grown wings.
On the surface, no one dared to comment, but in private, everyone was watching, waiting to see how long the newly appointed head of the small kitchen could withstand the storm.
Lin Qianshan’s burned arm had mostly healed under Imperial Physician Shen’s medicine.
The blisters had receded, leaving pale pink new flesh that was still sensitive to touch. She removed the cotton wrap, handling the arm with careful caution.
These past two days, she had hardly left the small kitchen, her eyes following every step of every procedure, her ears attuned to every stray conversation.
Aunt Zhou was conscientious and reliable, keeping the prince’s meals perfectly prepared, but the tension in Lin Qianshan’s heart only tightened.
Consort Liu was not one to endure quietly; the longer her silence, the more violent the coming storm might be.
Autumn had deepened, and the night air bit into the bones. After dinner this evening, Lin Qianshan carefully inspected the ingredients for the following day, confirming everything was in order, before dragging her exhausted body back to her quarters. The burned area of her arm itched faintly—a sign of healing—but the itch only added to her restlessness.
She sat on the edge of the cold bed, gazing at the black night sky outside, a profound sense of loneliness wrapping her in chill. Since her arrival in this world, she had walked on thin ice, struggling to survive; though she seemed to stand steadily, every step had been on a knife’s edge. Xiao Yu’s protection was like flowers seen through fog: unclear, unreliable, and not fully trustworthy.
Suddenly, a stifled cough drifted faintly from outside the wall, broken and intermittent, carrying a gut-wrenching sound. At first, Lin Qianshan paid it no mind, but the cough persisted, growing worse rather than stopping, standing out in the silent night.
She frowned. The sound was not far away. The row of low houses where she lived abutted the western rear alley of the mansion, usually housing low-level servants or elderly laborers. Judging by the severity of the cough, this was not a simple cold.
Compelled by some invisible force, she wrapped herself in her outer coat, picked up a small oil lamp from the table, and quietly followed the sound.
The noise came from a dilapidated storage shed at the far end of the neighboring courtyard. Lin Qianshan hesitated, then gently pushed open the half-closed wooden door.
A foul, mixed stench of mold and medicine hit her. In the dim light of her lamp, she saw a small figure curled in the corner—a girl no older than eleven or twelve, wrapped in a ragged quilt of indeterminate color, trembling violently as she coughed, her small face flushed red while her lips were tinged purple.
Beside her, an elderly woman with graying hair and tattered clothes was patting her back helplessly, tears streaming from her murky eyes. She murmured, “Poor child… what am I to do…”
Seeing Lin Qianshan enter, the old woman startled and tried to rise in greeting, but Lin Qianshan stopped her.
“What’s the matter with her?” Lin Qianshan stepped closer, the oil lamp casting light on the girl’s painful face.
“R…respectable lady, this is my granddaughter, Little Bell,” the old woman choked back tears. “She caught a cold a while ago that never fully healed, and with the sudden cold these past days… it’s only gotten worse. She can’t sleep through the night… I… I can’t afford a doctor…”
Lin Qianshan’s heart twisted painfully. In a hierarchy as rigid as this mansion, servants like them were left to fate when illness struck. She looked at Little Bell’s lips, tinged purple from lack of oxygen. This was more than a mere cold—it looked like the onset of an asthmatic attack.
She squatted down, reaching to feel Little Bell’s forehead—it was burning hot. Startled by the stranger’s approach, Little Bell recoiled, coughing more violently.
“Don’t be afraid,” Lin Qianshan softened her voice, exuding a reassuring strength. “Let me take a look.”
She remembered that among the burn ointments Shen had given her, one contained Scutellaria (huangqin), which could clear heat and dry dampness—a possible temporary relief for Little Bell’s fever. But the cough… that required something else.
Her mind raced, drawing on first aid knowledge and properties of ingredients she had studied in modern times. She had an idea.
“Grandmother, do you have any pears? Or white radish?” Lin Qianshan asked urgently.
The old woman shook her head in confusion. “This… in this season, where could we get such precious things…”
Lin Qianshan frowned. Then her gaze landed on a pile of discarded vegetable leaves in the corner—among them were a few wilted but still usable white radish greens.
“These will do!” Her eyes lit up. She quickly gathered the radish greens, and told the old woman, “Grandmother, bring some hot water and find a clay pot that we can mash things in.”
Though uncertain, the old woman obeyed, trusting Lin Qianshan’s calm authority as if it were a lifeline.
Lin Qianshan washed the greens carefully, placed them in the clay pot, and mashed them thoroughly with a small pestle, extracting the deep green juice. She then added a small amount of the Scutellaria powder from Shen’s prescription into the juice.
When the hot water arrived, she mixed the herbal powder into the radish juice, then told the old woman, “Help her sit up and feed her slowly. The radish greens will help resolve phlegm and ease the cough; the herbal powder will clear heat. It should make her more comfortable.”
The old woman, tears streaming, hurriedly followed her instructions. The dark green juice must have tasted terrible. Little Bell frowned, but after a few warm sips, her violent coughing gradually eased. She still breathed with a faint wheeze, but her complexion improved, and her breaths became steadier.
“Th… thank you, miss! Thank you for saving her!” The old woman, clutching the now calmer Little Bell, bent to kowtow.
Lin Qianshan quickly stopped them. “Don’t do that. This only provides temporary relief. Tomorrow, you must find a doctor.” She looked at the thin clothing and tattered quilt of the grandmother and granddaughter. Her heart ached, and she pressed the few silver coins she had into the old woman’s hands. “Take this. Tomorrow, get some medicine.”
The old woman gripped the coins, still warm from Lin Qianshan’s touch, tears streaming down her face, unable to speak.
After giving a few more instructions, Lin Qianshan lifted the oil lamp and silently left the shabby storage room.
Outside, the chill persisted, but her heart warmed slightly from this small act of kindness. In the cold, calculating depths of the mansion, this tiny spark seemed to illuminate a small part of the path ahead.
Unbeknownst to her, shortly after she left, a dark figure slipped silently away from the shadows, disappearing swiftly in the direction of the Lan Yue Pavilion.