As the weather grew colder, Lin Jiayan’s condition followed a pattern: her fever would return each night and subside during the day. Her body remained weak and listless, leaving her confined indoors. Most days, she could do little more than daydream, doze off, review medical texts from memory, and write prescriptions.
Knowledge of Mongolian medicine in this region was severely lacking, so Lin Jiayan did her best to record symptoms, treatments, dosages, and methods of administration in as much detail as possible.
Besides Cheren, who often came to discuss medicine with her, more and more herders began visiting to express their gratitude with gifts.
From the bottom of their hearts, they were thankful to her.
For the people of the grasslands, epidemics were their greatest fear—even more terrifying than war itself.
The fact that this outbreak had been contained without causing greater devastation was all thanks to their kind-hearted and beautiful princess consort.
Everyone felt deeply sorry that she had sacrificed her health for the tribe, and they competed to bring her nourishing foods and supplements. Even soldiers in the camp often asked Chahar to deliver game and mountain delicacies to her.
“Mother, you wrote this wrong again. You’re so bad at this.”
Aming, chewing on a piece of cheese, pointed mercilessly at the winding characters on Lin Jiayan’s paper.
“Ah, this is too difficult.”
Lin Jiayan set down her brush and rubbed her aching wrist.
The wound on her hand had not fully healed, and the bandages made writing difficult.
Having nothing else to do these past few days, she had asked Aming to teach her Mongolian writing. But looking at the twisting, winding script—which resembled centipedes to her—made her head ache.
“Mother…”
Aming’s eyes darted around mischievously as he leaned closer.
“Do we still have any of that rabbit from last time?”
A few days earlier, someone had caught two wild rabbits in the mountains and asked Chahar to bring them to Lin Jiayan.
He had instructed the kitchen to prepare braised rabbit. The rich aroma and firm texture had even tempted Lin Jiayan to eat a few extra bites, while Aming had devoured the rest.
“I don’t know. Now that it’s getting colder, rabbits are probably harder to find.”
Resting her chin on one hand, Lin Jiayan flipped through her practice sheets.
Lately, many people had been bringing all kinds of food to her tent, and Aming visited almost every day.
Most of those treats had ended up in the little glutton’s stomach. The face that had grown thin during his illness had already puffed back out again.
“Mother, then can I have one more piece of cheese?”
He tugged at her hand with a pleading expression.
“Another one? You’ve already had a whole plate today. Eat any more, and your teeth will rot. If your mother finds out, she’ll scold you again.”
“Just one last piece…”
“One last what?”
Chahar pushed open the door and stepped inside, bringing a gust of cold air with him.
The moment Aming saw his second uncle, he immediately lost his nerve.
“The last… the last character!”
Lin Jiayan couldn’t help laughing.
Chahar ruffled the boy’s hair and shooed him away.
“Your mother is waiting for you to eat. Hurry home.”
“Okay…”
Realizing there would be no rabbit today, Aming trudged out dejectedly.
“What are you laughing at?”
Chahar wrapped an arm around Lin Jiayan’s waist and pulled her closer. Her slender figure seemed even more delicate in his large hands.
“How have you stayed this thin after all these days of feeding you?”
His touch tickled her waist, making her laugh as she tried to dodge away.
He simply pulled her back into his arms.
One hand cupped the back of her head as he lowered his face to kiss her.
“Mother!”
Aming suddenly burst back through the door.
The two immediately sprang apart.
Lin Jiayan’s face flushed from her cheeks all the way to her ears.
“What is it now?”
Chahar asked irritably, clearly displeased at being interrupted.
Aming shrank back slightly, hurried to the table, and scooped the remaining cheese into his hands.
“I didn’t see anything. Please continue.”
With a mischievous grin, he shut the door behind him and ran off before Chahar could catch him.
“Cough… You were practicing writing?”
Chahar cleared his throat and casually flipped through the papers on the table.
“Mhm…”
Lin Jiayan refused to look at him, her face still red.
Ever since he had kissed her while helping her apply eye drops, he seemed to have developed a habit of stealing kisses whenever he had the chance.
And now Aming had seen them.
What a terrible example to set for a child.
“Why didn’t you ask me to teach you?”
Chahar sat down at the table and held out his hand.
“You’re so busy. You have to lead soldiers, fight battles, and manage tribal affairs. How could you possibly have time for this?”
Was she complaining that he hadn’t spent enough time with her?
Smiling, Chahar pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. He guided her hand around the brush with his own.
“You hardly eat anything. Your handwriting is as weak and limp as you are—like noodles.”
Lin Jiayan turned to glare at him.
“You’re the noodle.”
Holding her hand, Chahar wrote a line of elegant, flowing script across the paper.
“What does that say?”
Then, beside it, he wrote four Chinese characters:
嘉言懿行
His strokes were bold and forceful, pressing deeply into the paper.
“You can write Chinese characters?”
Lin Jiayan looked at him in surprise.
“I’ve followed my father into battle since I was young and dealt with plenty of people from the Central Plains. Watch enough pigs run around, and eventually you’ll learn how to eat pork.”
Hearing him repeat the excuse she had once used on him, Lin Jiayan lowered her head guiltily.
“I went to the military camp today. They caught a deer and asked me to bring some back to nourish your body.”
“Deer?”
Lin Jiayan had never eaten venison before.
But thinking of the adorable spotted deer she had seen at zoos in her previous life filled her with an inexplicable sense of guilt.
“Venison replenishes blood and boosts energy. It’s also good for wound healing. Since you don’t seem to enjoy boiled dishes, I asked the kitchen to make roasted venison for you.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that after weeks of bland soups and medicinal broths, her mouth had become numb with bitterness.
Before coming here, aside from exercising, her favorite thing had been hot pot—fragrant, spicy, and full of flavor. She had eaten it at least once a week.
The people here preferred mild food and rarely used spices, leaving her with little appetite.
“Do you have chili peppers?”
The thought of grilled meat dipped in chili made her mouth water.
Chahar raised an eyebrow.
“You like spicy food? But chili isn’t good for wound healing. You can’t have any yet.”
Just as she expected.
Pouting slightly, Lin Jiayan sighed.
“Forget it. I was only asking.”
“If you behave yourself, drink your medicine properly, and focus on recovering, is there anything I wouldn’t give you?”
Chahar buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply.
These days, if he didn’t hug or kiss her at least once, he felt as though something was missing.
His breath against her ear tickled.
“What are you doing…”
As she squirmed in his arms, Chahar tightened his hold.
“Don’t move.”
His voice had dropped to a husky whisper.
Lin Jiayan immediately sensed the change in him and froze when she felt the heat radiating from his body.
They had been sharing a bed these past few weeks, and every night Chahar held her while she slept.
At his age, it was impossible not to react to such closeness.
Lin Jiayan often noticed his arousal, but mindful of her fragile health, he always endured it silently.
Several times when she woke during the night, she had found his side of the bed empty.
It must have been difficult for him—going out into the freezing winter night to bathe in cold water.
After a long while, Chahar finally released her.
Straightening his clothes and draping his outer robe over his shoulders, he stood.
“Dinner should be ready soon. I’ll go check.”
Honestly…
It’s not like I said no…
The thought startled Lin Jiayan.
She quickly patted her cheeks.
“What are you thinking, Lin Jiayan?”
Outside the tent, Chahar stood with one hand braced against the doorway.
To suppress the heat surging through his body, he loosened his collar and let the icy wind pour down his sleeves.
Only after several moments did he finally let out a long breath and head toward the kitchen.