The Regent's mansion.
Lu Zixiu laid out the list he had compiled years ago, of those who had stood with the Crown Prince, and reported it to Mu Yanming. There were two camps now — the Crown Prince’s faction and the Third Prince’s faction; the Third Prince had gone on to become the reigning emperor. As Mu Yanming listened, a dull ache settled in his chest. His father’s faction had already been almost entirely purged over the years. Among those names… he could not help thinking of General Mo — Mo Qinghuan’s father — who had died protecting the evidence that proved the Crown Prince’s innocence.
After the general’s death those proofs had been buried as secrets. There were no leads.
“Your Grace,” Lu Zixiu said at last, “what do you make of Miss Mo?”
The question stopped Mu Yanming cold. Did Mo Qinghuan know where those proofs were hidden?
…
Mo Qinghuan sat with Dan’er on the balcony of the city’s largest teahouse, Jujun Tower, watching the street below where people flowed past like a river. She had the habit of looking at faces, watching for the telltale signs.
“What are we looking at, Miss?” Dan’er asked after a while.
“Looking for someone who’s ill,” Mo Qinghuan answered.
Dan’er blinked. “Can you really tell?”
She almost couldn’t — until she remembered how Miss Qinghuan had once spared the second miss from a poisoning nobody else had noticed. That memory made it easier to accept.
Mo’s eyes had already settled on a rotund man standing by the doorway of an ink-and-calligraphy shop across the street. He looked comfortably wealthy — or at least comfortably self-satisfied. His features were crowded together by fat; a mole like a small peanut with a tuft of hair sat at the corner of his mouth.
She tugged at the edge of her veil and called down in a casual, sweet voice, “Young master, need a doctor?”
The man’s eye twitched. “Get away! I don’t want any trouble.”
He plucked at the hair on the mole and turned back to inspect the scrolls in the shop window. Mo Qinghuan stepped closer. “Sir, that place is… not healthy. Are you sure you won’t have a look?”
Her voice was soft, but the man went suddenly alert, glancing around as if afraid someone would overhear.
Mo straightened and looked at him with ridiculous seriousness. “If you won’t look, then I’ll be going.”
She was about to walk away when the man hurried after her. “Miss, can I have a word?”
Mo’s fingers toyed with the ring on her index finger. Fine — one word. If he tried anything, she’d turn him over where he stood.
He reached for her sleeve; she slipped away with the cool, practiced ease of someone who never lost her center of gravity.
They went up to a private room on the second floor of Jujun Tower. The man closed the door and peered out to be sure no one was watching before turning back to her. “We don’t know each other, do we?”
“No,” she said.
He leaned in and lowered his voice. A heavy scent of medicine clung to him, layered under an expensive perfume — a clean floral that clashed with the medicinal tang and made her stomach tilt. Still, he had a good taste about him.
“How do you know that… that part of me is unwell?” he asked.
Mo gave him a look of mock profundity. “I know a bit about physiognomy.”
He seized on the phrase like it was a lifeline. “Then tell me plainly. What can I do to be cured?”
“It’s not difficult to treat,” she said. “But there’s one thing you must absolutely obey.”
He leaned closer, only to be blocked by Dan’er, who stepped forward protectively.
“Keep your distance when you speak!” Dan’er snapped, then flushed at her own boldness and scuttled back like a mouse.
Mo patted Dan’er’s shoulder, a small warmth blooming in her chest.
The man straightened and asked, “And that one thing?”
Mo looked at him levelly. “No indulgence in excess. If you don’t restrain yourself, no medicine will help.”
He made a disgruntled noise and smacked his forehead with a fan. “Fine. As for fees — name your price.”
“A silver note,” Mo said, practical. “So I don’t have to run around exchanging coin.”
He tapped his fan against his palm. “Deal. If you cure me, I’ll pay whatever you ask. But you must promise me one thing.”
Mo raised a brow. “Go ahead.”
“Don’t tell anyone about my condition,” he said, eyes darting to the door.
She smiled. “I won’t speak of it — but are you sure it’s only the three of us who need to know?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Don’t worry. They’d never dare speak.”
He slid a token across to Dan’er. “Take this to the Ling Residence. Someone there will show you to me.”
Then he pressed a few silver notes into Dan’er’s hand. “Consider this a deposit. If it’s done well, there’ll be rewards.”
Dan’er’s face lit up like a lantern. “Miss, this is so much!”
Mo shook her head indulgently. “Keep the token. It might be useful.”
She left Jujun Tower intending to go to the apothecary and fetch the herbs she would need — herbal remedies worked better for this kind of thing. But no sooner had she stepped into the street than she ran into someone she’d never expected to see here.
Mu Yanming.
For no reason she could name, Mo felt a sudden flutter of guilt, a small, irrational tightening in her chest.
Mu Yanming’s expression was dark. He gave her a brief, cool glance, then looked toward the direction where Ling Yu had left.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She met his eyes and gave a brisk, honest answer. “Treating people — making some silver.”
His brow creased even more. “Are you in need of money?”
She gave a small smile. “Not exactly. But who dislikes having extra?”
He considered her for a moment, then said, almost offhand, “Consort Li — the emperor’s favorite — is ill. They’re seeking any competent physician. If you’re confident, I can recommend you to the palace. There will be reward if you treat her.”
Mo fingered the ring on her hand and thought it over. “All right. I’ll see.”
She sent Dan’er back to the house with the silver; the girl tucked the notes away, obedient and delighted. Mo followed Mu Yanming into the palace and was led to Consort Li’s chamber. The imperial physicians knelt on the threshold, their faces pale and strained.
A maid led Mo in; Mu Yanming stayed outside. The room smelled faintly of incense. On the bed, a woman lay palely beautiful; at the bedside sat a man in a dragon robe, clutching her hand as if afraid to let go. The man in the robe looked up when the maid announced them.
“Speak,” he said, his voice impatient but not unkind.
Mo Qinghuan lifted her veil and looked up. One glance left her breathless.
The emperor’s face — the man sitting there in dragon robes — was identical to the face she remembered from the Xuan Medical School. It was the same as her former master’s older brother, the senior uncle who had once betrayed their sect and walked away years ago.
Her mind stumbled. How many ties to her previous life did this world still hide?