Lin Xuan listened to Wu Shiwen's promises and felt, for the first time that night, that she had made the right move. If that little bitch Mei Li had shown up, she would have been the one to ride the tide and become the phoenix. Not her.
A sharp voice cut through the room from the hallway. “You didn’t come home last night—what were you doing sleeping in the study, Master?”
Wu Shiwen froze when he heard Jin Qiao. Fear flickered across his face as he glanced at Lin Xuan. Lin Xuan’s heart clenched; she knew well enough that the second wife wasn’t someone to be trifled with. Jin Qiao had been the mistress who pushed her way into a wife’s place—ruthless and ambitious.
“Hurry. Get up,” Jin Qiao ordered. The softness Wu had shown moments ago vanished, replaced by panic.
Lin Xuan fumbled to tidy herself and stood to the side, head bowed. The door burst open with a kick. Jin Qiao strode in and scanned Lin Xuan from head to toe, the look in her eyes sharp enough to cut.
“Explain yourself, husband. I deserve an explanation, don’t I?” Jin Qiao crossed her arms and looked down at Wu Shiwen with a superiority that made his contemptible smile freeze.
“I don’t need your permission for anything,” he sneered.
Jin Qiao’s knuckles whitened. Without hesitation she stepped forward and slapped Lin Xuan so hard it left her dazed.
“You women and your tricks—I’ve seen it all. Don’t try to play games with me.” Jin Qiao’s contempt was a living thing. She’d been through this; she knew exactly how to humiliate a man in front of his servant.
Wu Shiwen ground his teeth. “Come here,” he barked, and stomped toward the door. Jin Qiao shot Lin Xuan a look that promised worse to come, then stormed out in a flurry.
“Sir, aren’t you going to explain? Do you realize how this will affect our family’s reputation?” Jin Qiao’s voice came from the hallway, sharp with outrage.
Wu Shiwen answered slowly, as if coaxing an explanation from a reluctant witness. “You’re mistaken, madam. You don’t understand—do you know what I found out?”
Jin Qiao folded her arms, unwilling to listen but curious, too.
“I discovered that girl shares the exact same birth date as Xia Ling—same year, month, and day. You know what that could mean.” He smiled at Jin Qiao, full of conspiracy.
Jin Qiao’s expression softened; a calculation passed across her face. The old lord Yan—Old Lord Yan of the capital—had been searching desperately for his granddaughter. Many had tried to pass themselves off as Xia Ling, and the old man’s hope had worn thin. He had even ordered that anyone caught pretending to be Xia Ling would suffer the consequences. That edict had kept most impostors away. But if they could present this girl as Xia Ling—if she truly matched the birth date—Old Lord Yan’s guilt and longing would work in their favor. Jin Qiao’s eyes lit up when the conversation turned to inheritance. “Arrange everything. Make her pliable, teach her everything about Xia Ling. With Old Lord Yan’s feelings for his granddaughter, he’ll be inclined to make restitution—possibly half his estate.”
Wu Shiwen’s mouth curved. He watched Jin Qiao catch fire at the mention of money and nodded. “We’ll prepare every detail. We’ll go over everything Xia Ling would know—her history, those personal details—until she can pass for her without question.”
Jin Qiao agreed, and Lin Xuan was dragged outside again. She kept her head bowed; she couldn’t bear to look at Jin Qiao. This woman was merciless. One wrong move and she would be finished.
“Your name is Lin Xuan?” Jin Qiao and Wu Shiwen sat on the sandalwood sofa, sipping tea as if discussing business in a parlor instead of cornering a terrified girl.
Lin Xuan nodded, trembling. She stole a glance at Wu Shiwen, but he wasn’t looking at her. Everything inside her told her this was the end—that she had been careless and finally trapped.
Jin Qiao lifted her teacup and asked coldly, “Are you sure the plan will work?”
“Trust me,” Wu Shiwen answered. “It’ll be flawless.”
They took Lin Xuan away.
Meanwhile, at Old Lord Yan’s bedside, Feng Yu continued her quiet ministrations—needles, cupping, a little bloodletting whenever she could steal the chance. A doctor in a white coat came in and stopped when he saw her, his eyes widening with recognition.
“Aren’t you the girl from a few days ago?” he asked.
Feng Yu didn’t deny it. The man’s face brightened. “I’m Zhou Yun.” He reached out his hand.
She hesitated a moment, then took it. “I’m Mei Li,” she said.
Zhou Yun’s interest sharpened. After the other day, he’d been thinking about the breakthrough she’d hinted at, and now he wanted answers. “Miss Mei, where did you learn your skill? Who is your teacher?”
Feng Yu shook her head. She didn’t know. His brow furrowed.
“Where do you get your medical knowledge?” Zhou Yun pressed.
Again she shook her head. “I can’t remember, Doctor Zhou. I’m sorry.”
Zhou Yun wanted to examine her—pulse, tongue, the whole works—but a quick check wouldn’t uncover the truth. Still, he was impressed. “You may not know your teacher, but whatever you did yesterday—just from taking Old Lord Yan’s pulse, you could tell his condition. I’m honestly surprised.”
Feng Yu deflected the praise with a modest smile. Zhou Yun’s admiration came with an invitation. “Would you join me? Help me study the old lord’s condition and cure him?”
She was taken aback. Getting close enough to treat Old Lord Yan wasn’t easy; why would he offer so readily? “Doctor Zhou, you’re too kind—”
Zhou Yun didn’t push. He had been treating Old Lord Yan for months without a real breakthrough; he wanted a new perspective. “I’ve been managing the old lord’s case for some time but I haven’t made progress. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Feng Yu was frank. “I suspect someone is deliberately harming Old Lord Yan. The chronic toxin in his system suggests long-term exposure—someone close to him has had the opportunity. If I’m right, cleaning it up will take time.”
Zhou Yun listened and nodded. He had indeed found a slow-acting poison in Old Lord Yan’s system but couldn’t identify it. “What kind of poison do you think it is? Is there a cure?”
“A slow-acting dark toxin,” Feng Yu began to explain. “Chronic, insidious—”
At that moment a noise came from the doorway. Aunt Xue had arrived—she’d served Old Lord Yan longest of all. Feng Yu rose to ask her questions; she might know things the rest didn’t.
She turned to Zhou Yun. “Doctor, is the old lord’s condition the same? Is there hope?”
Zhou Yun hesitated, thinking of Feng Yu’s words. He realized what she meant—that the poisoning might be deliberate. “It’s hard to say.”