With his eyes closed, the usual harsh, dark aura faded. He looked frail and pitiable, and she didn’t feel scared—quite the opposite, she felt a pang of sympathy. While he slept, she couldn’t help but gently trace his beautiful brow and eyes with her fingers.

Rong Ting lowered his gaze.                          

His dark-colored clothes were mostly untouched, but the brownish medicine stain didn’t stand out much.

It was her sleeves, dyed in a deep brown stain, that stood out—the contrast stark and jarring.

Noticing his gaze, Jiang Rao instinctively pulled her sleeves closer.

Girls from noble families often care deeply about their appearance, paying particular attention to their looks and attire.

Jiang Rao knew how to present herself well—beauty wasn’t just about one’s face, it’s about poise and grace.

She rarely found herself in such a situation, with her clothes stained, especially not like this—one sleeve damp with the lingering scent of medicine.

It was her first time attending to someone, so she was clumsy and unskilled.

Lowering her head, she almost instinctively tried to hide her sleeve, though she didn’t realize that everything had already been noticed by Rong Ting.

She could have used this to seek some credit, emphasizing how tired she was.

But she didn’t.

His gaze lingered on her longer than usual, dark and still, like the silent depths of a forest pond.

Jiang Rao felt uneasy under his steady gaze and quickly changed the subject. “Now that you’re awake, do you feel any better?”

Rong Ting shifted his eyes away. He sat up, trying to speak, but was suddenly seized by a violent fit of coughing.

It was so intense, it seemed like he might cough up his very insides.

Jiang Rao’s heart twisted in sympathy, and she handed him a cup of warm water. “Why are you coughing so badly?”

Although Rong Ting accepted the water, he hesitated for a moment before bringing the cup to his lips.

Eventually, he drank it.

Seeing that he was willing to accept the water from her, Jiang Rao couldn’t help but smile to herself. But when his gaze swept over her, the smile instantly vanished. She quickly got up and brought over one small medicine packet after another, laying them in front of him.

She squatted beside him, pointing to each packet in turn. “This one is for treating the cold. This one is for your leg injury. This one needs to be brewed with hot water and taken as a decoction. This one is an external medicine—you need to crush it and apply it to your wounds.”

She gave detailed instructions, going through each one carefully. She spoke for a long time but couldn’t bring herself to tell him what the old doctor had said after seeing his leg injuries—he had shaken his head, declaring that the chances of healing were slim, and that no amount of medicine could help now.

The old doctor had also told her that, based on his physique and martial arts background, Rong Ting’s potential had been remarkable. Unfortunately, with his leg broken, returning to his previous martial prowess was almost impossible. The only hope was sheer luck. If his leg managed to last six months without deteriorating further, it would already be an unexpected outcome. Healing, however, was uncertain.

The hope seemed distant, as unlikely as something that could never happen.

Rong Ting’s voice was hoarse as he asked. “How much are all these medicines, including the blanket on me? How much silver in total?”

Jiang Rao hesitated for a moment.

She didn’t want his money. If he could owe her something, it would actually work in her favor. Tilting her head slightly, she tried to brush it off and casually replied. “These aren’t expensive.”

“On the third day of next month, someone will bring me my monthly allowance. I will pay you for the medicine then.”

Rong Ting seemed to ignore her words entirely, determined to get the answer he wanted. His voice was firm and unyielding as he repeated. “How much is the total for these medicines?”

His insistent tone was domineering, clearly showing that he wouldn’t stop until he got an answer.

Jiang Rao, taken aback by his pressure, almost involuntarily slipped back into the mindset of when he was her master and she his servant. She nearly blurted out her thoughts. “Ten… it’s one tael of silver.”

…

As she left the small house in the western part of the city and headed home, Ming Shao counted on her fingers. “Miss, this afternoon you bought medicine, hired the doctor, and had the doors and windows repaired, spending six taels of silver. The quilt taken from the storage room was made of top-quality Xiang fabric, and even ten taels wouldn’t be enough. These expenses add up to much more than one tael. Did you perhaps make a mistake in your calculation?”

Although Jiang Rao was young, she was the only legitimate daughter in her family. From a young age, she had been trained in accounting and never neglected her lessons. She knew exactly how to calculate the costs.

She shook her head, letting out a sigh, and said to Ming Shao. “He looks pitiful now. I don’t want to take money for his medicine and treatment.”

She turned around and glanced at the small, dilapidated house. Her gaze suddenly turned cold. “After we return, have Jiang Ping send a few guards to keep watch over this place.”

The master was on the brink of death, yet that servant, Wang Zhou was nowhere to be seen.

Something was wrong—there was definitely something wrong.

…

The heavy snow that had fallen for two days finally stopped in the evening of the second day, as dusk settled in, bringing with it a sense of clarity after the storm.

The fading light of the setting sun tinted the sky with a layer of faint golden flakes, and the entire world seemed to be embraced by a peaceful calm, giving the illusion of warmth.

After Jiang Rao left, Rong Ting noticed something had changed in the room.

The door, which had been on the verge of collapsing the night before, had been fixed overnight and was now sturdy.

The harsh winds and falling snow were now kept outside.

The long-abandoned charcoal stove inside the house had been stocked with firewood.

The dim yellow flame flickered in his eyes, and Rong Ting let out a deep breath, wondering if it was the effect of the medicine, as his chest felt slightly soothed and warmer.

….

On the third day of the second month, Wang Zhou went to the post station to collect the monthly allowance sent by the family. He exchanged a few perfunctory words with the messenger, lying that Rong Ting’s leg injury had recovered well and that he would soon be returning to the West City.

Though Rong Ting was the Ninth Prince, he had not yet come of age and held no official title. His monthly allowance was much less than that of his older brothers, amounting to only sixteen taels, which, though insufficient for someone of higher status, could sustain him for two or three years, even compared to the common folk.

However, by the time the money passed through Wang Zhou’s hands and reached Rong Ting, very little remained.

—Wang Zhou ultimately handed over only eight hundred copper coins.

He tossed a burlap sack onto the table. Seeing Rong Ting take the money, Wang Zhou met his gaze for a moment, sensing that he might have noticed something. With a fierce look, he preemptively explained. “I bought the medicine for you, and after deducting my wages, there’s not much left.”

“And the medicine?”

Impatiently, Wang Zhou opened the sack to reveal the contents.

He looked sturdy and strong, with a robust build. He slammed the sack heavily onto the table in front of Rong Ting. “The medicine’s all here.”

Rong Ting glanced at the herbs.

Calling it medicine would be generous— it looked more like firewood. The sack was full of dry twigs and sawdust, with only a few scattered herbs.

Rong Ting raised his cold gaze and cast a glance at Wang Zhou.

Wang Zhou, however, paid little attention to his master. A discarded illegitimate son, whether he lived or died, mattered little.

Yet, Wang Zhou often felt a sense of unease when he met Rong Ting’s eyes. His narrow, wolf-like eyes always seemed to harbor a hidden fierceness, a silent, deadly determination.

Like just now, when Rong Ting had narrowed his eyes at him—his gaze dark and terrifying, as if seeing through everything.

Wang Zhou worried that Rong Ting had noticed the tricks he had played, his heart gripped by a fleeting sense of panic. He muttered. “What are you asking for, a cripple like you? Are you going to get up and make your own medicine?”

This statement seemed to soothe his own nerves.

After all, Rong Ting was just a weak cripple, far from home and with no one to rely on. Even if he discovered that Wang Zhou had stolen part of his allowance, this was Wang Zhou’s territory. His master had only hired him as a servant to care for Rong Ting, and Wang Zhou held the power here. What could a cripple do to him?

Relaxing, he shot a mocking glance at Rong Ting’s legs. “You’ve got a bad leg, but don’t let your brain go bad too. Treating your legs would cost a fortune. Eight hundred coins— that’s all I saved for you by carefully budgeting!”

With that, he slammed the door and left.

As soon as he stepped outside, Wang Zhou pulled out the freshly received allowance from his pocket, still warm from his hands. He tossed the well-filled pouch into the air and, with a triumphant smile, headed toward the direction of the gambling house.

Little did Wang Zhou know, every move he made was being closely watched by those left behind by Jiang Rao.

When Ming Shao relayed the news to Jiang Rao, she was in the study, reading a letter from her grandfather.

Her grandfather, who was very fond of his granddaughter, had written her a four-page letter. Even something as trivial as a cricket escaping from its agate box was something he felt the need to share with her.

Jiang Rao read the letter, but her mind wandered to the haunting image of the Ning’an Bo residence crumbling in her dreams. Her grandfather’s lifetime of hard work, his family legacy, would eventually come to ruin. The thought filled her with sorrow.

Ming Shao entered the room. “Miss, the people you left behind in the western part of the city reported that the servant, Wang Zhou, was happily carrying a bag of silver and heading toward the gambling house.”

Jiang Rao set the letter down and furrowed her brow. “His master can’t even afford medicine. Where did he get so much silver?”

=^_^=