---

Tolerance is Greatness

Wei Lan had just climbed out of the window when Huan Ying opened his arms beneath the wall. Without hesitation, she flipped her body and leaped down, landing securely in his embrace.

“Hold on tight.” Huan Ying wrapped an arm around her waist, stepped lightly, and leaped onto the rooftop. His black cloak fluttered in the night wind as they sped across the glazed tiles, hurrying toward the Princess’s residence.

From the corner of his eye, Huan Ying noticed that the collar of the person in his arms was askew, revealing suspicious red marks on her neck. His knuckles cracked as he clenched her hand.

“Your clothes are in disarray.”

Wei Lan looked down to see her inner garment’s neckline had shifted. She hurriedly pulled her robe tight.

As soon as they landed in a secluded alley, Huan Ying abruptly stopped. Wei Lan crashed into his firm chest, and before she could look up, she heard his hoarse accusation:

“He touched you?”

“We just talked for a while…” Wei Lan replied.

Huan Ying took a step closer, his fingertip pressing heavily against her swollen lips. “Talking leaves you like this?”

“It was such a short time—what could I possibly do?” Wei Lan averted her eyes, feeling guilty.

Under the moonlight, the kiss marks on her neck were glaringly obvious, fueling Huan Ying’s fury. He grabbed her shoulders and pinned her against the wall.

“You still want to deny it?”

“Let go!” Wei Lan kicked toward his knee, but he dodged easily. The bronze mask on his face reflected the cold light as he suddenly leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear, as if he was about to kiss her.

Wei Lan turned her head to avoid him, his lips grazing her earlobe. Huan Ying grasped her chin, forcing her to face him, his breath heavy.

“He can touch you, but I can’t?” He was determined to claim this kiss.

A sharp “slap” rang out as Wei Lan’s palm landed squarely on his mouth, leaving her own hand numb from the impact.

“Are you insane?” she snapped.

The slap had no real effect on Huan Ying, who had been trained as a shadow guard. However, he froze in place. Wei Lan took the opportunity to break free. They stood in silence for a long moment before Huan Ying spoke coldly:

“Return to the residence.”

He turned and walked ahead, his figure appearing particularly aloof under the moonlight. Wei Lan followed behind, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet alley. Neither of them spoke again.

---

Two years passed in a flash. By late autumn of the 15th year of Chongzhen’s reign (1642), war raged outside, but within the Princess’s residence, things remained relatively peaceful.

The scent of drying herbs mixed with the sound of grinding medicine in Luhua Pavilion had become part of Wei Lan’s daily life.

Outside, rebels and Qing forces battled over Ming territory. Li Zicheng was besieging Kaifeng, Zhang Xianzhong was sweeping through Huguang, and news of Hong Chengchou surrendering to the Qing after his defeat at Songshan had been locked away in a wooden box by her father, the Prince Consort, Gong Yonggu. These matters were kept from her. Whenever discussions drifted toward politics, the officials would fall silent upon noticing the princess peeking in.

In the Ming Dynasty, women were not permitted to engage in political affairs. No matter how much she acted coy around her father, Gong Yonggu would not reveal a word.

Fortunately, Wei Lan occasionally received letters from Liu Mingyi, who was stationed at the front lines. Though his messages were always brief, just a few words assuring her of his safety, it was enough.

She immersed herself in researching penicillin.

By chance, she discovered a strain of green mold capable of killing staphylococcus bacteria. However, the subsequent process was far more complex than she had imagined. Though the mold had antibacterial properties, how could she ensure it was safe for human use?

Using mice, she conducted countless experiments to test for toxicity and allergic reactions. Over two years, the people of Luhua Pavilion had endured endless trials with her. Fortunately, only mice perished—not humans.

After countless failures, Wei Lan finally succeeded in extracting a usable, topical form of penicillin.

That day happened to be her birthday. The successful extraction was the best gift she could have received!

Eager to share the news, she rushed back to her study. The first person she wanted to tell was Liu Mingyi. She penned a letter informing him of her success, noting that mouse trials had shown no harm and that she would share further findings once she tested it on humans.

At the end of the letter, she added:

“When will you return?”

---

Her birthday banquet was held in the grand hall of the Princess’s residence.

Wei Lan rested her chin on her hand, watching as dancers twirled their flowing sleeves. The table before her was laden with longevity buns and roasted lamb. Following Ming Dynasty traditions, the Bureau of Entertainment had arranged a two-hour performance, featuring a pipa rendition of Ten Thousand Years of Longevity, a sixteen-person bell ensemble, and finally, a martial sword dance.

The scent of incense curled from a gilded burner, mingling with the heavy aroma of makeup, making her head ache.

As the banquet’s star, Wei Lan seemed disinterested, mechanically eating her food.

“It’s time for your third cup of birthday wine,” her maid, Qiutang, reminded her.

She downed the osmanthus wine in one gulp, then noticed her mother, Princess Le’an, massaging her forehead weakly. The imperial physician quickly handed her a slice of ginseng.

This frail mother of hers had only been seated for half an hour before her lips turned a deeper shade of purple. Congenital heart disease was untreatable in the Ming Dynasty. Though she forced herself to attend the banquet briefly, she soon retired to her chambers.

As music filled the air, a few unmarried noble girls gathered around Wei Lan. One in a yellow jacket playfully pinched a piece of apricot candy.

“Yunrong, you’re already seventeen. Why hasn’t the heir of Xiangcheng Marquis proposed yet?”

Another girl chimed in, “I heard he just took another concubine…”

Wei Lan stuffed a piece of poria cake into her mouth, speaking indistinctly, “Maybe the front lines are keeping him busy.”

She knew well that her engagement had been delayed thanks to Liu Mingyi’s behind-the-scenes efforts.

Back in her chambers, she retrieved a lacquered box from a hidden compartment. Inside were twenty-two neatly arranged letters. She read through them one by one.

She wouldn’t deny that she felt disappointed. Each time she had written hundreds, even thousands of heartfelt words, but all she ever received in return was a brief “I am well, do not worry.”

She understood his busyness but couldn’t help feeling a little disheartened.

---

Determined, she dressed and slipped into a secret passage.

For two years, ever since slapping Huan Ying, she hadn’t sought him out or seen him again.

Yet, every birthday and holiday, she would receive gifts from him—a silver needle case, rare medical books—all appearing quietly, without a single note.

Standing outside his courtyard, she knocked. There was no answer. The door wasn’t locked, so she pushed it open.

Inside, it was dark and silent. He wasn’t home yet.

After waiting for a long time, the door creaked open.

Huan Ying entered, reeking of blood. Without acknowledging her, he pulled off his bloodstained tunic. In the dim candlelight, a half-foot-long wound on his back oozed fresh blood. He grabbed a bottle of wine and poured it over the wound.

Wei Lan rushed to stop him.

“This is a fresh wound! It needs proper sterilization and stitching!”

She turned to fetch medical alcohol from Luhua Pavilion, but before she could leave, Huan Ying gripped her wrist tightly.

“There’s no need.”

She stubbornly insisted, but in the struggle, she spotted something hidden under his pillow—a jade pendant.

It matched hers perfectly.

Two halves of a whole.

Her heart pounded violently. Holding the pendants together, she read the inscriptions:

Hers: “You Rong”
His: “Nai Da”

Together, they formed the phrase:

“Tolerance is Greatness.”

Wei Lan’s hands trembled.

She turned to him, voice unsteady.

“What… is the meaning of this?”