Concubine Song was beset by a strange abdominal pain. Two of the most renowned physicians in the capital had been summoned to the residence, yet neither could determine the cause of her illness.
All day long, Concubine Song wailed and carried on, crying that she feared something might be wrong with her child. She insisted these physicians were sorely lacking in skill if they couldn’t even diagnose her condition.
Upon hearing the maid’s report, Jinchao grew weary of the fuss. She was in the midst of making a pillow filled with soft jade beads, having stitched only one side. She told the maid to put away the basket for now. After some thought, she rose and went to the study, where she took up her brush to write Ye Xian a letter—asking whether Mr. Xiao was still in the capital, and if so, whether he might be able to do her a small favor.
Ye Xian received the letter while fishing by the lakeside with Xiao Qishan. After skimming the brief contents, he casually handed it to the attendant beside him—just as a large silver carp took the bait.
Xiao Qishan watched his beloved disciple reel it in, smiling with narrowed eyes. Pointing toward the lake, he said, “The fish in this lake are the hardest to catch, do you know why?”
Ye Xian cast him a glance but said nothing. Whether he replied or not, it wouldn’t stop Mr. Xiao from explaining—he was never one to hold his tongue.
Unbothered, Xiao Qishan continued, “The water runs deep, and the fish are clever. Those who lack patience will never land a single one.”
They had already spent the entire day fishing here, and the only catch was that lone silver carp now sloshing about in Ye Xian’s wooden bucket. Lifting the bucket, Ye Xian saw the sun leaning westward beyond the mountain ridges.
Xiao Qishan peered over at the fish and said, “There’s a temple nearby—Ling Mountain Temple. Let’s go there, clean the fish, and make a soup.”
Ye Xian replied, “You’d kill on sacred ground?”
Ye Xian’s mother, Madam Gao, was a devout Buddhist. Though he did not share her faith, he had grown up steeped in reverence for such beliefs.
Xiao Qishan merely chuckled, unconcerned. “Kill it before we arrive, and we’ll be fine. As the saying goes: ‘Wine and meat may pass through the intestines, but the Buddha dwells in the heart.’” He then instructed the attendant to buy a warm pot of yellow wine and a pound of sliced beef from the foot of the mountain, reasoning that a bit of drink would warm their bones.
Ye Xian smiled at him. “I’m not worried about you offending the Buddha. But the temple is guarded by martial monks—and you wouldn’t even allow your guards to come with us. If they toss you out the gates, I won’t be the one dragging you back.”
Hearing this, Xiao Qishan had no choice but to give up the idea and accompany Ye Xian down the mountain instead. At the foot of the slope was a small inn where they could stay the night.
It was early July, and beside the inn stood a thick-trunked persimmon tree, its branches heavy with ripening fruit, each glowing red like little lanterns. A servant from the Marquis of Changxing’s residence was already waiting under the tree, having laid out a small table with food and drink. A guard brought over a platter of freshly picked persimmons.
Ye Xian handed over the fish, instructing the servants to prepare a dish of steamed carp.
Xiao Qishan picked up a persimmon, turning it over in his hands with a sigh. “I remember when you were little—your grandfather brought you to Guizhou to visit me. The trees were just like this, full of fruit. You plucked one and took a bite. Your mouth puckered from the bitterness, yet you stubbornly ate the whole thing anyway.”
Fresh persimmons must be ripened in wood ash before they can be eaten. Otherwise, they are terribly astringent.
Ye Xian couldn’t even recall the incident.
Which was odd. He had an exceptional memory—he could recite the general meaning of an entire essay after just one reading—but so many moments from his early childhood were lost to him.
After telling the story, Xiao Qishan eyed him with curiosity and asked, “That letter just now—who was it from? I didn’t know you even had friends in the capital. With your temperament, I would’ve guessed not a single one.”
Ye Xian motioned for the attendant to hand over the letter and said, “I was just about to ask you for a favor.”
Xiao Qishan took one look at the handwriting and burst into laughter. “It’s from that Gu family lady, isn’t it? The one you begged me to come to the capital for? But didn’t you tell me her mother passed away not long ago? Why is she asking you now to look at a concubine’s pregnancy?”
Ye Xian replied calmly, “How should I know? Go or don’t—up to you.”
Xiao Qishan laughed heartily, slapping his disciple on the shoulder. “How could I not go? I owe you for dragging me all the way here. Besides, I’d quite like to see what kind of woman this Gu family daughter must be—to have won our noble Young Master over with a mere potted cactus!”
Ye Xian’s smile deepened. “If you call me ‘Changshun’ one more time, I’ll put those few bamboo pit vipers on your bed tonight—to keep you company while you sleep.”
Xiao Qishan rubbed his nose sheepishly and said no more. He had forgotten—Ye Xian detested that childhood nickname. It had been bestowed by none other than Grand Scholar Gao, who had spent days pacing in frustration before proudly announcing the name: “Changshun.” Smooth-sounding, easy to remember, and auspicious.
Even the old Marquis of Changxing, who had spent his whole life sparring with his scholarly in-law, was pleased by the name. And so everyone called him that.
Ye Xian had been adorable as a child—round-cheeked, fair-skinned, always wide-eyed and curious. He didn’t fuss, didn’t cry, let anyone hold him.
But now he’d grown up—and grown temperamental too.
Xiao Qishan couldn’t help but feel a touch of regret.
A few days later, he brought Ye Xian’s letter and his own calling card to the Gu residence.
In the main hall, Gu Deshao received him with great courtesy. Upon learning that Xiao Qishan was a senior retainer of the Marquis of Changxing and also Ye Xian’s teacher, he treated him with the utmost respect, even sending for the silverleaf incense pressed especially for New Year’s to offer as a welcome gift.
Xiao Qishan then explained his purpose. “The young lady of your house is well acquainted with my student. She wrote to him saying that a concubine in your household suffers from a strange affliction—intense abdominal pain without a known cause. She asked me to come take a look.”
Gu Deshao offered his thanks. “I must trouble you, then. Your visit is greatly appreciated.”
He never would have expected Gu Jinchao to set aside past grievances and personally invite Mr. Xiao to examine Concubine Song’s illness. The thought stirred a mix of emotions—both admiration and a twinge of guilt. Chao’er was so sensible, so composed. It only made him feel all the more that he had failed her.
Considering that Mr. Xiao was not only a trusted retainer of the Marquis of Changxing but had also treated the marquis’s heir, his medical skill must be truly exceptional.
Thus, Gu Deshao instructed Steward Li to escort Mr. Xiao to see Gu Jinchao directly. After all, it was Chao’er who had extended the invitation, and he thought it best not to intervene too closely.
Gu Jinchao had originally been waiting for Ye Xian’s reply, but instead learned that Mr. Xiao had already arrived. She changed into a pale azure silk jacket embroidered with delicate floral patterns and received him in the flower hall. She also had Qingpu bring out a pot of tribute-grade Yangxian tea.
Led in by Steward Li, Mr. Xiao appeared from afar to be a serene and refined figure, clad in a straight-cut robe, his manner utterly composed. He looked to be no more than forty, slender and graceful, with eyes that smiled gently—instantly affable.
Jinchao rose to greet him, but upon seeing his face, she felt an unexpected jolt of familiarity.
…She had seen this man before.
There was something about that genial smile that struck her as deeply familiar, though her memory remained hazy. She couldn’t recall when or where it might have been.
The thought passed as quickly as it came. Now was not the time to dwell on such things.
With a poised smile, Jinchao invited Mr. Xiao to sit and offered her greeting:
“I have long heard of your unrivaled skill in medicine, but I did not expect your demeanor to be so cultivated as well. I am truly humbled to receive you.”
Xiao Qishan returned her gaze briefly. Due to propriety between men and women, he did not stare—but he could not help but note how striking Gu Jinchao’s appearance was. The kind of beauty that stunned at first glance.
He smiled in return. “It’s but an empty reputation. I’ve spent years tucked away in the mountains of Guizhou. ‘Unrivaled skill’ is far too generous a claim.”
In truth, he was still wondering—was Ye Changshun also swayed by appearances? Still, he couldn’t yet say whether this young lady of the Gu family truly deserved his student’s efforts to bring him all the way here from Guizhou.
Jinchao, for her part, did not immediately mention Concubine Song. She first had the maids bring tea and refreshments.
And yet, the more she looked at this Mr. Xiao, the more she felt something was amiss. Ye Xian had said he had long been living in seclusion in Guizhou, while she herself had grown up confined within the Gu household. There was no way they could have crossed paths—unless…
Unless it was after she had married into the Chen family in her previous life.
Still, Jinchao couldn’t quite place the moment. But if she truly had seen him before, then no matter how she looked at it, he must have been entangled—at some point—in the fierce struggle between the Ye and Chen families.
What business could a reclusive mountain physician possibly have in such a vicious, decade-long political storm?
In the sixth year of Longqing, on the thirteenth day of the ninth month, the Emperor Muzong passed away. On the seventh day of the eleventh month that same year, Emperor Shenzong ascended the throne and declared a new reign—Wanli. Zhang Julu seized power and coerced the court into submission.
Jinchao did not know where the threads connected. Could it be that Mr. Xiao had been drawn into that struggle for the sake of the Ye family?
She knew nothing for certain.
And even if she wished to help the Marquis of Changxing’s household—out of gratitude for Ye Xian saving her mother—what could she possibly do? The situation was far beyond her reach.
For now, she would set those questions aside. The matter at hand was resolving Concubine Song’s trouble.
She turned to Xiao Qishan and said gently,
“…My mother fell gravely ill, and you came all the way from Guizhou. I can only imagine the hardship. But alas, she did not live to benefit from your skill…”
Mr. Xiao paused in silence, then slowly replied,
“I recall the young master once describing her condition. By all accounts, she should not have passed so soon.”
Jinchao nodded, her voice low.
“Her… her passing was not as simple as it seemed.”
She did not elaborate further. Mr. Xiao, perceptive as he was, understood—this was family business. If the lady of the house had died under suspicious circumstances, then surely something unspeakable had occurred. And such matters were not to be aired lightly.
He could see that Gu Jinchao, though mourning, was not sunken in despair. It told him she was a girl of strength—though losing her mother at such a young age was no less heartbreaking.
Jinchao dabbed at her eyes and smiled.
“Forgive me for losing composure, sir. After my mother’s death, my father intended to cast out Concubine Song… but she was with child, so he merely sent her back to her former quarters. I still bear resentment in my heart, but I’ve ensured she is well-fed and properly attended to.”
“Only, in recent days she has been complaining of sudden, inexplicable stomach pains. Several physicians have examined her, but none could find the cause. She claimed their skills were lacking and demanded to see someone better. But one night, when she had fallen asleep, a little maid happened to lift the covers—and saw bruises blooming across her abdomen. And yet, she never mentioned how they came to be…”
She looked at him earnestly. “So I wished to ask, Mr. Xiao—is there any illness that might cause bruising on the abdomen?”
Mr. Xiao said nothing for a long moment.
The young lady’s words were carefully phrased—but deeply telling.
After her mother’s death, her father sought to punish the concubine—did that not suggest it was the concubine who had caused her mother’s demise? And because she carried a child, she was spared.
As for the bruising—such marks on the belly could only come from an external blow. There was no internal ailment that could cause such a thing. And yet, the concubine herself had demanded physicians, all the while hiding her injuries.
There was only one possibility—Concubine Song was feigning illness. Making a scene.
Gu Jinchao clearly understood all this. But rather than state it outright, she chose to veil her words—because she knew it was improper to speak too plainly.
Understanding her intentions, Mr. Xiao gave her a subtle wink and said,
“Rest assured, my lady. I know what ailment this is.”
Jinchao smiled faintly in return. Mr. Xiao, it seemed, was indeed a man who understood the unspoken.