“Poisoned?” How could that be, when he was perfectly fine just moments ago? “Qingjian, come to the study with me.”
Qingjian only had a basic knowledge of medicine and was not an expert, but in the study, he carefully took his pulse. He could only confirm that there were signs of poisoning in his body; however, he could not tell exactly what kind of poison it was.
Pei Huaijin thought about the wound on his arm that had yet to heal. He guessed it must have been the poisoned arrow from that day in the Southern Imperial Garden, although even the imperial physicians hadn’t detected it at the time.
Nine days had passed since then, and only now had the symptoms appeared. It was probably not a severe poison, or perhaps the amount he was exposed to was small, so the poisoning was not deep.
“Come on, accompany me to the clinic.”
They went to three clinics in a row, but none could identify the poison. Pei Huaijin, who had been optimistic at first, gradually grew more despondent.
His intuition told him this poison was no ordinary toxin.
Finally, at the fourth clinic, an old physician examined him and confirmed it was a very rare poison—one that was insidious and difficult to detect during the early stages. It developed slowly and wouldn’t cause immediate death but would silently erode the body, leaving the victim increasingly weak and bedridden for years to come.
It seemed this poison was tailor-made for Xie Heng. After all, a sickly imperial grandson doomed to long-term illness would inevitably exhaust the emperor’s patience and eventually lose his favor.
Because the poison was non-lethal, even if the mastermind behind it was discovered later, the punishment would not be severe.
It was truly a sinister scheme.
Pei Huaijin asked if there was an antidote, but the old physician shook his head, saying it was too late.
“If the poisoning had just occurred, there would be an antidote within three days, but since you’ve been poisoned for nine days, the best you can do now is take medicine to alleviate the symptoms and take care of your body. Maybe…”
The physician sighed and comforted him, “Look on the bright side. Fortunately, it was discovered. If it had gone unnoticed and the toxin had spread freely, you might have broken down in three to five months. Now, if you take the medicine and recuperate properly, living a normal life for three to five years should be no problem.”
Three years? Five years?
Even after five years, he wouldn’t yet be thirty. Shen Youran was still young, but he would have become a helpless invalid.
Perhaps because he had already guessed this while seeking medical help, Pei Huaijin’s initial reaction was not fear, but absurdity.
He had only been shot by an arrow that barely grazed his arm—a three-inch wound that didn’t seem to matter much. Life should have continued as usual; his health was not compromised. Yet now, he was told he had only a limited time left.
It felt as if Death had played a cruel joke on him.
But this joke was not funny at all.
“Although there is no antidote now, maybe in a few years one will be found. You must keep your spirits up and not succumb to despair.”
The physician’s encouraging words drifted like smoke past Pei Huaijin’s ears—light and insubstantial, failing to register.
After leaving the clinic, he fell silent and boarded the carriage, saying nothing all the way back to the Pei residence. Only when they arrived at the gate did his anxiety begin to fade.
He looked at the medicinal herbs in Qingjian’s hands and finally said, “Tell them these are for your own use. Keep my poisoning a secret for now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Junzhi Courtyard.
Shen Youran sat at the table filled with dishes, resting her chin on her hand as she waited for Pei Huaijin to come eat.
She didn’t know where he had gone. After the evening meal was served, she sent Danruo to look for him in the study but found no trace. When she asked the servants, they said he had left with Qingjian.
Since he hadn’t left any message for her, she assumed he would return soon.
So Shen Youran decided to wait for him to eat dinner together.
Who knew that wait stretched into more than an hour.
The food grew cold, then warm, then cold again as it was reheated three times. Shen Youran was truly hungry and finally told Danruo to serve herself some and started eating on her own.
Later, she picked up a pear and went to Pei Huaijin’s study, flipping through the year-end supply list that the steward had just reported.
She had only bitten halfway into the pear when the study door was pushed open.
Pei Huaijin shook off the cold from his cloak and walked in.
“Where did you go?”
“I accompanied Qingjian to the clinic.”
“I left you dinner. I’ll have someone reheat it…”
“No need,” Pei Huaijin replied. His appetite was genuinely gone. “I ate outside.”
Shen Youran scrunched her nose and mock-scolded him, “Hey, you ate without inviting me?”
“Hm, next time I’ll bring you along.” Pei Huaijin approached her, turned her gently around with one hand, and leaned down to trap her in his arms.
Leaning against the desk, Shen Youran took a bite of her pear and noticed his gaze was strange.
Deep. Affectionate.
From experience, when he looked at her with such a gaze, the next move was almost always…
“Want some pear?” he suddenly asked.
“Mm, very sweet.” She brought it to his lips. “Try it.”
But he didn’t bite the pear; instead, he took it and placed it on the table.
As she expected, the next moment—
Perhaps because it was so cold outside, his lips were icy and trembling slightly when he pressed them to hers. His tongue probed in, a burning and freezing sensation at once.
Shen Youran understood this was a normal kiss. She tilted her head obediently and accepted it.
At first, it was gentle, but gradually the trembling subsided, and the pressure of lips and teeth grew heavier. His breath became more chaotic against her face.
Their breathing intertwined, the sweetness of the pear replaced by his taste. Shen Youran’s neck grew sore from tilting back, and she pushed him away.
“Stop kissing me. I still have things to do tonight.”
Pei Huaijin lowered his eyes to her lips, flushed and parting. “What do you have to do?”
“New Year is coming. There’s a lot to buy, and we have to finalize everything tonight.”
“Okay.” Pei Huaijin wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up, so she sat on his lap. “See, I’m keeping you company.”
His large hand circled her waist, and his chin rested in the hollow of her shoulder. His breath brushed lightly, then more heavily, against her ear.
Shen Youran felt inexplicably that he was different tonight—stickier than usual.
“You don’t have things to do?” she asked. “Didn’t you say you had official duties?”
“Not urgent.”
At this moment, there was no way Pei Huaijin could think about official business. A man who saw ten steps ahead as clearly as he did already knew about the incurable poison in his body. On the way home, he had even contemplated where he would be buried.
A wave of bitterness washed over him—holding her like this, living a proper life… there were only a few years left.
Shen Youran didn’t know his thoughts but knew he was always strict with himself and more disciplined than anyone else. Since he said it wasn’t urgent, she need not worry.
So she focused back on the list.
Counting the number of people in the household, she found some quantities didn’t add up and dipped her brush in vermilion ink to correct them.
Pei Huaijin was silent, watching her write and occasionally glancing at her face. Her pen traced the paper while his hands grew restless and began to draw and trace on her body.
At some point, he lifted her skirt, bunching it at her waist. His large hands grew even more impish.
Shen Youran turned to scold him but was caught by a sudden kiss.
“Hey, don’t distract me…”
“Mm, okay.” He agreed, but his hands did not stop.
Since the last time he teased her in the study, he seemed to enjoy stirring her up this way.
With only two pages left to review, she twisted his thigh with one hand.
“Hold on a bit longer, then we’ll go to the bedchamber and…”
She hastened her corrections, and he fidgeted as well.
Just before finishing the last page, her body was suddenly lifted, then firmly pinned down.
“You…” Startled by her legs being lifted, her body wobbled, and her brush dipped freshly in vermilion ink smudged a red blot on the paper. She scolded, “Can’t you wait a little longer?”
“Sorry.” He pressed tightly from behind. “If I don’t move, you can write slowly.”
As if that were the question—how could she steady her brush with such an intrusive presence?
Her hand trembled, and the characters she wrote looked like wriggling worms.
“No, I can’t write like this…”
His long arms circled her, grasped her hand, and he leaned forward.
“I’ll help you write.”
Shen Youran was forced to lean in closer, their bodies fitting more tightly together.
Finally, he guided her hand, carefully finishing the corrections on the last page.
He put down the brush on the brush rest and pulled her into a standing embrace.
Her feet finally touched the ground, but she couldn’t straighten up because he held her waist. She had to prop herself against the desk, staring at the ripples spreading in the ink stone’s shallow pool of vermilion ink.
On the desk, a green-glazed string-patterned vase held several sprigs of plum blossoms, freshly cut that afternoon by Shen Youran. The blossoms had been blooming for days, and the season was nearing its end. She had managed to find a few unopened buds and placed them in the vase, hoping to enjoy their gentle fragrance a little longer.
But now, it seemed these flowers could not be preserved either. As the desk shook, petals twirled and fell, scattering like shards of snow on the pristine silk cloth.
Then Shen Youran was flipped onto her back, lying among the cold-scented petals.
Suddenly, the study door was blown open by the wind, a cold gust rushing in and scattering the petals further.
Shen Youran shivered and exclaimed, “You didn’t latch the door?”
Pei Huaijin paused. “I forgot.”
He had been distracted on the way in and had closed the door carelessly without latching it.
But inside, there was an emptiness as if a part of him had been hollowed out, aching so badly he needed to be wrapped in her embrace.
He hadn’t expected the wind to be so strong that the door blew open.
Shen Youran pushed him. “Go close the door.”
“Okay.” He agreed but did not hurry to leave. Instead, he bent down, took her soft arms, and looped them around his neck. Then he lifted her by the waist.
Shen Youran let out a low breath and instinctively wrapped her arms around him. “Are you crazy?”
She wasn’t frail, but hanging on him like that meant his arms were bearing a heavy load. With his shoulder injury still unhealed, wouldn’t this make it worse?
“Put me down. Your injury can’t take this.”
The injury did worsen, but Pei Huaijin didn’t care. Maybe more bleeding would dilute the poison.
Like a pendant, Shen Youran bounced against the jade pendant at his waist as he carried her to the door.
When the door closed, she was pressed against it.
Shen Youran finally realized something was truly wrong with him today. She cupped his face and asked, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
He refused to answer and silenced her questioning with a kiss.
Perhaps from managing household affairs recently, Shen Youran, who never liked to overthink, now found herself habitually digging deeper when facing problems.
Moreover, Pei Huaijin was her husband. She could perceive even the slightest changes in him.
Although he seemed no different than usual—perhaps even more disciplined, insisting on morning exercise despite his shoulder injury—Shen Youran felt he was being too harsh on himself.
He was definitely hiding something from her.
No matter how much she asked, he only smiled and said it was nothing, urging her not to worry.
The more he said that, the more she worried.
He said he accompanied Qingjian to the clinic that day, but had seemed off afterward. Was Qingjian unwell again?
So Shen Youran instructed Danruo to keep an eye on Qingjian and found that Qingjian had resumed taking medicine, morning and evening doses.
Before, he only took herbal decoctions, but now he was back on stronger medicine.
Qingjian’s condition was clearly deteriorating again.
But something didn’t add up.
The last time Qingjian had an incident, Pei Huaijin hid it from her because something was amiss. He’d been distracted and cold toward her at night.
This time was different. Since that day, Pei Huaijin had been clingier than ever, holding her tightly at night until late into the early hours. In just a few nights, they had practically studied those erotic paintings cover to cover.
Shen Youran couldn’t understand why Pei Huaijin pressed her so insistently at night when Qingjian was ill.
It felt very wrong. Surely it wasn’t just Qingjian’s condition.
She must be misunderstanding.
Knowing she couldn’t figure this out alone, Shen Youran decided to visit Qingjian after the New Year when things calmed down. She was determined to uncover the truth.
She brought a flask of warm wine to help Qingjian warm up.
Qingjian declined, saying he was on medication and shouldn’t drink.
Shen Youran decided to try a little trick.
“Actually, my husband told me…”
Qingjian was stunned. “Your husband told you? I thought it was supposed to be kept secret.”
“He didn’t say much, but I think it’s worse than he let on.” Shen Youran fixed her gaze on Qingjian’s eyes and saw him avoid her gaze. She pressed on, “Qingjian, I’ve always treated you like family. When you risked your life protecting me last time, I was so grateful. I don’t want you to keep things from me.”
If Qingjian was truly unwell, she wanted to do something for him—the man who had once saved her life.
Qingjian felt guilty for making Pei Huaijin bear the burden alone and, hearing Shen Youran’s heartfelt words, he admitted, “Young Madam, I promised my lord to keep this a secret…”
That statement meant if she pushed a little harder, he might reveal the whole truth.
“Even I have to be kept in the dark?” Shen Youran feigned disappointment. “You really don’t consider me one of your own.”
“No, Young Madam.” Since her visit to the clinic, he had fully accepted her as Pei Huaijin’s wife.
Well, since her husband had told her some of it already, why not reveal a little more, and let her figure out the rest?
“Actually, my husband’s body… can only last three to five years…”
Shen Youran was stunned. It wasn’t Qingjian who was ill, but Pei Huaijin.
“Then… what happens after three to five years?”
“After three to five years, he… won’t make it.”
“What do you mean by won’t make it?”
“Please don’t ask more, Young Madam. This is all I can tell you.” Qingjian felt uneasy betraying his lord but poured a cup of wine and drank it down. “Please keep this to yourself.”
“Okay, thank you.” Shen Youran stood there in a daze, then left Qingjian’s residence.
Danruo and Qinghe waited outside. Seeing their mistress looked dazed and distracted, they hurriedly asked, “Young Madam, are you alright?”
“I’m fine…” Shen Youran waved her hand but felt unsettled. It was only after returning to Junzhi Courtyard that she managed a faint smile.
“Sigh, it’s not such a big deal.” She patted her chest, letting out a breath.
Before seeing Qingjian, she had imagined the worst—that Qingjian was dying. But Qingjian was fine; it was Pei Huaijin who had the problem.
Seeing Qingjian’s evasiveness, Shen Youran recalled what Liang Xu had said at the Shen family’s house—that he had overheard the imperial physician say Pei Huaijin could not survive.
He had been serious then and had even dared say it in Pei Huaijin’s presence. He wasn’t lying.
Indeed, Qingjian’s confirmation proved it: Pei Huaijin’s body could only hold on for three to five years.
So after three to five years, her husband would no longer live a humane life.
No wonder he had been so insistent at night lately—worried about not knowing if he’d have a tomorrow.
Really, with his body like this, and still going for acupuncture—wasn’t he afraid he wouldn’t be able to have children in three years?
Shen Youran felt both anger and amusement at once.