After crossing the smooth bluestone path in the front courtyard of Nalan Mansion and passing a rockery piled with strange stones—several patches of tender green moss grew between its crevices, while water trickled down from its peak into the small pool below, sending ripples spreading across the surface—Xiao Yan followed Nalan Yanran into a quiet courtyard deep within the residence. Far from the clamor of the front courtyard, it was surrounded by lush green bamboo. The stalks stood straight and tall, while the leaves rustled in the breeze like soft whispers, lending the place a tranquil air. Before the main house at the center of the courtyard, several maids in long green robes with light-green silk sashes hurried past carrying black-lacquered trays. White porcelain medicine bowls on the trays gave off curling steam, and undisguised anxiety showed on their faces. The air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs, mixed with a faint yet unsettling chilling and sinister aura.
"Grandfather is inside. His condition has worsened these past few days. He barely has the strength to open his eyes anymore." As Nalan Yanran pushed open the carved wooden door, her voice carried suppressed worry. The shyness she had displayed at the mansion gates had long since been replaced by anxiety, and even the fingers gripping the handle had turned slightly white. She stepped aside to let Xiao Yan, Hai Bodong, and Qing Lin enter, then followed closely behind them, her eyes fixed on the bed inside and urgency in every step.
The room was simply furnished yet elegant. Its floor was laid with smooth sandalwood planks that made no sound beneath their feet. A set of sandalwood tables and chairs stood against the wall, with writing brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone arranged neatly atop the table. Traces of