"Shut up, this is a complete decoction for clearing heat." Shen Ling'er said calmly, "Three qian of Coptis chinensis, three qian of Andrographis paniculata, two qian each of Phellodendron chinense, Gardenia jasminoides, Rehmannia glutinosa, and Scrophularia ningpoensis, plus one qian of Glycyrrhiza uralensis for flavoring."
Gu Moran stared at the one qian of licorice root.
"One mace of licorice root, what flavor should it be used to make?"
"Tune your temper."
Shen Ling'er pushed the bowl forward again, her eyes following his face all the way down to his neck.
"Your Highness, look at yourself, your face is as red as if you've just been pulled out of the fireplace. Your pulse has been rapid and strong these past few days. After all that commotion last night, you still dared to sway back and walk up to me this morning."
"My blood and energy are sufficient."
"It's good to have enough Qi and blood," Shen Ling'er said, "But your fire, besides doing those things, needs somewhere to go, otherwise your energy might become disordered."
Gu Moran out laughing.
" Ling'er, where did you learn this word?"
"It's not in medical books, I came up with it myself." Shen Ling'er raised an eyebrow. "Don't you always say that if you can't find a ready-made explanation, you should just make one up yourself?"
Gu Moran had no reply.
He took half a step forward.
Shen Ling'er didn't move.
He took another half step forward, and the bowl of medicine was placed between the two of them.
Shen Ling'er then realized that her back was pressed against a pillar.
The pillar was round and cool; the heat seeped through my coat.
She tried to move aside, but Gu Moran blocked her way by bracing one hand against a pillar.
"Your Highness," she said in a low voice, "The medicine is getting cold."
"It's just right when it's cooled down; it's too hot to drink."
Gu Moran lowered his head.
Shen Ling'er felt a sudden darkness before her eyes, and then a very light touch on her lips.
Her hand trembled, and the bowl of black soup sloshed around inside, a drop landing conspicuously on her sleeve.
Gu Moran straightened up and picked off the drop of medicine residue from her sleeve.
"Hmm," he said, "This medicine isn't as sweet as the one on your lips, madam."
The corridor fell silent for a moment.
Shen Ling'er's face turned red starting from her neck, then up to her ears, and finally to the corners of her eyes.
Holding the bowl in both hands, she couldn't retreat, nor could she throw it away, so she could only shove the bowl against his chest.
"Drink!"
Gu Moran took the bowl and ate half of it in one bite.
Coptis chinensis is truly bitter; the bitterness travels from the back of the tongue all the way to the back of the head.
He closed his eyes and forced down the other half of the bowl, even pouring the last bit of medicine residue from the bottom of the bowl into his mouth. Finally, he turned the empty bowl upside down to show her.
"Done. I'll come to your place tonight."
Shen Ling'er snatched the bowl, her face still flushed, and stomped her foot on the blue brick.
"You're so unreliable!"
"But I drank it properly, didn't I?"
"Go to the study after you finish drinking." Shen Ling'er hugged the bowl to her arms, backing away as she pointed at him, "No running around today."
What am I going to the study for?
"Sitting down, copying the drug prohibition."
"I have already copied it."
"Last time you copied down the contraindications for taking medicine," Shen Ling'er said. "Today you'll copy down the contraindications for sexual intercourse."
Gu Moran almost choked on her breath.
Shen Ling'er turned and walked away with the bowl in her arms, but suddenly looked back when she reached the end of the corridor.
Her ears were still red, but her voice lowered a little.
"The candied fruit is in the second dish on the desk in the study." After saying this, she picked up the bowl and quickly turned into the hallway, her steps much faster than usual.
Gu Moran stood there, suppressing the bitterness on her tongue, and chuckled.
Lin Qingdai's door was still bolted in the distance. Murong Xue cursed something through the door from the other side of the hall, but it was unclear.
Uncle Fu trotted over from the front yard and spoke before he even got close.
"Your Highness, the one down in the dungeon is about to start carrying buckets again. Tuoba Mang is waiting for your word."
The dungeon was shrouded in darkness; the oil lamp had burned down to its second burner, and the wick was askew.
Pu Yunshan squatted at the end of the aisle, the rag in his hand so worn that its original color was no longer discernible.
This is what he's been living these past two days.
Before dawn, Tuoba Mang dragged him from his bed and made him first choose buckets from twelve public toilets in the south of the city. In the afternoon, he returned to the old palace and then chose buckets from the dungeon.
After selecting the bricks, you still have to wipe them, wiping each brick one by one, until late afternoon.
His blue robe had two tears at the shoulder seams, which he haphazardly sewed up with hemp thread.
The smell seeped into my hair, sleeves, and shoes; even after washing three times, the odor remained.
Three feet above their heads, eight people were hanging upside down.
The rope was tied around his ankles, his hands were chained behind his back, and his face was purple.
Eight pairs of eyes looked up at him, watching him squat on the ground wiping the bricks, watching him carry the bucket and walk past them.
The leader of the suicide squad has stopped shouting since yesterday.
His lips were chapped, his jaw was clenched, and his eyes followed Pu Yunshan.
Pu Yunshan sighed, finished wiping the last brick, draped the rag over the rim of the bucket, and straightened up.
Hold on, just one more day, and we'll definitely find out what happened at the Prince's residence!
In the backyard of the Provincial Surveillance Commissioner's residence, it was just getting dark.
Zhao Wuxu soaked in hot water twice in his room, used three layers of fragrant herbs to mask the lingering smell on his body, and then specially changed into a plain moon-white robe, the cuffs of which were frayed.
Not satisfied with that, he used his fingernail to hook out two more thread ends.
The face in the mirror was excessively pale, so he wiped his eyes with his wet hand to make his eyelids look tired.
Before leaving, he put his left leg on the ground and tried taking two steps. Feeling that his limp wasn't convincing enough, he lowered his knee even further and dragged his foot forward.
He took a breath with each step, the sound not too loud, just enough for the maid keeping watch under the eaves to hear.
Four horn lamps were lit in Lady Wang's room, and the charcoal brazier burned brightly. As soon as Zhao Wuxu entered, the warmth rushed out, and his eyes immediately turned red.
"Your son has come to pay his respects to Madam."
He gripped the door frame, his leg buckled, and he slumped halfway down, but managed to stay upright.
Lady Wang was having her maid remove her hairpins when she heard this sound, and her hand froze in mid-air.
What happened to your leg?
"It's nothing," Zhao Wuxu chuckled lightly. "A few days ago, I was running errands in the south of the city when someone pushed me, and I hit my head on a rock. My godfather said I didn't know my own strength and should be punished, and I dared not argue."
Lady Wang placed the hairpin on the dressing table, then got up to help him, saying, "It's his usual routine."
Zhao Wuxu sat down following her force, then immediately got up and went around to the back of Lady Wang's chair.
"Has your shoulder been hurting again these past few days, Madam?"
Before he could reply, he had already placed both hands on her.
Zhao Wuxu's hands were truly skilled.
Back when he was struggling to make a living among the illegitimate sons of the Zhao Clan family, he massaged the shoulders of the mistress for seven years. He knew exactly which tendon to press with his thumb, when to relax, and when to push downwards—he could do it all with his eyes closed.
Lady Wang, who had been tense, sighed after three strokes, and her shoulders slumped.
"Your skills... are far superior to those of the old women in the manor."
"The old women don't know where Madam hurts," Zhao Wuxu said in a low voice. "I do know. Madam's shoulder pain isn't from an injury; it's because something's on her mind, and she's holding onto resentment, unable to let it go."
The charcoal fire in the brazier popped.
Lady Wang remained silent.
Zhao Wuxu continued pressing, but when he reached the thirtieth press, his hand suddenly stopped, followed by a very soft gasp, as if he couldn't help but bite down again.
"What's wrong? Your leg hurts again?"
"It's nothing." He turned his face to the side, just enough for the light to illuminate the corners of his teary eyes. "My son is just... sometimes I just can't understand him."
What are you thinking about?
"My godfather has recognized me as his son, so my life belongs to him. As for the matter in the south of the city, I wanted to investigate the Prince Yi's Residence's mansion for him. I thought that if I could find out something, my godfather would be able to stand more firmly in Jiannan Circuit."
But I messed it up, and my godfather said I acted on my own and wanted to take my travel permit money.
Zhao Wuxu's hand slowly began to move again, but with less force than before.
"The son dares not complain. It's just... it's just that sometimes at night I wonder, does my godfather really see me as a son, or just as a gofer?"
When he said the word "son," his voice trembled slightly at the end.