Chapter 23: Taking the Pulse

Shen Qingyun’s expression was icy cold as she stood up and said to Hanyu, “Let’s go.” The group returned in silence to the Reed Courtyard before Shen Qingyun finally asked, “Hanyu, what happened?”

Hanyu half-knelt on the ground. “Miss, it was my negligence. At the hour of the Dog, a maid secretly brought food to Fu’an. Fu’an must have trusted her, so she ate some. Everything seemed normal at the time, but by the hour of the Pig, she began to suffer stomach pains.”

“Which courtyard is that maid from?”

“I don’t know her, but I kept an eye on her and saw that she met with the steward who serves the Duke.”

Shen Qingyun’s fingers pressed into her palm. “That courtyard where Fu’an was kept—there was no one around. That must have been his doing as well.”

There was no need to say who “he” was.

“That’s enough, you may go now.” Shen Qingyun waved her hand. Hanyu gave her a glance, her eyes clouded and unreadable, and then disappeared.

Shen Qingyun rubbed her temples, her eyes filled with sarcasm. Earlier, she had worried that Shen Zhifeng might harm Fu’an. She hadn’t expected him to be so ruthless.

Shen Zhifeng knew well enough—after all, that was his own flesh and blood, and now, both mother and child were lost.

But what mattered most at this moment were the two sentences Fu’an had spoken before her death.

Fu’an must have realized it too—that Shen Zhifeng wanted her dead. And as the saying goes, a dying person speaks only the truth.

The first sentence she understood, but what did the second mean?

Madam… doctor…

Shen Qingyun’s heart trembled. Could it mean that her mother needed a doctor? Unconsciously, her thoughts drifted to her past life. Her mother had been frail but generally healthy—how had she withered away so quickly?

She must remain calm!

Shen Qingyun forced herself to suppress her worry and anger. There was still time. If Shen Zhifeng truly intended to harm her mother, she would never rest until one of them was dead.

With these thoughts, Shen Qingyun slowly drifted into sleep.

In her dreams, she seemed to relive her past life—confined to the rear courtyard of the Marquis of Jiang’s estate, never seeing the light of day, clinging to life. Her dream self stood in that dim room, gazing out the window, then turned around. Her sallow, emaciated face was devoid of vitality.

When the morning light finally crept in, Shen Qingyun awakened. She lifted her slender, fair fingers and let out a sigh of relief.

Yicui had already been waiting. Seeing her awake, she assisted her with her toilette and whispered, “Miss, Fu’an is gone.”

Shen Qingyun paused, unable to hold back her question. “How did she die?”

“I heard that a matron went to check on her this morning and found her cold. No one knows the details, but the word around the manor is that Fu’an took her own life out of shame.”

Shen Qingyun said nothing. The life of a maid was worth little—enough for a few days’ gossip, but soon, it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

When Master Xu arrived at the manor, he too had heard the rumors. Yet, observing Shen Qingyun’s composed demeanor, untroubled by the outside world, he was quite pleased.

During this period, Shen Qingyun had made rapid progress, especially with the zither. While her technique was not yet polished, her playing was always rich with emotion and depth, often moving listeners.

Master Xu smiled and asked, “Qingyun, in another month and a half, it will be the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet. By custom, many noble ladies will perform. Have you prepared anything?”

Shen Qingyun shook her head. “There are countless talented women in the capital. I’d rather not embarrass myself.”

These performances, under the guise of celebration, were really a chance for the young women to be seen—after all, the princes and noble sons would all be present. If one’s performance stood out, she might catch an important eye.

But in this life, Shen Qingyun had long since lost hope for marriage.

This conversation reached Shen Sisi’s ears, and she pinched her maid fiercely. “Wretched girl! Why must I marry into the declining Marquis of Jiang’s house, while Shen Qingyun prepares for the palace banquet?”

Lately, Shen Sisi had kept to her rooms, hoping that people would quickly forget the scandal between her and Jiang Lin, biding her time for another chance to shine.

But her father’s attitude puzzled her. He had promised to help her break off the engagement by using Shen Qingyun, but recently, he’d made no move at all.

Shen Sisi’s little schemes were not something Shen Qingyun had time to consider.

After finishing her lessons, Shen Qingyun couldn’t resist heading to the Warm Jade Pavilion.

Madam Han was dressed in a cross-collared robe embroidered with clustered osmanthus blossoms, her waist drawn tight, her skirt a deep yellow, adorned at the hem with entwined flowers—gentle and lovely in appearance.

The only flaw was her pallor, which the color of her skirt made all the more pronounced.

“Mother, have you been overexerting yourself? Why do you look so tired?” Shen Qingyun took the account book from Madam Han’s hands and set it aside. Seeing her mother working tirelessly for the Duke’s household, a nameless fury rose in her heart.

Madam Han touched her own cheek and smiled, asking Nanny Chen, “Do I look that bad? I think I’m all right.”

Nanny Chen, knowing the affair with Fu’an had left Madam Han troubled, teased, “It’s only because Miss cares about you, Madam. You really should take things easier and rest more.”

“That’s right, Mother,” Shen Qingyun said, clinging to her mother’s arm and pouting. “You look so unwell. Why not ask the manor physician to check your pulse, so I can be at ease?”

Madam Han thought her daughter was making a fuss over nothing, but her concern was sweet as honey. Unable to resist Shen Qingyun’s coaxing, she summoned the physician.

The physician placed a silk cloth over Madam Han’s wrist and took her pulse carefully. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Madam’s pulse is somewhat weak and floating, and her lips and nails are pale. It’s a case of blood and qi deficiency. I’ll prescribe a nourishing decoction. With rest and good food, she should recover.”

Shen Qingyun couldn’t help but ask, “Is that all? Is there nothing else we should watch for?”

The physician shook his head, but after some hesitation, added, “There is an underlying sign of excess internal heat and an imbalance between upper dryness and lower cold. If this persists, it will surely harm her health. I urge Madam to keep a calm mind.”

Madam Han sighed, rubbed her forehead, and resolved not to dwell on Fu’an’s death any longer. She had indeed been troubled by these matters of late. Nanny Chen followed the physician to fetch the medicine.

Yet Shen Qingyun’s heart grew heavy.

In her past life, before Madam Han died, her pulse had been the same—nothing amiss was found, yet she withered away like a flower deprived of water.

Was it truly nothing, was the physician incompetent, or had he already been bribed by Shen Zhifeng?

Madam Han, even as her head ached, was still poring over the accounts. “They say to rest, but with such a large household and over a hundred people to manage, how can I possibly rest?”

Shen Qingyun frowned as well—how could her mother’s body withstand such strain? Suddenly, inspiration struck her. “Mother, why not let me help? I should learn to manage the household too, and you can take the chance to rest.”