The city was still half-frozen, but spring winds had begun to stir through the lower hills, loosening plum blossoms from bare trees. Outside the estate, in the courtyard of the city's southern clinic, Shen Yueli walked in silence, her cloak drawn close against the chill.
She had been invited—no, summoned—to consult on a noblewoman's persistent illness. She came not as Lady Lin, but as Shen Yueli, daughter of the Shen household, once praised across Luoyang for her knowledge in medicine and philosophy.
Among the clinic's apprentices, there was no laughter at her silences. No cutting looks at her plain robes. Only a respectful hush when she approached the patient's bedside.
"Lady Yueli," the senior physician said, bowing as she stepped closer, "we've followed your recommended regimen, but the fever returns every fourth night."
Yueli studied the young woman's pale wrist, her brow slightly furrowed. "Her pulses are weak in the liver channel," she said after a moment. "And her fingertips are blue—she's been chilled from within."
She turned to the physician. "The dried ginger you used—was it raw or aged?"
The man blinked, and then lowered his gaze. "Raw, I confess. The apothecary lacked the aged root."
"Then she has been treated for heat when the illness stems from cold." Yueli's voice was calm, never sharp. "Boil the decoction again. This time with aged ginger, and cinnamon twig."
She looked once more at the girl in the bed, brushing a strand of damp hair from her brow. "She will sweat tonight. Do not let the draft reach her neck."
The physician bowed deeper. "You honor us."
Yueli didn't reply. Praise no longer stirred her. Not when she returned to a home where none of it mattered. Not when even her brilliance was used only to elevate others.
But here, at least, she could heal. Here, she was useful.
….
Later that evening, as her carriage rattled through the narrow roads home, she leaned her head against the wooden frame and let her thoughts drift—years back, to the moment her feelings first took root.
It had been the autumn of her fifteenth year. Her father had brought General Lin Yuan to a banquet in their home, to discuss military grain logistics and border unrest. She remembered the quiet tension in the air, the way the older men measured words like chess players.
Yuan had not spoken much, but when he did, his words had been precise. Not just clever, but considered. She had watched him as one might study a rare painting—layer by layer, until a full portrait emerged.
After dinner, while the men were still in the hall, she had come across him in the study, poring over her father's maps. She had offered tea. He had accepted, politely.
"You've marked the troop paths here," she had said, pointing at a charcoal line. "But you'll lose wagons on that slope when the rain returns."
He had looked at her, startled at first. Then intrigued.
"You've studied the terrain?"
"I've ridden it."
A pause. A rare smile. "Then the Shen household keeps unexpected treasures."
She had flushed, but only nodded.
That was the moment, she later realized. Not the smile, but the fact that he had listened.
She thought—foolishly—that he had seen her.
That they were equals.
That they could build a life on shared understanding, on mutual respect.
She had not expected love. But it bloomed quietly, like the plum blossoms she used to paint with ink and powder. Fragile. Hopeful.
And so, when the Lin family came to propose the next spring, she said yes without hesitation.
She believed fate had offered her something rare.
Now, she wasn't sure if fate had offered anything at all. Or if it had only taken.
….
When she returned to the Lin estate, it was well past dusk. She entered quietly, passing through the silent garden under moonlight. A soft wind stirred the branches overhead—plum petals drifted down around her, like snow reborn in spring. Then, slowly, she raised her sleeve, and caught one falling blossom in her palm.
"You are late." The Dowager spoke from behind. "A woman of the Lin household going out like a mere commoner and returning late like the women of red district. You should know better." She sneered.
Yueli turned around and bowed. She was used to such words and ridicule by now.
"I was summoned by the Physician of the Finance Minister, Mother. Her daughter was been bed-ridden."
The Dowager said nothing. She knew that these summons and treatments will all work out in the favor of her son one day. She "Hmphed!", turned around and left.
Once, Yueli had believed in what this house could be.
Now, she wasn't sure what she believed.
But she knew who she was.
And she would not fade. She was resolute, this house will not break her!
de.