A letter arrived in the early morning, carried by an imperial messenger dressed in deep jade.
Yueli was in the apothecary wing, grinding magnolia bark when the steward brought it to her, his expression unreadable.
The seal was unmistakable: Xu Jin's insignia, stamped in wax.
She opened it slowly, her fingers careful, her breath tight.
Lady Shen,
There is a matter regarding the Emperor's health and an ongoing dispute between court physicians. I recalled your past insights on qi obstruction and humoral balance, and humbly request your presence as a consulting voice at the next court assembly.
With respect,
Xu Jin
For a long moment, she simply stared at the page.
It had been years since anyone had addressed her by her maiden title.
Even longer since anyone had asked for her mind.
….
By late afternoon, the estate stirred with the news.
"She's going to the court?" Lin Suyin scoffed. "To sit beside scholars and speak of medicine, as if she were one of them?"
Madam Lin sniffed. "Let her go. Let them see what folly it is to place a woman beside men of rank."
Lin Minhua raised an eyebrow. "Unless she impresses them. Then she may climb even higher." She chuckled. "Careful, brother. Xu Jin might make a case for her in court—and take her away while he's at it."
Yuan said nothing.
He had overheard the conversation by accident—or perhaps, he had lingered just long enough to hear what he feared.
….
The next day, as Yueli prepared to leave for the assembly, the estate watched in varying degrees of disbelief, disdain, and curiosity.
She wore a simple robe of soft blue, the pattern of a flying crane embroidered at the hem—a quiet echo of her old home. Her hair was pinned with a single jade comb. There were no jewels, no grandeur.
Only presence.
Yuan saw her briefly in the courtyard before she stepped into the carriage. Their eyes met—briefly.
He had meant to say something. Be careful, perhaps. Or, You'll do well.
But the words stuck in his throat like dry thorns.
And she was gone.
….
The imperial court was nothing like the cold halls of the Lin estate.
There, Yueli spoke once—then again—her voice sure, her reasoning precise.
The physicians nodded. Ministers leaned forward. Even the Crown Prince himself asked a question.
Xu Jin stood nearby, quietly pleased.
When she finished, there was a moment of silence.
Then applause.
Just enough to echo.
Yueli bowed, composed.
But inside, something flickered—a quiet ache. Not pride. Not triumph.
Sadness.
That it felt like the first time in years that someone had truly seen her.
….
That night, back at the estate, she returned to her chambers quietly. She said nothing to the servants. Declined supper.
When the door shut behind her, she stood in the center of the room, surrounded by silence.
Then slowly, carefully, she sank to the floor.
And for the first time in a long time—
She wept.
But only briefly.
A single sound. A single breath. The only thing she would allow herself.
Then she rose, wiped her face, and resumed her stillness.
….
Across the compound, Yuan sat alone in his study, the same letter from Xu Jin crumpled in his hand.
He had thought she would fail.
But she hadn't.
And something in him—something too old and too buried—twisted with shame.
And something else.
Fear.