"What?" Xue Xianxin paused in surprise, casting a sideways glance at Zhuo Qing, utterly dismissive of her presence, and impatiently snapped, "What lunatic dares wreak havoc in the Prime Minister's mansion? Drive her out at once!"
"Stop!" Lou Xiwu pointed at Zhuo Qing, shouting fiercely, "She is my brother's woman—who dares expel her!?"
Though she despised this ugly woman too, Xue Xianxin was far more detestable. Today, she was determined to confront her! The servants exchanged uneasy glances, while Zhuo Qing's expression darkened. It was the first time she had been labeled as someone's woman, and that title felt utterly... ridiculous.
To humble this madam's arrogance and conveniently gain entry into the inner chambers, Zhuo Qing cleared her throat lightly and smiled, "My name is Qing Feng. Legend has it I am the Emperor's bestowed consort to Lou Xiyan. If there is no official wife, and the concubine is the lady of the house, then madam, the mistress of this residence has now changed."
"Bestowed by the Emperor?!" Xue Xianxin scoffed derisively, sneering, "Nonsense! You, this hideous woman, could never be the Emperor's favored consort to Xiyan."
Feigning a dramatic frown, Zhuo Qing exclaimed in mock horror, "Are you questioning the discerning eye of Emperor Qiong Yue?"
"I—I... I am questioning you!" That damned woman—who exactly was she?
Understanding the situation, Zhuo Qing cast an innocent look and tossed the question to Jing Sa, "Jing Sa, perhaps you'd better answer this."
This time, Jing Sa cooperated unusually well, replying coldly, "Second Madam, she is indeed Qing Feng, the lady bestowed by the Emperor to the master."
Xue Xianxin faltered, utterly unprepared for the truth: this woman was truly the radiant beauty granted to Xiyan by imperial favor. Regardless of her looks, her temperament was far from submissive and easily bullied. She could not allow her to rise in status.
Waving dismissively, Xue Xianxin adopted a magnanimous tone, "Very well, since you are the Emperor's consort, I shall not trouble you further. But I am Xiyan's mother, wife of the Western General. With me here, the position of mistress is not yours to claim. Enough, return to your quarters."
Was this second madam giving her an exit? Zhuo Qing smiled wryly; if she weren't intent on uncovering Lou Xiyan's secrets, she wouldn't have bothered to argue. Hungry and unwilling to waste time, she retorted curtly, "Second Madam, if I recall correctly, this is not a general's mansion but the residence of the Prime Minister. Naturally, the Prime Minister's woman is the mistress. As for you, a mother, perhaps it's best to enjoy your twilight years."
"You—you—you..." Red-faced with fury, Xue Xianxin was too flustered to speak properly. Zhuo Qing smiled softly, clicking her tongue, "Please take good care of your health! I shall go in and see Xiyan; you should rest."
Without another word, she strode ahead. Xue Xianxin, furious to the point of near collapse, was mocked by Lou Xiwu's loud laughter as she chased after Zhuo Qing into the pavilion.
Fixating on the leisurely retreating figure, Xue Xianxin's eyes blazed with venomous hatred. Her clenched fists dug sharp nails into her palms. You, Qing Feng! We shall see who outlives whom!
Unfazed by the hateful gaze behind her, Zhuo Qing reached the door and softly spoke to the old imperial physician, who was frozen at the scene's absurdity, "Doctor, I'll just observe from the outer hall, I won't disturb your treatment."
Yang Mu finally came to his senses and nodded hurriedly, "Very well."
Though her beauty was marred, her innate grace remained. Sharp-tongued yet empathetic and reasonable, it was clear she was no ordinary girl. Having witnessed countless palace intrigues, Yang Mu knew well that discretion was key to survival.
The door creaked open, and Zhuo Qing stepped inside first. Opposite the entrance was a simple reception area with chairs and a few hanging paintings. Beyond a large screen, the inner room appeared even more spacious but the details were blurred.
The imperial physician and apprentice moved further in, while Zhuo Qing and Lou Xiwu waited outside. Peering through the screen, the flickering candlelight revealed Mo Bai standing vigilantly by the bedside, and the old doctor taking the patient's pulse. The labored breathing sounded like a severe asthma attack, but without seeing the patient, Zhuo Qing withheld judgment.
Bored standing outside, Zhuo Qing glanced at Lou Xiwu, who stared unblinking into the room, and asked, "Does he have frequent episodes?"
Perhaps grateful for Zhuo Qing's earlier support, Lou Xiwu's impression softened slightly as she replied quietly, "Usually in springtime. He is fine otherwise. When he falls ill, he cannot catch his breath like this."
"How long has this been going on?"
Lou Xiwu grew restless, "Since childhood. Despite years of treatment, no improvement."
Since childhood? That ruled out malingering, but congenital asthma shouldn't flare seasonally, Zhuo Qing pondered silently.
Suddenly, urgent gasps and bustling noises erupted from inside.
"Master!" Mo Bai's anxious call was followed by Lou Xiwu rushing in without hesitation. Zhuo Qing hesitated briefly but followed.
The inner chamber was brightly lit by candlelight. An impossibly large bed lay draped with thick long-haired silk quilts, the snow-white covers making Lou Xiyan's already pale face appear even more ghostly.
He lay supine, breathing erratically—shallow and harsh—his hand clenched tightly on his chest, sweat pouring down his forehead and cheeks. His half-bound black hair was drenched.
Each breath caused violent tremors throughout his frame.
This was no pretense.
"Brother..." Lou Xiwu wept uncontrollably.
Recalling his vigorous and spirited demeanor from earlier that day, Zhuo Qing struggled to accept this frailty, let alone Lou Xiwu.
Yang Mu pressed on Lou Xiyan and shouted, "Quick, fetch my needles!"
"Right!" The apprentice scrambled to find the silver needles and handed them over.
But Yang Mu hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Lou Xiyan's violent movements with every breath made it nearly impossible to insert needles. A single misplaced point could be fatal.
Caught in uncertainty, Yang Mu faltered.
Shaking her head in resignation amid astonished gazes, Zhuo Qing stepped onto the bed, crawling to Lou Xiyan's inner side. Half-kneeling beside him, she placed her hands on his shoulders, attempting to support him.
Despite his lean frame, his muscles were surprisingly strong and heavy.
Struggling, Zhuo Qing addressed Mo Bai, "Blue eyes, help me sit him up."
Mo Bai's deep eyes flickered with doubt but Zhuo Qing growled impatiently, "If you don't want him to die, hurry!"
After a moment's hesitation, Mo Bai lifted Lou Xiyan upright.
Once seated, Zhuo Qing tore open his closed clothes, one hand massaging his back, the other pressing against his exposed chest...
Suddenly, Lou Xiyan grasped Zhuo Qing's wrist. His slender eyes snapped wide open, locking with hers.
For a moment, Zhuo Qing felt disoriented. His gaze, sometimes gentle as spring breeze, sometimes cunning and calculating, now resembled a fathomless abyss, deep enough to unsettle her soul.
Sweat from his brow trickled down, dripping onto Zhuo Qing's arm.
Her hand trembled at the touch; his grip tightened.
Unlike the cold gentleness he displayed by day, his hold now was fierce, his palm burning as if on fire.