Chapter Sixty-Nine: Hesitation

Song Ci was drenched in sweat from the pain, her body trembling, yet she grit her teeth and endured, her tightly pressed lips letting out faint, broken groans.

Hong You took a clean cotton cloth to wipe her sweat and glanced at Lin Qing, who was holding a needle. “Doctor Lin, is there no gentler method? The Lady seems to be suffering too much.”

“As the saying goes, where there is pain, there is obstruction. Most of the Lady’s meridians are blocked. When the needle is applied suddenly, pain is inevitable. Once they are gradually cleared, it will be much easier,” Lin Qing replied softly, looking at Song Ci. “Lady, you needn’t force yourself to endure. If it hurts, you may cry out.”

Song Ci responded feebly, “Cry out for what? Should I yell at the heavens for tormenting me? No matter how loudly I shout, it won’t help—the pain remains. I might as well save my breath. Oh, it hurts, Doctor Lin, please be gentle.”

Lin Qing nearly laughed, glanced at the hourglass, and said, “If that’s the case, please bear with it a little longer. In thirty breaths, the needles can be withdrawn.”

Madam Gong walked in from outside. “Lady, the Prime Minister has come to pay his respects.”

“It’s so late, what’s he doing here? Send him back. I’ve got the needles in, no strength to talk to him.” Song Ci had no desire to waste energy dealing with her eldest son, that cunning master.

“He is filial, Lady. He won’t rest easy until he sees you well,” Madam Gong explained.

Song Ci sighed. That’s how people are—no matter how you try to avoid them, you can’t.

…

Song Zhiyuan slowly sipped his tea, still pondering the words of Master Jinghui. Was the benefactor of the Song family truly in this very room?

He recalled how, a year ago, Master Jinghui had prophesied disaster—the Song family would face the calamity of destruction, and the turning point lay in whether they could meet their benefactor this year. The prediction had shocked him so deeply he broke into cold sweat, and he had hidden the secret in the depths of his heart, telling no one.

Destruction of the family—what could bring such tragedy upon the Songs? Only some great event: rebellion, treason, involvement in a struggle for the throne. Yet none of these had occurred.

He was loyal to the Emperor of Chu, the most steadfast supporter of the crown. As for succession, although the heir had yet to be named, the Emperor was in his prime, and his sons—the eldest only eighteen, the youngest still swaddled and just a month old. Though there had been calls in the court to name a crown prince, they were all mere rumblings.

He simply couldn’t fathom where things had gone wrong.

As he pondered, someone stepped out from behind the screen. Song Zhiyuan looked up and stood.

“Mother.” He stepped forward to help Song Ci, his gaze briefly passing over the face of an unfamiliar woman.

Song Ci, utterly spent, settled onto the Luohan couch. “You’re busy. No need to come and pay your respects. Your wife found Doctor Lin for me—she stays by my side, so you can focus on your political affairs without worrying about me.”

Political affairs? What nonsense.

Song Zhiyuan was baffled, but smiled gently. “No matter how busy I am, I must pay my respects to you, Mother. Is this Doctor Lin?”

Lin Qing looked up, curtseyed to Song Zhiyuan. “Lin Qing greets the Prime Minister.”

“How is my mother’s health?”

Lin Qing smiled mildly. “The Lady is quite well. With proper care, she will be completely fine.”

A very official answer.

Song Zhiyuan knew the weight of such words; no doctor would guarantee perfect health, not even someone like Chief Physician Lu.

He observed Lin Qing—her eyes lowered, demeanor neither humble nor arrogant. For a moment, he couldn’t be certain if she was the benefactor Master Jinghui had spoken of.

Whether she was or not, she had arrived at the right time—and so must be treated with utmost respect.

“I entrust my mother’s care to you, Doctor Lin.”

Lin Qing was slightly surprised by this, looked up at Song Zhiyuan, and nodded. “I will do my utmost.”