Chapter 40
Chapter 40: How Could This Not Be Peaceful Days
Lin Qing Xuan stood outside the door, a bowl of dark medicine cradled in his hands.
His thumb traced the warm rim once, twice. Medicine couldn’t be allowed to cool—once it did, the potency dulled.
Inside, Xiao Man and Dong Chun’s voices rose and fell in lively bursts, threaded with laughter. It didn’t sound like it would end anytime soon.
Lin Qing Xuan’s brows knit.
Through the window lattice, two silhouettes swayed on the paper. One lay half reclined on the bed—Xiao Man, unmistakably. The other sat beside her, arms flailing as she gossiped with fearless enthusiasm.
Dong Chun’s giggle drifted out, bright as beads.
Behind the rockery, Stone poked out half his head and whispered to Old Chen Tou.
“Dad, why is Eldest Young Master just standing there? Why doesn’t he go in?”
Old Chen Tou squinted, smacked his lips, and looked at his son like he’d discovered a new kind of stupidity.
“You’re a block of wood. Miss Xiao Man has company. If Young Master goes in now, wouldn’t that be awkward?”
Stone scratched the back of his head, baffled but sincere.
“But he’s been standing there forever. If she doesn’t drink the medicine soon, it’ll go cold.”
Old Chen Tou sighed and slapped Stone on the back of the head.
“Wooden head! Young Master doesn’t want to disturb her, but he also doesn’t want her to miss the medicine. He’s stuck.”
Stone’s eyes rolled. Then a bright idea sparked like flint.
He threw back his head and shouted toward the room with the confidence of a man who didn’t fear death.
“Dong Chun! Dong Chun! Old Madam sent word—hurry back! The small kitchen made osmanthus cakes! She wants you to bring them over!”
Inside, Dong Chun was mid-sentence, pouring out the freshest manor gossip, when the words “osmanthus cakes” hit her ears.
She sprang up as if her soul had been yanked by a hook.
“Aiya! Every time Old Madam can’t finish the osmanthus cakes, she rewards us servants! I have to go—if I’m late, I won’t even get crumbs!”
Before Xiao Man could protest, Dong Chun bolted out like a gust of wind.
She ran so fast she didn’t even see Lin Qing Xuan waiting at the door. She shot past him and vanished toward the Green Reed Courtyard in a blur.
Only then did Lin Qing Xuan step inside.
He set the bowl in front of Xiao Man. “Drink. It’s getting cold.”
Xiao Man accepted it, sniffed once, and her face collapsed like she’d bitten into a bitter melon.
Pinching her nose, she chugged it in one heroic gulp.
She opened her mouth to complain—this medicine could murder someone with bitterness—only for Lin Qing Xuan to place a piece of brown sugar against her lips.
“Hold it in your mouth,” he said, voice even. “It won’t taste bitter.”
Xiao Man blinked, then opened her mouth without thinking. Sweetness melted across her tongue, blunt and undeniable, driving the bitterness back like a tide receding.
She actually let out a small sigh.
Since when was he this… careful?
Lin Qing Xuan took the empty bowl from her hands, expression unchanged. “Change the dressing.”
Xiao Man stiffened. “Let’s be clear—no chanting. If you start reciting those scriptures I can’t understand again, I’m waiting for Granny Chen to come back before I change anything.”
Lin Qing Xuan paused.
Then he nodded once. “Fine.”
His movements were light and controlled. Cool ointment touched the injury on her shoulder, and his pressure was just right—enough to spread it evenly, not enough to hurt.
Xiao Man had been holding her nerves tight, waiting for him to suddenly drop a “form is emptiness” like a blade.
But the room stayed quiet.
Only their breathing filled the space—soft, shallow, too close.
Unable to help herself, she lifted her lashes and stole a glance at him.
His eyes were lowered, focused. Long lashes cast a shadow beneath them, sharpening the clean line of his profile until he looked even farther from the mortal world.
And yet this spotless, untouchable man could set her cheeks burning in her dreams at night—then sit here in daylight, utterly proper, applying medicine as if it were prayer.
“What are you looking at?” he asked, without lifting his gaze.
Xiao Man jolted and snapped her eyes away. “N-nothing!”
A faint curve touched the corner of Lin Qing Xuan’s mouth—so slight it might have been imaginary. He didn’t pursue it.
Outside, sunlight filtered through the window gauze and spilled onto the bluestone floor in warm patches.
With sugar dissolving sweet on her tongue and ointment sinking cool into her shoulder, Xiao Man found herself… oddly calm.
It might have even felt peaceful—
If not for the two heads peeking behind the rockery outside.
Stone whispered, thrilled, “Dad, does this count as… an iron tree blooming?”
Old Chen Tou glared hard enough to cut flesh.
“Shut your mouth. Want Young Master to hear you and cut out your tongue for a drinking snack?”
Meanwhile, Dong Chun arrived at the small kitchen, panting. She circled the place once—no osmanthus cakes. Not even a crumb.
She stomped, cheeks puffing. “Which bastard tricked me!”
A cook passed by with a basin of washed vegetables, baffled. “What osmanthus cakes? Old Madam didn’t order any pastries today.”
Dong Chun froze.
Then her face twisted as realization struck.
She’d been fooled.
But… why? Who would waste effort tricking her away from Sister Xiao Man?
As she stood there, head tilted and thoughts spinning, Xiu He passed by. Seeing Dong Chun’s dazed expression, she asked casually, “Dong Chun, weren’t you going to the Auspicious Cloud Residence to see Xiao Man? Why are you here?”
Dong Chun scratched her head. “Someone yelled that Old Madam was handing out osmanthus cakes, so I ran over. But there aren’t any.”
Xiu He blinked, then laughed under her breath.
“You silly maid. You were sent away on purpose.”
Dong Chun stared. “Huh?”
Xiu He glanced toward the Auspicious Cloud Residence with a knowing smile and patted Dong Chun’s shoulder.
“Alright. Pretend you don’t know anything. Go rest.”
Dong Chun still didn’t understand, but she shrugged and skipped off.
Xiu He watched her go, amused. The manor’s affairs were getting more interesting by the day.
Inside the Auspicious Cloud Residence, Lin Qing Xuan finished changing the dressing. As if it were nothing, he adjusted Xiao Man’s loosened collar.
His fingertips brushed her neck by accident.
Xiao Man jerked as if struck. Heat rushed up in a violent wave, and her ears turned red enough to drip.
Lin Qing Xuan’s hand stilled for a heartbeat. Then he withdrew, expression smooth, voice steady.
“Don’t let the wound touch water.”
Xiao Man’s mind went blank. She nodded too fast, too hard.
“Got it. Got it!”
Lin Qing Xuan looked at her for a long moment, unreadable. Then he turned and left without another word.
Only when his footsteps faded did Xiao Man collapse back onto the bed, exhaling like she’d been holding her breath for days.
Life was getting harder to survive.
By day, he watched her drink medicine and changed her dressings. By night, he tormented her in dreams with endless variations.
This Buddhist Scion had to be heaven’s personal punishment, custom-made for her.
She reached under her pillow and pulled out the wooden plaque carved with bold words:
“Chastity Defense War.”
She ground her teeth, took a small knife, and scratched off another day.
“One hundred ninety days left…”
She muttered it like a spell, forcing courage into her ribs.
“Hold on, Yao Xiao Man. Victory is right there.”
Outside, under the corridor, Lin Qing Xuan hadn’t gone far.
The fierce little muttering inside reached him clearly.
A flicker of laughter passed through his eyes.
He lifted his head to the sky.
The sunlight was just right. The wind was gentle.
How could this not be peaceful days?