Chapter 24 - 1#

Jingzhe’s illness had arrived quickly, and it left just as fast.

By the next morning he’d woken nearly recovered, and if it hadn’t been for the damp cloth still pressed to his forehead, he might have convinced himself it had all been a dream.

Huiping was visibly relieved, sitting at his side and wiping down his forehead.

“I got called away by the supervisor last night and didn’t get back until dawn. I was so worried — but look at you, you’re already up.”

Jingzhe sat up, clutching the damp cloth, half-inclined to ask whether Huiping had seen Rong Jiu — then thought better of it. Given what Rong Jiu looked like, there was no way Huiping could have seen him and said nothing.

“My constitution has always been decent. Don’t worry yourself.” Jingzhe smiled, his voice still a little rough.

He pressed his lips together. There was still a faint sweetness lingering.

Huiping pointed at the table. “I noticed there was medicine left out — someone must have brought it for you, I think.”

Beside it were some dried candied fruits that clearly hadn’t come from either of them.

Jingzhe smiled. “Probably a friend.”

“I must’ve just missed them when I came back. But since it’s medicine, you’d better drink it while it’s still good.” Huiping brought the bowl over. Having learned his lesson, Jingzhe pinched his nose and downed it in one go.

The vile taste still made him want to gag.

Huiping quickly pressed some of the candied fruit into his hand and patted his back.

“Oh — your clothes. Didn’t you change?”

The fabric felt different to the touch right away.

Jingzhe looked down. The smooth, cool texture against his skin was definitely not the standard palace-issue material.

“I suppose… he changed them?” Jingzhe said uncertainly. “I was barely conscious. Not very clear on the details.”

The fact that Rong Jiu had come to take care of him was itself something Jingzhe could barely believe, half-delirious as he’d been. Fragments came back now — something about Rong Jiu wanting to be his father, and then Jingzhe yanking at his own inner robe, insisting he was burning up… The more these images resurfaced, the more alarmed Jingzhe became.

His dignity.

Completely in ruins.

Huiping wasn’t the type to overthink things. Seeing that Jingzhe’s face was still flushed, he simply said, “Well, Yunkui got you a few days off regardless. Rest as long as you need to — it’s not busy right now. Don’t push yourself.”

Jingzhe remembered what Rong Jiu had said about his pulse. Overthinking, overworrying.

He hadn’t even noticed it himself.

Probably not something he could easily change.

He thanked Huiping, who waved him off with a good-natured shrug. “It’s nothing. I’ll go get you something to eat — you need to keep your strength up to recover properly.”

After Huiping left, Jingzhe raised a hand and touched his own forehead.

Warm, but not burning anymore. A little better.

Still — how had Rong Jiu known he was sick?

It wasn’t the fifth day.

He couldn’t make sense of it, but he heeded Huiping’s advice, lay back down, and resolved not to neglect his health again. He’d wear every extra layer if he had to, and stop chasing after momentary relief from the cold.

*

Two days later, the twenty-fifth — Rong Jiu didn’t come.

But Zheng Hong arrived with a large bundle of things.

Jingzhe was eating breakfast at his bedside when Zheng Hong appeared, and he stared.

“What brings you here?” he said, eyeing the packages Zheng Hong was laden with. His tone turned wary. “You can visit if you want, but I’m not paying for anything. Keep your schemes to yourself.”

Zheng Hong was notoriously tight-fisted. Whatever he’d brought, there was likely a catch.

Zheng Hong rolled his eyes. “Someone asked me to deliver these. Said he was occupied today and couldn’t come himself.”

Occupied. On the fifth day.

Those two details told Jingzhe all he needed to know.

He felt a small pang of disappointment, but was more curious how Rong Jiu even knew Zheng Hong — come to think of it, Rong Jiu knew far more about Jingzhe’s life here than should have been possible. Had he been keeping tabs?

While Jingzhe was turning this over, Zheng Hong had already untied the bundle and was pulling things out.

Two well-made sets of inner garments. Two pairs of shoes. A brand-new padded cotton quilt — thick and dense, like freshly beaten cotton.

That was what was in the large bundle.

The small bundle, when spread open, released a cascade of small bottles, each one matching bottles he’d received before, but now labeled — strips of paper indicating the contents one by one.

Some were medicinal pills. Some were salves and ointments.

For emergencies, or simply as a general household stock — more than sufficient.

The things Rong Jiu had sent were not what Jingzhe had expected. Given Rong Jiu’s usual demeanor — the kind of lofty remove that suggested he had no particular grasp of practical matters — Jingzhe had assumed that if he ever sent anything, it would be something precious and impractical. But all of this was thoroughly useful.

Things you could actually use.

Like he’d consulted someone.

Zheng Hong let out an appreciative whistle as he turned things over. “This is quite a haul. Honestly — just a friend? Not something more?”

Jingzhe said calmly, “You’ve met him, haven’t you? Why ask me?”

“No, actually, I haven’t.” Zheng Hong replied. “Ma Tai was the one who contacted me — said someone wanted to get something to you through me. I figured it must be something interesting to need to go through me. Turns out, yeah, it had to.”

He hadn’t laid eyes on whoever it was.

Things delivered through Zheng Hong could be passed off as items Jingzhe had asked him to buy on his behalf. But if someone else delivered things directly to Jingzhe, it would look like an unsanctioned private exchange between them.

Some rules were a nuisance, but there were always ways around them.

Those in charge would often turn a blind eye — it was easier that way, and the people beneath them needed to live, too.

Zheng Hong’s side income depended quite a bit on that.

He crossed one leg over the other and let out an amused scoff. “Years I’ve known you, and other than when you first came into the palace, I’ve never seen you looking this rough.”

Jingzhe kept his expression neutral. “Getting sick happens to everyone.”

“Your illness,” Zheng Hong said, spreading his hands, “is pure repression. You know what your problem is? Most people have something — food, games, something they enjoy. You? What do you actually like?”

“I like…”

Jingzhe paused.

Zheng Hong watched him come up empty, shook his head, and stood. “Forget it. Rest up — I’ll come check on you in a few days. Put the things away. And for the record, I’ll be telling everyone you asked me to buy all this.”

He waved a hand and left.

Jingzhe slumped back against the headboard, feeling oddly hollowed out.

He seemed to have recovered on the surface, but his body still had no strength. He squeezed his soft, limp arm and turned Zheng Hong’s words over in his mind.

What did he like?

As a child, Jingzhe had loved reading. Every time he finished a book, his mother would reward him with fragrant sweet cakes, and his father, coming home in the evening, would scoop him up and hold him high. A little older, and he’d loved his sister — gentle and sweet, always trailing behind him like a little shadow, endearing beyond words.

After that…

He couldn’t remember.

Jingzhe slowly began tidying the bed, setting his old clothes aside. He made a circuit of the room — and found none of his original things anywhere. He went still for a moment, then turned sharply and looked at the new inner garments.

He crossed the room in a few steps and shoved open his storage chest. Just as he’d feared, the few sad items that had been piled in the corner were gone.

In their place, on top of the remaining fabric scraps, was a slip of paper.

Jingzhe reached in and picked it up.

“Old and worn out. Thrown away. New ones sent monthly.”

Jingzhe stared.

Did Rong Jiu think he went through two sets of clothes a month?

First he’d called him practical, and now this — Rong Jiu clearly had more money than he knew what to do with.

Jingzhe made a face. The old things were gone and there was no getting them back. He folded the new garments into the chest, tidied up the rest, and shuffled off slowly to get himself cleaned up.

*

Behind the Directorate of Palace Cleaning stretched a long row of quarters.

In the opposite direction from the North Wing — closer to the palace gates, with the Office of Miscellaneous Purchases where Zheng Hong worked somewhere nearby. The area was thick with foot traffic, home to kitchens, ice cellars, and all manner of busy establishments.

Jingzhe had ended up at the Directorate partly because they’d been short-handed when he arrived, and partly because it was quieter than most places — people didn’t constantly come and go — and there was a private space for bathing.

That last point had been a genuine relief.

He took advantage of the quieter midday hours to bathe, wrapped himself up thoroughly, and went back to rest.

He’d just lain down when Yunkui appeared — and he hadn’t come alone. There was a knowing smile on his face as he swept in, dragging Gusheng and Shi’en with him, until the room Jingzhe shared with Huiping was comfortably packed.

Gusheng: “Why are you grinning like that? It’s unsettling.”

Shi’en stroked his bare chin and squinted at Yunkui with suspicion.

“Haven’t seen you smile like that in ages. Does this mean you’ve finally pulled yourself together?”

Huiping, quiet by nature, just sat on his own bed watching them with a slight smile, keeping himself out of it.

Shi’en had always wondered what had happened — why姜金明 Jiang Jinming had beaten Yunkui half-senseless, and why after that, Yunkui had seemed like a changed person. Seeing that familiar spark flickering back, his old curiosity stirred.

Yunkui ignored Shi’en entirely and leaned in with a conspiratorial air. “I’ve got a piece of news. My mentor told me.”

“If your mentor told you, it’s not exactly your news to claim,” Shi’en muttered — though both his ears were straining forward, contradicting everything he’d just said.

Of the five of them in the room, Jingzhe was the only one still lying down, half-following the conversation.

His eyes were half-closed. Whether he was truly listening was hard to say.

The feverish blotch of red across his face had mostly faded to a soft, faint pink. Long lashes trembled slightly, casting shallow shadows beneath his eyes.

Yunkui put Shi’en in a headlock to shut him up, then announced: “Qianming Palace is looking for people. Specifically, for Shangyuan.”

Gusheng’s expression tightened, and he shot Yunkui a flat look.

He’d thought it was going to be real news. Qianming Palace was always looking for people — that never changed. Serving there was arguably the most dangerous assignment in the entire palace. One wrong move and the Emperor might have your head. And yet it also paid better and commanded more respect than anywhere else. Do a year or two there and you’d be addressed as “Sir” anywhere else you went afterward.

Everyone wanted that. But you’d have to be either very bold or very desperate to volunteer for it.

“No, it’s different,” Yunkui clarified. “It’s still under Qianming Palace, but the posting isn’t in Qianming itself — it’s to Shangyuan Garden.”

Shangyuan Garden was nominally under Qianming Palace’s jurisdiction. It was a vast imperial hunting ground — under the previous emperor, it had hosted autumn and winter hunts, and a full complement of imperial guards had been stationed there.

Under the current Emperor, formal hunts had become rare, but the guards remained, and the Emperor still occasionally spent a few days there.

Shi’en’s eyes lit up the moment he heard Shangyuan.

That wasn’t a bad posting at all.

They all knew Shangyuan was large and sparsely staffed. The responsibilities were spread across a wide area, the chain of command had more links, and the occasional presence of the Emperor meant there was more opportunity for visibility than a career at the Directorate could offer.

Of course, that was specifically because the Emperor made a point of going. If the imperial garden ever fell out of use, none of them would want to leave the city for it.

Shangyuan had its advantages and its drawbacks, and once you went, coming back wasn’t guaranteed.

After sharing the news, Yunkui made his way over and nudged Jingzhe.

He knew Jingzhe wasn’t asleep.

Those lashes were still moving.

Jingzhe opened his eyes lazily. “What?”

“Would you want to go?”

Yunkui’s particular warmth toward Jingzhe hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others — he seemed almost to be trying to repay some debt, always looking to give the best things to Jingzhe first.