During the day, it was impossible to see her; only at night could he sneak in for a visit.
Gu Youyou had ground the ink and was holding a brush, meticulously writing small regular script.
She wasn't someone suited for a life of despair. Since her freedom was restricted, she used the spare time to write medical texts and even crafted fairy tales for Jin Xuyao.
Even if something unpredictable happened to her, she wished for the medical texts to be passed down and for her son to enjoy a childhood with her tales.
Fortunately, aside from her confinement, they treated her reasonably well. Whatever she requested—be it brush, ink, paper, or inkstone—they fulfilled promptly.
Feeling someone entering her room, her hand gripping the brush paused instantly.
She turned her head and saw, in a place beyond the candlelight's reach, within the shadows, an even darker silhouette.
Her heart shuddered as she tentatively asked, "Zijin?"
