instruments.
Suddenly there was rustle of linen, the clink of metal, and the faint scratch of quills recording her vitals filled the room.
Jin Shuren remained at her side, seated in a heavy chair, his tall frame hunched slightly forward as his hand rested against her limp wrist.
He did not speak, but his presence was a command in itself, the kind that made every servant tread more lightly, every physician double-check their work.
A tense silence hung over the room, broken only by the rhythmic scribble of pens and the muted clatter of instruments being laid out.
The harsh light overhead cast Yueyao's face in pallor, her lashes resting like dark crescents against her cheeks.
"Her pulse is faint, but very steady, she will be fine in no time.." one physician murmured, leaning closer with his stethoscope. Another prepared the syringes, the faint pop of seals breaking punctuating the hush.
