Physician Xu Wenren arrived early the next morning.
Shen Qingyu heard him before she saw him—the soft cadence of older footsteps, unhurried yet precise. Unlike previous visits she dimly remembered from the original owner's memories, this one was not rushed, nor perfunctory.
"Third Miss," Xu Wenren greeted, inclining his head slightly as he entered. His eyes were sharp, observant, missing little. "Please forgive the intrusion."
"There is nothing to forgive," Shen Qingyu replied, her voice calm. "Thank you for coming."
That, apparently, was not the response he expected.
Xu Wenren gestured for her to extend her wrist. His fingers settled lightly over her pulse, patient and steady. Time stretched as he listened—not just to the rhythm beneath his touch, but to the body surrounding it.
His brows slowly drew together.
"How long have you felt exhausted after simple movement?" he asked.
Shen Qingyu answered honestly. "As long as I can remember."
"And dizziness?"
"Yes."
He nodded, unsurprised, then asked her to breathe deeply while he observed the rise and fall of her chest. He examined her eyes, her posture, even the tension in her fingers as they rested against the blanket.
"This is not ordinary frailty," Xu Wenren said at last.
Shen Qingyu met his gaze. "I suspected as much."
That answer earned her a second look.
"Your meridians are blocked," he continued slowly. "Not damaged—suppressed. This is the sort of condition that requires careful treatment from an early age. Left unattended, it worsens naturally."
Shen Qingyu felt no shock, only confirmation.
"So it was never that I lacked talent," she said quietly.
"No," Xu Wenren replied. "Your body was simply never given a fair chance."
Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
"Can it be treated?" Shen Qingyu asked.
Xu Wenren hesitated. "Yes. But not quickly. Progress will be slow, painful at times, and there will be limits. You will never advance like children trained properly from the start."
"I understand," she said without hesitation.
Her acceptance unsettled him.
"I will prepare a new treatment plan," Xu Wenren said at last. "It will require discipline. Restraint. And patience."
Shen Qingyu inclined her head. "Those, I can manage."
When he left, a written report went with him—sealed and delivered directly to General Shen Yanwu.
Shen Qingyu remained seated by the window long after the door closed, breathing slow and even.
For the first time, her weakness had been named.
And for the first time, it was no longer treated as a personal failure—but as something that could be faced, endured, and slowly undone.