Seventh Master Zheng Jinglian returned to the marquis' residence. First, he went to deliver gifts to Zheng Qian, then went to see his eldest nephew, Zheng Chi.
The uncle and nephew spoke behind closed doors.
"…Everything went smoothly?" Zheng Chi asked.
"It went very smoothly. The thing you wanted hasn't been bought yet," Zheng Jinglian replied.
"It's fine. I'm not in urgent need. We can buy it later," Zheng Chi said, then let out a soft sigh.
Zheng Jinglian took out some banknotes and handed them over.
"Your Seventh Uncle made some money. Take some. Now that you've become an official, you'll need funds for social dealings everywhere."
Zheng Chi accepted them.
Thirty thousand taels.
He nodded faintly. "A bit much."
"Not much. Your uncle was lucky this year—both trades made profit," Zheng Jinglian said with a smile.
"Go on then. Don't come to my place if there's nothing important," Zheng Chi said.
Zheng Jinglian stood up.
There was a faint smile in his eyes, carefree and unrestrained, while courtesy hid behind that smile.
He was about to leave, but seemed unwilling to part just yet, and turned back.
"What is it?" Zheng Chi raised an eyebrow, slightly displeased.
"I want to see your legs. I've heard outside that your legs have recovered. Some of your old friends were very excited when they heard," Zheng Jinglian said.
Zheng Chi's brows furrowed slightly.
"What, you don't want to see old acquaintances?" Zheng Jinglian asked.
"I no longer have any friends," Zheng Chi replied.
"I misspoke—old acquaintances then. I'm also curious. May I see them?"
Zheng Chi lifted his trouser leg, revealing his prosthetic limb.
Seeing such a lightweight and flexible prosthesis, Zheng Jinglian was shaken.
"Did Xian'er make this? Impossible."
"She is extraordinary," Zheng Chi said. "She knows many skills."
"I also heard the people from the Lu family acknowledged her as the disciple of the Ghost Doctor?" Zheng Jinglian asked.
"They called her 'Ancestor' and even kowtowed to her. It's real," Zheng Chi replied.
"How did she do it?" Zheng Jinglian still didn't believe. "Did she really see ghosts?"
"Perhaps."
Zheng Jinglian smiled again. "I almost forgot something. Someone wants to meet Zheng Qian—just a chance encounter. If you see him around her, don't be surprised."
"Who?"
"The Shadow," Zheng Jinglian said.
Zheng Chi's expression eased slightly. "What is he coming back for?"
"How would I know his thoughts? I can't control him either. You should rest early. I'll take my leave."
Zheng Chi nodded.
He feared Zheng Jinglian might come back with more questions.
Only after Zheng Jinglian left the Western Courtyard did Zheng Chi finally let out a quiet breath.
That night, someone secretly infiltrated the western courtyard of the marquis' residence and was almost beaten to death by Shi Yong. Fortunately, the intruder was also skilled enough to withstand the attack.
Zheng Qian knew nothing of this. She only vaguely felt that Seventh Uncle was not simple, and her curiosity toward him deepened.
The mourning rituals in the residence were grand and solemn, and guests came from all sides to pay respects.
Zheng Qian did not need to participate in the mourning hall and rarely went forward. Day and night, funeral music echoed endlessly, leaving her ears rarely at peace.
These days, her eldest brother and fifth brother came to her courtyard every night for dinner, the three siblings gathering together.
The fifth brother coming made sense—he loved food. But even her eldest brother came, which puzzled her.
"Brother, do you have something on your mind?" she asked one day after sending the fifth brother away early.
Zheng Chi looked at her. "Aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?" she asked, confused.
His gaze passed through the candlelight and landed on her face meaningfully.
Only then did she understand.
Her expression was calm—almost indifferent, even cold.
"If I didn't kill him, he would kill me. At the point of life and death, what kindness is there to speak of?" she said.
"Was this your first time killing someone?" Zheng Chi asked.
"Brother, don't ask such naive questions. You already know the answer in your heart," she said with a smile.
Zheng Chi: "..."
He had seen the injury on the fifth brother's foot—the precise suturing meant this was not her first time. He had also seen her open Lu Shu's abdomen and sew him back up.
Not everyone could remain calm in such bloodiness.
But she was natural, practiced. So her decisiveness in killing Zheng Han made sense.
Still, Zheng Chi wished she did not live such a life.
Who she was, where she came from, why she was pretending to be Zheng Qian—he did not want to investigate.
Perhaps she could forever remain the eldest miss of the marquis household, severed completely from her past.
By now, if he still believed she was truly Zheng Qian, he would be foolish.
"Xian'er, you made me stand again. I owe you. From now on, let me handle such things for you," Zheng Chi said.
He had thought she would respond righteously, maybe even get angry.
Unexpectedly, she only smiled slightly, eyes curved with a hint of playfulness.
"Alright."
Zheng Chi: "..."
It felt like stepping into empty air—none of his expectations landed.
She smiled again. "It's late. Are you planning to stay here tonight, brother?"
Zheng Chi then took his leave.
After he left, Zheng Qian washed up, changed clothes, and went to bed with her cat.
But after lying down, the cat kept bumping her right palm.
She understood immediately, got up to check the doors and windows were locked, then lay back down, drew the curtains, and entered her space with the cat.
Every time Zheng Qian entered her space, Zheng Zhan first had to find clothes to wear.
"Do you have something to say?" she asked.
"Yesterday, after your Seventh Uncle returned, he went to Zheng Chi's courtyard," Zheng Zhan said.
"Is there anything strange about an uncle visiting his nephew?" she replied.
"They spoke about many things I couldn't understand. Also, Zheng Jinglian gave Zheng Chi a lot of money," he said.
Zheng Qian gestured for him to sit.
Confused, Zheng Zhan sat down cross-legged.
Then she reached out and patted his head.
"My son, why are you worrying about this? Just be a good cat," she said.
Zheng Zhan grabbed her hand.
His eyelids lifted slightly, anger clearly showing in his eyes. "How bold of you!"
"You're the bold one!" she laughed, trying to pull her hand back. "This is my space. You're mine now. I'm your master—get that straight, Your Highness the Prince."
Zheng Zhan tightened his grip.
Her smile deepened, the mole between her brows glowing faintly.
The cold of his body in the space contrasted with her warmth; he found himself unwilling to let go.
She even stroked his chin like a cat.
As a cat, he liked it. As a man, it felt strange—his eyes darkened with irritation.
"Do not be so frivolous," he said.
"Then let go of my hand first before you lecture me. Who's the more frivolous one here?" she replied.
Zheng Zhan: "..."
He reluctantly released her.
"Can you go anywhere, see and hear everything?" she suddenly asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"Help me with something. If you do well, I'll reward you with dried fish," she said.
Zheng Zhan: "..."
He really wanted to scratch her.
…Wait. Scratch?
He was a man, not a cat. Why was his instinct still feline?
With a dark expression, he still obeyed like a dutiful pet.
"What do you want me to do?"