The night was a long, suffocating stretch of silence. I sat by the cradle, the cool air of the pre-dawn hours settling over the manor.
Across the room, my mother had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, her hand still clutching the edge of the silk blanket. I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of my brother's chest.
As an archaeologist, I had spent my life studying the "after." I knew the chemistry of decay, the way bones told stories of how people died. But sitting here, I was witnessing the before. It was bewildering to realize that the distance between this era's and my era's knowledge was simply time—thousands of years of trial, error, and the slow peeling away of superstition.
The first ray of light finally pierced the lattice windows, painting a golden stripe across the floor.
The door creaked open. My father entered, followed by a pale, disheveled Physician Zhang and a silent, watchful Ruo-Lan. They had all spent the night waiting for a death that wasn't coming.
My brother stirred. He didn't wither. He didn't gasp. Instead, he let out a loud, healthy cry, the demanding, hungry sound of a child who was very much alive. He opened his eyes, and they were clear, locking onto Father's face with sharp recognition.
"He... he is still with us,"Father whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Physician Zhang collapsed against the doorframe. The Final Radiance theory had vanished with the dew. He looked at me, his pride replaced by a hollow, haunting fear.
I stood up, my joints stiff but my mind clear.
"The sun is up, Physician Zhang. My brother lives. His fever has not returned, and his sight remains."
Physician Zhang lowered his head, his hands trembling within his voluminous sleeves. He wasn't a complete fraud, he had reached the rank of Imperial Physician through years of study. He knew the classics. But he was a victim of his own arrogance—the belief that if it wasn't written in the ancient scrolls, it couldn't be true. Especially if the truth came from a useless girl like me.
"I... I miscalculated," Physician Zhang whispered, the admission sounding like it was being dragged out of him with hot pincers.
"You didn't miscalculate," I said, my voice softening, no longer spiteful. "You simply forgot that the world is much larger than the palace walls. There are things the Heavens have yet to reveal to your books."
I turned to my father. "Father, Physician Zhang is an Imperial official. We cannot punish him here. His fate belongs to the Palace and the Medical Bureau. But as for his service to the Tang Manor... I believe we have seen enough."
Father nodded, his gaze lingering on the baby's healthy glow. "Physician Zhang, you will return to the Palace. I will send a report to the Emperor. I will not call you incompetent, but I will state that your 'methods' were no longer required. You may leave."
It was a merciful blow, but a blow nonetheless. Physician Zhang bowed so low his forehead touched the floor, then retreated without a word.
Ruo-Lan stood in the shadows, her face a pale mask. She had bet on my failure, and now she was standing in the wreckage of her own schemes.
Unbeknownst to her, the Prime Minister paused at the threshold as he turned to leave.
His eyes lingered on Mo-Xian, the gears of his political mind grinding as he tried to reconcile the image of the temperamental girl he had raised with the cold, articulate woman standing before him.
In the depths of his gaze was something not everyone would perceive: fear. Not the fear of a man afraid of a ghost, but the fear of a man who realized he no longer understood her.
To Prime Minister Tang, people were either tools to be used or obstacles to be crushed. He loved his children only as much as they could secure his legacy. My brother was his Hope and until today, I had been his Shame.
"Take care of the child!" he barked at Mother, his voice a shield for his own unease.
"Do not let me see such uselessness again." He reached out, his hand patting Ruo-Lan's head in a practiced gesture of affection, and they walked out together—the powerful patriarch and his lucky golden child.
As the sound of their footsteps faded, the heavy tension in the room snapped.
"It's alright, Mother. Don't mind his words," I said, stepping forward to pull her into a hug. Her body felt frail, exhausted by the night's vigil.
She nodded, tears of relief finally falling as she beamed at me. "It is all because of you, Xian-er. Look at him... our little Shi-Tou is finally thriving."She squeezed my hands, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Come, tell Mother—how did you truly figure out how to cure him? Where did this wisdom come from?"
I hesitated. I couldn't exactly explain that I was an archaeologist from the 21st century who had studied the nutritional deficiencies of ancient populations. I couldn't tell her that the magical seaweed was just a source of iodine.
"Well, Mother..." I started, scrambling for a cover. "I suppose being confined to my courtyard had some benefits. I had nothing to do but read the old scrolls in the library. I found a text that mentioned the sea-dwellers and how they never suffered from the swelling of the throat."
I took a breath, trying to simplify things. "I realized Shi-Tou lacked... a specific essence called Iodine. And his night blindness was simply a hunger for certain nutrients, elements I called Vitamin A, which help the eyes capture the light."
Mother laughed softly. "My Xian-er has truly become a scholar. Iodine? Vitamins? Mother cannot understand these strange words, but it seems that fever of yours burned away the clouds and left you with a brilliant mind."
I leaned my head against her shoulder.
"Regardless of where the knowledge came from, Mother, you don't have to worry anymore. I won't do anything that might harm you or Shi-Tou."