Three days passed in suffocating silence.
The Clear Frost Garden became a prison. No visitors were allowed. Servants from the main household delivered their meager meals with sneers and insults. Even the physicians refused to come when Zhao Han's coughing grew worse.
"The Young Master's condition isn't serious enough to warrant a house call," was the cold reply from the main residence.
Lan Yue watched Zhao Lingxi grow paler by the day. The poison from the banquet had been purged, but her meridians were still damaged. Without proper medicine and spiritual herbs, her already weak cultivation base was slowly withering.
And Zhao Han was getting worse.
The boy tried to hide it, putting on a brave smile whenever his sister looked at him. But Lan Yue could hear him coughing through the thin walls at night, wet and rattling, coughs that sounded like his lungs were tearing apart.
I can't just watch anymore.
On the fourth night, Lan Yue made her decision.
