The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly. A gentle summer breeze stirred, lifting a few loose strands of hair from Mu Qingzhi’s shoulders. She pinched some fish feed between her fingers and scattered it into the pond.
The pond wasn’t just home to many fish—it was also planted with lotuses. As the soft breeze swayed a dozen blooming pink lotus flowers, and with the flourishing greenery of the Prince Qi’s estate all around, Mu Liuyin, who stood behind her, suddenly asked, “Does the Prince enjoy flowers and plants?”
Mu Qingzhi narrowed her pale, beautiful eyes slightly. Her voice was calm and elegant as she replied, “Yes. They are peaceful, leisurely, and full of life.”
Not like the battlefield, full of smoke and blood. And not like her current self—a cripple.
What she had always yearned for was a quiet life and a healthy body, not the reverence of the people, not the power of Prince Qi, and certainly not the throne that chained one to the imperial palace.
A bitter feeling stirred in Mu Liuyin’s heart.
Mu Qingzhi scattered more feed into the pond, fully aware of her current situation. Aside from her deathsworn guards, she was like one of these fish, kept in a controlled space, raised and watched over. Just another pet, kept in the Prince’s estate by Mu Yinglan.
Only now, she had one more person: Shi Wuyin, the physician who claimed he could heal her legs.
She withdrew her gaze from the water’s surface and smiled lightly. “Physician Shi, let’s go back inside.”
Mu Liuyin: “…”
She didn’t know what was wrong with Mu Qingzhi. Ever since she had pushed her wheelchair a few times, it was as if Mu Qingzhi now saw her as a full-time attendant.
“Physician Shi?” Mu Qingzhi called again.
Looking at the woman in the wheelchair, otherworldly in her grace, Mu Liuyin gritted her teeth. You’re the prince. Fine. I’ll endure!
She massaged Mu Qingzhi’s legs like she was serving some grand master. At that moment, a servant brought in the freshly brewed medicine. Mu Qingzhi stared at the dark, bitter concoction. Not wanting to show weakness in front of a man, she picked up the bowl and downed it in one go with a blank expression. But in her mouth, the bitterness exploded like a storm.
As calm as her face remained, in her mind, she thought: No matter how many times I drink this, I still can’t get used to it. It’s awful. Absolutely awful.
Still, Prince Qi’s dignified expression didn’t falter. Shi Wuyin hadn’t the faintest idea that the revered prince feared drinking medicine like a child.
Mu Qingzhi struggled to bear the lingering bitterness, her mouth numb and her voice silent for a while. Only after Mu Liuyin said she had other matters to attend to and took her leave, did Mu Qingzhi respond with a flat hum.
Once she was alone, her composed mask collapsed into a tight grimace. It took several sips of tea before the taste faded even slightly.
Next time I drink this stuff, I’d rather do it alone.
A few days later, the shadow guards finally brought back information from the Moon Empire.
“The current emperor’s biological father’s surname is Shi. He was skilled in medicine,” the guard reported. “And the emperor has a younger brother he cherishes deeply—his seventh prince. They share the same father. It’s said the seventh prince just came of age this year and has shown exceptional talent in medicine since childhood. He studied the craft under his father’s guidance. However, the emperor is very protective of him, and there are no portraits or official records—just rumors.”
Exceptional talent. Just of age. Mu Qingzhi waved her hand, dismissing the guard. She murmured to herself, “That sounds exactly like our Physician Shi.”
Still, the fact that the Moon Empire’s seventh prince hasn’t married even after coming of age—that was intriguing.
While society in this world was more liberal than in ancient times, it was still traditional. Most men were expected to marry by the age of eighteen. A man past that age and still unmarried was a rarity.
That afternoon, Mu Qingzhi went to the guest courtyard where Mu Liuyin was staying, only to find her absent. A servant informed her that the physician was in the pharmacy.
Mu Liuyin was busy preparing medicine. When Mu Qingzhi entered, she didn’t stop her work or bow. She merely greeted, “Prince.”
Mu Qingzhi dismissed the servant who had wheeled her in, then smiled. “Is Physician Shi preparing medicine for me?”
Mu Liuyin replied with a quiet “mm,” and said, “The prince’s legs have begun to regain sensation. It’s time to increase the dosage.”
“I’m troubling you.” Mu Qingzhi’s voice was gentle as she silently watched Mu Liuyin work. After a moment, she suddenly said, “You’ve worked so hard to treat my legs, yet I haven’t even promised you payment.”
Mu Liuyin glanced at her, the corner of her lips curving into a faint, unreadable smile. “Then Your Highness can promise it now.”
The youth before her was handsome and refined, skilled in medicine, and when he smiled like that, it was truly captivating.
Mu Qingzhi lowered her eyes slightly and asked softly, “And what would Physician Shi like in return?”
She couldn’t tell whether Shi Wuyin genuinely wanted to heal her… or wanted her life.
For a brief moment, her gaze darkened.
Yet Mu Liuyin, unaware of the meaning behind her question, smiled again. “They call me a divine physician. I can’t let Your Highness shortchange me.”
“Of course not,” Mu Qingzhi replied in her usual calm voice. Whatever Shi Wuyin wanted—be it gold or power—she would not refuse. It was only a matter of what he asked for.
The sound of cicadas had faded. The lush trees of Prince Qi’s estate had long shed their golden leaves. A thick layer of ice now coated the pond—summer had turned to winter.
Mu Qingzhi’s legs were healing steadily. Because there was a chance Shi Wuyin was the Moon Empire’s seventh prince, every dose of medicine she took was checked by a trusted physician. Each time, the result was: safe.
The shadow guards watching Shi Wuyin had found nothing suspicious either. These days, aside from treating Mu Qingzhi or accompanying her for walks, Shi Wuyin spends all her time in the pharmacy, poring over ancient texts. She hadn’t even left the estate once.
This made Mu Qingzhi question her judgment. Perhaps Shi Wuyin truly wasn’t the seventh prince. Or perhaps…
He had developed feelings for her.
But Mu Qingzhi had never sensed any romantic feelings from Shi Wuyin. If anyone’s heart was moved, it was hers. Despite suspecting his identity, her affection for him only grew as long as he made no move to harm her.
It was utterly unreasonable.
As the year drew to a close, a message came from the Moon Empire: the emperor’s elder sister, her original body’s sister, had requested her return for the New Year. Mu Liuyin found an excuse to decline on her behalf.
Thanks to Xiao Jiu’s warning, Mu Liuyin was aware that shadow guards were watching her. She just didn’t know if Mu Qingzhi had uncovered her true identity.
Judging from the storyline and Mu Qingzhi’s increasingly gentle attitude, Mu Liuyin believed she hadn’t.
A few days before the New Year, Mu Qingzhi asked if she would return home to visit family. Mu Liuyin shook her head, saying she would remain in the estate until the prince’s legs were fully healed.
On New Year’s Day, a grand banquet was held in the palace. Consorts, nobles, ministers, and members of the royal family all attended with their households. As the emperor’s younger sister, Mu Qingzhi was naturally required to be there.
Even though she had confirmed Mu Yinglan was the one who had crippled her legs, without the power to retaliate, Mu Qingzhi wouldn’t make any rash moves.
In truth, Mu Qingzhi had never coveted the throne. Though born royal, she had always preferred a quiet life. But since Mu Yinglan had tried to harm her once, she wouldn’t allow her legs to fully recover without taking action.
Mu Qingzhi was not someone who repaid harm with kindness. She wouldn’t pretend to be crippled forever. Nor would she let her life remain in the hands of someone who wanted her dead.
Looking at Mu Yinglan’s smiling face atop the dragon throne, Mu Qingzhi’s gaze turned momentarily complex—then, in the next second, calm again.
Back at the Prince’s estate, Mu Liuyin opened her window and gazed at the star-filled sky. A strange sense of déjà vu swept over her.
She thought back carefully. The night she was struck by Xiao Jiu was also a night like this—beneath this moon, under these stars.
That was the night her endless transmigration mission began.
Snow began to fall from the night sky. In this unfamiliar world, Mu Liuyin suddenly felt a deep, inexplicable loneliness.
She asked Xiao Jiu: “How many more missions are left?”
Sensing the weariness in her voice, Xiao Jiu quickly replied: “Not many. Just three or four more, and you’ll be able to return to the real world.”
The snow outside fell heavily. Mu Liuyin closed the window—it was cold.
Hearing Xiao Jiu’s reply gave her a bit of strength.
Mu Qingzhi didn’t return from the palace until late at night. By then, the candle in Mu Liuyin’s room had already gone out.
Snow still fell steadily. A servant held an umbrella for her. Mu Qingzhi paused briefly outside Mu Liuyin’s room before leaving.
The next morning, as Mu Liuyin massaged her legs, she suddenly heard the prince’s gentle voice from above her head:
“I wasn’t able to spend the New Year with you yesterday. There’s going to be a lantern festival in a few days. Would you be interested in going?”
The first part of that sentence sounded almost flirtatious. Mu Liuyin’s ears turned red. She frowned and asked, “What did Your Highness just call me?”
“Wuyin,” Mu Qingzhi enunciated clearly. Then she added, “My legs are feeling better by the day. You’re my benefactor. Letting my benefactor spend New Year alone in the estate—it was my mistake.”
“As for why I called you Wuyin,” she smiled, “I just thought it felt more… personal. I’m sure you don’t mind, do you?”
Mu Liuyin muttered, “…Whatever pleases Your Highness.”
lazyfujoshy On CFRFGC Chapter 87