Chapter 9: The Crown Prince of King Ding Is My Father?

Tan Qingjiu was a little surprised. "When did you get here? How did you come by yourselves?"

Tan Xingyou hurried forward to hug Tan Qingjiu's arm, acting spoiled. "We were worried about you, Mother, so we asked Bai Ying and Bai Shu to bring us out to meet you."

"Mother, you’re back so soon—did you cure Prince Duan already?"

At the mention of this, Tan Qingjiu couldn’t help but want to roll her eyes. Her dear son had found her such a wonderful task, one that had nearly cost her another life.

"No, his illness is rather complicated. It will take some time."

"So what you mean, Mother, is that even though it’s complicated, for you it should be nothing more than a piece of cake, right?" Tan Xingyou’s face was alight with excitement. "After you left, my brother and I looked into things. Everyone outside says Prince Duan’s illness is extremely strange, and that many famous physicians have tried and failed."

"They also say that when Prince Duan has an episode, he recognizes neither friend nor kin—slaying gods and Buddhas alike. When I heard that, I was terribly worried for you. But of course, my mother is the greatest healer in the world! If anyone can cure him, it’s you. Isn’t that amazing?"

Tan Qingjiu pressed her hand to her forehead, thinking herself a reasonably proper person. How had she ended up raising such a… sycophant? The flattery was so over-the-top that even she felt embarrassed.

"If Prince Duan’s illness is that bizarre, then if you cure him, Mother, you’ll become famous in the capital in no time."

Tan Qingjiu lifted her eyelids; Xingyou’s words were not without merit.

That was, in fact, the reason she had agreed to make that deal with Prince Duan.

She had returned to the capital with her own purposes, and to achieve them, she needed to make her name known as quickly as possible. Treating the difficult illnesses among the common folk would eventually build her reputation, but it would take too long.

She was in no mood to wait.

Prince Duan’s case was, for her, an opportunity.

Tan Xingqi sat quietly to one side, listening to Tan Qingjiu and Tan Xingyou speak. He remained silent for a long while, and only when their conversation ended did he ask softly, "The woman from earlier—was that Tan Yunge?"

"It was."

Tan Xingyou’s eyes went wide at once. "The wicked woman who stole my brother away?"

"Yes."

"How did you run into her, Mother?"

Tan Qingjiu laughed. "Now that we’ve returned to the capital, it was only a matter of time. Today was just a coincidence."

Still, though it was a coincidence, it was a fortunate one for her.

First, because she had taken the opportunity to poison Tan Yunge.

Second, because the young woman Yin Xue had said that this was not the first time Tan Yunge had done such a thing—taking women the Prince of Ding fancied into the prince’s manor under the pretense of pregnancy, then disposing of them in secret.

When Yin Xue had spoken of this, Tan Yunge’s expression had grown unpleasant. It seemed likely the story was true.

She could use this as a starting point, sending someone to investigate thoroughly.

If she could find evidence, it would make for useful leverage against Tan Yunge.

Tan Qingjiu was calculating her next move when the carriage window was gently tapped, and Qing Dai’s voice sounded. "Mistress, we’re being followed."

Tan Qingjiu looked up. "When did it start? How many people?"

"Just now. Four of them. They’re light on their feet, but not particularly strong, so they’re probably just here to tail you."

Tan Qingjiu gave a low hum. From just now?

That meant either Prince Duan or Tan Yunge had sent them.

If it was one of those two, there was no need for concern.

"Let them follow," she instructed. After a moment’s thought, she added, "Have our people keep well hidden. Unless it’s urgent, avoid contacting me for now. Let’s give them a show of playing the fool to catch the tiger off guard."

The Hall of Miraculous Hands was famous for its medicine—let them believe that medicine is all she knows.

The carriage stopped at the inn’s entrance. As Tan Qingjiu alighted, a medical attendant hurried to meet her. "Mistress, the last patient of the day has arrived."

Tan Qingjiu nodded. She had a rule: only three patients per day, and only those holding the Hall’s daily-issued jade token could seek her consultation.

Today, only the last patient remained.

"However, there’s been a complication." Baizhi frowned. "The person who came isn’t the one registered for today. It’s the Minister of War, Li Wei. He said he bought the jade token from the original patient for a large sum and came for the consultation himself."

Tan Qingjiu inclined her head. "The price of our jade tokens has soared on the black market. We’ve never said that tokens can’t be sold after registration. They’ve done nothing wrong. It makes no difference—they’re all patients. I’ll see whoever comes."

With that, Tan Qingjiu went upstairs and pushed open the door.

The Minister of War appeared to be in his forties, but he sat in a wheelchair, his face pale and his eyes filled with irritation.

On hearing the door, Li Wei looked up at Tan Qingjiu and, seeing how young she was, couldn’t help but frown. "So young—can you really treat illnesses?"

Tan Qingjiu was no stranger to such doubts. She merely smiled. "Whether I can or not, you’ll know once you try, Minister Li."

She studied his complexion. "You’ve come about headaches and insomnia, haven’t you?"

Li Wei’s expression changed abruptly. He had come suddenly and hadn’t told her about his condition. How could she know?

As if reading his thoughts, Tan Qingjiu smiled. "Through observation and inquiry. I see dark circles under your eyes, your spirit is low, and your eyes are red—signs of insomnia. Your face is slightly swollen, and your eyes twitch involuntarily at times, so I deduce you also suffer from headaches."

"Please, Minister Li, extend your hand so I may check your pulse."

Li Wei, half-convinced, extended his hand. After a moment, Tan Qingjiu spoke again. "This is an old ailment, yes? You suffered a head injury—was it a severe blow?"

Li Wei’s expression grew serious. "Yes, an old injury. Is there hope for me?"

"It’s been long, so it will be troublesome, but with careful care, the symptoms will ease in ten days, disappear in half a month. For a complete cure, it will take about three months."

As Tan Qingjiu spoke, she didn’t notice the door had opened a crack at some point, then silently closed again.

Outside, Tan Xingyou and Tan Xingqi sat on the stairs. Tan Xingyou propped his chin in his hands. "Brother, did you see that man earlier? He looks—well, not exactly the same, but at least fifty or sixty percent like us. Too bad we lost track of him…"

He turned to Tan Xingqi. "Brother, when you asked that street vendor, did you learn anything? Who is he?"

Tan Xingqi narrowed his eyes, his voice still childish but with a hint of coldness. "The heir of Prince Ding."

"Who? The heir of Prince Ding?" Tan Xingyou frowned, thinking hard. "Isn’t that Tan Yunge’s husband?"

"Yes."

Tan Xingyou’s eyes widened. "How could it be him? Does that mean… he’s our father?"