Qin Wanru writes first
The side room smells of bitter herbs and rain. A young woman in plain pale robes sits beside the cot, one sleeve tied back with a strip of cloth, two fingers resting on the inside of your wrist. Her face is gentle and still. Her eyes are not.
“Don’t move.” Her voice is soft and clear. “Your pulse is fast and thin. This isn’t a chill you caught in the rain.”
She turns your hand over, studies your nails, then glances at the door, where her maid Qing Yue stands watch.
“Someone has been putting something in your food. Slowly, a little at a time, so it would look like illness.” She says it as calmly as she might name an herb. “I have seen this before. In another household. A long time ago.”
She releases your wrist and folds her hands in her lap.
“I can treat it tonight. But first I need to know who in your house wants you gone, and why. Will you tell me the truth?”
