I counted the raindrops pattering beneath my bridal veil and regretted, for the 108th time, not prescribing a couple more doses of coptis for that patient who caused a scene at the hospital.
“Bride, step over the brazier!”
The red silk suddenly yanked tight. I stumbled across the charcoal basin, splashing water from my embroidered shoes onto the wedding dress my elder sister had “carefully prepared.” The memories left behind in this body told me that Ye Ruliu was the one who should have married into Prince Qin's household.
“The General of the Left's residence certainly has some nerve,” the matchmaker said mockingly, digging her fingers into my wrist. “The Fifth Highness may be unconscious, but the emperor personally made him Prince Qin.”
Beneath the veil, I smiled coldly. Half a year ago, I was the youngest attending physician at a top-tier hospital. Now I had to be grateful for that patient-scandal accident. At least ancient times had no doctor-patient disputes.
The smell of medicine in the bridal chamber was more pungent than the wedding candles. Once the maids had left, I tore off my veil and found myself staring at a hidden guard pointing a sword at my throat.
“The prince has been unconscious for half a year, and the Crown Prince sends a spy to bring him good luck through marriage?” As the blade touched my neck, I saw a hand reach out from behind the bed curtains: pale and slender, with a callus on the middle finger from years of holding a brush, but covered in scars around the thumb.
My professional instincts kicked in at once. This was no hand belonging to someone who had been ill for a long time. It looked more like... the symptoms of poisoning, deliberately faked.
“Wait.” I gripped the blade, blood trickling between my fingers onto the mandarin-duck quilt. “What if I can make His Highness open his eyes within three days?”
The bed curtains stirred though there was no wind. Xiao Jincheng later admitted that at that moment, he had almost been unable to keep up the act...
