Snow blew through the dilapidated temple in the dead of winter. Shen Qingci huddled in a corner, coughing so hard his lungs felt ready to shatter. He had once been the legitimate son of the Grand Tutor’s household in the capital. Now he wore stinking rags, and drops of blood from between his fingers fell onto the snow, freezing into dark-red beads.
Ten years ago, Liu Zhong, steward of the Liu family, had gripped his chin and poured the “Mortal Coil” poison down his throat, laughing as he said, “Living is worse than dying.” Now, whenever the poison flared, it felt as if a blunt knife were churning his insides. Yet he still clutched half of the Shen family jade pendant to his chest. Faithful Uncle Lin had given his life to save it, and it was stained with his blood.
A medicinal fragrance suddenly drifted in from the temple entrance. An old man fixed his gaze on the pendant. “Mortal Coil? I can cure it.” Shen Qingci had no idea whether this man meant to save him or drag him into another hell built on medical arts.
