Everyone in the capital knew two things.
First, Regent Jing Heng was cold-hearted and cold-faced, and loathed the sickly eldest daughter of the Shen family. Second, Miss Shen had miraculous medical skills, and her little clinic was always packed with patients.
No one knew that every night, a masked patient with “old injuries” came to the clinic.
He came for treatment day after day, wore her down night after night, and always asked her to brew him a cup of medicine before he left.
Shen Yao rested three fingers on his wrist to take his pulse. Her fingertips paused.
The location of these old injuries was exactly the same as that of the mysterious figure in dark robes who had leaped from the cliff to save her all those years ago.
She looked up and smiled demurely. “May I ask your surname, sir?”
The man’s gaze shifted away. “...Jing.”
“Oh,” she said, picking up her brush, her lashes trembling. “What a coincidence.”
