The nights at Guichen Studio were always a little softer-lit than the daytime.
Warm-colored light fell over the old, yet cleanly maintained shop.
Su Muchen opened the medical record and spread it across the counter.
The corners of the pages had already curled slightly from being turned so many times. They were densely covered with dates, the condition of wounds, healing progress, and several supplementary notes circled in red ink.
It was Xiao Yuan’s personal medical record.
The records had been kept ever since not long after the two of them first met. By now, it was nearly twice as thick as when it had first been started.
Familiar sounds came from the back room.
When cold white light seeped through the crack beneath the door, the lighting in Guichen Studio seemed to be gently pushed aside by it.
When Xiao Yuan walked out, the hem of his robes still carried a trace of the cold from the northern frontier, bringing the wind and snow into the warm air of Guichen Studio.
That chill was quickly swallowed up by the warmth indoors, leaving only a little dampness that had not yet dried along the edges of his clothes.
He saw that Su Muchen had already opened the medical record. Without asking, “Do I need another examination today?” he walked straight to the counter, removed his cloak, and hung it over the back of a chair.
“Take off your outer garment.”
Su Muchen spoke calmly, without looking up, still reading the record from the previous follow-up examination.
The light fell upon his lowered eyelashes, casting an extremely faint shadow across his face.
Xiao Yuan said nothing.
As he undid his collar, the sound of his fingertips brushing against the fabric was especially clear in the quiet Guichen Studio.
He lowered his inner garment to his waist, then sat down on the wooden chair in front of the counter.
The light fell across his shoulders, tracing a clean line along his collarbones before softly blurring over the old scars.
When Su Muchen raised his head, his gaze moved from the medical record to Xiao Yuan’s face, and only then downward.
He had seen these scars many times already.
There was one beneath his collarbone.
One along his left ribs.
One on his left abdomen.
An arrow scar on his right shoulder.
Several overlapping whip scars across his back.
Their colors had already faded, as though time had worn them thinner layer by layer, yet they had ultimately failed to disappear completely.
He never asked how those scars had come about.
It was not that he did not want to know, but that he knew every one of them represented a past in which he had been unable to take part.
When Xiao Yuan wanted to talk about those things, he would speak of them himself.
But every time Su Muchen saw them, his gaze would linger for one extra moment, brief enough that Xiao Yuan might not even notice.
His gaze settled on the knife scar on the left side of Xiao Yuan’s abdomen. He leaned forward slightly and moved closer.
His shoulder blocked half of the light, casting a thin layer of shadow over Xiao Yuan’s abdomen.
He reached out, his fingertips gently touching the skin around the wound.
The instant his fingertips made contact with the skin, he felt Xiao Yuan’s abdominal muscles tighten slightly.
It was not resistance, merely an instinctive reaction.
“Does it still hurt here?” he asked.
“…Yes.”
Su Muchen’s movement immediately stopped.
He raised his head, his gaze moving from the wound to Xiao Yuan’s face.
He found it somewhat unbelievable.
That face seemed to show little expression, yet a trace of an emotion that had not had time to be analyzed flickered faintly in his eyes, disappearing in an instant.
But that single word—”Yes”—made Su Muchen pause.
He remembered that when he had treated Xiao Yuan’s wounds before, the most he had done was frown slightly.
That “It is nothing” had always been spoken so lightly, as though he were talking about something unrelated to himself.
Now, it was only a matter of pressing around an already-healed wound.
His hand did not withdraw.
His fingertips remained against the edge of the healed wound, as though confirming the truth of those words.
“When riding?” Su Muchen asked.
“It hurts when it’s pulled.”
“What about practicing the sword?”
“When it’s strenuous.”
“What about when the weather is cold?”
“It does too.”
When those three “yeses” fell into the air of Guichen Studio, Su Muchen’s fingers moved slightly.
He did not raise his head. His fingertips slowly moved less than an inch along the edge of the wound.
It was as though he were checking whether the temperature of that patch of skin was the same as the surrounding area.
The surface of the wound had already healed almost completely. The skin around the edges was lighter than the surrounding skin, like a gap that was slowly being filled in.
When he pressed down, he could feel that the muscle tissue underneath was still somewhat tense, like a stretched-out thread that had yet to completely loosen.
But that was no longer what he was thinking about.
“You never complained about the pain even when I poured iodine on you before.”
Su Muchen spoke without any discernible emotion, but his movements became gentler.
He looked at Xiao Yuan’s expression once more.
He remembered the first time he had treated Xiao Yuan’s wound.
It had been very deep. When the iodine landed on it, Xiao Yuan had clenched his teeth and even suppressed his breathing, saying only, “It’s bearable,” as though using those two words to press all the pain deep into his marrow.
Xiao Yuan did not look away.
“It’s different now.”
Su Muchen’s fingers stopped at the edge of his wound.
He did not raise his head. He merely asked softly, “How is it different?”
Xiao Yuan was silent for several seconds, as though weighing what kind of answer this question deserved. Only then did he say quietly, “I answer truthfully.”
Just those four words, stating something he had already thought through.
Su Muchen’s fingertips tightened slightly for an instant.
He did not ask further. His gaze returned to the wound, yet he did not immediately continue the examination.
That hand remained where it was, touching the skin beside the wound.
He did not ask what “I answer truthfully” meant, because he understood.
—It was because he was facing you now, so he said that it hurt.
—It was because you wanted to know, so he no longer said that it was bearable.
The matter was so light, as light as a feather, yet it had landed precisely where it needed to.
The room was silent for a while, with only the faint electrical hum of the old light bulb in Guichen Studio.
The light fell between the two of them, casting a thin warmth across the wooden floor and stretching their shadows.
Su Muchen’s fingers remained against the edge of the wound on Xiao Yuan’s left abdomen, not moving away.
That touch was no longer merely an examination, yet neither of them said so aloud.
They both sensed something, yet they were too clear-headed.
They knew that once that line was crossed, there would be no going back.
Between them lay too many complicated realities that could not be spoken aloud.
After a moment, Su Muchen withdrew his hand.
His movement was gentle.
He lowered his eyes, picked up his pen, and wrote several lines in the medical record. The tip of the pen moved somewhat more briskly than usual.
Su Muchen wrote several lines in the medical record:
“Patient reports: occasional discomfort around the left abdominal wound when riding horses, practicing swordsmanship, and in low temperatures. Continued observation recommended. No signs of infection or reopening at present.”
“Have you been failing to rest on schedule again recently?”
He asked, his tone tightening slightly, carrying a touch more professional sternness, as though trying to divert the conversation from something else.
Xiao Yuan did not answer.
And the silence itself was an answer.
Xiao Yuan did not put his clothes back on.
He merely sat there, as though waiting, before that “It’s done” had been spoken, to let this stretch of silence linger a little longer.
After Su Muchen finished writing, he raised his head and glanced at him.
The light fell across the old scars on Xiao Yuan’s shoulders.
Su Muchen’s gaze lingered there for a moment.
He added the precautions:
“Avoid riding for long periods. Keep sword practice light. Keep yourself warm. If the pain worsens or fever, redness, or swelling appears, return immediately for a follow-up examination. And pay attention to your sleeping hours.”
He handed the paper to Xiao Yuan, along with those words.
Xiao Yuan accepted it but did not immediately look at it. He merely held it, as though waiting for Su Muchen to say something else.
“You still need to continue with the examinations afterward,” Su Muchen said as he closed the medical record, “until you have completely recovered.”
When he said this, his tone was slightly gentler than before.
Only slightly. It was not obvious.
Xiao Yuan nodded and pulled up his inner garment.
When he pulled it over his right shoulder, the movement of his left shoulder was half a beat slower—the kind of sluggishness caused by muscles that had not yet recovered. It was subtle, but it could not escape the eyes of someone accustomed to observing injured patients.
Su Muchen noticed it.
He put down his pen, stood up, walked around the counter, and came to stand behind Xiao Yuan. He reached out and adjusted his crooked collar.
When he withdrew his hand, his fingertips paused for an instant along the edge of Xiao Yuan’s nape, so light that it was almost like the sensation of wind brushing past.
Xiao Yuan’s breathing paused for half a beat before returning to normal.
“Pay more attention to this side,” Su Muchen said.
His tone was calm, as though he were talking about the collar, yet also as though he were talking about something else.
Xiao Yuan did not turn around. He merely remained seated there.
On the old wooden floor, their two shadows overlapped for an instant beneath the lamplight, then separated.
Neither of them said it aloud.
The lights of Guichen Studio quietly remained on, as though nothing had happened.
Then he walked back behind the counter, sat down again, pulled open a drawer, and took out another medical record.
That medical record was even thicker than Xiao Yuan’s.
Written on the cover were the words: “002 Xia Lanshi.”
He opened to the latest page. The tip of his pen hovered above the paper. After thinking for a moment, he asked, “How has Xia Lanshi been lately?”
For the time being, he could not see Xia Lanshi himself, so he could only update the medical record through Xiao Yuan’s verbal account.
Xiao Yuan sat down opposite the counter. He was silent for a moment, as though organizing the details he had observed over the past few days.
“Huaiyu has not had a fever again recently. It’s just that official affairs have exhausted him, and he still has to deal with Jiang Zechen. The weather has been cold lately, so he often coughs. His spirits are still acceptable, but his physical strength is clearly inferior to that of an ordinary person.”
“What about at night?”
Xiao Yuan’s gaze shifted slightly, as though recalling something.
“He often stays up late into the night, lighting a lamp to examine all kinds of documents. I’ve seen him several times. His body is always slightly bent forward, and his eyes are much closer to the paper than other people’s. Sometimes he leans so close that he is almost touching it, as though he cannot see the words clearly.”
He paused, then continued.
“When outdoors, he habitually turns his body to avoid direct sunlight, or holds an umbrella to block the light. His posture is completely different from when he reads indoors.”
Su Muchen’s pen stopped.
He connected those sentences together in his mind: albinism, reading at night with his face close to the paper, photophobia, turning sideways to avoid sunlight, holding an umbrella.
The direction these symptoms pointed toward was very clear.
Photophobia and myopia accounted for at least two of them.
Xia Lanshi was an albino. Physiologically, the iris lacked pigment and could not effectively block scattered light. People like this almost always had severe photophobia.
And the fact that he needed to bring the paper close to his eyes to see clearly at night was not a matter of habit. It was because he could not see clearly that he leaned so close.
Su Muchen had not personally seen him, so he could not determine his exact prescription, but the direction was already very clear.
“Was he like this before?” Su Muchen asked.
Xiao Yuan thought for a moment.
“He was like this before as well. It’s just that no one had ever said it was an illness.”
Su Muchen did not respond.
He put down his pen, opened another drawer beneath the counter, and took out a flat wooden box.
The box was not large and had no markings on its surface. But Xiao Yuan noticed that Su Muchen seemed to be taking out something that had already been prepared, but whose time for use had not yet arrived.
Inside was a row of metal-framed lenses, arranged according to prescription strength and secured within a velvet-lined cushion. Each lens had been smoothly polished around the edges.
“What is this?”
“A trial lens set,” Su Muchen said. “I originally planned to wait until I could go to Dashing before using it.”
He picked up one of the lenses, examined it, then put it back.
“But you can take it back first and use it to test roughly what his prescription is.”
“How is this used?”
Xiao Yuan asked.
Su Muchen took out one of the lenses and held it before his eyes to demonstrate.
“Have him sit somewhere with stable lighting. Put this lens in front of his eyes, changing one lens at a time.”
He pulled a sheet of instructions already written from the side of the box and pushed it in front of Xiao Yuan.
“These are the testing steps I wrote.”
Xiao Yuan lowered his head.
The handwriting on the paper was neater than Su Muchen’s usual writing, as though it had been written for someone who needed to follow the instructions precisely:
Step One: Have him look at a document under normal lighting, at a distance of approximately one arm’s length.
Step Two: Cover the left eye. Starting from the lowest prescription, place the lens in front of the right eye.
Step Three: Ask him, “Is this one clearer, or was the previous one clearer?” Record the prescription of the lens he considers clearest.
Step Four: Switch to the right eye and repeat the procedure.
Step Five: If the prescriptions of the two eyes are different, record them separately.
Su Muchen added, “During the test, let him use his usual reading posture. If he unconsciously moves very close when looking at things at night, then simulate nighttime lighting. Do not deliberately increase the brightness.”
Xiao Yuan read the instruction sheet once more, as though confirming the order and reason behind every step.
Then he folded it and put it inside his robe.
“What if he thinks every lens is unclear?” Xiao Yuan asked.
“Then start over and try again at a different distance,” Su Muchen said. “But if he cannot sense any difference even with the basic prescriptions, then it isn’t simply myopia. There may be another problem.”
He paused.
“But based on your description, it should be myopia combined with photophobia. The trial lens set should be able to determine a usable prescription. Once you’ve tested it, I’ll be able to prepare suitable glasses for him.”
Xiao Yuan carefully put away the box of trial lenses, as though storing something that needed to be treated with care.
He looked at the edges of the lenses reflecting faintly under the lamplight and remembered Xia Lanshi’s slightly forward-leaning figure while reading accounts at night.
Perhaps those lenses would allow him to stop leaning so close.
Su Muchen did not explain anything further. He merely instructed, “After you take it back, if he’s willing to try it, follow the steps. If he isn’t willing—”
He did not finish.
“If it can improve things, I think he’ll be very willing to try.”
Xiao Yuan said this because he knew Xia Lanshi well enough.
—As long as it can be used, he will use it.
Next, Su Muchen turned and took another wooden box from beneath the counter, placing it between them.
The wooden box was slightly larger than the trial lens box. Its corners had been carefully reinforced with metal plates, as though someone had taken extra care with it during transportation.
These were the three mechanical pocket watches he had ordered through the group’s channels—that is, through Xiao.
Su Muchen opened the wooden box.
Dark velvet lined the inside. The three pocket watches were each set into their own recessed slot. Every one of them had been wiped clean, calibrated, and maintained, their hands quietly ticking away.
Su Muchen took them out one by one and arranged them in a row.
The one on the left was misty silver. It was not ornate; the watch face bore only delicate vines and snowflake patterns, like branches and leaves growing from a snowy winter landscape.
The one in the middle was rose gold, with wheat ears and grapes engraved around the edges. It was extremely exquisite and looked expensive.
The one on the right was matte brass, bearing traces of age. A shield and long sword were engraved on its surface, giving it a sturdy overall appearance.
“This one is for General Pei.”
Su Muchen pointed to the brass one.
“It looks a little older, so it won’t attract attention. It’s resistant to drops and impacts, and it won’t be painful to see it get worn down in a military camp.”
Xiao Yuan picked up the brass pocket watch and turned it over in his hand.
It was indeed very plain. There were old marks along the edges, the hands were clear and easy to read, and there was nothing flashy or conspicuous about it.
It was indeed something Pei Yi would accept.
After putting it down, Su Muchen pointed to the rose-gold one in the middle.
“This one is for Chi Banyue.”
He did not explain further, but Xiao Yuan had already seen it.
The one with wheat and grape reliefs had an extremely thin mirror on the inner side and a longer chain. It was suitable for someone who often moved among the noble ladies of the capital.
Xiao Yuan’s gaze fell upon the final misty-silver pocket watch.
It was understated yet pleasing to the eye. The hands were an extremely fine blued-steel color, and there was a moon-phase window at the six o’clock position.
When he turned it over, an orchid was engraved on the back. The carving was extremely faint.
The style of this pocket watch was completely different from the other two, as though it had been deliberately chosen for someone who preferred simplicity.
Xiao Yuan reached out and picked it up. His fingertips touched the engraving on the inner cover.
There was a new inscription there, apparently carved not long ago. It seemed to be some kind of writing, but he had never seen it before.
“What is this?”
Xiao Yuan raised his head and looked at Su Muchen.
Su Muchen glanced at it and only then noticed the line of writing. Without thinking much of it, he explained to Xiao Yuan, “It’s a foreign language from this world—’Live. That’s enough.’ It means, ‘As long as you are alive, that’s enough.'”
Xiao Yuan was silent for a moment.
He considered the meaning of those words and also understood who had engraved them.
He looked up at Su Muchen.
“This one wasn’t chosen by you.”
Su Muchen did not deny it.
“I asked Xiao to choose it.”
He felt that Xiao often exchanged letters with Xia Lanshi and therefore probably understood better what kind of pocket watch would suit Xia Lanshi.
Xiao Yuan did not ask further. He merely nodded.
“They were all chosen very appropriately.”
Su Muchen was putting the pocket watches back into the box one by one. Seeing that Xiao Yuan was satisfied, he was relieved as well.
He understood that these things were not merely rewards from Xiao Yuan to his trusted subordinates.
There was also a more practical purpose.
Xiao Yuan wanted to change Dashing.
These precise mechanical pocket watches might still be beyond Dashing’s ability to manufacture now, but someday in the future, it certainly would be able to.
When Xiao Yuan reached the door to the back room, he paused.
“Next time, I’ll bring Huaiyu’s test results.”
“All right,” Su Muchen said.
Xiao Yuan said nothing more. He stepped into the white light, and the door closed behind him.
Su Muchen placed the “002 Xia Lanshi” medical record, which was still lying on the counter, back into the drawer.
His movements were just as gentle as when he put away Xiao Yuan’s medical record.
He made sure both medical records were in their proper places, each representing one of the two patients he was remotely monitoring.
Beside those two medical records was another one, numbered “003 Xiao,” placed right beside Xia Lanshi’s.
Suddenly, a message notification sounded from his phone.
Su Muchen picked up the phone, unlocked it, and opened the message.
Xiao had sent him a message.
“His Highness left?”
Xiao asked in the message.
There were surveillance cameras inside Guichen Studio, but whenever Xiao Yuan appeared, the surveillance would become unstable.
Sometimes there was no image at all. Sometimes the screen would fill with static.
Su Muchen quickly replied:
“Mm. He just left.”
Then he added:
“It’s so late. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Within seconds, a new message popped up.
“Xiao is nocturnal.”
Then came an owl sticker making a grimacing face.
Even though no one could see him, Su Muchen instinctively rolled his eyes.
Then Xiao sent another message:
“Pay more attention to your safety recently.”
Su Muchen’s heart tightened when he saw those words.
Xiao continued sending messages:
“Sheng Chengxiu has even resorted to assassination attempts. I think he’ll make other moves next. You need to be careful too.”
Su Muchen thought of the last time Xiao had been attacked.
Although Xiao had glossed over it, he knew that being hunted by a group of professional assassins meant Sheng Chengxiu had truly intended to kill Xiao.
So he quickly typed on his phone:
“I’ll be careful. You need to be careful too. You’re human, so don’t go head-to-head with those people.”
After a while, he still received no reply, as though the other person was still thinking.
Finally, Xiao sent:
“Got it.”
Then he sent another smiling-face sticker.
The conversation ended.
The lights in Guichen Studio quietly remained on.
The antiques in the shop lay silently in the tranquil air, as though waiting for visitors to arrive.
Su Muchen looked out at the night beyond the window and thought of Xiao Yuan.
Recently, he seemed to have changed again.
Lately, he no longer seemed to deliberately maintain his distance, as though he had returned to the Xiao Yuan of the past, yet there was something different about him.
Su Muchen had noticed that recently, whenever Xiao Yuan left, he would deliberately turn back and take one more look, as though he were indeed confirming something.