Feng Xinzi had believed the girls from the brothel would not follow anyone to a war zone. Yet here they were, loyally standing by Ruoshui. He was a bit stunned — and touched — and still uneasy. The plague was a problem none of them could promise to solve, but Feng Xinzi’s cultivation and experience made him confident he could at least protect Ruoshui.

　　The gates couldn’t stay open; mobs inside the city were riled and another panic could happen if the crowd surged again. Only after midnight, when Tang Di personally reopened the gates and ushered them in, did they enter.

　　The streets inside were empty, stony silent. It felt like the whole city had been turned inside-out by death. Tang Di arranged accommodations for them in the Yunan Prince’s mansion. The weight of leadership had worn him down, but the arrival of Feng Xinzi gave him a sliver of hope.

　　That evening Tang Di ordered food prepared. Ruoshui, exhausted, fell asleep. Yet the silence was palpable; she and the others felt it in their bones.

　　At breakfast the next day there was no fanfare — only the same plain fare. Yu Furong and Yu Lan ate quietly. Word came that Tang Di wouldn’t dine at the mansion. He and his men were out patrolling and guarding; all deliveries came from outside.

　　Feng Xinzi was at the imperial hospital, exhausted. The plague was ruthless: it spread fast and stealthily. One infected person passed it to two, then four, then eight. He threw himself into the work for five straight days, without sleep. He made no breakthrough, but his presence steadied the local doctors. Even if he could not immediately cure the disease, he brought people hope.

　　He worried about Ruoshui. When he finally returned to the mansion he found out she hadn’t eaten a thing since they arrived.

　　“What have you been doing?” he exploded at Yu Furong and Yu Lan. “I asked you to take care of her!”

　　They were startled — they had tried. The mansion’s larders were nearly empty, and Ruoshui simply refused to eat. She preferred to starve rather than touch bland food. It infuriated Feng Xinzi — partly because she was his responsibility, partly because he worried desperately about her health.

　　Tang Di arrived and apologized for the poor hospitality. A servant, piqued, barked that Ruoshui had been perfectly fine, and that the staff had only served leftovers to the prince and everyone else had to make do. Tang Di hushed the servant. Feng Xinzi, white with concern for Ruoshui, shouted that the woman hadn’t eaten for five days and something should have been done.

　　“Everyone in the city is short of food,” the steward said. “There’s nothing anyone can do now.”

　　At that moment Ruoshui interrupted them: “First, I’m not his wife. Second, I’m not eating by choice, so don’t blame the steward. Third, arguing won’t save people. Does your doctor have any cure?”

　　Feng Xinzi, flustered, admitted he didn’t yet have one. But Ruoshui, weary, told them all to disperse and let her sleep. The petty disputes died down.

　　The next morning, Ruoshui woke to find a whole roast chicken steaming on the table — Feng Xinzi’s doing. After days of bland porridge, she brightened. Yu Lan and Yu Furong were moved by his thoughtfulness; they watched as she tore the chicken apart, gave them the drumsticks, and ate with a gusto that made them smile.

　　Yu Furong felt complicated emotions; Yu Lan, who accompanied Tang Di on the walls, was quietly proud and shy. The two women loved Ruoshui like a friend and sister.

　　Feng Xinzi had been working day and night at the imperial hospital. The plague was baffling. But seeing Ruoshui eat, seeing her lighten up, steadied him. She suggested they go out despite the city’s danger. Yu Furong worried; if plague fighters held no answers, the place could be a living hell, not a place of rebirth. Ruoshui, stubborn and optimistic, insisted. Perhaps she was naïve, perhaps brave — but she wanted to act, not sit waiting.

　　The slow, cold city watched them — a capital once alive now waiting to see whether it would live or perish.