'The smell of this medicinal soup...'
Yuan Heng had already picked up the medicine bowl, ready to show Ji Qingwu how brave he could be.
Ji Qingwu raised her hand and placed it on his small arm.
"Wait a moment."
She took the bowl from him and asked, "Where did this medicinal soup come from?"
Seeing her doubt, Little Shunzi, who was standing to the side, replied, "I retrieved it from the Imperial Hospital this morning. It was made according to the prescription Miss Ji wrote yesterday."
Ji Qingwu's gaze fell upon the thick, dark medicinal soup. Outwardly, it looked no different from yesterday's.
Little Shunzi might have seemed impetuous, but he was sharp. He lowered his voice and asked, "Did you notice something wrong?"
Ji Qingwu replied calmly, "No. The Young Master's condition has improved greatly. He doesn't need to take this medicine for dispelling the chill today."
