Physician Han arrived two days later, under cover of a delivery cart and a false name, because Jian had been very clear that no one — not Lei, not the guards, not anyone beyond the three of them in that room — could know yet what had happened in the garden.
He was smaller than Yuan expected, stooped with age, a wisp of white beard and eyes so pale they were almost colorless, sharp despite the cloudiness that suggested failing sight. He moved slowly, but there was nothing frail about the way he studied Yuan the moment he entered the room — a long, assessing look that made Yuan feel, uncomfortably, like a puzzle already half-solved.
"So," Han said, settling onto a cushion with a small grunt of effort. "This is the young man who threw a trained killer into a garden wall."
"That's the rumor," Yuan said, aiming for lightness and mostly missing.
Han's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Sit. Give me your wrist."
