What a Coincidence, Escorting Serena Home

A doctor must never pour too much emotion into her patients, or she’ll only end up hurting herself. This is Serena Feng’s ironclad rule.

It’s not that she’s cold or heartless—there are simply too many people and things in this world worthy of sympathy. She refuses to turn herself into a weeping maiden, drowning in endless sorrow. After witnessing so much birth and death, what is left for her to be unable to see through?

Serena put on her mask, fell silent, and ignored the hope and longing in Holden's eyes. Before the examination, she could not promise him anything.

Time was short, so Serena saved the pulse check for last and began with basic examinations for Holden. Of course, her Smart Med-Pack was already activated—not because she relied on machines, but because some illnesses simply can’t be seen with the naked eye. Besides, the patient before her wasn’t exactly cooperative.

Serena checked Holden’s pupils and skin, listened closely to his heartbeat and breathing, and asked about any discomforts and his daily eating habits.

From Holden’s answers and her own clinical experience, Serena knew she was facing real trouble. Whether she won the contest was a small matter—curing Holden was the real challenge.

"Holden, I need a drop of your blood." Serena gave him no chance to refuse. She took a fine needle from her medicine chest and pricked his fingertip.

Holden winced at the pain but did not move, letting Serena draw his blood. His long, dark lashes fluttered slightly. Only after Serena sealed the blood in a small transparent vial did Holden finally ask, "Doctor Feng, what illness do I have?"—no one had ever diagnosed him before.

"I don’t know yet. Only after I’ve examined your blood can I reach a conclusion." Serena closed her medicine chest, removed her gloves and mask, and stuffed them into her pocket. Mira Tang immediately stepped up with a damp towel and carefully wiped all ten of Serena’s fingers clean.

What a clever maid—she’d even learned this tiny habit of hers. People trained at Ninth Prince Manor are truly something else.

Serena nodded at Mira Tang in approval, and Mira’s eyes lit up with joy.

Once everything was tidied up, Serena turned and saw Wendy Summers there, putting on a show as she took the pulse of Patient No. 8, asking all the typical doctor’s questions. Judging by her performance, Wendy must have practiced hard these past few days.

In these contests, victory often depends not on skill, but on strategy—just as she had beaten Wendy in the four arts rounds.

Serena wasn’t angry at Prince Damien of Southlyn or Wendy for their secret scheming; that was simply their ability.

Serena smiled gently and bowed to the Crown Prince and the others: "Your Highness, I have finished my diagnosis. If there’s nothing else, may I take my leave?"

"Can you diagnose what illness this young gentleman has, Serena? Do you need to write a prescription?" The Crown Prince was no fool—just as Serena could see through Wendy’s tricks, he too had noticed. His question was meant to give Serena a chance to expose the contest’s manipulation, but Serena didn’t take the bait. To her, using tactics in a competition was perfectly normal.

"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. I can’t be sure of the gentleman’s illness yet—I need to go back and think carefully." She had her suspicions, but everything would have to wait for the test results. Without investigation, there’s no right to speak; until she was certain, a doctor should never casually guess in front of a patient and risk frightening them.

"I’ve heard Miss Feng’s medical skills are legendary—so, there are actually illnesses you can’t diagnose?" Prince Damien of Southlyn was like a cockroach: whether you liked it or not, he always managed to show up.

Serena turned away in disgust and replied impatiently, "If I can’t diagnose this gentleman’s illness, the Third Prince surely knows the reason. As for those rumors of my legendary skill, they’re just talk—I’m only good at treating external injuries."

It’s fine to use underhanded tactics—but if you’re exposed and still pretend to be innocent, that’s just nauseating. Serena despised those who played the whore and then tried to act virtuous. She couldn’t be bothered to say more, so she shut it down with one sharp line.

Anyone else would have at least blushed, even if they weren’t guilty—but Prince Damien of Southlyn just looked innocent, as if he didn’t understand. Not only that, he seized the chance to probe: "Rumors are never reliable, but lately everyone’s saying Miss Feng spent the night at Ninth Prince Manor with the Ninth Royal Uncle. Is it gossip, or fact?"

When men gossip, they’re no less intense than women. As soon as Prince Damien spoke, Serena noticed Crown Prince Colin, Prince Terrence Valen, and Prince Rowan all staring at her, eyes bright, clearly waiting for her answer.

It was obvious she couldn’t avoid answering. Just then, Wendy Summers finished her own diagnosis and, afraid Serena might dodge, chimed in: "Serena, the Third Prince is giving you a chance to clear up the rumors—surely you’re not afraid to answer?"

She truly didn’t dare answer—but could she refuse?

Serena smiled. The Chinese language is the most marvelous in the world—there’s a way of answering by talking around the point. If they wanted to trap her, it depended on whether she felt like playing along.

"Third Prince, I never pay attention to rumors, and I haven’t heard the one you mentioned. It’s true that the Ninth Royal Uncle is gravely ill, and I did spend one night at Ninth Prince Manor. As for my so-called chastity—do you think I have any left at all?"

Serena was alluding to the time Prince Damien publicly insulted her at a banquet.

"Miss Feng really holds a grudge." Prince Damien was frustrated by her ambiguous answer, but since Serena brought up old wounds, he was too embarrassed to press further.

"Women’s hearts are as small as hair strands. I may not have many talents, but my memory is excellent." Serena’s gaze swept over Prince Terrence and Prince Rowan, reminding them that she hadn’t forgotten their slights either—she’d just let them go.

She wasn’t a saint. She could never repay resentment with virtue—after all, if she did, how would she repay kindness?

Seeing Serena speak so frankly about herself, Holden’s dull eyes suddenly brightened, and his gaze lingered on her longer than before.

Prince Rowan and Prince Terrence both looked guilty and awkward, turning away. At this point, neither dared ask Serena about the rumors anymore. The Crown Prince tried to smooth things over, but Serena’s cold expression gave him no face.

Not wanting to embarrass himself, the Crown Prince made a few polite remarks and then announced the contest was over for the day—everyone could leave.

The Crown Prince left first; Serena didn’t linger either, following close behind. Holden watched her departing figure, wanting to speak but ultimately saying nothing, and quietly returned to his room.

Serena was worried about Holden’s illness, and after overexerting herself last night, she was feeling unwell. Anxious to go home, she hurried out—only to be stopped by Prince Rowan before she reached the palace gate.

"What a coincidence—you’re leaving the palace, Serena? I happen to be leaving too. Let me escort you." Prince Rowan was every bit the elegant gentleman, though he was secretly nervous.

"Yes, quite a coincidence." Serena’s lips twitched, and she stared at her shoes—not out of respect or embarrassment, but simply because she couldn’t be bothered to look at Prince Rowan’s smiling, handsome face.

Such a cheesy pickup line—only Prince Rowan could pull it off, and only because he was so good-looking. Even saying something that lame, he still managed to look every bit the refined nobleman.

"It really is a coincidence. You’re leaving the palace, Serena? I’m just about to leave too—how about I escort you home?" Prince Terrence popped up from somewhere, thinking he was being suave.

Serena was about to refuse when she saw Prince Damien and Wendy Summers approaching—Wendy looked ready for a show, and Damien’s narrow eyes sparkled with mischief…

The more she wanted to leave, the less she could.