A weak heart, the doctors told her parents, when she was four, tired out from just a short swim in the lake. Jiang Yanli remembers sitting on the dock, watching the other children play and splash, feeling the exhaustion pulling at her own limbs at the mere thought of joining them.

After that, every effort to build her golden core was in the service of shoring up her body's meagre reserves. No one ever said it, but it was clear that her sword would never be used on a night hunt. She cared for it anyway; it was her partner.

Perhaps it's true, about her heart, in other ways. Jiang Yanli doesn't think she can survive another loss. The fracture in her at the loss of Lotus Pier feels bone deep. Most days she still feels dizzy, as if her fever never really went away.

Every day her limbs feel heavier than the last, but she pushes through the fatigue, commandeers Wen Qing's kitchen to make food for them all, for her brothers who won't eat, one out of despair and the other out of determination.

She has to keep going for them, but she's so tired.

She bargains with herself, shifting leaden legs out of her bed. While her brothers live, she has to do her best for them. She pushes herself up, rests her forehead against the cool wood of the wall. If they die, she'll let herself go, too.

In her most shameful moments, she almost thinks that would be preferable—at least then, she could rest.

Wen Qing finds her in the kitchen, as usual. She's carrying a tray of food, still full, all gone cold. Jiang Yanli recognizes A-Cheng's favorites and chokes on a sob. She turns back to the soup pot, more to hide her face than because the broth needs attention.

"How long do you intend to go on like this?" Wen Qing asks. Jiang Yanli hears the click of Wen Qing setting the tray down on the table.

"This is the only way I know to help," Jiang Yanli tells the soup pot. "How else should I go on?"

"You haven't fully recovered from your own illness," Wen Qing says. "You should rest before it worsens again."

The laugh that escapes Jiang Yanli's mouth is a wild, unhappy thing. "There's no full recovery possible for me, Wen-guniang. If I let myself stop, I couldn't possibly start again."

There's the sound of footfalls behind her, and then a hand on her shoulder. It's almost tentative, at odds with the self-assurance Wen Qing usually projects. Jiang Yanli stiffens for a moment, then turns, lets herself be drawn away from the fire. She can feel tears building behind her temple, like a headache. She's so tired of tears.

"At least talk to your shidi," Wen Qing says. Her voice is her usual brisk tone, but her hand on Jiang Yanli's shoulder is gentle. "At the rate he's going, he's not going to find any solution and the last thing I need is all three of you driving yourselves to an early grave after all the effort my brother put in to saving your lives."

Jiang Yanli sags. "You're right," she murmurs. She can feel the dizziness and exhaustion waiting to catch her as soon as her focus breaks. "Let me just—"

Wen Qing quirks the corner of her mouth into a humorless smile. "Finish your soup," she says. "Then go to Jiang Cheng's room and take a break. I'll send Wei Wuxian to you."

Jiang Yanli reaches up to her shoulder and squeezes Wen Qing's hand there. "Thank you."

Wen Qing stills in surprise, then nods, once. She withdraws her hand, stands straight again. "Don't forget to eat, too, Jiang-guniang."

Jiang Yanli smiles at her. She's tired, so tired still, but she can smile at kindness. "I won't forget."