“Master Liu!” everyone cried out in confusion, not knowing what had just happened, while also calling for the imperial doctor.
“He’s choked by phlegm and lost consciousness!” Young Master Qin shouted loudly. “Quick, wake him up!”
A nearby petty official, reacting instinctively, raised his hand and gave Secretariat Editor Liu a heavy slap across the face.
Secretariat Editor Liu immediately stopped laughing and clapping, but now lay on the ground with a twisted mouth, slanted eyes, drooling, and convulsing uncontrollably.
Everyone present was at a loss. The Imperial Medical Institute was far away, and it would take a while to fetch someone. Seeing Secretariat Editor Liu in such a state, many had already come to a grim conclusion.
It was a wind-stroke!
Even if the doctor arrived, it would be too late!
For a moment, the hall fell into silence, broken only by the noise of people rushing over after hearing the news, and the wailing cries of Secretariat Editor Liu’s personal attendants.
“To Yichun Hall!” Young Master Qin suddenly shouted again. “I heard that Yichun Hall in the capital has invited that divine doctor lady who can bring the dead back to life. Why not send him there quickly?”
His words reminded Secretariat Editor Liu’s attendant, who was still crying and shouting.
Yichun Hall was, in fact, one of Secretariat Editor Liu’s hidden assets, and now that the famed divine doctor was there, it would be the safest and most appropriate place to go.
“To Yichun Hall! To Yichun Hall!” he echoed between sobs.
Yes, the divine doctor!
The crowd instantly became a noisy commotion once more. After all, Secretariat Editor Liu was well-liked, and seeing him suddenly struck down like this, everyone was anxious to help. They found a door panel, and a group of petty officials lifted him and rushed off at full speed.
The commotion outside Yichun Hall was still ongoing.
Dou Qi, paying no mind to the injury on his arm, swaggered over to join the excitement.
“Lady Cheng, what’s the point of hiding in your room?” he said with a loud laugh. “So many people are waiting to catch a glimpse of the miraculous divine doctor. You’re going to be seeing patients in the main hall soon—you can’t keep acting like a sheltered maiden. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face people.”
Ever since he arrived early that morning, he had been finding any excuse to talk, doing his best to be as annoying as possible. Though this lady would soon be dead anyway, Dou Qi still felt uncomfortable if he didn’t vent his own displeasure.
Off to the side, Cheng Jiao-niang quietly continued inspecting the medicine shop, completely ignoring his words.
Dou Qi was clearly dissatisfied with her response.
“This pharmacy looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” he said again. “With Lady Cheng here now, it’s bound to make a fortune.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“Not bad, not bad,” she replied this time, while pulling open a medicine drawer to glance at the herbs inside.
Dou Qi gave a cold snort.
“Whether it’s good or not has nothing to do with you,” he said.
“If I don’t care, who will?” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, pushing the drawer shut.
Dou Qi sneered inwardly.
What? Does she think this is Tai Ping Residence? The one pulling the strings behind the scenes isn’t her!
“Oh really? Then congratulations to Lady Cheng on making a grand fortune,” he said with mock politeness.
Cheng Jiao-niang no longer paid him any attention and turned to look elsewhere, inspecting the place as if it were her own domain.
This only made Dou Qi feel more uncomfortable. Just as he was about to sneer a few more words, a sudden commotion erupted outside.
Firecrackers were still popping intermittently, mixed with the chaotic noise of shouting voices, rumbling carts, and hurried footsteps.
“Make way! The divine doctor—please save him!”
The shouting grew louder and clearer as it approached.
Dou Qi stepped to the doorway and saw the crowd on the street parting as a group of people rushed in, carrying someone on a door panel.
His eyes lit up with glee.
“Ha! Ha!” He turned back toward the interior and laughed. “Lady Cheng must be a lucky star—she’s only just moved in, and someone’s already come begging to be saved!”
With that, he stepped outside again.
“Wonder which poor soul’s been struck by misfortune…” he chuckled as he squinted at the approaching group—then suddenly his expression changed slightly, eyes widening.
Why did that attendant in the front look so familiar?
“Quick, quick, please save the master!”
The attendant shouted loudly, urging the crowd on the street to move aside, and then caught sight of Dou Qi.
“Dou Qi! Hurry and get Lady Cheng to save the master!” he yelled.
“Which… which master?” Dou Qi blurted out instinctively.
Perhaps it was someone brought in through his god-grandfather’s influence at the magistrate’s office? Naturally, the people from that side were all called “masters.”
As the group rushed closer, Dou Qi finally saw the man lying on the door panel.
The once-familiar official’s robe, now faded from too many washes, no longer looked clean or dignified. Instead, it was wrinkled and stained all over.
The elderly man lying on it was nothing like his usual amiable and dignified self—his mouth was twisted, one eye drooped, saliva streamed from his lips, and his hands twitched uncontrollably in front of him, making the sight rather repulsive.
Dou Qi felt his legs go weak, a ringing filled his ears, and he could no longer hear what anyone around him was saying. He just stood there, eyes wide in shock, staring at the man being brought toward him.
“Oh, what a surprise. On my very first day here, the very first person to come seeking treatment turns out to be Master Liu.”
A dry, raspy female voice sounded in his ear—not loud, but like a thunderclap exploding in his mind.
Dou Qi turned his head stiffly to look. The lady before him still wore that same expressionless face.
“Is this a sign of great fortune,” she tilted her head slightly and looked at Dou Qi, “or a stroke of terrible luck?”
“Secretariat Editor Liu went mad?”
Old Master Chen put down his scroll in surprise, looking at Chen Shao, who had just hurried back.
“Yes, he suddenly fell ill just now,” Chen Shao replied. “We all just came back from the pharmacy after seeing him.”
Old Master Chen looked at him, momentarily unsure how to respond.
“He’s always been cautious and extremely mindful of his health. Though he often eats plain and frugal meals, his body has always been quite strong,” he said. “So how… how could he suddenly go mad?”
“It’s not exactly madness,” Chen Shao said, his expression both complicated and strange. “The diagnosis just now was wind-stroke.”
Wind-stroke—worse than madness, really.
Old Master Chen’s face fell into a speechless grimace.
Madness, at least, renders one unaware of everything. The onlookers might gawk, but the sufferer remains oblivious, beyond joy or sorrow.
But a wind-stroke? The mind stays clear while the body is paralyzed. In that case, the one enduring the torment of being gawked at is the person himself.
“Was it… was it her doing?” he hesitated, then asked.
That—surely that’s impossible, right?
Could she really be some kind of celestial immortal, with power over life and death?
Absurd.
“She… didn’t really do anything,” Chen Shao said, his expression complicated. “She even went to work as a doctor at the Yichun Hall pharmacy.”
Old Master Chen naturally knew about that as well—they had been quietly keeping an eye on the situation these past days.
She had reconciled with Secretariat Editor Liu, accepted Tai Ping Residence’s compensation, and even voluntarily offered her medical skills to help.
It left both father and son somewhat confused. At times, they sighed to themselves—after all, she was just a young girl, what more could she really do? Maybe this outcome was for the best.
But other times, they couldn’t shake the feeling that something about it all was strange.
And just as they were going back and forth in their thoughts, this sudden news arrived.
The room fell silent. Both father and son were lost in their own thoughts.
“There’s one more thing,” Old Master Chen suddenly said.
Chen Shao looked up at him.
“Wind-stroke is an incurable illness,” the old man said.
Yes, everyone knew that.
Chen Shao nodded, a bit puzzled as to why his father was bringing this up.
Old Master Chen gave a meaningful smile.
“Lady Cheng—she only treats those declared untreatable,” he said.
Chen Shao suddenly understood—and at the same time, felt a chill run through him.
Everything lined up so perfectly. Everything had fallen into place without a flaw.
Wind-stroke—an incurable disease, but not one that kills right away. Still, it was as good as the end. In some ways, it was worse than those thugs who were shot dead on the spot.
Worse than death. A future destroyed. A career obliterated.
A man struck with wind-stroke was no better than a cripple. And a cripple… posed no threat to anyone.
Old Master Chen turned his head to look at his bookshelf. Hanging there was a single character:
Nine.
“Nine days,” he murmured to himself.
Nine returns to one; the Dao resumes its beginning.
What exactly was this?
Good fortune?
Or brilliant calculation?
“Lady Cheng, how is Master Liu?”
The leading official asked impatiently.
The hall of Yichun Hall was packed with people—officials, as well as Secretariat Editor Liu’s family who had rushed over upon hearing the news.
Crying echoed continuously throughout the hall.
When Cheng Jiao-niang turned away from the door panel, all eyes were fixed on her.
The young girl wore her hair tied back and simple clothes, her expression blank. In such a somber setting, she looked appropriately heavy-hearted.
Only Dou Qi, standing behind in the corner against the wall, was still trembling all over. Following the crowd’s gaze, he looked at the woman and his face went deathly pale.
This was no coincidence. It absolutely was not a coincidence.
“All is well,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
At her words, the entire hall breathed a sigh of relief, and the family members burst into tears of joy once again.
“There’s no immediate danger to his life,” Cheng Jiao-niang continued.
“Then please, Lady Cheng, treat him quickly!” the family shouted in a flurry.
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head as she looked at them.
“I can’t treat this,” she said.
Everyone in the hall was stunned.
“You’d better seek someone more skilled,” Cheng Jiao-niang said with a slight bow before stepping forward.
Seeing her about to leave, the family snapped back to their senses and hurried to stop her.
“…You’re a disciple of True Master Li. Who else is more skilled than you?” someone called out.
Others realized what was at stake.
“Don’t worry about the fee—we can pay whatever it takes. Ten thousand, twenty thousand, thirty thousand guan, whatever you want, right away.”
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and spending a fortune for urgent medical help is not unusual.
However, when the Liu family spoke up like that, some in the hall showed strange expressions.
The Liu family, known for their thriftiness—who couldn’t even afford to pay for their daughter’s wedding and had to offer debts as dowry—could they really produce thirty thousand strings of cash on the spot?
Amidst the noisy pleas, Cheng Jiao-niang’s expression remained unchanged.
“First of all, I am not a disciple of True Master Li,” she said. “That’s just a rumor.”
“Regardless of whose disciple you are, aren’t you supposed to bring the dead back to life? Please save my master!” the family members urged anxiously.
Their desperation made them seem frantic, yet the young lady before them was calm, composed, and exceptionally polite as she slowly bowed and responded.
“I can bring the dead back to life,” she said, lifting her head to glance at the family, then turning back to look at Secretariat Editor Liu on the door panel.
Secretariat Editor Liu lay exactly as when he was brought in: eyes tightly shut, mouth slightly open, saliva continuously dripping.
“But Master Liu is not dying,” she said. “My rule is that I do not treat those who are not at death’s door. So, I cannot treat him. I truly apologize.”
Because there was no immediate threat to his life, she had said “all is well,” but precisely for that reason, she could not treat him.
Who else could cure this wind-stroke disease?
Is this good or bad?
Is it good luck or bad luck?
Everyone present had complicated expressions and couldn’t help but cry out in their hearts:
It would have been better if he were gravely ill and about to die!
