Jiao Niang’s Medical Record Chapter 308

After leaving the Cheng family, the distraught Doctor Li declined Madam Chen’s invitation.

“Anyway, you can see for yourselves whether she’s recovered or not. There’s no need for me to go and repeat myself to Old Master Chen,” he said.

Madam Chen responded awkwardly with an affirmative and had no choice but to let him go.

How on earth did she wake up?

How on earth did she wake up?

In the past, whenever he declared someone incurable, that girl would heal them. But now, even when he declared that girl herself incurable, she somehow recovered on her own!

This is downright bizarre! How could such a strange thing happen?

He had diagnosed with absolute certainty that her vital energy was on the verge of collapse—how could she return to normal overnight?

Could it be that this girl’s origins were truly as the rumors claimed…

An encounter with an immortal…

“What in the world happened?” he muttered. “How was her heart ailment resolved just like that?”

Someone burst into laughter.

Doctor Li snapped out of his daze and saw a young nobleman sitting before him, one knee casually raised.

“Ah, how did I end up in Your Highness’s palace?” he muttered.

“How should I know?” Duke Jin’an replied with a chuckle. “I was just reading when you barged in, sat down, and started meditating like a monk.”

Doctor Li gave an absentminded “Oh,” then sighed as the memory returned.

“But how was she cured?” he murmured again.

Duke Jin’an looked at him and snorted with laughter.

“Why, it’s all thanks to you, Doctor Li!” he said. “Truly, anyone you declare incurable is guaranteed to recover!”

He slapped his knee and burst into uproarious laughter.

Doctor Li glared.

“Tell me at once—what is that girl’s true background?” he demanded.

Could she truly be an heir of True Master Li?

Had True Master Li himself descended at her dying hour to restore her life?

Look at him—what absurd thoughts was he entertaining? This Lady Cheng was going to be the death of his sanity!

“Doctor Li, Doctor Li.” Duke Jin’an laughed heartily, reaching out to pat his arm. “Actually, she wasn’t the one who cured her.”

Doctor Li stared at him.

The duke pointed at himself.

“It was me,” he declared.

Doctor Li kept staring.

“I was the one who woke her up,” Duke Jin’an said with a faint smile, his eyes glinting with pride.

Doctor Li was stunned.

“You?” he asked. “How did you do it?”

“It’s quite simple,” Duke Jin’an said with a laugh. “Just tell her who she is.”

Doctor Li was taken aback.

“Who she is? What do you mean?” he asked, perplexed.

“You’re asking what I mean? Are you even fit to be a doctor? Don’t you know the root of your patient’s ailment? Her problem is precisely that she doesn’t know who she is!” the Duke retorted. “Do you know why she keeps asking that question?”

Doctor Li shook his head.

“She was born simple-minded,” the Duke explained, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced. “After recovering, she remembered nothing of her past—not even her own name. As the saying goes, ‘A child is named three months after birth; with a name comes spirit, with a name the soul gathers.’ Without knowing her name, without knowing who she is, no wonder she’s lost whenever questioned.”

Doctor Li listened with only partial understanding.

“But isn’t she called Cheng Jiao-niang?” he said. “What other name could there be?”

“Jiao-niang was the name her maternal grandmother gave her—not the one officially recognized by the Cheng family,” Duke Jin’an explained.

“She was a simpleton the Chengs would’ve drowned if they could! Who would bother giving her a formal name?” Doctor Li frowned.

“Wrong,” the Duke said, stopping in his tracks and wagging a finger. “The Chengs did give her a name.”

Doctor Li stared at him in silence.

“Before she was even born, Old Master Cheng had eagerly anticipated her arrival and prepared a name in advance. After her birth, though she was a girl, they were still delighted. It wasn’t until after her first birthday that they noticed anything unusual—so the three-month naming ceremony must have taken place,” Duke Jin’an continued, pacing the hall.

“Since the Zhou family called her Jiao-niang, they likely didn’t know her given name. So I directly requested her father’s official records from the Ministry of Personnel. But as the records were old, they contained no mention of his children. There was no choice but to approach the Chengs—so I simply sent word for someone to check their family genealogy directly. And sure enough…”

“And sure enough, what?” Doctor Li pressed.

The Duke smiled faintly.

“I learned her true name,” he said.

“And then what?”

“I told her—and she awoke,” the Duke replied.

Doctor Li stared at him wide-eyed.

“Don’t be absurd! How could it possibly be that simple?” he exclaimed.

“But it was that simple,” Duke Jin’an shot back, matching his incredulous glare.

“Impossible!” Doctor Li dismissed outright.

Such a baffling illness—cured just by calling out a name? What kind of sorcery was this?!

The Duke grinned, flashing a row of fine white teeth, and spread his hands in a shrug.

“Yet the moment I said it, she woke up just like that,” he said. “Can’t be helped—some things are simply this strange.”

And it wasn’t just Doctor Li who found it uncanny. Even the Duke himself had been startled when the girl’s eyes flew open that day.

“I am Cheng Fang?” Not only had she opened her eyes—her lips had moved, forming words.

Her voice was frail, but every syllable rang clear.

“Yes. Your name is Cheng Fang.”

Under the lamplight, the girl’s eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky—not a trace of the deathly pallor of illness remained!

Had these people exaggerated her condition, or had he truly been the one to rouse her?

Had she awakened because of the name itself—or because it was he who had called it?

The thought flitted through his mind, and he couldn’t help sticking out his tongue in self-mockery.

How vain!

Was his voice really so enchanting?

Well… it wasn’t unpleasant, at least…

A eunuch glanced in from the doorway. In the brightly lit room, the white-haired old man clutched his head in bewilderment, while the young duke stood radiant, laughter spilling from his lips like chimes.

It had been far too long since His Highness had smiled like this.

The eunuch allowed himself a small smile in turn.

The courtyard, bustling all day, finally quieted as night fell.

Ban Qin let out a long exhale.

“Just one day,” she muttered, “and I’m already exhausted.”

As she spoke, she plopped down unceremoniously on the veranda floor.

“Just one day? Madam Chen and Madam Qin didn’t even stay for tea—what’s there to be tired about?” the maid teased, nudging her with a hand. “Get up and brew a cup for Miss.”

“No more brewing. I’m dead on my feet—I need a rest. And Miss… can do without tea for once,” Ban Qin retorted, slumping against the railing.

The maid covered her mouth with a chuckle.

“My, how bold you’ve become—daring to neglect Miss like this,” she said.

“Neglect her, neglect her—I don’t want to care anymore…” Ban Qin replied, her words dissolving into sobs.

The maid’s eyes reddened instantly. She gave Ban Qin a light shove, her lips trembling as if struggling to speak.

“But… everything’s fine now,” she managed at last, forcing a fragile smile as she sank down beside her on the veranda.

Ban Qin turned tearful eyes toward her.

“Why are you sitting down? Miss can’t be left alone—what if she needs something—” she choked out between sniffles.

“If she needs something, she can fetch it herself,” the maid retorted, leaning back against the railing with a tired grin. She exhaled, gazing up at the night sky. “I’m exhausted. Let someone else handle the sky if it falls—I’m taking a break.”

Ban Qin let out a teary laugh—then cried again, swiping at her cheeks with her sleeve.

The night deepened as Ban Qin extinguished the lamps one by one. She stepped softly into the bedchamber, her gaze tentative as it fell upon the bed.

Cheng Jiao-niang lay on her side, watching her.

“Miss, you’re still awake?” Ban Qin knelt beside the bed. “Would you like water?”

Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head and sat up. She seemed to hesitate, as if weighing words, but in the end said nothing.

Silence settled over the room—a silence that struck Ban Qin with a strange, dizzying familiarity.

This was just like that day…

In the ruins of the lightning-struck temple, the newly awakened mistress had looked at her exactly like this.

“Miss,” she ventured cautiously, “have you… remembered something?”

“Some fragments,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.

“Old Madam and Nanny? Or—or when I fed you sweets as a child?” Ban Qin’s eyes shone with hopeful light.

Cheng Jiao-niang regarded her, then shook her head.

“I remembered that I am of Jiang-zhou’s Cheng clan.”

Ban Qin blinked. Then nodded slowly.

That much… needed remembering?

“The Chengs of Jiang-zhou hail from Shu-zhou. The Sword Gate bars the heights; the Great River cleaves the depths. Our ancestors practiced divination—a lowly trade. When faced with wicked or unrighteous queries, they wielded yarrow stalks and tortoise shells to speak of fortune and doom…”

Ban Qin’s eyes widened.

What in the world—?

Noticing her bewildered expression, Cheng Jiao-niang gave a faint smile.

“Go to sleep,” she said.

Ban Qin murmured an acknowledgment, uneasy now. Had her question been inappropriate?

What good memories could there possibly be from those days of folly?

“Perhaps… it’s better if you forget the past,” she blurted out.

At these words, Cheng Jiao-niang’s face shifted subtly in the lamplight.

Better to forget…

Forgetting was better.

The fragments she’d recovered—her name, her family, her lineage—were nothing but hollow shells.

Dry names. Dry relationships. Dry descriptions unfurling in her mind like brittle scrolls.

No laughter. No grief. No rage or sorrow.

None of the heartache she must have once felt.

“Ban Qin, fetch me a mirror,” said Cheng Jiao-niang.

Ban Qin nodded and retrieved the bronze mirror from beside the bed.

In the dim lamplight, the blurred reflection of a girl’s face stared back—unfamiliar, alien…

Cheng Jiao-niang raised a hand to touch her cheek.

This, too, is Jiang–zhou’s Cheng clan. This, too, is Cheng Fang—so why does it feel different?

What ties bound this Cheng family to her own?

Why was she here?

What had truly happened?

Why couldn’t she remember any of it—was it because of that man?

The man who had taken her heart.

Her eyes had opened, yet her heart remained absent—still incomplete.

And that man… she couldn’t recall his name, his face!

Who was he?

Why, of all things, was he the one she couldn’t remember?

“Miss, Miss…” Ban Qin grasped her hand, her voice trembling as she called out.

People said one shouldn’t look into mirrors at night—it could steal one’s soul. And Miss had only just regained hers…

Cheng Jiao-niang closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and offered a faint smile.

“I’m all right,” she said, giving Ban Qin’s hand a reassuring pat. “Go and rest.”

Ban Qin studied her with lingering worry but finally nodded in obedience.

“Miss… was it truly because that young master called your name that you woke up?” she ventured hesitantly.

Even now, the memory of last night’s miracle felt like a dream.

When they saw the mistress awaken, they had all gone mad with joy—laughing and weeping in turns. By the time they regained their senses, that young nobleman had already vanished.

Arriving and departing abruptly in the dead of night, awakening their mistress with just a few words… Could he have been an immortal?

Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.

“But… why?” Ban Qin pressed.

“Because a name is destiny itself,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied with a faint smile. “Ming (名) derives from kou (口, mouth) and xi (夕, dusk). Dusk obscures vision, so we use the mouth to speak our names.”

A name was destiny. To call a name was to summon a fate—this was the truth of existence.

In this body called “Cheng Fang,” she, Cheng Fang, had found alignment and life.

Was this heaven’s will—or someone’s design?

She lowered her gaze and picked up a letter from the desk.

Who are you?

“Who are you?” Cheng Jiao-niang murmured to the empty air.