Jiao Niang’s Medical Record Chapter 446

“This is the end, the end, the end…”

In the main hall, Master Zhou paced back and forth as he muttered to himself. The maids kneeling under the corridor looked blank and numb – there was neither surprise nor fear in their faces, for he had been repeating that same line for four or five days now. Even fear had worn itself out into numbness.

“I told you not to let him write that memorial, but you wouldn’t listen. You even argued for it! And now look what’s happened – heaven itself is helping him,” Madam Zhou said through her tears.

“How could heaven be helping him?” Master Zhou frowned as he continued pacing. “That makes no sense. My dear Jiao Jiao is heaven’s true favorite child…”

Madam Zhou spat in disgust.

“Stop talking about your Jiao Jiao! If she manages to come out of this alive after defying His Majesty, that alone would prove she is heaven’s own child!” she said, and the thought of Zhou Liu-lang brought another wave of grief over her. She cried out, “My son! What are we going to do now? Are they really going to send him to Nan-zhou to suppress the rebellion? That’s as good as a death sentence!”

Sobbing, she turned to Zhou Liu-lang, weeping as she called out to him.

The maid outside stammered timidly.

“Sixth Young Master has gone out,” she said.

“Where did he go?” Madam Zhou immediately sensed something was wrong and snapped.

“He… he went to Lady Cheng’s place,” the maids answered in low voices.

“He’s really going to be ruined by that girl… What kind of karmic retribution is this for our Zhou family…”

In the main hall, Master Zhou’s muttering had fallen silent – only Madam Zhou’s wailing could be heard.

“Where have you been?”

At that moment, in the residence by the Yudai Bridge, Zhou Liu-lang glared at Cheng Jiao-niang, who had just stepped through the door, and snapped impatiently.

“Something wrong?” Cheng Jiao-niang didn’t answer directly. She removed her veiled hat as she spoke.

“Pack your things. You’re coming back to Shan-zhou with me,” Zhou Liu-lang said.

Ban Qin and the young servants in the courtyard all turned to him in surprise.

Cheng Jiao-niang’s expression remained calm and unreadable.

“So you run away whenever trouble comes?” she said, glancing at Zhou Liu-lang. “Are you really a soldier?”

Zhou Liu-lang gave a cold snort.

“Avoiding the enemy’s sharp edge is also a tactic. How can that be called cowardice?” he retorted.

Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly.

“You’re right – only people avoid blades. A blade doesn’t avoid people.” She lifted her hand to stop him before he could speak again. “How’s your archery?”

Zhou Liu-lang froze for a moment, then snorted again and lifted his head proudly, refusing to answer.

“If you truly have faith in your archery,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.

What did she mean, if you have faith in your archery?

This damn girl – she never said a word that didn’t sound like an insult! Zhou Liu-lang glared at her, but before he could speak, Cheng Jiao-niang’s next words reached his ears.

“…I’d like to ask you for a favor.”

Ask you for a favor…
Ask you for a favor!

Zhou Liu-lang suddenly felt heat rush through his entire body.

What did she just say? Ask – you – for a favor!

She finally saw him. She finally wanted his help. At last… those other people were gone, so now there was no one else she could turn to, right?

Zhou Liu-lang lowered his head, joy bubbling up and mingling with a faint, aching sourness. The feeling was… indescribable.

“What kind of favor?” he asked in a low, muffled voice.

“Come with me,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “I need to see if you’ve got the courage first.”

What?

Zhou Liu-lang snorted and lifted his head, watching as the woman was already striding toward the back courtyard.

He curled his lip, tilted up his chin, and swaggered after her.

After dismounting, Qin Shi’san-lang didn’t stride straight into Immortal’s Abode as he usually did. Instead, he looked up at the decorated pavilion, then glanced to either side.

On both sides were restaurants, and since it was nearly mealtime, every place was full and lively. With the weather turning colder, more people preferred to sit indoors and enjoy themselves. From the windows, each eatery shimmered with rising steam – like scenes from a mortal-world paradise.

Qin Shi’san-lang’s gaze turned back to Immortal’s Abode. It was as quiet as ever, yet somehow the quiet felt different from before.

“Strange… there are far fewer customers,” said Manager Wu, flipping through the account book. “That shouldn’t be the case. Haven’t the masters’ affairs already been settled?”

“Tai Ping Residence is still doing fine,” the maid replied.

Seeing Qin Shi’san-lang enter, the two of them hurried to greet him with bows.

“Tai Ping Residence is doing fine because it has a different kind of clientele,” Qin Shi’san-lang said. “Most of the people who go there are common folk. When they saw your mistress being commended and rewarded, they took it as a sign that everything was settled. But Immortal’s Abode is different – the guests here are officials and nobles. To them…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, only shook his head.

To them, it was clear enough how the tides were shifting at court – and how the Maoyuan Mountain affair, though it appeared to be a victory, had in fact entered dangerous waters.

“It’s all right,” the maid said with a smile. “The outcome isn’t decided yet.”

“This time, luck doesn’t seem to be on your lady’s side,” Qin Shi’san-lang said, frowning slightly.

This turn of events had surprised even him. No one had expected a war to break out in the northwest – and even if it had come a month later, things might have been very different.

Truly, man proposes, but heaven disposes. Such is fate.

The maid giggled and snapped the account book.

“My lady has never relied on luck,” she said with a bright smile.

Qin Shi’san-lang raised an eyebrow at her.

“What’s your lady been busy with lately? She’s hardly ever home,” he asked.

The maid pressed her lips together, still smiling.

“My lady is preparing a grand gift for someone,” she said.

A grand gift?

Qin Shi’san-lang grew thoughtful. Another gift – just like when the Maoyuan Mountain brothers left the capital for the northwest?

Well then, that was something worth looking forward to indeed.

…

The First Prince set down the memorial he had been holding and looked toward the Emperor, who sat behind the desk, one hand pressed to his forehead, eyes closed in brief repose.

“Father, tomorrow is your birthday,” he said softly. “You should rest early.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” added Duke Jin’an. “You’ve been working hard for many days -there’s no need to push yourself tonight.”

The Emperor opened his eyes and gave a faint smile.

“Yes… and yet, it seems that the King of the Western Bandits insists on sending me a grand birthday gift,” he said.

Though he was smiling, the cold fury and hatred in his eyes were impossible to miss.

How was one supposed to comfort him at a time like this?

There must be examples in the scriptures or in the histories – The First Prince’s mind raced to recall them.

“How could it not be called a grand gift indeed?” said Duke Jin’an. “Your Majesty donned armor at the age of five – how could a mere king of the West ever hope to trouble you?”

The Emperor looked at him. The young man held his head high, pride and vigor radiating from his face. At that, the Emperor finally laughed – this time, a genuine laugh.

“This was my own fault,” he said. “It was not something that should have been mentioned, much less something to take pride in.”

But Duke Jin’an still looked at him with open admiration, as if it were something to be proud of.

“One mustn’t speak of such things before others,” the Emperor said with a smile. “The ministers would scold you – ‘the weapons of war are instruments of ill omen’…”

Yet he wasn’t truly angry at the young duke’s stubbornness.

When the First Prince heard those words, his eyes lit up.

“…‘The sage takes up arms only when there is no other choice!’” he interjected immediately.

Those were the very words the senior ministers had hurled at the young emperor decades ago, shouting spittle flying as they berated him all day long. The Emperor remembered it clearly. Hearing them suddenly spoken again by his eldest son, his expression froze.

The hall fell into an uneasy, heavy silence.

What just happened?

The First Prince was momentarily stunned, a little dazed – he wanted to say something, but no words came out. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

“Your Majesty, this is rather interesting – I’ve only just learned of it,” Duke Jin’an suddenly said with a light “hmm,” breaking the heavy stillness in the room.

“Oh? Learned of what?” the Emperor asked, following up.

“It turns out that these horseshoes were made by the Maoyuan Mountain brothers,” Duke Jin’an said.

Maoyuan Mountain…

The Emperor’s expression, which had only just softened, froze once more.

His gaze swept over the two kneeling before him. These two children – honestly…

The First Prince didn’t understand what the saying “The sage takes up arms only when there is no other choice” had to do with anything, but he did know why the mention of Maoyuan Mountain displeased His Majesty. Instantly, a faint look of schadenfreude flickered in his eyes.

“Enough. I’m tired,” the Emperor said. “You’re right – there’s no finishing all these memorials tonight. I’ll take a rest. Who knows, perhaps after my birthday, there will be good news.”

The First Prince and Duke Jin’an both hurried to bow and take their leave. Just as they were about to rise, an attendant entered from outside.

“Your Majesty, the Imperial Archives presents a report and requests your decision,” he said, holding out a memorial with both hands.

The Emperor took it, opened it, and his face immediately darkened again.

This time, he actually let out a short, bitter laugh of anger.

“Well, isn’t this just…” he said, throwing the memorial onto the desk. “One after another – they’re all lining up to vex me!”

Duke Jin’an slowly took a step back. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an attendant nearby silently mouthing a word to him –

Cheng…

“Your Majesty, what is it?” he stopped and asked, looking up. “Is it another dispute urging action against Jiang Wenyuan?”

Seeing him pause, the First Prince also halted and turned toward the Emperor.

“Father, you already said it should be carefully deliberated – it’s not something that can be decided in a day or two,” he added hastily.

The Emperor shook his head.

“They say that Fan Jianglin, one of the Maoyuan Mountain brothers, wishes to present a gift to me in gratitude,” he said, a faint sneer curling at his lips as he repeated, “A gift of gratitude to me.”

Catching the sarcasm in his father’s tone, the First Prince wisely kept silent.

“Is it something as rare as those horseshoes?” Duke Jin’an asked with genuine curiosity, seemingly oblivious to the Emperor’s scorn.

Horseshoes…

The Emperor said nothing, but a flicker passed through his eyes.

“What’s so rare about a horseshoe?” the First Prince said disdainfully.

Duke Jin’an looked at him and smiled – an open, genuine smile that even reached his eyes.

“Your Highness,” he said, “a horseshoe may look insignificant, but it saves the army a thousand warhorses a year from wear and injury. What’s saved is as good as gained – that’s the same as gifting the army a thousand fresh mounts every year.”

“A thousand horses, so what? They’re just horses…” the First Prince snorted.

“That’s enough,” the Emperor said.

The two immediately stopped speaking, bowed deeply, and withdrew with lowered heads.

The hall fell silent, and the Emperor’s gaze drifted down to the desk before him.

So – the horseshoes were made by one of the Maoyuan Mountain brothers as well? He vaguely recalled hearing that they were crafted by someone named… what was it again…?

Horseshoes…

The Emperor reached out, picked up the memorial, and unfolded it.

Meanwhile, at Prince Qing’s palace, bursts of laughter echoed through the courtyard.

“Liu Ge’er! Liu Ge’er, over here – pass it to me!”

A group of people were playing kickball in the courtyard. Duke Jin’an, dressed in a short jacket with his sleeves tied up, was calling out energetically.

Across the yard, Prince Qing was laughing heartily as he kicked the ball – but of course, he didn’t understand a word and didn’t pass it over. Duke Jin’an only laughed and kept running after him.

After a while, Prince Qing’s plump figure gave out – he plopped down on the ground, panting heavily.

“Liu Ge’er, come on, play a bit longer,” Duke Jin’an said, running over to coax him.

But no matter how he persuaded, Prince Qing refused to budge. He simply lay on the ground, kicking his legs in protest, until Duke Jin’an came over to soothe him with kind words and personally helped him up to bathe and change clothes.

“How did it go?”

While pouring water over Prince Qing and helping him wash, Duke Jin’an asked the young attendant who had just entered.

“His Majesty has approved it. Tomorrow, that Fan Jianglin will be summoned before the Xuande Gate,” the attendant whispered.

Duke Jin’an nodded, a faint smile curving his lips.

“Liu Ge’er, can you guess what gift she’s sending?” he said with a laugh.

Prince Qing, sitting in the bath barrel and playing with his toys, of course paid him no mind.

“It must be something formidable – a true weapon of awe,” Duke Jin’an went on, gathering up Prince Qing’s freshly washed hair and tying it back. He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “A pity I won’t be able to see it with my own eyes. But no matter – knowing is enough.”

He reached for the drying cloth beside him, pulled Prince Qing up, and wrapped him snugly. With the help of the palace servants, they lifted him out of the tub.

“Tomorrow,” Duke Jin’an said, smiling, “will be something to look forward to.”

By the time the sky began to pale with dawn, Chen Shi’ba-niang was already seated indoors. The room was crowded, filled with her mother and sisters chatting and laughing brightly.

“This outfit’s too plain – why not wear something a bit more festive?”

“And that hairpin – far too few ornaments!”

“Put on a forehead flower decoration too!”

Her sisters were all bustling around, commenting on her attire from every direction.

“I’ll wear this one,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said, glancing down at her clothes. “I’m only accompanying Princess Boyang – it’s not certain I’ll even meet His Majesty.”

The dress was of a style made two years ago, though the hem and waist had since been adorned with fine gold-threaded tassels, adding a touch of liveliness without diminishing its solemn grace.

There seemed to be a quiet, reassuring strength in this garment.

The thought flickered through her mind, and she smiled – perhaps it wasn’t the clothing that calmed her, but that she had finally learned how to steady her own heart.

“I should go now – I mustn’t keep the Princess waiting,” she said, standing up. Surrounded by her sisters’ affectionate chatter, she stepped outside.

She was ready.
And what was to come – was something truly worth anticipating.

When daylight fully broke, the Emperor ascended the Xuande Gate with his ministers. Below, the assembled officials and the distant crowds erupted in thunderous cries of “Long live the Emperor!” The roar of voices shook the heavens.

Even though he had heard such acclamations countless times before, it still filled him with exhilaration every single time.

Though his days and nights were consumed by labor – the endless bickering of ministers, the ceaseless crises at the borders, one vexing matter after another – still, the feeling of holding dominion over all under heaven was intoxicating.

“Minister Chen is far too discourteous – not to appear on a day like this,” came a voice from behind him.

The Emperor’s smile faltered for a brief moment.

Chen Shao’s request to resign – he had already rejected it twice, yet Chen still refused to return to court. Naturally, he had not come today.

And all of this… was because of that so-called divine doctor.

Once the world learned the taste of coercion, one after another began to imitate it.

A “gift of gratitude,” they said…

What next – was he, the Son of Heaven, expected to perform a play before the entire realm along with them?

The Emperor turned to leave, but a court official stepped forward.

“Your Majesty, the one who was granted permission to present the tribute gift is already waiting. How can we go back on our word?”

The official spoke with solemn righteousness.

These ministers – truly, they were becoming more and more insolent. Take the Imperial Archives, for instance: the number of times they had dared to reject the Emperor’s decrees had increased severalfold this year alone.

“Even though Minister Chen isn’t here, the Imperial Archives still performs its duty well,” someone remarked casually nearby.

The words drifted into the Emperor’s ears, darkening his expression even further.

Fine then – I’ll play along with your little performance.

He turned back around.

“Summon Fan Jianglin,” he said slowly.