“Miracle doctor?” Qian Jiaoniang was stunned. “So Uncle Wan, you’re actually a hidden master!”
“Haha, no, no. I’m just an old man,” Wan Wengyuan chuckled and shook his head. His sharp eyes landed on the bandage on her forehead. “Miss Qian, that wound—did you hit your head somewhere?”
Qian Jiaoniang touched her forehead. “Didn’t I bump into a pillar by accident?”
Qingya said, “It’s lucky you arrived, Miracle Doctor—I was just worrying over this injury. Could you check Jiaoniang’s pulse?”
“Of course,” Wan Wengyuan rolled up his sleeves. Qingya gestured for him to sit on the couch beside her.
Qian Jiaoniang said, “You’ve just arrived as a guest, haven’t even had a cup of tea, and we’re already asking you to treat me.”
Qingya replied, “No need to worry! While you’re being examined, I’ll go prepare tea and snacks—two things handled at once!”
Wan Wengyuan said, “I came at the request of Chou’er to treat someone—no need for formalities.”
He then pulled out a small cushion from the bundle he carried and asked Qian Jiaoniang to rest her wrist on it. She thanked him and rolled up her sleeve. Xing Pingchun sat quietly next to her, not daring to speak. Qingya saw this and slipped away to prepare tea.
By the time she returned with a freshly brewed pot, Wan Wengyuan was still taking her pulse. A while later, he asked her to remove the bandage and examined the scabbed wound carefully, his expression turning serious.
“Miss Qian… this doesn’t look like the kind of injury one gets from bumping into something.”
Qian Jiaoniang glanced at Qingya and smiled, “I knew I couldn’t hide it from you, miracle doctor. The truth is… we sought you out originally to treat my husband. He suddenly went mad—sometimes like a fool, other times violently crazed. This wound on my head—he did it during one of his outbursts.”
“He went mad?” Wan Wengyuan was shocked. Could it be he suffered some trauma?
“Yes. We’ve been told it might be a curse,” Qian Jiaoniang glanced at Pingchun. “Today, someone reliable arrived—they’re performing a ritual right now.”
“Eh? Father’s doing a ritual?” Xing Pingchun’s eyes went wide. “Then why is the house so quiet?”
Qian Jiaoniang said, “It’s happening in his study. We’re not to disturb them.”
Wan Wengyuan could tell there was more to the story. He was curious what sort of sorcery had afflicted her husband, but refrained from asking further—he didn’t normally treat male patients anyway. “That being the case, Miss Qian, when did this injury occur? How many days ago? And what medicine have you taken?”
“It happened four—no, five days ago,” Qingya replied. “She was unconscious for three whole days. When she finally woke, she couldn’t stand or walk. Doctor Bai prescribed a treatment—I still have the prescription here.” She pulled it from her waistband and respectfully handed it over. “Please take a look, miracle doctor.”
Wan Wengyuan examined the prescription carefully. “It’s a solid formula. But it’s been made gentler, likely because you’re a woman. The condition, however, is severe. You likely have internal bleeding in the brain. If it isn’t cleared soon, there could be serious consequences.”
Everyone was startled by these words. Xing Pingchun cried out, “Mother!” while Qingya stammered, “Wh-what should we do?”
Qian Jiaoniang soothed her son, then turned to Wan Wengyuan. “Uncle Wan, since you’ve diagnosed the problem, surely you have a solution?”
Wan Wengyuan smiled and stroked his beard. “Indeed. This can be treated with acupuncture. It’s a method I developed myself. I’ve saved two patients with similar symptoms this way. You needn’t worry.”
“When would be the best time for treatment?”
“No time like the present—we should begin immediately.”
“Immediately?” Qian Jiaoniang exchanged a look with Qingya and instinctively glanced outside. Qingya advised, “He’s right, Jiaoniang. No time to delay.”
After a brief pause, Qian Jiaoniang nodded. “Then let’s begin now.”
Wan Wengyuan took out his own set of silver needles and asked Qingya to light a candle. He slowly and carefully sterilized each needle over the flame. Qingya helped Qian Jiaoniang lie down on the couch and covered her with a light blanket. She glanced at the doctor again, then couldn’t help but ask, “Just now, you said she was your benefactor. What’s the story behind that?”
With the bandage removed, Qian Jiaoniang felt a wave of relief. She scratched at her forehead and smiled. “Uncle Wan is exaggerating. I’m no benefactor—I only gave him a meal.”
It turned out that three years ago, Wan Wengyuan had come down from the mountains after gathering herbs. He was already quite poor, and what little coin he had was stolen by bandits. At that time, there was a famine in the city, and beggars and refugees crowded the streets. Wan Wengyuan hadn’t eaten all day. The wealthy households turned him away, and the poor couldn’t afford to help.
Starving, he sat outside Qian Jiaoniang’s house, lamenting his misfortune. Qian Jiaoniang had given him half a steamed bun and even let him stay the night. Wan Wengyuan always remembered that kindness—he felt it had saved his life.
Later, he heard that Qian Jiaoniang’s family was originally from Yuzhou and had plans to return there. When he arrived in town, he went to their old home and asked after her and Xing Pingchun. A fat old woman answered the door, and from that, Wan Wengyuan guessed they had indeed returned to Yuzhou. So, he followed their trail—and came all this way.
“This half a bun was actually saved from Chou’er’s portion. Back then, we were really poor. I bought a single bun, and Chou’er was so happy—he couldn’t bear to eat it all at once. He peeled off the outer layer, which he didn’t like, and ate that first. Just as he was getting ready to slowly enjoy the rest, old man Wan was sitting at the doorway, sighing away. I couldn’t let the old man die at our doorstep, so I told Chou’er to share half with him. But Chou’er ended up giving the whole half to him and went to bed hungry that night,” Qian Jiaoniang said with a soft laugh, reaching out to poke her son’s cheek.
Old Wan chuckled, “Hahaha, that’s right. I saw this little one handing me his bun—I couldn’t bear it either. I broke it in half and gave it back, but he wouldn’t take it. He said I was pitiful and told me to eat more.”
Xing Pingchun scratched his head awkwardly. “Well, Grandpa Wan really did look very pitiful at the time.”
Qian Jiaoniang said, “Chou’er, see how good it is to do kind deeds? You built up good karma. Now Grandpa Wan is here treating your mother—it’s a blessing in return, isn’t it?”
“I’ll do good deeds every day from now on!” Xing Pingchun quickly added.
Everyone laughed.
Wan Wengyuan roasted each of the silver needles one by one. Seeing it was getting dark, he asked Qingya to light all the candles around the room and said, “I will need full concentration for the acupuncture. Miss Qingya and Chou’er, would you please stand guard outside? No one else should disturb us.”
Qingya glanced at Qian Jiaoniang. She didn’t say anything, but her meaning was clear: If Dingxi Marquis recovers, will he repay us or not?
Qian Jiaoniang understood and said, “If the marquis recovers, he likely won’t inform me anyway—no need to speak of it.”
“What if he remembers everything from these past few days?”
Qian Jiaoniang giggled, “Then I’d really be doomed.”
