The next day, Ah Da came with men, asking for Xing Muzheng’s orders. But Xing Muzheng had changed his mind. “Do everything possible to save them. Send word to summon every renowned physician across Great Xie. There must be someone who can cure this illness!”
Ah Da never questioned Xing Muzheng. If the command was given, he carried it out. Still, he understood—the change in order must be because of Madam. He hesitated, then asked: “Marshal, has Madam’s condition… improved at all?”
Xing Muzheng paused a moment, then said in a deep voice: “No improvement.”
Ah Da’s heart sank. “Then I’ll have every famous doctor under heaven dragged here if I must!”
In truth, even before he spoke, Xing Pingchun had already been doing just that—scouring far and wide under Xing Muzheng’s instructions. Every physician with a name was brought here by whatever means possible. Yet faced with this epidemic, all they could do was shake their heads and refuse to enter the city. Just as Xing Pingchun was about to despair, Wang Yong brought a glimmer of hope: his men had found Wan Wengyuan, the Divine Physician. Divine Physician Wan had already heard of the plague and was on his way to Pingchuan.
Xing Pingchun was halfway through a bowl of rice when he heard. He spat out the grains still in his mouth, didn’t even wipe his lips, and bolted out like the wind.
“Grandpa Wan, you’ve come safely! Grandpa Wan, Pingchuan has caught a plague—fever, aching limbs, and it spreads so easily. What kind of sickness is this? Can it be cured? My mother, my mother and my father are both inside the city!”
At first Wan Wengyuan didn’t recognize the gaunt, unshaven youth before him. Looking closer, he realized it was Chou’er, Qian Jiaoniang’s son.
“Chou’er, don’t panic,” Wan Wengyuan said. “On the road I already heard of this plague. It is very similar to one I encountered before. I have a prescription, though I cannot yet be sure it will fully work. There’s no time to lose—take me into the city at once.”
Xing Pingchun dropped to his knees and knocked his head three times hard against the ground. “Grandpa Wan, my parents and the lives of Pingchuan’s people all depend on you! We have every herb you need—whatever you ask, it’s yours!”
But Wan Wengyuan insisted on seeing the patients first, so Xing Pingchun immediately ordered a carriage prepared and sent him into the city.
As he watched the carriage roll away, Wu Ze approached, handing him a clean white handkerchief. It had been raining, and the ground was muddy; Xing Pingchun’s head had been covered in dirt when he kowtowed, leaving his face smeared. Xing Pingchun took the cloth and wiped haphazardly, then lifted bloodshot eyes toward Wu Ze. Wu Ze patted his back.
Xing Pingchun calmed himself, his voice hoarse. “When this matter in Pingchuan is over, let Grandpa Wan look at your frail body too.”
Wu Ze hadn’t expected him to still be thinking of him at a time like this. He gave a light laugh, nodded, and caught his arm. “Come, let’s go back and eat a little more.”
Xing Pingchun looked once more toward Pingchuan’s direction, then nodded and returned to the tent with Wu Ze.
***
Soon Xing Muzheng received word of Wan Wengyuan’s arrival and personally went to meet him at the city gates.
The Divine Physician had only ever seen Xing Muzheng in his days of madness—by the time he regained his clarity, Divine Physician Wan had already left. Over the years, Divine Physician Wan had heard many stories of Xing Muzheng, and he knew Great Xie’s mandate was ending, with Xing Muzheng rising in rebellion. Only upon being summoned did he learn that the emperor of Yongan had fled, and the world now lay in Xing Muzheng’s hands.
That such a warlord would risk his life to enter Pingchuan for the sake of Jiaoniang—Wan Wengyuan was moved. He said with emotion: “Indeed, Qian Gu was not wrong to save Marquis back then.” Such resolve was not something ordinary men possessed, much less one who held power in chaotic times.
Xing Muzheng bowed with respect. “I had hoped to greet you properly and thank you for saving my life. But with the plague so rampant here in Pingchuan, I must trouble you first with tending to the sick.”
Wan Wengyuan replied: “To heal the sick is a physician’s duty. Marquis need not be so courteous. I heard Lady Qian herself has also fallen ill—how is she?”
Xing Muzheng answered, “To tell the truth, her condition is very grave.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Take me to her at once.”
Xing Muzheng immediately stepped aside to let him through.
The Divine Physician hurried into Qian Jiaoniang’s chamber. She was still in a deep sleep, her complexion clearly dire. He carefully took her pulse. When he tucked her hand back beneath the quilt and rose, Xing Muzheng at once pressed him:
“Divine Physician, how is Jiaoniang’s illness? Is there any cure for this plague?”
Wan Wengyuan’s expression was grave. “This illness that Madam Qian suffers from—it truly is the same as what I encountered many years ago.”
“Then is there a cure?” Xing Muzheng’s spirit lifted.
“This… it’s hard to put into words. At the time, I only later managed to come up with a prescription. I saved just one person. The rest—before they could be treated—were hauled off and executed by the soldiers. So I cannot say with certainty that this formula will work. What’s more, Madam Qian’s condition is extremely severe. If we do not use strong medicine, I fear even heaven itself could not bring her back.”
Xing Muzheng’s body jolted. After a long silence, he said in a low voice: “I beg Divine Physician to administer the medicine.”
Wan Wengyuan went into the study, weighed things over again and again, then wrote down several prescriptions and ordered the medicine boy to decoct them at once. Without stopping, he hurried to the epidemic ward, diagnosed several patients, confirmed they all had the same plague, then swiftly wrote prescriptions and handed them over. The medicine boys, as if receiving treasures, rushed about busily.
Though Wan Wengyuan’s heart was unsettled, Xing Muzheng was all the more taut as a drawn bowstring.
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