Shen Qi’s head rested sideways on a soft pillow, his face turned outward, eyes tightly shut, his brows furrowed in pain. His cheeks were unnaturally flushed, and hot breath escaped from his cracked lips, weak and uneven, as though it might cease at any moment.
Su Yan’s fingers moved from Shen Qi’s hand to his face, smoothing the furrowed lines between his brows. In a low voice, he murmured, “Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. If you wake up, don’t blame me for making this decision without your consent… No, I’d rather have you blame me than lose you. Please, wake up soon!”
He turned to the maid and said, “Given the Commander’s current condition, conventional medicine has proven ineffective. I have a remedy—an unconventional one—but we must try it.”
The maid bowed deeply and replied, “Before the Commander fell unconscious, he instructed us that if Lord Su came to visit, we were to never interfere, no matter what you decided to do. Any orders you give, we are to carry out without hesitation. Everyone in the household has seen your portrait.”
It was only then that Su Yan realized why he had been granted free passage through Shen Qi’s estate. Even when he entered the inner chambers unannounced, the servants showed no surprise, only offering respectful greetings.
Shen Qi had anticipated his arrival. Or rather, by sending Gao Shuo to deliver the evidence to take down Feng Que, along with the veiled revelation of his critical condition, Shen Qi had forced Su Yan to come.
Yet Su Yan felt not a shred of displeasure at this manipulation. He knew Shen Qi well—cunning to the core, always scheming, even to his last breath. Gao Shuo’s “accidental slip” was clearly deliberate. But the life-threatening nature of Shen Qi’s illness was all too real.
How could this not also be Shen Qi’s way of ensuring they saw each other one last time? How could Su Yan begrudge him for that?
Turning back to the maid, Su Yan said, “To prepare the remedy, I need certain tools and materials. Inform the steward immediately and have him gather them as quickly as possible. Time is of the essence.”
The maid, understanding the urgency, responded immediately, “Lord Su, please give the instructions. None of us would dare delay.”
Using the ink and brush on the nearby writing desk, Su Yan quickly listed out the required tools and ingredients: a filtration funnel made of bamboo strips, gauze, and cotton; a large bamboo tube with a hole at the bottom; rapeseed oil; charcoal powder (with a note specifying that animal bone charcoal or silver ash charcoal would be ideal, as the purer the charcoal, the better); distilled water; white vinegar; and seaweed.
The jar of green mold he had brought was an unrefined strain of penicillin. It could not be applied directly to Shen Qi’s wounds—doing so would almost certainly kill him, and far more quickly than leaving the infection untreated.
Although Su Yan had read many miscellaneous books in his past life, there was one anecdote in Tang People’s Idle Notes that mentioned a tailor in Changan who injured his hand with scissors. The wound became inflamed and festering, but applying a paste covered in green mold ultimately cured it. However, this was merely an isolated case—what if the tailor’s wound wasn’t severe, and he simply got lucky? Or what if the author was exaggerating?
This method was too crude and risky for Su Yan to attempt.
Thus, he had no choice but to try extracting penicillin himself.
In his past life, rudimentary methods for extracting penicillin were widespread online, and Su Yan had seen them, though he was highly skeptical of their success rates. High-yield strains of the mold generally came from laboratory cultivation, with naturally occurring mutations being exceedingly rare. Furthermore, the process required at least seven days for initial cultivation. While the culture medium—such as rice water mixed with taro juice—was easy to obtain, time constraints forced him to skip this step and instead rely on the abundant Penicillium molds growing in the monks’ vats of pickled mustard greens. Quantity would have to compensate for quality.
The filtration funnel could be improvised with simple materials, though sterilization was essential.
Distilled water wasn’t difficult to procure—this era produced plenty of floral distillates, which could be purchased from flower distilleries.
For acidic water, he used white vinegar.
For alkaline water, without soda ash, he boiled seaweed to extract its juice. Seaweed could be bought from aquatic goods shops, which had existed since the Song Dynasty in the capital and supplied items like dried clams, scallops, and shrimp from coastal areas—let alone in the Ming Dynasty, with its more advanced trade and logistics.
The separation tube was more complicated and couldn’t be fully improvised. Su Yan had to settle for a bamboo tube with a hole at the bottom as a makeshift solution.
The steward of the Shen household, carefully selected by Shen Qi, was efficient and capable. Upon receiving the list, he promptly assigned servants to purchase materials, make tools, and boil solutions. Within an hour, they had gathered all the necessary items.
For Su Yan, this was the first time turning theory into practice, so he proceeded with extreme caution, fearing any misstep that would ruin all his efforts.
Skipping the cultivation step, he directly filtered the green mold water through the funnel, then added rapeseed oil to stir and let it settle. The liquid separated into three layers, with the water-soluble substances containing penicillin at the bottom, which he drew out through the bamboo tube’s small hole.
This solution still contained many impurities and required further separation and purification.
He stirred charcoal powder into the solution. The charcoal absorbed the penicillin, after which he added distilled water to wash out non-pure substances, white vinegar to remove alkaline impurities, and seaweed juice to release the penicillin from the charcoal. Finally, relatively pure penicillin dripped out through a cotton wick at the bottom of the bamboo tube.
To verify the effectiveness of the penicillin, pharmacological testing was necessary, but this required time—something Su Yan, or rather Shen Qi, lacked. He had to skip this step as well.
The final step was a skin test. If the patient was allergic to penicillin, all his work would be in vain, and Shen Qi would have to hope for the best.
Without proper injection tools, Su Yan applied a tiny amount of penicillin to the edge of the wound. He held his breath, watching intently. After two periods of waiting, there were no adverse reactions, and he let out a sigh of relief.
Ideally, penicillin should be administered via intravenous infusion or intramuscular injection, but without the proper equipment, he had to adopt the method of rural barefoot doctors, applying the penicillin directly to Shen Qi’s wound to combat infection and inflammation.
At the final step, Su Yan had done everything he possibly could.
What remained was to leave it to fate—to Shen Qi’s constitution and luck. In short, do one’s best and let destiny decide.
If the treatment worked, results would be evident within an hour or two. Su Yan decided to stay by Shen Qi’s side and instructed the maid, “You may withdraw. Leave this to me.”
The maid prepared a copper basin filled with fresh water, clean gauze, and other supplies, then bowed and exited the room.
By now, it was already dusk. The slanting rays of sunlight streamed through the window lattice, bathing the room in a warm golden glow. Su Yan wrung out a towel in the cool water and gently wiped Shen Qi’s feverish forehead, replacing the cloth frequently. Using a reed tube, he fed a sugar-salt solution into Shen Qi’s mouth. Although most of it spilled out, some made its way down, preventing dehydration. He also regularly changed the gauze soaked with blood and fluids, tirelessly tending to him.
When dinner was brought in, Su Yan had little appetite, hurriedly finishing a bowl of eight-treasure porridge before resuming his care.
By the end of the Xu hour, Su Yan touched Shen Qi’s forehead and noticed the fever had finally subsided. Fearing it was an illusion, he pressed his own forehead against Shen Qi’s to confirm. The fever had indeed dropped, estimated to be below 38°C, and remained stable for a few hours.
Relieved, Su Yan felt exhaustion overwhelm him. Holding Shen Qi’s hand, he rested his head on the edge of the bed and drifted into a restless sleep.
His slumber was shallow, plagued by fragmented dreams. Suddenly jolting awake, Su Yan opened his eyes to find Shen Qi staring at him intently, his gaze deep and fervent.
Su Yan’s face lit up with relief. “You’re finally awake! How are you feeling?”
Shen Qi opened his mouth but couldn’t produce any sound. Su Yan quickly brought over a cup of warm water and used the reed tube to help him drink. Shen Qi, feigning extreme weakness, managed only a few sips, spilling most of it.
Su Yan sighed. “Take it slow, a little at a time.”
Shen Qi’s voice, hoarse and raspy, barely came out. “I can’t… Just feed me, mouth…”
Su Yan hesitated, sensing ulterior motives behind the request.
“Just one mouth… I’m so thirsty…”
Reasoning that Shen Qi had just come out of a high fever and might genuinely lack the strength to swallow, Su Yan relented. Nursing should be devoid of taboos, he thought, convincing himself it was no different from performing CPR.
With that resolve, he took a sip of water and leaned down to feed it to Shen Qi.
Shen Qi accepted it without further antics, drinking obediently. Once the cup was emptied, his voice grew stronger. “Did you come to see me one last time?”
Su Yan patted Shen Qi’s hand. “Don’t say such things. You’re going to live. The fever breaking proves the makeshift penicillin worked. Coupled with anti-inflammatory decoctions, you’ll recover soon. I also have some rare medicine from the South, excellent for healing wounds. I’ll apply it later.”
This was the leftover half of the heavy bamboo jar that Yu Wang had given him after his punishment by flogging. He hadn’t used it all back then, and now it still came in handy.
Shen Qi, though unaware of what “penicillin” was, realized that his recovery was thanks to Su Yan. He flipped his hand to clasp Su Yan’s, interlocking their fingers tightly and pressing their palms together.
Su Yan found the gesture far too intimate and instinctively tried to pull his hand away. The movement, however, tugged at Shen Qi’s wound, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain, leaving Su Yan with no choice but to let it be.
Shen Qi said, “It was Lord Su who saved my life.”
He deliberately used a formal title, but given their close proximity and the intimacy of their intertwined hands, the words carried an undeniable undertone of ambiguity.
Su Yan sat on the wooden step by the bedside, one hand still held by Shen Qi. The lingering dampness on his lips and the warmth of Shen Qi’s touch made his heart inexplicably flustered, and his ears burned faintly.
Unbidden, he recalled how, in his past life, when his girlfriend had agreed to their first date, he had taken her hand as they crossed the street. His heart had raced and his ears burned just like this. Deep within his soul, a silent roar erupted: Absolutely not! I am the epitome of heterosexuality—I’d rather die than bend!
“That’s only because you saved me before. A life for a life—we’re even now.”
Shen Qi’s gaze sharpened, a fierce determination emanating from his pale, weakened face. He looked directly at Su Yan and said slowly, “I once told you in the courtyard of small southern courtyard: Lord Su is the tribulation of my life. I am willing to face it. If I survive this trial, you won’t escape me for the rest of your life. Did you think I was speaking idly?”
Su Yan felt a twinge of discomfort under Shen Qi’s intense stare. Awkwardly, he replied, “I know you’re not a good person…”
Shen Qi’s heart chilled at these words, as if doused with icy water in the dead of winter.
Even Su Yan felt that saying it out loud sounded odd. But he couldn’t very well say, ‘You’re a good person, but we’re not suited for each other’—that would be not only strange but insincere.
“I know you’re not a good person, but I also know that circumstances have forced you to be that way. You’re surrounded by wolves and tigers; if you don’t act like one, you’ll be devoured. A moment of softness would mean the same outcome as what you’ve suffered today. Still, even knowing it could cost you your life, you risked everything to save me. Such profound kindness—how could I not be moved?”
“From now on, we are sworn brothers bound by life and death. As long as you don’t commit acts that defy heaven and morality, I’ll stand by you, ready to fight to the death for you. We will share both hardships and prosperity, maintaining our bond for a lifetime without faltering in loyalty or trust.”
Having said his piece, Su Yan looked earnestly at Shen Qi, awaiting his response.
Shen Qi swallowed the bitter taste of iron in his mouth, suppressing the urge to spit out blood. He forced a smile, though his eyes glinted with a hint of crimson fury. “Brothers… Good brothers…” His raspy laugh carried an undertone as sharp as a blood-stained blade.
Su Yan felt a chill but maintained his composure. “Does this mean you agree Lord Commander?”
Through gritted teeth, Shen Qi replied, “How could I not? This is everything I’ve ever wished for.”
Though relieved, Su Yan couldn’t shake a vague discomfort. “You need to focus on recovery and get better quickly. Don’t worry about Feng Que; I’ll deal with him and avenge you.”
Shen Qi, burning with silent rage, thought: I’ll recover, all right. And once I do, I’ll make sure you understand—good brothers or not—you’ll never escape me. Even if you hate me, I’ll make you hate me while staying by my side. I have all the time in the world to entangle you until death.
Su Yan had no idea that the “new brother” he had just recognized had already committed a mental crime of violation against him in his thoughts. Feeling sorry for the other’s injuries and long period without proper nourishment, Su Yan called for the maid to bring in some plain congee and carefully spoon-fed the thick, nutritious top layer to Shen Qi.
Shen Qi, unable to sit up or lie flat, could only remain prone. Feeding him with a spoon proved challenging, and he deliberately acted clumsy, causing the congee to spill messily onto the bedding.
Seeing this, Su Yan had no choice but to resort to feeding him mouth-to-mouth again.
After obediently eating a few bites, Shen Qi shifted his face slightly off the edge of the bed, making it easier to be fed. Seeing the bowl of porridge nearly empty, Su Yan dared not feed him more, worried it might upset his long-neglected stomach. Just as he was about to set the bowl down, Shen Qi’s lips and tongue suddenly darted up, capturing him in a surprise kiss.
Su Yan’s mouth was still filled with the faint fragrance of porridge, and the kiss left him momentarily dazed.
Unlike the aggressive and domineering kiss pressed upon him against the stone wall in the imperial prison, this time Shen Qi’s lips and tongue were fervent and lingering, brimming with emotion. He gently nibbled on Su Yan’s lips, licked each of his teeth, and teased the sensitive roof of his mouth with his tongue, sweeping back and forth. The intense tingling sensation shot straight from Su Yan’s mouth to his head and then down his spine, sending goosebumps across his body.
Unable to resist, Su Yan instinctively tried to retreat, looking as if he were fleeing in defeat.
Shen Qi, however, refused to let him escape. With the hand that extended beyond the bed, he gripped Su Yan’s arm like a cuff forged of gold and steel, determined to lock him into this kiss. He even disregarded the pain of pulling his injured back, staining the freshly changed bandages with smears of red and yellow.
Watching this, Su Yan felt both pain on his behalf and frustration at his disregard for his own health. He bit Shen Qi’s lip in reprimand. “Do you even know, Commander Shen, that trouble won’t find you if you don’t go looking for it?”
Shen Qi’s back hurt terribly, and he gasped for breath, barely able to speak. “You call me your brother, yet here you are addressing me as ‘Commander Shen’—what’s the meaning of that? So, it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”
Su Yan sighed and relented. “Qilang, don’t make a scene. We can be close as brothers, but kissing the mouth is crossing the line.”
Deep down, Shen Qi scoffed coldly: Just kissing? I’ll make you cry in bed someday, until that sweet little mouth of yours can’t say anything but moans and sobs instead of hurtful words.
Imagining the future blissful moments to come, he decided not to rush things. Healing his injuries came first.
“I’m in so much pain I can’t move…” Shen Qi leaned half of his face against Su Yan’s shoulder, his voice weak and breathy.
“This is your own doing—you deserve it!” Su Yan scolded him while carefully supporting his head and placing it back on the pillow.
As he stood up with the bowl, he moved too quickly and was hit by a wave of dizziness. He instinctively grabbed the bed frame for support, waiting for the spinning sensation to pass.
Alarmed, Shen Qi asked, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
Su Yan steadied himself and smiled. “It’s nothing. I’ve just been running around these past few days and feel a bit exhausted. A good sleep will fix it.”
Heart aching, Shen Qi said, “You’ve stayed up all night watching over me without eating or sleeping—you’ve overworked yourself. Have some light porridge and vegetables, and rest here today.”
