“Chang Yuncheng, you killed me!”

In the room, Qi Yue grabbed Chang Yuncheng and shouted.

“I see you’re quite well now; you even have quite some strength,” Chang Yuncheng pulled her hand away. Through the window, they could see people outside gazing anxiously toward the house.

“Why won’t you explain clearly? You didn’t ask me to come back just because you were beaten by your father, did you!” Qi Yue became frantic, reaching up to scratch her head. Her fingers met not her familiar smooth curls, but a stiff, high chignon. She dropped her hand in frustration.

Chang Yuncheng chuckled.

“My father beat me, so I came to beg you for help?” He seemed to have heard the most ridiculous joke in the world, laughing aloud. “You woman, you are laughable in your arrogance and ignorance. I, Chang Yuncheng, have lived this long and have never once thought of begging anyone for my life…”

Qi Yue let out a heavy breath. It was her own fault; she had been so overjoyed that she’d been completely foolish not to ask why the boy had suddenly lowered his stance to apologize to her.

“I cannot save them. Find someone else,” she said, bracing her hands on the table.

“What else are you trying to hold over me?” Chang Yuncheng frowned, a hint of mockery in his voice.

“Hold over you! What have I ever held over you, from beginning to end!” Qi Yue looked up and shouted. “A wife wishing to live with her husband—is that coercion? A wife being bullied by servants and needing to rely on you, her husband—is that coercion? A trivial matter that you keep dwelling on! Are you even a man?”

Chang Yuncheng’s face turned ashen and purple. This woman… this woman… Had she been raised on firecrackers…?

“Now is not the time to discuss this. Someone’s life is hanging by a thread out there. Why drag me in here to argue? It’s not too late to talk after you’ve saved them,” he said, taking a deep breath.

“I can’t save them,” Qi Yue stated flatly.

“You haven’t even looked, how do you know you can’t save them?” Chang Yuncheng’s anger was palpable now.

Qi Yue turned to look at him, her expression grave, and then tilted her chin toward the window.

Just moments before, she had struggled fiercely to shake off the Prefect’s wife, shamelessly claiming she needed a private word with her husband. She had then dragged Chang Yuncheng into the room and shut the door. The courtyard was now filled with murmuring people. There were few servants from the Dingxi Marquis’s Manor among them; instead, there were many unfamiliar men…

“Are these all physicians?” Qi Yue pointed and asked.

Chang Yuncheng nodded.

“The physicians the Prefect has managed to summon must be extraordinary, correct?” Qi Yue asked again.

“If you have something to say, just say it plainly,” Chang Yuncheng replied impatiently.

“Husband.” Qi Yue turned to him and called out.

That single address, Xianggong, made Chang Yuncheng’s cheek twitch. A sourness welled up in his heart; he felt that being called Chang Yuncheng was somehow more agreeable…

“You think too highly of your wife,” Qi Yue said with a bitter smile. “So many fine physicians couldn’t cure him; how could I possibly?”

“You cured Ah Hao,” Chang Yuncheng countered.

Qi Yue sighed.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t have the medicine anymore. Ah Hao still had some then. That’s how she clung to life, but now, it’s simply impossible!” She started to raise her hand to her head again.

Before Chang Yuncheng could say more, there was a commotion outside the door—the Marquis and Madam of Dingxi had arrived.

The Prefect’s wife, who had been waiting so anxiously she wanted to rush in, could hold back no longer. She pulled Madam Xie aside and recounted the whole affair, finally kneeling down to plead.

“Yue Niang, hurry out and take a look! Saving a life is the priority; you can discuss your matters later,” the Marquis of Dingxi said, displeased that his son and daughter-in-law had retreated to a room to speak privately at such a time. He called out.

Qi Yue looked at Chang Yuncheng, and Chang Yuncheng looked back at her.

“Serves me right!” Qi Yue finally said nothing, instead raising her hand to lightly slap her own cheek. With a stomp of her foot, she went outside.

Chang Yuncheng remained standing, watching her retreating figure, his expression shifting unpredictably.

Seeing her emerge, the Prefect and his wife breathed a collective sigh of relief and rushed forward excitedly.

“Good, let me see. But my abilities are limited; I might not be able to treat him either. Please prepare yourselves,” Qi Yue said softly, unable to bear the sight of the couple's eyes.

While waiting for Chang Yuncheng to fetch Qi Yue, the Prefect’s wife had personally gone to examine the maid who was supposedly cured. She saw with her own eyes the clear, stitched scar on the girl's abdomen.

To think someone could have their abdomen cut open and then stitched up and still survive—the Prefect and his wife were now filled with complete confidence in this 'master physician.' Hearing Qi Yue’s words, they paid it no mind, assuming it was mere modesty.

The couple escorted Qi Yue joyfully toward the room. The surrounding physicians parted way, watching Qi Yue with expressions of inquiry, curiosity, and shock.

Liu Pucheng stood by the doorway, next to Hu San, who was in a daze, and the Eldest Senior Brother.

“Young Madam,” Liu Pucheng greeted her with a bow.

“Doctor Liu,” Qi Yue returned the courtesy quickly.

“Mas-Mas-Master…” Hu San stammered out.

The Eldest Senior Brother quickly tugged his sleeve hard.

Qi Yue smiled at him.

“Please,” Liu Pucheng said.

Qi Yue lifted her feet, feeling as if they weighed a thousand qian, and stepped inside.

As she entered, the other physicians crowded in after her.

Aru, who had been directing the maids to unpack Qi Yue’s luggage, heard the news and rushed over frantically. As she squeezed into the room, Qi Yue was already examining the patient. Aru tightly clutched the bundle of medical supplies and looked over, but Qi Yue wasn't looking at her, nor was she reaching for her usual instruments.

The patient was a boy of about twelve or thirteen, clearly raised in comfort and luxury, but the torment of his injury had almost erased his features.

“Does it not hurt?” Qi Yue asked, slightly surprised, looking at the boy who lay on the bed, his face the color of old paper, yet showing no signs of writhing in pain.

Just moments ago, Liu Pucheng had briefly explained that she could already determine internal organ damage—a condition that should cause unbearable agony. Why did this child appear relatively calm?

“I used medicine and acupuncture to temporarily suppress the pain; otherwise, this child wouldn’t have lasted,” Liu Pucheng replied.

“So you do have that kind of medicine,” Qi Yue commented.

“It cannot be used unless it is absolutely necessary,” Liu Pucheng stated.

Qi Yue nodded, recalling Liu Pucheng’s philosophy, and fell silent while looking at the boy.

“Young Madam…” The Prefect and his wife looked at her anxiously. Seeing that she had stopped, they hurried to ask.

“I am truly sorry,” Qi Yue said, looking up with an apologetic expression. “I am powerless.”

This statement shocked the Prefect and his wife.

“How can that be? Young Madam, you cured that maid…” the Prefect exclaimed urgently.

“Yes, yes! Young Madam, that maid could be cured, so how come…” Doctor Guo, who had been squeezed in close by, excited and eager, also shouted loudly.

The other physicians murmured amongst themselves; their expressions showed little surprise, rather a look of, ‘we knew this would happen.’

“That maid’s case is different from this one…” Qi Yue could only offer a dry explanation.

“How is it different! It’s the same! I saw it clearly!” Doctor Guo shouted back.

“What are you shouting for!” Qi Yue turned to him, raising her own voice.

Doctor Guo froze at being shouted at, his face flushing red.

“What do you know? The same, the same? Can one person be the same as another? Can one ailment be one hundred percent identical to another?” Qi Yue spoke, her voice tinged with anxiety, unease, and guilt. “If I could treat it… would I stand by and watch someone die?”

Indeed, the Marquis’s Young Madam possessed an impressive aura. Her sudden outburst silenced everyone in the room.

After a moment of quiet, the Prefect’s wife rolled her eyes and fainted, causing another flurry of activity.

“I told you, what an embarrassment,” Madam Xie murmured to the Marquis of Dingxi, then bustled off to tend to the Prefect’s wife.

The Marquis of Dingxi looked awkward.

As many people volunteered to help the Prefect’s wife, Liu Pucheng looked at the stunned Qi Yue and sighed.

“Young Madam… is it still because of the medicine?” he asked.

Qi Yue looked at him. She hid nothing from this respected elder, nodding, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Watching a patient die before her eyes was a profound torment even for her.

Liu Pucheng smiled upon seeing her distress. He gestured to his Eldest Senior Disciple.

The Eldest Senior Disciple quickly presented the brocade box he had been holding tightly.

Qi Yue watched, unsure what he intended to do. Liu Pucheng opened the box and took out two small porcelain vials.

“Madam Qi… oh no, Young Madam, these are the anesthetics I have prepared these past days,” he said.

Qi Yue looked at him, astonished.

“Although Young Madam said that highly effective anesthetic medicine could not exist in our Central Plains, I believed that all things under heaven share the same root. If such a substance exists in a foreign land, perhaps no one here has discovered it yet. So, I spent time venturing into the deep mountains and forests, seeking out old herb farmers. Using Mandragora, Aconitum kusnezoffii, Angelica dahurica, and others, I tested them one by one, and finally derived a formula,” Liu Pucheng explained.

Qi Yue looked at Liu Pucheng, a complex mix of emotions surging within her. She had thought that after her explanation, Doctor Liu would abandon the idea, but she never expected him to be so… so persistent. Was he not afraid of ending up with nothing, of his efforts being wasted?

“But, the efficacy…” she murmured.

“Efficacy? I have tested it myself. While I don’t know how it compares to Young Madam’s medicine, it is sufficient for cutting with a blade or stitching with a needle,” Liu Pucheng stated.

Qi Yue bit her lower lip, remaining silent.

“Young Madam, I understand your difficulty,” Liu Pucheng continued, sighing. “You must know the nature of this child’s ailment. If we cannot perform exploratory surgery, he will not survive the night.”

Meanwhile, the effect of the painkiller had worn off. The boy began crying out again, his body hunched over, tossing and turning on the bed. The conscious Prefect’s wife knelt by the bed, weeping, crying out, “Let me die in my child’s place!”

Qi Yue naturally understood the severity. She lowered her head, saying nothing.

“Young Madam, if we do nothing, he dies. Since death is the inevitable outcome either way, why not give it a try?” Liu Pucheng said, offering the vials of medicine to her, watching her with a degree of earnest hope.

“Doctor Liu, this is truly no simple matter. Abdominal surgery involves too many factors; a slight mistake renders it useless…” Qi Yue said softly.

“If we don’t try, how will we ever know?” Liu Pucheng said kindly.

“Young Madam.” The Eldest Senior Disciple could not stand it any longer. He stepped forward. “How—how can you be so cruel? You clearly know how to save him, yet you refuse to even try. My master nearly lost his life refining this anesthetic…”

Liu Pucheng turned back and hissed a command to stop him.

Qi Yue looked over, surprised and confused.

The Eldest Senior Disciple gritted his teeth, ignoring his master’s rebuke. He abruptly lifted Liu Pucheng’s outer robe and pulled up his trouser leg, revealing his calf.

“Look! My master’s leg has been mutilated by himself!” he shouted.

**

Liu Pucheng rushed to pat him down, trying to fix his clothing, but his unsteady legs made him stumble slightly.

Qi Yue looked down at the old man’s leg, involuntarily covering her mouth to stifle a gasp.

That lean leg was covered in scars—old healed wounds and fresh ones where the red flesh was exposed. The marks spread upwards, suggesting even more were hidden higher up.

“You… what is this…” she choked out, trembling. “Are—are you performing anesthetic experiments on yourself…”