The morning light filtered into the room as Liu Pucheng entered, observing a disciple carefully pouring the decoction from the medicine pot onto a white cloth held by another apprentice.
The liquid dripped down into a small basin below.
“Mistress Qi, do you think we need to boil it again?” the disciple asked softly, carrying the small basin over to Qi Yue.
Qi Yue was bent over the table, meticulously dripping water from a small basin held by Hu San.
“Add more dregs and water, boil for another half an hour,” Qi Yue stated after carefully examining the brew.
The two disciples acknowledged her command and hurried off.
“Mistress Qi, what is this?” Liu Pucheng surveyed the room. All the objects were familiar, yet the arrangement felt profoundly strange.
Why was the pot weighed down with heavy stones?
The aroma of meat broth permeated the air.
And this peculiar act of dripping water…
“I need distilled water…” Qi Yue explained, straightening up and glancing at the basin below, which was less than half full. “Distill it again.”
Hu San nodded, placing the basin onto a nearby charcoal stove.
Having been awake all night and maintaining intense focus, everyone’s eyes were bloodshot.
“How is the injured man?” Qi Yue inquired, rubbing her eyes to ease the strain slightly.
“Not very well,” Liu Pucheng replied.
Qi Yue showed no panic; instead, she smiled faintly.
“It seems I need to speed things up,” she said, clenching her fist.
By noon, Liu Pucheng and the others watched as Qi Yue decanted the medicinal liquids, each diluted to a different ratio, into small porcelain vials, tying different colored ribbons around them as markers.
Two apprentices brought in a steamer basket, setting them out one by one before placing them into a large, makeshift cauldron.
This large cauldron was a pot within a pot, covered with a lid that was further secured by stones, and the seams between the lid and the body were wrapped with layers of wet white cloth.
“Half an hour. Everyone stand back. Don’t want the pot to explode,” Qi Yue warned.
Hearing this, everyone startled and quickly retreated.
“But please, don’t let it explode…” Qi Yue muttered, unable to resist pressing her hands together as if praying to gods and Buddhas for protection.
“Teacher, go and excise some of the necrotic tissue from the patient’s wound now,” she instructed.
Liu Pucheng complied, watching the large, sealed pot and listening to the thumping sounds from within, a sense of apprehension growing in his heart.
“This is…” he finally asked.
“An attempt at high-pressure sterilization,” Qi Yue laughed, a hint of self-mockery in her tone.
Liu Pucheng did not find it amusing. Instead, he nodded seriously, filled with growing respect and curiosity for Qi Yue’s master—that person. What an earth-shattering expert he must be.
The necrotic tissue was meticulously and carefully cut into small pieces by Qi Yue, who wore gloves.
“Everyone come here,” Qi Yue called out.
Immediately, everyone gathered around.
“Each of you examine one piece,” Qi Yue directed.
They didn't know what she intended, but they each selected a piece and studied it intently, as if examining the rarest jade or the most precious gems in the world.
“Remember the state of the necrotic tissue you each observe,” Qi Yue instructed. “After tonight, when we take them out again, you must be able to discern if there has been any change. This, relying only on your eyes and memory, is the final step in finding an effective injectable.”
She paused there, watching the apprentices lean closer to inspect the tissue.
Success or failure rested on this last step. If nothing was found by tomorrow…
Qi Yue took a deep breath; it would mean failure, and there would be no more time left for experimentation.
She lowered her head and intently studied a piece of the tissue, determined to brand its image into her mind.
“Young Mistress, is the temperature sufficient?” another apprentice guarded a wooden chest surrounded and lined beneath with multiple charcoal braziers.
Qi Yue hurried over and inserted her hand to gauge the heat.
Perhaps, almost there.
“It’s ready,” Qi Yue announced.
The pieces of necrotic tissue were placed one by one into the porcelain vials. Each apprentice responsible for a specific piece tied their corresponding ribbon marker, and all the vials were arranged neatly on a wooden board, which was then carried and placed inside the chest.
A thick quilt was used to cover the chest entirely.
After finishing this, the apprentices wore expressions of tense excitement. They had performed many strange actions over the past day and night, hoping for strange results.
In stark contrast to the constant need for heating the charcoal fires here, the hunter’s room was continuously supplied with ice blocks.
“Wear your gloves, especially if you have open wounds on your hands; you must not touch anything lest you get infected,” Qi Yue said as she entered and observed A Ru and others busy tending to the hunter. “My preparations here only yielded enough medicine for one person, you know!”
A Ru and the others laughed, the sound muffled by their wide masks, yet it was exceedingly pleasant to hear.
Chang Yuncheng, standing outside the courtyard gate, stopped his step upon hearing the laughter emanating from inside.
If she were happy now, seeing him might recall unpleasant memories. Better to just leave it be…
He turned to leave, but the door sounded behind him. He couldn't help but turn back and saw Qi Yue stepping out, caught mid-stretch in a rather ungraceful pose. Her movement paused slightly when she saw him looking, but she quickly resumed, shifting her gaze away from Chang Yuncheng.
Chang Yuncheng retracted his gaze and turned away.
When the morning light once again streamed into the room, every eye was fixed tensely upon the wooden chest.
Qi Yue watched the dripping apparatus nearby.
“Good, time’s up. Take them out,” she finally said, raising her hand.
The apprentices, who had been waiting for this command, found their movements suddenly constrained. Trembling, they lifted the heavy quilt and carried out the wooden board from the steaming hot chest.
The board was placed on the table. All the apprentices stood before their assigned vials, corresponding to their ribbon markers, each holding a set of makeshift, tiny tweezers.
“Alright, begin. Look at the necrotic tissue in the vials and find the one that hasn’t continued to deteriorate, but perhaps shows a slight improvement,” Qi Yue instructed, lowering her own head and opening the vial she was responsible for.
The piece of necrotic tissue was carefully lifted out with the tweezers…
“No good.” Qi Yue set it down. “One to sixteen, failure.”
A nearby apprentice, hand trembling, drew a cross on a sheet covered in dilution ratios.
In the patient’s ward, the atmosphere was exceptionally quiet, broken only by the muffled groans of the unconscious patient.
Liu Pucheng went to view the results as well. Only A Ru remained in the room; she wore a gown and a wide mask, her hair completely covered by a headscarf, using a gloved hand to wring out a towel to place on the patient's forehead.
“Sister A Ru, the ice is here,” an apprentice entered carrying a wooden basin full of ice.
A Ru nodded, deftly moving over to help him arrange the ice blocks around the patient’s bed.
“Sister A Ru, aren’t you going to check over there?” the apprentice asked.
A Ru re-wrung the towel and continued to wipe the patient’s face.
“No need to look,” she replied.
No need to look. The Young Mistress would certainly succeed. She always kept her word!
“One to one twenty-four, ineffective.”
“One to one forty-six, ineffective.”
...
Accompanied by one report after another, sweat beaded more heavily on Qi Yue’s brow.
Hurry and succeed. Please, you must succeed…
She stared at the hands of the apprentices, terrified they might misinterpret what they saw.
It was truly laughable. She had never imagined a day would come when the very outcome she once painstakingly tried to refute in experiments—the result she least wished to see—was now something she desperately prayed to the gods and Buddhas to grant.
As more and more ratios were crossed off the sheet, disappointment etched deeper onto everyone’s faces.
It was an inherently impossible task; perhaps it truly was impossible after all….
Watching the woman lean on the table, her head bowed, Liu Pucheng couldn't help but let out a sigh.
“Regardless, the mere act of trying is a success in itself,” he said, walking over with a gentle smile.
“While that may be true, the result is ultimately what matters most,” Qi Yue murmured, her head still bowed. “In our line of work, whether we strive hard or not, it is the result that ultimately judges us. Cured means success; not cured means failure. Simple… and ruthless.”
It was like her father, for that brain surgery—he had prepared so much, devised so many plans—but what did it matter? Failure was failure, and failure demanded a price, no matter how much effort had been exerted.
The sounds of reporting suddenly ceased, or perhaps no one noticed.
“No… no… no…” a trembling voice whispered.
Everyone snapped their attention towards the speaker.
This apprentice held a piece of necrotic tissue with his tweezers; the small piece of flesh was shaking violently—though, of course, it was the hand holding the tissue that was shaking.
“N-n-n-no…” he continued, his voice wavering.
No one rushed him; they simply stared intently, breath held tight.
“No change…” he finally managed to exclaim, just before everyone felt they would suffocate.
Qi Yue strode forward to his side, carefully taking the piece of tissue with her gloved hand.
This piece, which even a dog wouldn't bother with on the ground, was now held by Qi Yue as if it were the rarest treasure in the world. She looked at it again and again, until the sweat blurred her vision, forcing her to close her eyes.
Qi Yue took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and glanced at the ribbon tied around the vial.
“One to three hundred and twenty-four, effective.”
When the cheers erupted from that area, A Ru, who was busy changing the dressing on the injured hunter’s wound, finally lost control of her shaking hands. But she said nothing, just clumsily finishing the application of a new layer of dressing with her unsteady grip.
She knew, she had always known, that the Young Mistress could do it. The Young Mistress always kept her word!
“It’s already been six or seven days; what’s the use of them dragging things out like this!” the apprentices at Hui Chun Hall grumbled impatiently.
Wang Qingchun sat in his chair, sipping tea with a slow, leisurely air.
“If we can delay by a day, we delay by a day. Let them be,” he said with a faint smile.
“Teacher, the people waiting outside haven't dispersed,” Wu Shan complained, with a touch of boastfulness, entering the room.
“It’s getting late…”
“Teacher has been seeing patients all day…”
“Don't tire yourself…”
The other apprentices immediately chimed in, one after another.
These words felt like a spring breeze sweeping through Wang Qingchun’s organs, immensely comforting.
“A physician must have the heart of a parent. Since they have come, how can we ignore them?” He put down his teacup and stood up. “I will go and take a look.”
“Teacher’s benevolence and skill…”
“…Truly the fortune of our common people…”
Amidst the flattery of his disciples, Wang Qingchun stepped out from the back hall into the front to see patients.
But as he entered the front hall, he froze, and the disciples crowding behind him also stopped short.
It was completely empty—where was everyone?
“Where… where did the people go?” Wu Shan immediately exclaimed with a tinge of shame and anger.
The errand boy sorting herbs nearby looked on in terror.
“S-Senior Brother, they all ran away…” he stammered.
Wang Qingchun’s composure instantly shattered.
“What do you mean they all ran away? Did you chase them off?” Wu Shan barked.
“No,” the young assistant said aggrievedly, pointing out the door. “Someone just said that injured hunter walked out of the Dingxi Marquis’s residence, and everyone ran to see…”
What?
Everyone in the room went rigid.
Had they misheard? The injured hunter hadn't been carried out, but had walked out?
Can the dead walk? If someone can walk, they must be alive. Could it be that the hunter was truly saved?
A layer of cold sweat instantly broke out on Wang Qingchun’s forehead.
How… impossible…… I plan to take a short walk for the Qingming Festival, so I’ll be posting two chapters today. During the holiday, I can only manage one chapter daily, please bear with me. I am actually a daily single-chapter poster, so get used to it. RQ