As the fight flared up again, the few assistants in the apothecary immediately dove under the tables, not daring to emerge at all. Fortunately, these men possessed a certain standard of conduct; they only targeted the stout shopkeeper, causing no collateral damage.
Only when the fat shopkeeper was beaten immobile on the ground did the assailants finally cease.
“Pah, you son of a bitch! You fight dirty, we fight fair. We beat you openly and honorably. Don’t think you can get away with your shady deeds; Heaven has eyes! This isn't over. You just wait!” Hu San cursed, spitting on the prostrate shopkeeper, then waved his hand and left with his disciples, clutching their clubs.
The crowd gathered outside dispersed with a sudden roar.
“They’re beating someone! Officer, call the authorities…” the shopkeeper groaned, tearing the sack off with the help of his assistants. As he struggled to shout, he spotted several constables casually drinking tea and laughing in the teahouse across the street.
“Officers! Officers…” the shopkeeper stumbled forward, supported by his helpers, crying out, “Someone is attacking us…”
The constables looked over with indifference.
“Attacking whom? Who dares commit an assault in broad daylight?” one drawled.
How could they not have heard such a commotion? The fat shopkeeper trembled, a mix of anger and pain surging through him.
“Just now! These people, everyone here saw it…” He pointed wildly around him.
The constables sauntered over, tapping the sword at their hip against their palm.
“Who saw anything?” the lead one demanded coldly.
The onlookers jumped, catching the hard expression on the constables’ faces—it seemed any witness would be struck down instantly. The crowd immediately scattered.
“Didn’t see a thing! Not a thing!” everyone chorused.
Blind, are they?
The fat shopkeeper felt as if struck by lightning.
Those men had caused such a massive, brazen disturbance in broad daylight. Just moments ago, everyone was gathered to watch the spectacle; now, suddenly, no one saw anything?
Truly, the world is declining, and human nature has decayed!!
“Have you no conscience!” the shopkeeper wailed, his voice tearing. “Is there no humanity left at all!”
“Enough of that caterwauling! Move along, move along,” the constable called, waving his hand dismissively.
The street quickly emptied of onlookers, leaving only the fat boss standing amidst the rubble, his face bruised, his mouth askew, and his eyes swollen.
“It was Qianjin Hall! I know it was…” he couldn’t help but shout.
Before the words fully left his lips, he saw the constables rushing toward him.
“What did you say?” one of them said, his eyes turning icy. The other three closed ranks, trapping the boss in the center.
The fat boss shivered.
He had heard that the Prefect’s son personally threw those rioters into the prison cells. He had heard that if Madam Qi gave the word, all the young masters in the city would follow her into a brawl...
If she gave the signal, his apothecary...
He glanced at his shop, and in his mind’s eye, he already saw a pile of rubble before him.
Thinking of that, perhaps a beating was the lesser of two evils...
“N-nothing, I just misspoke from drinking. A delirium, no one hit me. It’s broad daylight, everything is peaceful and harmonious…” the boss stammered, forcing a stretched, lopsided smile onto his swollen face.
Meanwhile, Hu San and his men were swaggering back to Qianjin Hall.
“What were you lot up to?” Liu Pucheng asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” Hu San replied with a grin.
Liu Pucheng was busy and didn't press further, just glanced at him and walked away.
Hu San zipped over to Qi Yue’s office.
“Master, I gave that son of a bitch a thrashing just as you said. He’s swallowed his tongue now, tasting bitterness he dare not speak of,” he chuckled softly.
Qi Yue, who was writing a patient chart, snorted with laughter.
“Serves him right,” she said.
Hu San chuckled again.
“Master, I thought you were getting timid,” he admitted.
Qi Yue scoffed and laughed.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, why should I be timid?” she laughed. “You don’t think someone who messes with me gets off easy, do you? Don’t they realize I’m not the type anyone can just step on?”
In the capital, the areas surrounding the Imperial Palace, strictly off-limits to unauthorized personnel, were crowded with governmental offices. Among them, a rather unassuming building on the eastern side bore the sign: Imperial Academy of Medicine.
At that moment, a minor official in robes emerged, and a young runner squatting near a corner wall hurried forward.
“Sir, the letter,” he said respectfully.
The official quickly tore open the seal and read it. His expression instantly darkened.
“You can go,” he said, crushing the letter in his palm. He then turned and re-entered the building.
“Little Wang!” A man in official attire carrying a medicine box called out as he approached. “Hurry up and deliver those medicines requested by the Imperial Fragrance Bureau!”
Wang Qingchun’s face showed no trace of darkness; instead, he wore a meek, humble smile and bowed deeply in greeting.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
Only after the man passed did he straighten up, looking again at the crumpled letter in his hand.
You got lucky this time and weren’t beaten to death. But I don't believe you can always be this lucky.
Wang Qingchun glanced toward the southern horizon, gripped the letter tightly once more, and left.
Days turned swiftly, and the warmth of spring had fully enveloped Yongqing Prefecture.
“Cease medication. Maintain a joyful spirit. All will be well.”
After writing this, the small slip of paper was rolled up and placed into a bamboo tube. The back window opened, and a pigeon soared into the air.
“Qingzi!”
A shout came from outside the door.
The errand boy quickly shut the window and ran out to answer.
“Hey, Qingzi! The herbs drying over there need to be brought in!” a disciple wearing a light blue smock called out.
The errand boy, called Qingzi, responded with an affirmative, grabbing the black smock draped over his arm—the mark of a general helper in the pharmacy—and hurried off.
In the room bearing the sign ‘Outpatient Services,’ Qi Yue was examining a patient who had returned for a follow-up.
“You’re recovering nicely,” she said, smiling, then stood up straight.
“It’s all due to the Lady Physician’s superb skill,” the man said, his face full of gratitude.
Qi Yue tucked her stethoscope into the loop on her garment, picked up a sheet of paper from the desk, and swiftly wrote a line before handing it to the patient.
“Go on now, head to the Nurse Station to have your dressing changed,” she instructed.
The Nurse Station?
Though perplexed, the man obeyed, thinking that since the doctor here could split bones and open abdomens, their procedures must naturally differ from others.
In the vast, bright hall, the busiest counter bore the striking title: Nurse Station.
“A’Ru!” Qi Yue called out.
A’Ru, clad in a white smock with her hair bound by a kerchief, was bandaging a small child who had broken his arm. She immediately responded but did not stop her work until she finished with the child.
“This one is for a dressing change,” Qi Yue explained.
“Yes, Ma’am,” A’Ru replied, smiling at the man as she extended her hand. “May I see the slip?”
The doctor herself instructed me to come for a change, why would she still need a slip?
The man hesitated for a moment before handing over the paper.
A’Ru glanced down at it and, with a smile, led the way.
“This way, please.”
Qi Yue stood in the hall, noticing someone peering cautiously inside from outside, seemingly wanting to enter but afraid of choosing the wrong path.
“Hello there, may I help you?”
A general helper responsible for guiding people in Qianjin Hall immediately stepped forward to inquire.
Hello? Really...
“For consultations, please go to the outpatient clinic on the left,” the helper pointed. “For dispensing medicine, the pharmacy is this way.”
The hesitant person nodded and stepped inside timidly.
“I, I, I stubbed my foot. That thing you mentioned before—disinfecting and reducing swelling—otherwise, nothing’s wrong. I just came to ask…” he stammered, pointing vaguely at his foot.
In the past, if he sustained a scrape, he’d just grab a handful of dirt and sprinkle it on, never minding it. But a few days ago, the literate village head had read a notice tacked beneath a large tree, detailing methods for treating common external injuries: rinse superficial scrapes with mild saltwater, use clean cloth to apply pressure on tears, and especially—never sprinkle dirt!
Otherwise, it could lead to infection and festering. Don't underestimate a small wound; it could very well kill you, the village head had concluded gravely.
The man had been thoroughly frightened. But this was how it had always been done. For a small cut, not a debilitating illness, was going to a medical hall really necessary? Might it not be an overreaction? Yet, faced with the immediate situation, he kept thinking of the village head’s descriptions of rotting, severed legs. He hesitated for a long time, unable to bring himself to sprinkle dirt, and finally, he gritted his teeth and nervously came to the city.
If the villagers found out he’d wasted half a day of labor traveling to the city just for a broken scrape on his foot, he’d be laughed out of the village.
“This one,” the helper said, turning to call out. “We have an external wound here needing treatment.”
Someone from the Nurse Station heard the call and approached.
“Please follow me,” the disciple in the white smock said kindly.
Everyone here is so polite. Perhaps their medical skills aren't high, which is why they lack confidence... the villager muttered internally, still feeling quite timid.
“Um, how much will this cost?” he asked.
The helper pointed to a large screen hanging on the wall. It displayed not landscapes or calligraphy, but neat little boxes listing procedures and their prices.
“This is a simple cleansing and disinfection for an external wound. No consultation is needed, so there is no charge,” he said after taking a careful look.
No charge? The villager’s spirits immediately lifted.
“Good, good.” He happily followed the disciple.
Seeing this, the smile on Qi Yue’s face deepened. She surveyed the hall once more, then turned and walked back into her consultation room. When it wasn't a case of severe trauma, her schedule was quite light. She sat down, picked up a book on traditional Chinese medicine, and began reading intently, opening her notebook beside it to jot down anything she didn't understand, intending to ask Liu Pucheng for clarification after he finished his work.
As evening approached, Qianjin Hall, bustling all day, quieted down. Qi Yue and A’Ru walked out the door.
“Oh, right, Yan’er is due for her follow-up. Can you find a way to notify Big Sister?” she remembered suddenly.
A’Ru nodded.
Qi Yue stretched her arms.
“I’m so tired today. How about we grab some wine and have a drink on the way back?”
A’Ru pursed her lips and glanced at her.
“The doctor said you are not allowed to drink,” she reminded her.
“Which doctor said that?” Qi Yue asked playfully, looping her arm through A’Ru’s. “I’m a doctor too. If I say it’s fine, it’s fine.”
“Your saying it isn’t enough. Can you take a pulse? If you can take a pulse, I’ll listen to you,” A’Ru huffed.
Qi Yue burst out laughing.
“Don’t underestimate me! I’ll learn very quickly,” she laughed, shaking A’Ru’s arm again. “Just a little bit.”
A’Ru remained completely unmoved.
“Don’t even think about it,” she stated firmly. “We’re going back to drink Ah Hao’s fish soup.”
Qi Yue covered her eyes dramatically.
“Heavens, A’Ru, one gets tired of delicacies, no matter how splendid! Especially fish brains…” she wailed.
A’Ru pulled her along, laughing.
“You eat what you want to supplement, after all,” she teased.
“Fish brains only grant seven seconds of memory, dear. What are you hoping to supplement?” Qi Yue retorted.
Seven seconds? What did that mean?
“In any case, you are not having any wine,” A’Ru declared, unyielding.
Qi Yue put on a look of utter dejection.
“Money, money, pay up.”
Suddenly, a child’s cry echoed from the street.
“My scallion pancakes! Pay up!”
“Pay what? Let me taste if your damn pancakes are edible! Pay what!” two idle loafers shouted, tossing a pancake that was only one bite remaining onto the ground, spitting on it. “Tastes awful!”
As he spoke, one of them roughly shoved the child clinging to his sleeve.
“Get lost!”
The child was pushed down onto the ground. The basket hanging from his hand tipped over, and several pancakes spilled out.
Passersby showed a flicker of indignation in their eyes, but seeing the demeanor of the loafers, they lowered their heads and pretended not to notice.
The child cried, scrambling to pick up his food.
“Little brat, wearing a face covering—thinks he’s some courtesan, does he?” one loafer sneered. The other casually reached out to yank the cloth covering the child’s face.
The girl shrieked in fright and tried to dodge away, frantically covering her mouth, but it was too late. The loafer let out a sharp cry.
“Good heavens! What a huge scar around the mouth!” he bellowed, grabbing the girl who was clutching her face. “Look, look! It looks like an earthworm!”
The girl wept, desperately clamping her hands over her mouth, struggling to break free, but she was no match for adults. The other passersby all turned to look.
“Yan’er?”
A clear female voice rang out suddenly.
Yan’er flinched, seeing a woman standing before her, looking at her with utter disbelief.
“What are you doing here?” Qi Yue asked, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her.