Dr. Wang Qingchun dismounted, joining those who had come to greet him. He possessed the air of a long-lost son returning home, finding solace among familiar faces, tears welling in his eyes.
Perhaps influenced by his demeanor, the others were visibly moved, creating a scene thick with sentiment. But this warmth was suddenly shattered.
Hu San whistled sharply a few times, calling his disciples together.
The sound caused those mid-handshake to turn, and upon seeing them, Wang Qingchun’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Wang Qingchun,” Qi Yue called out, a smile playing on her lips, “you’ve finally returned to honor your wager.”
Liu Pucheng moved to intervene, but he couldn't restrain Qi Yue once the words were out. He let go, realizing further restraint was futile.
The atmosphere fell silent. Those gathered around Wang Qingchun dared not look at his face, their minds instantly unleashing a torrent of curses upon the woman.
Why would she say such a thing?
Even if she truly felt that way—and perhaps others felt it too—it shouldn't have been voiced aloud.
If she must speak, shouldn't she at least consider the timing?
If not the timing, then at least the dignity of the official robes he now wore?
Of course, in the past, robes didn't matter; with the protection of the Marquis of Dingxi's household, she was the highest authority in Yongqing Prefecture.
But now? Things were different!
Even though he had saved the Prefect’s son, he wasn't actually the Prefect’s son.
It seemed this woman was still too giddy, unaware of her current standing.
Yet, perhaps this was for the best; those who didn't know their limits always needed a lesson.
Watching this woman receive her due was something everyone relished.
Wang Qingchun stared at her, and Qi Yue met his gaze unflinchingly, her provocative expression enough to make one vomit blood.
“Good,” Wang Qingchun suddenly declared, sweeping up the hem of his official robe.
The crowd froze, then erupted into chaotic attempts to stop or support him.
“My Lord, what are you doing?”
“My Lord, you must not be rash!”
“My Lord wears the official robes! They are for kneeling only to Heaven, Earth, Sovereign, Family, and Teacher. How can you kneel without cause!”
Amidst the commotion, the city officials arrived. Seeing the scene, they quickly moved to intervene, but realizing the situation, their expressions grew awkward.
Observing Qi Yue and her group standing calmly and watching the drama unfold, the officials were in a bind. Had this been anyone else, they would have ordered them beaten and driven away. But this woman could not be touched.
“Madam Qi, Madam Qi,” the Prefect’s scribe hurried over and whispered urgently, “Please, cause no more trouble.”
Qi Yue merely chuckled. Liu Pucheng was also desperately muttering words of caution.
“I’m not causing trouble. Kneeling wasn't my suggestion,” Qi Yue replied with a smile, looking at Wang Qingchun, who was still struggling to kneel, and pursing her lips. “Look at that pitiful little white flower act—does he look like a man?”
She then waved her hand dismissively.
“Let’s go.”
“Does he look like a man?” Hu San shouted after them, mimicking Qi Yue’s gesture as he called out, “Let’s go!”
They left the clamor at the city gate behind them.
However, upon returning to the Hall of a Thousand Gold, Qi Yue clearly saw the anxiety etched on her disciples' faces.
“What is this Medical Doctorate?” Qi Yue frowned, asking, “Can it really decide the fate of our Hall of a Thousand Gold business?”
Liu Pucheng shook his head.
“Little Qi, the issue isn't what this Doctor of Medicine does, but the fact that he has returned,” he said.
Qi Yue smiled and nodded.
“That’s right, he has returned,” she said, leaning against a table and surveying the main hall. “And he returned with great fanfare. So, this only proves one thing.”
She looked at everyone and pointed upwards.
“He has powerful backing,” she stated, then burst into laughter.
But no one else joined her mirth. Wang Qingchun’s backing was decidedly bad news for them.
“Then why provoke him so sharply at the city gate?” Liu Pucheng said, shaking his head. “You made it impossible for him to back down publicly.”
Qi Yue smiled.
“Teacher, whether I provoke him or try to curry favor, the outcome is the same for him. My very existence forces him into an untenable position,” she explained. “So, if the result is the same, why should I flatter him?”
That logic held up, and Liu Pucheng shook his head before nodding in agreement.
“Alright, what are you afraid of?” Qi Yue clapped her hands, rallying them. “No matter who is backing him, we earn our living with our skills. What can he really do to us?”
That was true. Everyone immediately brightened.
“Besides,” Qi Yue added with another laugh, giving them a final boost, “No matter who is backing him, if he dares to challenge us deliberately, I can make him kneel once, and I can make him kneel a second time.”
The crowd roared with laughter.
“Alright, get back to work, back to your stations!” Hu San urged.
“Are you truly not afraid?” Liu Pucheng asked with a smile.
Qi Yue lifted her chin and pointed toward a large plaque hanging prominently in the hall.
The plaque, inscribed with Miraculous Hands Bring Back Spring, personally written by the Prefect, hung in the most conspicuous spot.
“You have backing too,” Liu Pucheng commented with a smile.
Qi Yue looked up and laughed heartily.
“Teacher, not that one,” she laughed, pointing elsewhere.
Besides the plaques of thanks from grateful patients, there were also the precepts of the Great Physician.
“Calm the spirit, steady the will, vow to universally save the suffering of all living beings. Treat all equals as if they were your dearest kin. Devote your entire heart to healing, without dwelling on technique or appearance,” Qi Yue read, looking at Liu Pucheng. “Teacher, I know what we are doing. It’s like having the Buddha in your heart; you fear no demon.”
Liu Pucheng nodded with deep satisfaction.
“Madam Qi, you are ready to graduate,” he said, smiling.
Even though the Hall of a Thousand Gold was busy, Qi Yue always carved out time to accompany her disciples on herb-gathering expeditions. This was her method of teaching, aligning book knowledge with practical application to accelerate her mastery of Traditional Chinese Medicine.
This trip led them to a stretch of rolling hills ten li outside the prefectural city, a prime location where summer herbs flourished.
“Madam, please rest,” Ah Hao called, setting down her pack. She first spread a mat for Qi Yue to sit on, then produced a ceramic jar and poured a bowl of tea. “Would you like a pastry?”
Qi Yue laughed at her thoughtfulness. Ah Ru, as head nurse, couldn't leave the hall, but she worried about Qi Yue going out alone, so she sent Ah Hao along. While Ah Hao lacked Ah Ru’s surgical precision, her caretaking skills were thorough and meticulous.
The disciples were also scattered across the field ridges, chatting and resting.
“What are you doing?” someone shouted from a distance—a farmer running over with a measure of suspicion. “Are you trying to steal melons?”
Melons? Qi Yue and the others finally noticed the melon patch nearby.
“No, we are disciples from the Hall of a Thousand Gold, here to gather herbs,” Qi Yue called back quickly.
The farmer instantly let down his guard. The common people held great respect for healers.
“It’s so hot out, would you all like a melon?” the farmer invited warmly.
Qi Yue was never stingy when it came to food and drink, immediately telling Ah Hao to buy some. The farmer initially wanted to give them away, but Qi Yue insisted on paying. He was both flustered and grateful, carefully selecting the best melons to offer.
There was little pollution in those days, so everyone simply wiped the melons with a cloth and ate.
“These are sweet melons,” Qi Yue said after finishing half, standing in the field and casually asking about the harvest.
“Not great. Too much rain, a lot rotted,” the farmer replied, picking up a few more and tossing them aside. “See? Another pile spoiled.”
Rotten sweet melons were piled in the ditch, attracting swarms of flies and emitting a sour stench as the wind blew over them.
“Oh dear, why didn't you throw them farther away?” Ah Hao cried, covering her nose and pulling Qi Yue back.
Qi Yue smiled.
“They can be fermented for fertilizer. Everything from the earth is treasure; nothing goes to waste,” she said, looking at the decaying melons. “Take these melons, for instance. The mold and rot on them can actually yield a medicine.”
“What medicine?” Zhang Tong asked.
“A very, very powerful medicine,” Qi Yue said, looking at the melons. “If we had this medicine, the wet nurse from last time wouldn't have needed an amputation. In half a day…” She held up one finger, shaking it at Zhang Tong. “Just one injection, half a day, and the infection would be controlled.”
Zhang Tong’s eyes widened. Heavens.
“Madam, then—then quickly, let’s try to produce this medicine too,” he urged excitedly.
Qi Yue gave a wry smile, turning back to the pile of moldering, rotten melons.
“It’s not that easy,” she shook her head.
“But—but why isn't it easy?” Zhang Tong pressed, confused.
“It’s just not easy,” Qi Yue sighed, unable to explain, so she vaguely waved her hand to the others. “Let’s go, let’s go.”
They returned as the sun set, their carts laden.
Meanwhile, in Mobei, night had fallen. Torches illuminated the main courtyard as if it were daytime, filled with the sounds of singing, dancing, and laughter.
The banquet in the courtyard was in full swing. To entertain the official from the capital, the scale of the feast was grand, featuring not only musicians but also courtesans to attend the guests.
The official from the capital, being a man, cast aside his restraint once drunk, holding a delicate courtesan on either side, laughing and teasing them.
The others followed suit, and soon the courtyard was steeped in an atmosphere of revelry and indulgence.
Amidst this, Chang Yuncheng, sitting alone and having chosen no companion, was conspicuously out of place.
“How can we neglect the Young Lord?” the official from the capital shouted in the midst of his enjoyment upon noticing him. “Let the Young Lord choose first! You little brats only look out for yourselves.”
Laughter echoed through the crowd. Chang Yuncheng also smiled; refusing now would only make things awkward. He casually selected one, and the courtesan approached with a smile to sit beside him as the drinking continued.
“Young Lord, please,” the courtesan said, raising her wine cup in a toast, draining her own cup first. Whether intentionally or not, more than half the wine spilled onto his lapel. Summer attire was already sparse, and the courtesans wore even more revealing clothing. The wine soaked through, clinging the fabric to her high bosom as if nothing lay beneath.
Chang Yuncheng felt his ears grow hot and quickly averted his gaze.
“Young Lord, won’t you have some wine?” the courtesan cooed, pressing her voluptuous body against him like a snake.
Before she could finish speaking, Chang Yuncheng raised his hand and gently pushed her away, rising to his feet as well.
The courtesan was brushed aside, and her wine cup fell to the floor, the sound drawing a momentary silence as all eyes turned toward them.
“What is happening? How are you serving the Young Lord!” someone immediately snapped.
The courtesan hastily offered apologies.
“It’s nothing, it’s not her fault. I drank a bit too much. I need to go sober up,” Chang Yuncheng said with a calm smile, extending his hand to signal the courtesan to rise.
The courtesan finally breathed a sigh of relief and stood up shakily.
“Little Chang’s capacity for alcohol has greatly diminished since his injury,” the official from the capital observed as Chang Yuncheng excused himself, shaking his head.
“No, it dropped sharply since he learned his wife was pregnant,” a burly man beside him remarked.
The official glared at him.
“Nonsense,” he retorted. “What wife pregnant? Young Lord, they have already divorced.”
The official from the capital, as expected, knew more than the locals, and a hush fell over the gathering.
Chang Yuncheng did not hear the murmurs behind him, and even if he had, he would have ignored them.
He did not return to his own quarters but instead wandered the streets. The border town lacked a night market, and the street was silent.
He wondered what that woman was doing. Sleeping?
Unlikely. She was probably reading.
Chang Yuncheng idly kicked small stones along the ground; their clattering sounds added a spark of life to the night.
Time seemed to stretch out, long enough that he could barely recall the woman’s face.
The fluttering of wings broke the silence of the night. Chang Yuncheng stopped abruptly. A message?
Indeed, a guard not far behind him caught a carrier pigeon.
Ever since receiving news that she had been drinking wine with Wang Qianye, he had ceased the exchange of carrier pigeons, instructing his guards only to ensure Madam Qi’s safety and to report nothing else.
He had vowed to share her sorrow and her joy, but truly, he found it impossible to do so.
Then, another message arrived—it was…
Chang Yuncheng’s heart seized. He turned around.
The guard was already approaching with a message cylinder, simultaneously lighting a tinder fuse.
Chang Yuncheng’s hand trembled as he took the scroll and unrolled it. His face instantly drained of color.
Mother gravely ill, return immediately.
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Ning Xianbi, transmigrated, buried her golden finger to live in harmony with local customs, only to be rewarded with the tragedy of a favored concubine supplanting the wife.
Reborn, she casts aside all restraint. This life, she will live vividly, unafraid of being seen as unnatural or shining too brightly. Nor does she seek revenge; she only desires a happy existence, sneering as that family falls from grace.