Chapter 37: A Matter of Life and Death

Inside the Hall of Righteous Peace.

On a massive, heavy, ornately carved wooden chair sat a middle-aged man with a solemn expression, a face like iron, and eyes burning like torches. His hand, gripping a long whip, would click as his hold loosened, only for his knuckles to turn white as he tightened his grip once more.

Before him, kneeling on the hall floor, was a young man with his head held high and his back straight. Blood seeped from inside his shirt, slowly blooming outward like an ink stain. The two had been locked in this confrontation for over half an hour, until the figure of Song Jiao came sprinting from the distance.

The middle-aged man instantly leapt from his chair, brandishing the whip as he strode toward the youth. "You ignorant wretch! See if I don't beat you to death today!"

Terrified, Song Jiao rushed forward to shield the young man, reaching out to grab the middle-aged man’s wrist. "Father, what are you doing?" she cried, pushing him away.

Song Lang swung the whip again. "No one is stopping me today! I am going to teach this disrespectful, unruly brat a lesson!"

Song Jiao snatched the tip of the whip and wrenched it away. "Have you lost your mind? Can’t you see he’s already injured? Do you really mean to kill him?"

She threw the whip far aside. Ignoring Song Lang’s stunned expression, she turned and knelt to look at Ling Yuan. Seeing the massive bloodstain on his chest, her eyes reddened, and tears began to fall onto the floor. "Brother, how did you get so hurt? Where have you been all these days?"

Ling Yuan spoke softly to comfort her. "Don't worry. I'm fine. I won't die. Don't stop him—let Uncle Song beat me if it will calm his anger."

Song Jiao ignored his words, not even sparing a glance at her fuming father. She hoisted one of Ling Yuan's arms over her shoulder and tried to pull him up. She soon realized, however, how difficult this was. He was no longer the small boy she remembered; Ling Yuan had grown much taller than her, and she could not bear his weight. She looked up at a man standing nearby, who was still dazed by the unfolding drama.

"What are you standing there for? Aren't you going to help me?"

"Don't move! Leave him be!" Song Lang roared, and the man scrambled back to his original spot.

Ling Yuan patted her shoulder. "It's alright. I'm fine, I can walk."

Straining to support him, Song Jiao sniffled. "Let's get back first and have Doctor Tian treat your wounds."

Having knelt for too long and lost too much blood, Ling Yuan felt dizzy as he rose. Just as they stepped out of the hall, his strength failed him, and he began to collapse forward. Just as Song Jiao panicked, another figure quickly stepped forward to catch him.

"Young Master Cheng? You’ve come at the right time. My brother is severely wounded—help us get him back to his room."

Su Yunqing was shocked by the expanse of blood on his chest. Since the fabric of his clothes was intact, it was clear he had changed into new garments after the injury, yet the blood continued to seep outward. Ling Yuan’s consciousness was already drifting. He squinted at her, murmuring, "Why are you here?"

The two settled Ling Yuan onto the bed, and the doctor followed them in. He set down his medical kit and began to strip off Ling Yuan's clothes. Su Yunqing instinctively turned to leave, but Song Jiao grabbed her, pulling her back. "Young Master Cheng, where are you going?"

"I... I will wait outside."

"Why go outside?" Song Jiao pleaded. "Stay here and keep me company. I’m so scared."

"But..."

Before she could finish, the doctor had peeled back the clothing to reveal Ling Yuan's entire chest. Seeing the nearly foot-long wound still oozing blood, Song Jiao’s lip trembled as tears streamed down her face. "Doctor Tian, please, you must help my brother! He must be in so much pain..."

Doctor Tian used gauze to wipe the blood from the wound, then took a porcelain bottle and sprinkled medicinal powder over it. "This injury is at least three days old. It scabbed over, but it has reopened. It is not fatal; I have applied styptic medicine. He just needs to rest."

Su Yunqing could not leave, so she pushed past her internal hesitation to look at the wound. It stretched from his left clavicle all the way down to the ribs below his right chest—shallow at the ends, deep in the middle. The flesh was curled and showing signs of festering.

"Doctor, this wound was not treated in time; it has begun to fester. Medicine alone will not suffice."

Doctor Tian looked back at her. "Are you the doctor, or am I? If you know so much, why did you call for me?"

Su Yunqing had no patience for argument. "In his condition, the wound needs to be sutured to heal properly and quickly. Please, Doctor Tian, stitch it up."

Doctor Tian rolled his eyes, ignored her, and shouldered his medical kit, ready to leave. Although Song Jiao did not understand medicine, she understood Su Yunqing’s point and blocked the doctor’s path.

"I said he is fine, he is fine!" the doctor said, sounding flustered. "He is such a strong young man; he will recover quickly." He tried to push past Song Jiao, but Su Yunqing had already discerned the truth from his behavior. He was no doctor; at best, he was a pharmacy hand who knew a little about herbs.

Su Yunqing snatched the kit from him and opened it. There were no surgical tools inside—only various bottles of medicine. Her heart sank. "It seems you are not a doctor at all." She turned to Song Jiao. "Are there any other doctors on this mountain?"

Song Jiao shook her head.

Su Yunqing gritted her teeth. "Miss Song, please go find me an embroidery needle and some linen thread."

"Right away!" Song Jiao wiped her tears and dashed out.

Once she was gone, Doctor Tian scrambled to pack his box. "I only did this to survive, I had no choice. Please, young master, leave me a path to live."

Su Yunqing glared at him. "This is a matter of life and death! How can you be so reckless?"

"I was a pharmacy worker in Huamu Town," he explained. "When the Wojen invaders burned the pharmacy, I fled. To get the Chief to take me in, I lied and claimed to be a doctor."

Pharmacy hands were not doctors, but through constant exposure to herbs and filling prescriptions, they learned the basics. They could handle colds, fevers, and headaches easily, as these were common. But when faced with rare or complex conditions that medicine alone could not cure, they were helpless.

"In the mountains, I only ever treated minor ailments, and no one ever suspected me," the doctor added. "This is the first time I've seen an injury like Young Master Ling's."

"His wound could heal with just medicine," Su Yunqing said, "but it would take much longer, involve painful festering, and rely entirely on his own constitution. Even if it heals, it will leave a terrible scar."

Doctor Tian hung his head. "That is indeed true."

Ling Yuan was conscious, and he had heard every word of their conversation.

Su Yunqing prepared to suture the wound. At this point, she could not afford to worry about the proprieties between men and women. She lit a candle, pulled up a stool beside the bed, and uncovered Ling Yuan's chest. She stared at the shocking mark, contemplating how to begin. She had only ever seen the imperial physician perform sutures, and back when she learned needlework from her grandmother, she had never been diligent—her own handiwork had always been unsightly...

The heavy silence made Ling Yuan feel awkward. Just as he was about to ask why she was there, Song Jiao rushed back into the room and handed the items to Su Yunqing.

"Young Master Cheng, here—the needle and thread."

Seeing that he was no longer needed and that his ruse had been unmasked, Doctor Tian felt exposed and ashamed. He quietly shouldered his kit, intending to sneak away.

Su Yunqing called out, "Doctor Tian, don't you want to watch? You will certainly need this skill in the future."