Chapter Sixty-Two: Shock

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Wen Qiran gazed coolly at Madam Wen, whose eyes were lowered. “All this time, I turned a blind eye to your deeds—did you simply take me for a fool unable to see?”

Madam Wen was startled, hastening to explain, “Master, you misunderstand. Everything I do is for this household, for you and for Shilang.”

“For me and Shilang?” Wen Qiran let out a cold laugh. In the past, those words might have given him pause. But ever since his demotion, he had come to see many things—and people—more clearly.

“Of course, Master. Are you still angry with me?” Madam Wen asked timidly.

Wen Qiran gave a snort. Were it not for Shilang’s sake, he wouldn’t even bother exchanging words with her.

“All I’ve done was for Jiuniang’s marriage. She’s soon to wed into the Duke of Ning’s family, and at such a critical moment—”

“Enough! Not another word about it!” Wen Qiran snapped, as Madam Wen had expected.

“But the young lord came calling today. Could it be—” Madam Wen’s words were cut short by Wen Qiran’s furious glare.

“Don’t even think about it! What do you take me for?” Wen Qiran said icily, delivering a final warning.

Madam Wen acquiesced obediently, a faint smile curling at her lips. If she couldn’t have the prize, then no one else would, either. If she couldn’t win, she’d rather see everything lost than watch others succeed.

“And another thing—stay out of Qiniang’s quarters unless you have reason.”

“Yes, Master.” Madam Wen agreed at once. Over the years, she’d learned that Wen Qiran’s words allowed no debate; compliance was the only option. This was precisely why she’d been able to rise to the position of principal wife—otherwise, perhaps today’s “Madam Wen” would have been Lady Ping.

...

Wen Jing followed Ji Changge down from the carriage and looked up. Before her stood a mansion of ancient grace and elegance.

“This is the residence of Grand Academician Wang,” Ji Changge explained.

Grand Academician Wang—Wen Jing searched her memory. Could this be Wang Xuelin, the Chief Minister?

A servant, upon seeing Ji Changge, hurried inside to announce their arrival.

“How is the master today?” Ji Changge inquired of the steward.

“Thank you for your concern, young lord. The master is still a bit unwell. He had some ginseng soup earlier and then fell asleep,” the steward replied worriedly.

Ji Changge’s expression grew grave. “Steward Wang, this is the physician I’ve brought—Wen Qiniang.”

The steward glanced at Wen Jing with marked surprise, his expression shifting. Wasn’t it said that this young lord of Ning and Wen Qiniang were at odds? And since when did Wen Qiniang become a physician?

Wen Jing, of course, guessed what the steward was thinking, but paid him no mind.

“Feiran, what brings you here?” A slightly plump man approached quickly.

“I heard the master is unwell, so I’ve come to see him. Brother Su, you seem determined this time,” Ji Changge replied.

The man waved his hand. “No need for such words. Talents abound at this autumn’s civil exam. I have little hope.”

Ji Changge, at a loss for how to comfort him, simply said, “Let’s go see the master together, then.”

“I was just about to suggest the same.”

The man seemed only to then notice the young woman standing behind Ji Changge with her head lowered. He turned and, upon seeing Wen Jing, stopped abruptly, surprise flitting across his face before he looked away, realizing his rudeness.

“Wen Qiniang is here to treat the master,” Ji Changge explained.

The man’s surprise only deepened, but he said nothing more, though his thoughts were clearly in turmoil. As they rounded a corner, he collided headlong with someone.

Wen Jing finally recalled that this was Seventh Young Master Su—Su Haoran.

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“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” a sharp-voiced man cried out.

“Brother Li, are you all right?” Su Haoran asked the scrawny, sharp-featured man. He himself felt nothing, but, considering the man’s skin-and-bones frame, guessed that the pain must be worse for him.

The man looked up, about to lose his temper, but upon seeing the trio, his anger shifted to amusement.

“Well, if it isn’t the young lord,” he said to Ji Changge.

“Brother Li,” Ji Changge replied coolly.

“And this must be Wen Qiniang?” The man recognized Wen Jing, his gaze brazenly raking over her.

“That’s right,” Wen Jing responded emotionlessly, not sparing him a glance.

“There are rumors—”

Ji Changge’s eyes turned cold, his voice faintly annoyed. “We’re here to treat the master, Brother Li. Please let us pass; the master’s health cannot be delayed.”

Without waiting for Li’s reply, he brushed past, with Su Haoran and Wen Jing following close behind.

Su Haoran offered Brother Li an apologetic smile.

Watching the three disappear into the end of the corridor, Brother Li’s gaze grew frosty. With a cold snort, he replayed Wen Jing’s lovely face in his mind, pondering Ji Changge’s expression just now. After a moment’s reflection, he crooked a smile.

“Ah! Someone come quickly!”

Just as the three reached the door, there was a crash from within—the sound of something shattering.

Ji Changge hurriedly pushed open the door. Inside, two maids stood by, shards of porcelain scattered across the floor.

“What’s happened to the master?” the steward asked anxiously.

“T-the master... he’s... he’s not breathing...” one of the maids stammered, half out of her wits.

“Nonsense!” the steward barked, though he hurried to the bed, reached out to check, and his face blanched.

“Young lord, please come see what’s wrong with the master. He was perfectly fine an hour ago,” the steward stammered, his legs trembling.

Wen Jing stepped forward and checked his breathing—it was faint but still there. His body was cold, and when she gently lifted his eyelids, the whites of his eyes showed. She pried open his mouth and found on the inside of his upper lip many small, millet-like bumps.

The steward looked at Wen Jing in desperation, uncertain if this young woman could discern anything at all. He wanted to fetch a doctor, but the young lord had personally brought Wen Qiniang to treat the master—he wouldn’t joke about such matters. Wen Qiniang must know some medicine, though surely not much.

“Father, what’s wrong?” A middle-aged man rushed to the bedside, feeling the master’s hand and recoiling in shock at its coldness.

“Light the lamp,” Wen Jing instructed a nearby maid.

The maid, unsure who Wen Jing was, glanced at the steward, who nodded, so she lit the lamp.

“Fetch the imperial physician! Why are you lighting lamps?” Wang Sinian protested.

“Second Master, this lady from the Wen family is the physician invited by the young lord,” the steward explained.

Only then did Wang Sinian notice Ji Changge and Wen Jing.

“Uncle Wang,” Ji Changge greeted him with a bow.

Wang Sinian surveyed Wen Jing. He had never heard of any young lady from the Wen family versed in medicine—this was playing with his father’s life, even for Ji Changge. His face turned cold; he’d always thought highly of Ji Changge, but this was sheer recklessness.

“Are you deaf?” Wang Sinian barked at the steward, still waiting by the side.

“Yes, yes, I’m going now,” the steward stammered, fleeing the room.

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Wen Jing shot a fierce glare at Ji Changge—trouble always seemed to follow him, and now she was being maligned for no reason.

Ji Changge, flushed under her gaze, addressed Wang Sinian, “Uncle Wang, Wen Qiniang is a skilled physician. I’ve witnessed her abilities. Why not let her try? The imperial physician won’t arrive for some time.”

Wang Sinian looked at Ji Changge with irritation. Was this a matter for trial and error? Was his father to be an experiment? He had only one father—if something happened, whom could he blame?

“No. This is no trifling matter. What if something goes wrong?” Wang Sinian refused flatly.

Wen Jing glanced at the barely breathing Grand Academician. Annoying as Wang Sinian was, the master was hanging by a thread. By the time the imperial physician arrived, it might be too late.

“Master Wang, forgive my candor, but the imperial physician cannot arrive at once. Saving a life admits no delay—one moment’s hesitation, and regret may last a lifetime,” Wen Jing said, meeting Wang Sinian’s gaze.

Wang Sinian studied the young woman before him; though not yet of age, she bore a calm composure unusual for her years, her eyes meeting his steadily. Ji Changge, too, looked utterly confident. Perhaps, he thought, he was simply ignorant—perhaps this Wen girl truly did have some skill. If the delay cost his father’s life, how could he live with himself?

Seeing Wang Sinian still hesitate, Wen Jing pressed on, “Please, Master Wang, allow me to treat the master. Even if I cannot cure him, I will not worsen his condition. Please rest assured.”

“Very well. Do what you can,” Wang Sinian finally relented.

Wen Jing took a silver needle from her case, sterilized it over a flame, pried open the master’s mouth, and pierced each of the small lumps one by one. Then she pricked his left earlobe and squeezed out a drop of blood.

Ji Changge and Wang Sinian watched in curiosity, unsure what she was doing.

Next, Wen Jing asked a maid to bring white spirits, soaked a cloth in it, and said to Ji Changge, “Lift his hands.”

Ji Changge raised the master’s hands.

Wen Jing gently squeezed the spirit-soaked cloth, letting the liquor drip slowly into the master’s nostrils until the cloth was wrung dry.

At first, Wang Sinian was curious, but seeing the master still unresponsive, his frown deepened.

“The imperial physician is here,” the steward announced breathlessly, followed by a white-bearded old physician.

“Imperial Physician Yu, thank goodness you’ve come!” Wang Sinian exclaimed as if clutching a lifeline.

“How is the Grand Academician?”

Imperial Physician Yu hurried forward, but upon catching a whiff of spirits and seeing the master’s red nose, he exclaimed in surprise, “I recall the master cannot handle alcohol. How did he end up like this?”

Wang Sinian cast a sidelong glance at Wen Jing. “Never mind that, just take his pulse, please.”

“Yes, yes, Master Wang, don’t worry.”

Ji Changge watched helplessly as Imperial Physician Yu took the master’s hand to feel his pulse. He wanted to speak up for Wen Jing, but he knew they wouldn’t listen—after all, even he found it hard to believe that a few needle pricks and drops of liquor could bring a man back from the brink. (To be continued...)