Chapter Eighty-Two: Treating the Ill

Page (1/3)

Thanks to "xieyun118" for the pink token; and to "Qiuqiuling" for the reward.

Wen Jing continued to peruse the dossier in her hands. Attached was the coroner’s report from the time, signed by Zhong Sunyan, the mortician of the Imperial Court. Given Zhong Sunyan’s decades of experience, it was hardly surprising he conducted the autopsy.

Having skimmed through all the documents pertaining to the case, Wen Jing now had a general grasp of it. Her intuition told her this was not merely a matter of greed or lust. If the perpetrator were a deranged serial killer, he would not have committed just this one crime. Five years had passed—had the murderer struck again during that interval?

Wen Jing returned to the cabinet and reviewed all unresolved cases from the past five years. She found no similar incidents. Had her judgment been mistaken?

“Justice Wen, court is dismissed.”

Ding Wu approached, finding Wen Jing still absorbed in the records. He thought to himself, this Seventh Lady Wen is truly engrossed in her work; she seems utterly captivated.

Wen Jing glanced outside and noticed dusk had quietly fallen. She carefully organized the files, then left with Ding Wu.

“Your first day on duty—do you find it tedious?” Ding Wu asked with a smile.

“Not at all,” Wen Jing replied absently, her mind still on the case.

The Wen household’s carriage was already waiting.

“Stop by Scholar Wang’s residence on the way,” Wen Jing instructed Steward Zhou.

“Yes, ma’am,” Zhou Quan replied.

...

At the gates of Scholar Wang’s mansion.

“Master Wang, please wait—we shall meet again next year.”

A familiar voice sounded outside the carriage. Wen Jing lifted a corner of the curtain and looked out. The familiar figure appeared: the burly examinee from the Carp Garden case, the very one who had taken the lead in stirring trouble when the other scholars bullied Wang Jue. Her impression of him was especially vivid.

“Next year, Brother Qiu, do come early. I’d love to spar with you in chess,” Wang Erlang said with a smile.

“Of course.”

The two exchanged pleasantries for a while. Wen Jing intended to wait until he left before alighting, but Wang Erlang’s sharp eyes spotted her, and so she stepped down from the carriage.

Qiu? Could he be Qiu Xi?

Wen Jing discreetly glanced at the tall, imposing man. There was a fierce air about his brow, unlike the frailty typical of scholars. If he was indeed the killer...

Qiu Xi looked at Wen Jing, the corner of his mouth seeming to twitch upward.

Meeting those hawk-like eyes, Wen Jing sensed a mocking glint within them, and a surge of anger rose in her chest. She quickly lowered her gaze. This fellow was so self-assured, convinced they could do nothing against him. Very well, she would let him have his moment—how long could his arrogance last?

After Qiu Xi left, Wen Jing lifted her head, quietly watching the direction in which he disappeared.

“Se... se... Seventh Lady...” Wang Erlang stammered, his nervousness making his face flush all the more.

Wen Jing turned to look at Wang Erlang’s reddened face, sighing inwardly. This man was simply too shy and reserved.

“Master Wang, what is the name of that examinee just now?” Wen Jing asked.

Wang Erlang paused, apparently surprised by the question. “His name is Qiu Xi, from Huizhou.”

Page (1/3)

Page (2/3)

So it was indeed him, Wen Jing mused. They had spoken of meeting again next year—meaning Qiu Xi would return for the spring examination. That would be ideal. She would see how he revealed his fox tail then.

“Seventh Lady?” Wang Erlang called softly, noticing Wen Jing’s distracted manner.

“Hm?” Wen Jing came back to herself.

“Come in and sit,” Wang Erlang said, smiling. His square face, when smiling, appeared honest and good-natured.

Wen Jing followed Wang Erlang inside. In truth, her purpose in coming was to check Wang Jue’s leg. Since she had agreed to help treat it, it was best to begin early. There were about six months until the spring examination in February. The time would fly by, and if she didn’t hurry, it might not be enough.

“Master Wang, it’s getting late. I’ll just go to the Carp Garden to look at Seventeenth Young Master’s leg and then return, so as not to disturb Scholar Wang,” said Wen Jing.

Wang Erlang was momentarily disappointed, though he quickly masked it with a smile. “Then let’s go straight to the Carp Garden.”

Seeing Wang Erlang’s honest smile, Wen Jing felt a bit troubled. He was such a good man—she was at a loss with him. If he were a pampered wastrel, a little ingenuity could break the engagement; or, at worst, tell him about the autopsy, and he’d surely flee, never to return even if ten horses dragged him.

With the autumn exam over, the examinees at Carp Garden had returned to their hometowns, leaving Wang Jue alone in the vast garden, enjoying the peace and solitude.

The steward knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

A cool, indifferent voice answered from within.

The steward pushed open the door. Wang Jue was holding a black chess piece, his gaze fixed on the board. His hair was tied casually at the back, a few strands hanging at his chest, and he didn’t even look up as people entered.

“Seventeenth Young Master, Seventh Lady Wen has come to examine your leg,” Wang Erlang said.

“Mm.” Wang Jue responded flatly, still staring at the board, placing a piece, then picking up a white one. It seemed he was playing against himself.

Wang Erlang gave Wen Jing an apologetic look, embarrassed. “He’s always been like this, please don’t mind.”

Wen Jing knew Wang Jue’s temperament well. If this iceberg suddenly became warm, that would indeed be strange.

After a while, Wang Jue placed the white piece and finally looked up at Wen Jing, his gaze as calm as autumn water.

“Thank you, Seventh Lady Wen.”

“When did you lose the ability to walk?” Wen Jing asked directly.

“At eight, after falling from the roof, I’ve been unable to walk,” replied Wang Jue.

“Did your head hit the ground first?” Wen Jing continued.

Wang Jue glanced at her in surprise and nodded.

“It’s likely cranial trauma, compressing the motor nerves in the brain and causing paralysis of the lower body,” said Wen Jing.

Wang Erlang looked at Wang Jue, seeing his confusion. Clearly, neither had ever heard the terms Wen Jing used.

“How can it be treated?” Wang Erlang asked, full of concern.

Wen Jing smiled slightly—Wang Erlang was truly a good man, more anxious than Wang Jue himself. It was just as the saying goes: the eunuch is more anxious than the emperor.

“Seventeenth Young Master, I’ll need to examine your head first. It may be uncomfortable,” Wen Jing said.

Page (2/3)

Page (3/3)

Wang Jue nodded.

Wen Jing stepped forward, gently placing her hands on Wang Jue’s head, pressing softly from the crown downward. She had touched many skulls of the deceased, and could immediately tell if there was external damage.

Wang Jue closed his eyes, his expression slightly displeased. He disliked physical contact, especially with unfamiliar people. In his mind flashed the smiling face of Sihxi, and he seemed to hear the lingering sound in his ears: “Seventeenth Master.”

Wang Erlang looked at Wen Jing and Wang Jue, his face stiffening. The scene was unexpectedly... tender. The two were a perfect match of talent and beauty, and he felt like the odd one out. Except for being a normal person, he was outmatched by Wang Jue in both appearance and talent.

“Steward, stay here. I’ll go check on the old ancestor.”

Wang Erlang forced a smile and left, the light in his eyes fading, replaced by loneliness.

Wen Jing did not notice Wang Erlang’s change, assuming he had other matters. She continued examining Wang Jue’s head.

“There was likely skull damage at the time, but since you were young, it healed quickly and wasn’t serious. However, some nerves inside may have been compressed by fragments or blood clots,” Wen Jing remarked, touching a slight indentation at the back of his head. She withheld another sentence: a craniotomy would suffice.

Wang Jue nodded. All previous physicians had given the same explanation; today, at least, she offered something new. “How should it be treated?”

“I’ll write a prescription for you, and combine it with acupuncture. If it still doesn’t work, then...” Wen Jing hesitated.

“If what?” Wang Jue pressed.

“Nothing, let’s try this first,” Wen Jing replied.

Wang Jue nodded, adopting a ‘treat the dead horse as the living’ expression. If not for Scholar Wang’s miraculous recovery, he would never let such a young maiden treat him.

Wen Jing picked up the brush, spread out a sheet of paper, and began prescribing.

“Sihxi…” Wang Jue suddenly said.

“Sihxi’s vengeance must be exacted by your own hand,” Wen Jing said softly, her brush never pausing.

By his own hand? A hint of doubt flickered in Wang Jue’s eyes.

“Next year’s spring exam—if you become the most promising candidate for the top scholar, do you think the killer will spare you?” Wen Jing looked up at Wang Jue with a sly smile.

Wang Jue’s eyes sharpened. He was highly intelligent; the three victims were all top scholar material. Was the killer seeking to replace them, eliminating his rivals? If he became the most popular candidate, the murderer would surely strike again. Then, by setting a trap, they could catch him.

“But before that, we must cure your leg. Otherwise, you’ll only reach the level of provincial scholar,” Wen Jing murmured.

Wang Jue nodded, looking at Wen Jing. For some reason, he felt his opinion of this young lady ought to change.

Scholar Wang’s original intention was merely for him to earn the provincial scholar’s title; to dream of being the top scholar was wishful thinking. The law stipulated that people with physical disabilities or unsightly features (like crooked noses or eyes) could not enter official service. Just this rule meant he could never even participate in the palace exam, let alone claim the top scholar’s title.

“Please take extra care, Seventh Lady Wen,” Wang Jue said, his gaze intense.

Wen Jing paused, looking at Wang Jue. “Naturally.”

She handed the prescription to the steward. “Take this to the pharmacy to fetch the medicine, and ensure Master Wang takes it daily.”

“Yes,” the steward said, accepting the prescription. (To be continued...)

Page (3/3)