Chapter Twenty-One: Took the Wrong Medicine

Curiosity truly killed the cat. Yesterday, during drinks, Old Long had been tormented by a single question: just how much could these three fellows really drink? The answer, he discovered, was not one he should have sought for himself. By the time the third crate of beer was gone, Old Long realized their capacity for alcohol was deeper than the Mariana Trench. Alas, by then it was too late—he hastily posted a leave notice, and then... there was nothing after that.

When he awoke, it was already this afternoon. Now, Old Long was wrestling with a new problem: how on earth was he supposed to get home?

Perhaps Wang Botang overheard Yun Hao’s silent complaints. Perhaps the water was simply too hot. Or perhaps Yun Hao, too, was concerned for Qin Qiong and was standing too close. In any case, when disaster struck, Yun Hao didn’t even have time to react—a large wooden basin of scalding water was kicked over, and his short legs felt instantly as though stabbed by a thousand needles.

Qi Guoyuan was quick as lightning; in a matter of seconds, he stripped Yun Hao bare.

The pain was excruciating—so intense it defied all curses. Blisters rose across his thighs, and the trousers that had been stripped off were still steaming. Yun Hao howled like a cat whose tail had been stomped, his cries so piercing they could move the hardest heart to tears. The sheer agony was enough to make Qi Guoyuan sweat with embarrassment; even when he’d been injured himself, he’d never screamed so loudly. He studied Yun Hao’s small frame, wondering how such a little body could produce so much noise.

A piece of white hemp cloth finally rescued the heroes of Erlian Manor from further torment; Yun Hao’s hands were restrained and his mouth stuffed with the cloth. Heaven only knew where that rag had come from—hopefully it wasn’t used for cleaning. Standards of hygiene in this era were appalling; Yun Hao had seen Qin Qiong wipe his feet with a cloth and then use it to wash his face. The thought filled his mouth with a bitter, sour, and salty taste, with an odd twist of numbness. Overwhelmed by it all, Yun Hao fainted dead away.

No one knew what connection this child had with Qin Qiong, but seeing their closeness, Wang Botang placed Yun Hao on the couch beside Qin Qiong, fulfilling his duty as a friend.

When Yun Hao awoke again, he was lying naked on the floor, his thigh burning with pain. Wang Botang, usually the picture of composure, was lying on the ground, wailing uncontrollably. Li Mi was baffled, as were the brawny men of Erlian Manor, but seeing Wang Botang’s grief was genuine, their own tears began to flow, their voices turned hoarse, and they muttered that if Qin Qiong died, Wang Botang would follow him into death.

Affection runs deep, indeed! Yun Hao thought, enduring the pain with a wry smile. Just coughing up a little blood had caused such an uproar. Was this martial champion truly prepared to give up his fortune, his beautiful wife and concubines, and follow Qin Qiong to the afterlife? Their relationship had clearly transcended friendship and become a mountain of devotion. Could it be that there was truly something more than friendship between them?

As Yun Hao mused, a commotion arose in the courtyard. Soon, Shan Xiongxin’s tall figure filled the doorway, blocking out the slanting sunlight and darkening the room. Someone entered with him, but the backlighting made it impossible for Yun Hao to see the newcomer’s face.

“Make way, everyone! Daoist Master Xuancheng has arrived,” Shan Xiongxin announced. At his words, the men instantly moved aside. Shan Xiongxin led in a man dressed as a Daoist, bringing him directly to the sickbed.

The Daoist was clad in a robe adorned with the Eight Trigrams, holding a horsetail whisk. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a leopard-like head, ringed eyes, and heavy bags beneath them. Three long whiskers hung from his chin, and his complexion was so dark he looked almost like a visitor from Africa. Could this be the legendary Mirror of the Ages, Wei Zheng? Yun Hao had never heard of him being a Daoist. Had he misunderstood history, or was this world simply in disorder?

While Yun Hao pondered, Wei Zheng had already taken Qin Qiong’s pulse, his fingers gently pressed on the wrist, eyes closed in silence. The room was so still that Yun Hao could hear his own heartbeat.

After a long moment, Wei Zheng finally opened his eyes. Wang Botang hurriedly asked, “Daoist Master Xuancheng, how is my brother Qin?”

“He contracted a chill some days ago, and the illness never fully left him. There was a blockage in his chest, but just now, after a severe shock, he coughed up blood and expelled the congestion. That was, in fact, a blessing. Otherwise, even with a strong physique, if the organs remained obstructed and his vital energy unrefreshed, he would not have lived past forty,” Wei Zheng explained slowly. The men of Erlian Manor listened in awe, their respect for the Daoist Master growing by the second. With his whisk in hand and his whiskers fluttering without wind, Wei Zheng looked every inch the mystical sage.

“Master, you mean my brother Qin’s illness has taken a turn for the better? I never thought coughing up that blood was a good sign,” Wang Botang exclaimed, eyes wide.

“The pulse at the inch, gate, and foot shows harmony; his breathing is steady; the Shaoyang meridian is affected, but it’s only a surface symptom from internal strain and an external chill—it’s nothing serious,” Wei Zheng intoned, his head swaying. Yun Hao understood not a word, growing ever more convinced that this must be a fake Wei Zheng; he seemed more like a charlatan than a sage.

Then Wei Zheng prescribed a formula to expel wind and induce sweating. Shan Xiongxin hurried to have the medicine prepared, while Wang Botang repeatedly bowed in thanks. The tattooed men of Erlian Manor grinned as if Qin Qiong had already recovered.

Damn it all, Yun Hao thought, I’m still lying here, and I haven’t even a stitch of clothing to my name. My body may be that of a seven-year-old, but my mind is sixty-two. I’m no longer a child who can be casually manhandled!

When the clamor began to subside, Wei Zheng finally noticed Yun Hao’s condition and furrowed his brow, looking questioningly at Shan Xiongxin. Shan Xiongxin, at a loss, turned to Wang Botang.

“Master, we were trying to revive my brother Qin with hot water, but the basin was knocked over and scalded this child...” Wang Botang, for once, seemed embarrassed.

“Oh! Let me take a look.” Wei Zheng examined Yun Hao’s wound closely—several bright blisters had formed, and the skin was red and raw. When he pressed lightly, Yun Hao let out a scream fit to wake the dead.

“This child is still young—if the burn is severe, it could cause a fever, and that could be fatal... I have a remedy here—fetch a bowl of water,” Wei Zheng said, producing a small black pill from his robe.

The pill was shiny and black, about half the size of a fingernail. Shan Xiongxin was about to send for water when Qi Guoyuan, taking the pill, said, “No need for trouble, Daoist Master. A pill this small can simply be swallowed.” With that, he pinched Yun Hao’s jaw, and before anyone could react, the pill was already sliding down Yun Hao’s throat.

“You...” Wei Zheng’s finger trembled wildly with rage as he pointed at Qi Guoyuan.

“What’s wrong?” Qi Guoyuan blinked innocently. He’d met Yun Hao a few times, considered him an acquaintance, and since the boy had once saved him, he’d thought kindly to help Yun Hao take the medicine. Master Xuancheng’s pills must be precious—surely to mix them with water would be a waste.

“Tha