Chapter Sixty-Six: On the Brink of Life and Death

The incident of peeping at someone bathing was quickly forgotten by Yun Hao. After all, it was just catching a glimpse of someone bathing—what could an eight-year-old child do to him? He hadn’t done anything truly improper, after all.

As the chief physician of the Jinyang Garrison, Yun Hao was about to receive his second patient. This time, it was none other than Changsun, the newlywed wife of Li Er, who had only entered the household a few months prior. Rumor had it her illness was somewhat sensitive, requiring the divine physician Yun’s careful attention.

Compared to last time, his visit to the Duke of Tang’s residence was rather humble; previously, Hou Junji had at least helped him carry his medicine chest. This time, he was left to enter the inner quarters alone. In theory, only the male master of the house was allowed into the inner residence. Grand households instinctively guarded against any unknown male presence.

Yet Yun Hao seemed to be an exception. The guards at the gate barely looked at him before letting him pass. After all, he was just a seven- or eight-year-old boy, far too young for concerns about propriety between men and women. Even if he had the will, he hardly had the means.

He was led inside by an elderly housekeeper everyone called Aunt Fang, who appeared to be quite a figure in the inner courtyard.

“My lady is gentle and virtuous. No matter what you find in your examination, you must not gossip outside. If this old woman hears a single word that harms my lady’s reputation, I’ll tear that mouth of yours to shreds,” Aunt Fang threatened, her face fierce, instantly reminding Yun Hao of a certain infamous matron from court dramas.

“I’m not looking anymore!” Yun Hao turned to leave.

“You come back here! Try leaving, and I’ll twist your ears off!” Aunt Fang grabbed him back, and now Yun Hao was even more convinced she was that infamous matron reborn—her expressions and tone were uncannily alike.

With no other choice, Yun Hao followed Aunt Fang into Li Er’s courtyard.

The residence was expansive, with three courtyards in succession, flying eaves and painted beams, as grand as the one Li Yuan himself inhabited. After passing through the moon gate, Yun Hao followed Aunt Fang into a side chamber of the rear hall.

Yun Hao was wondering why they had come to a side room when he saw a stunningly beautiful young woman seated inside. She appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen, of medium height, yet her fine figure was evident even as she sat. Her eyes were clear and bright, brimming with intelligence, her pupils shining as if they held their own light, darting with lively energy. Her gaze was limpid as water, her hair as dark as a waterfall, her skin as fair as snow, her delicate hands fragrant and soft. Yun Hao was momentarily transfixed by her beauty.

“What are you staring at? Hurry and pay your respects to my mistress!” A sharp slap on his back—unmistakably Aunt Fang’s handiwork—snapped him out of his daze.

“I already said I can’t treat this illness!” Yun Hao protested, not out of modesty, but honesty. He had managed to treat Li Yuan because he himself had suffered the same ailment in his previous life. But even with two lifetimes combined, he’d never had a woman’s illness—how was he supposed to treat something he’d never experienced?

“Oh? Since you cured the Duke, why can’t you cure me?” The young woman finally spoke, her voice seemingly descending from the heavens. What was meant by a celestial or ethereal voice? Zhang Miaoke’s voice was sweet, perhaps cloying, still recognizably mortal. But this woman’s voice was as otherworldly as a goddess’s song, every word striking straight to the heart.

“I’m afraid she’ll rip my mouth apart!” Yun Hao pointed at Aunt Fang.

The young woman cast a glance at Aunt Fang, who instantly trembled.

“The Duke personally invited this physician, and yet you dare slight him because of his age. Shameful. Punish yourself—slap your own face!” The lady’s maid barked the order before the lady herself could speak, and Aunt Fang promptly began slapping herself with loud smacks.

“That’s enough. Today he’s here to treat me. Remember this—now leave!” With a gentle parting of her red lips, Aunt Fang departed as though granted a pardon, her legs visibly shaking.

“You may call me Second Lady,” the young woman said softly, seeing Yun Hao still in a daze.

Second Lady? So this was Li Er’s wife, the renowned Empress Wende of history. What a shame such a fine woman had to marry him, Yun Hao thought, with the possessive certainty of youth that all the beauties of the world ought to be his. Yet for this Changsun, he felt not a trace of improper desire. Beauty might tempt a man to sin, but nobility inspired reverence. Though not yet eight, Yun Hao possessed the soul of a sixty-two-year-old man.

Traditional Chinese medicine valued observation, inquiry, listening, and pulse-taking. He had observed, but after that, all he could do was swallow nervously. The listening part only made him swallow more. As for pulse-taking…he had to actually know how to do that!

“May I ask what affliction troubles you, Second Lady?”

“I have a problem with nightmares. Lately, it’s become much worse—I have nightmares nearly every night, sometimes waking in terror. Stranger yet, I eat a great deal, but my body only grows thinner and weaker. Even during the day, I sometimes break out in a sweat. I have seen several physicians, taken their medicines, but nothing has helped. I have been married into the Duke’s household for half a year now, and yet there has been no movement at all…” At these words, her cheeks flushed red.

No matter her rank, she was still only a sixteen-year-old girl.

Nightmares, insatiable appetite, growing thinner and weaker—Yun Hao grew more and more certain. Could it be roundworms? His own young son had suffered this in his previous life, back when food was scarce and hygiene even more so. In the end, it was deworming medicine at the hospital that cured him.

“May I ask, Second Lady, do you grind your teeth in your sleep?” Yun Hao blurted out.

Changsun looked blankly at her maid—how could she know if she ground her teeth? Only the maids who attended her nightly would know.

“When I serve at bedtime, madam indeed does…” The maid’s voice grew quieter and quieter, until it was barely audible.

Yun Hao felt even more certain, and cleared his throat. “Has Second Lady ever passed worms in her stool?”

At this, Changsun was visibly alarmed, staring at Yun Hao as if seeing a ghost, and the maid beside her turned pale as well. In these times, passing worms was considered a sign of ill fortune. Such a woman would not only be unfit to marry a noble, but even a common farmer would refuse her. Thus, Changsun had never mentioned it to any physician before. She never expected Yun Hao to expose her secret in a single sentence.

Yun Hao, unaware of such taboos, simply thought it normal for roundworm sufferers to pass dead worms. Once that was confirmed, he could prescribe the medicine easily.

Little did he know, with that one question, he had unwittingly stoked a murderous intent in Changsun’s heart.