Chapter 42: Everything Is for... the Mission (Thank you all for your votes, thank you)

Wang Keyue neither agreed nor refused, merely instructing someone to bring over a sack of coarse grains and a skin water pouch. Upon seeing this, Master Chen immediately pulled a silver ingot from his sleeve, which looked to weigh about ten taels.

Ten taels for a sack of coarse grains appeared to be a windfall for Wang Keyue, but in this land of scarcity, in a year of famine, ten taels for a sack of grain was far from exorbitant—especially since she had also provided a pouch of water, making the gift all the more precious.

The system reported in real-time: "Ding! Chen Yanzhi’s heartfelt gratitude received. Cai Wenzhang’s heartfelt gratitude received. Zhu Zhengpeng’s heartfelt gratitude received."

Wang Keyue couldn’t help but glance at the three scholars opposite her. It seemed that among this band of scholarly men, not all were ungrateful curs; some, at least, were worthy of a little help.

“Thank you! Thank you for your generosity!” Master Chen was moved to tears, wholly unaware that the water pouch contained something rather special.

Wang Keyue felt there was no need for alarm—it was only a few drops of blood from someone afflicted with the plague.

“Ding! Host, to complete your mission, you truly stop at nothing. You’re worse than a beast!” 9538 lamented.

“Can you blame me?! This is all your doing, forcing me into this! This is a compulsory mission—I don’t want to be punished! By the way, is this punishment particularly severe?” Wang Keyue had little faith in her success and feared the penalty might cost her very life.

“Rest assured, host. The penalty for failing this mission is a direct fine of 5,000 gold coins. Any shortfall can be paid in installments!” 9538 replied.

“Pfft!” The wild grass porridge Wang Keyue had just swallowed was sprayed out in shock.

“Young Master…” Cheng San, seated opposite, was sprayed full in the face, looking at Wang Keyue with aggrieved eyes.

“My apologies, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t hold it in!” Wang Keyue hastily grabbed a sweat towel to wipe Cheng San’s face.

Cheng San quickly took it himself. “It’s all right, Young Master. I don’t mind!” He spoke words that belied his true feelings as he wiped the porridge from his face.

Wang Keyue resumed her seat, outwardly composed but inwardly beset by tumultuous waves.

“Damn it! Are you kidding me? Is this what I taught you about installment plans?! 9538, is there no one to rein in your nonsense? This is inhumanity itself—using me up and then turning on me, biting the hand that fed you!” She railed at 9538 and its master program in her heart, but dared not speak aloud—she was, after all, something of a coward.

After silently venting, she could only dry her tears and sweat, pick up another water pouch, and add several more drops of blood to it. Ha! She was being forced into this! All for... the mission, after all!

“Cheng Yi, Hong Yi, distribute these waters to everyone. Keep a close watch for anyone showing signs of discomfort today, and report to me at once!”

Early that morning, just before departure, Wang Keyue ruthlessly handed out water tainted with the virus to the group—enough to ensure her team would contract the plague.

Sure enough, before noon, the first to show symptoms were the group of scholars who had drunk the water the night before; they began to feel nauseous and suffered from diarrhea.

At this point, Master Chen again approached Wang Keyue, hoping to purchase some medicinal herbs.

Master Chen’s face was ashen, sweat beading on his brow. With him, as yesterday, were the two young scholars.

Only now did Wang Keyue notice that the two boys’ clothes were not of the same fine silk as the other scholars, but rather more like rough homespun, the garb of farming folk.

The two young scholars, noticing the young lord’s gaze, quickly steadied their master, stood upright, and nodded with measured politeness, neither servile nor overbearing, never uttering a word.

“Young Master, I must apologize. My students and I are quite unwell. I saw you brewing some herbs yesterday, and I wonder if you would… if you would sell me a little. We would be most grateful,” said Master Chen, his voice lacking the strength of the previous night. Wang Keyue felt a pang of guilt; it was she who had made them ill, and now they were coming to her, money in hand, to buy medicine. No doubt they would soon offer her more gratitude from the heart. This business, she thought, was exceedingly profitable.

“Medicine should not be taken lightly. Even the best remedy is three parts poison. Let me go and have a look at you.” Wang Keyue felt she had to do something to earn such thanks.

“Ah! You—you mean, the young master will examine us personally?!” Master Chen was astonished.

“Don’t worry, Master Chen. I’ve learned some medicine from my teacher—ordinary ailments are no trouble for me!” Wang Keyue assumed Master Chen doubted her skills and so offered reassurance.

“No, no! Young master, we trust your medical skills implicitly. It’s just that… we fear… we fear passing the illness to you…” Master Chen’s voice trailed away.

Wang Keyue stiffened. “How do you know this illness is contagious? Do you know medicine as well?”

“To be candid, young master, one of my students has a grandfather who is the village doctor, so he knows a little about illness and herbs. Come, Wenzhang, speak up.” Master Chen beckoned to the younger scholar, who seemed about nine years old.

Wang Keyue’s gaze fell on the boy. Wenzhang—she recognized the name from the system’s report of gratitude received; she remembered it, at least a little.