While Zhu Qingyu and Gu Zhao spoke, the two older women and the two young apprentices moved with swift efficiency—those carrying gauze carried gauze, those with medicine handled medicine, those with hot water carried hot water, and those with the medical kit carried it—returning quickly.
The men in the room, obstructive and clumsy, dodged aside as Gu Zhao ordered:
“Everyone else out. Don’t get in the way of the doctor.”
Then to Zhu Qingyu he said:
“I leave it to you, Madam Zhu. Treat him as you see fit.”
When a patient’s condition is critical, the worst thing is for family members to panic and cause chaos. Rarely does a patient encounter a relative so decisive and composed. Zhu Qingyu also called after him:
“Minister, please stay. The patient may wake during the procedure—have a strong young man nearby to help hold him down.”
Gu Zhao slowed his steps:
“I’ll do it.”
Just as Zhu Qingyu predicted, without anesthesia, the excruciating pain of stitching roused Xie Ze even from unconsciousness. His eyes widened as he panted, gripping Zhu Qingyu’s wrist tightly while she worked.
Seeing the wound nearly torn open again, Zhu Qingyu spoke calmly, without a trace of agitation:
“If you want to live, let go.”
Gu Zhao stepped forward to pull Xie Ze’s hands away and hold him down. In the brief pause as Xie Ze awoke, a bowl of anesthetic was forced into him, and he was laid back down.
Even as Xie Ze struggled violently, Zhu Qingyu’s hands remained steady. Not once did she blink. The two assistants efficiently replaced gauze and pressed the wound, all without fluster.
Such composure was rare, making Gu Zhao glance at her again. He noticed how close they had been while restraining Xie Ze—shoulder to shoulder, clothing brushing.
A sudden, inexplicable heat surged through him from head to toe. Just a touch of her clothing provoked such a reaction—what sort of affliction or hysteria had he caught?
Gu Zhao stepped back several paces. Throughout the remainder of the procedure, until Zhu Qingyu finished stitching, applying medicine, and bandaging Xie Ze, he did not intervene.
Zhu Qingyu washed her hands and noticed Gu Zhao standing at a distance, his expression grim. She said:
“The bleeding has stopped. Please assign a few people to monitor him. I will visit three times daily to deliver medicine and each evening to change bandages. If he shows any signs of fever, be sure to inform me immediately.”
Seeing him covered in blood, she considered and asked:
“Minister, are you injured as well? Do you want me to take a look?”
Gu Zhao glanced at the bruise on her wrist from Xie Ze’s grip, then gave her a faint look, said nothing, and pushed open the door to leave.
Sumu, one of the assistants tidying up gauze, muttered in irritation:
“What’s wrong with him? Madam works so hard treating the patient, and he doesn’t even say thanks. And he’s handsome too…”
Xiong Kun entered with others. Zhu Qingyu signaled Sumu to remain silent.
She repeated her earlier instructions to Gu Zhao to Xiong Kun, leaving the consultation room to them, and then brought her team outside.
She first checked on Uncle Qi, the gatekeeper, and seeing him safe, gathered her staff to give instructions:
“Uncle Qi, hang a ‘closed’ sign for the next few days. Keep out all idlers. As for their people, let them come and go; don’t interfere. Sumu and Lin Lan, move upstairs with me. Remember, none of this concerns us—don’t inquire, and do not discuss.”
A second-rank official, the emperor’s cousin, encountering assassins in Yangzhou—it would stir tremendous waves.
Zhu Qingyu’s principle: in a feudal society, someone like her, a commoner, is at constant risk of being harmed by those with legal authority. So she kept her distance from high officials to avoid entanglement.
As for Gu Zhao’s attitude—previously calm, suddenly aloof—whether she had unknowingly offended him or he was simply unpredictable, it was best to maintain distance.
In the following days, Gu Zhao went out early and returned late with his guards, leaving only Xiong Kun and a few guards to watch Xie Ze.
Xie Ze’s condition fluctuated. When well, he was restless lying down, could sit and read, even take a few steps. When bad, he had high fevers all night, or the wound, though healing, caused constant pain.
As the weather warmed, infection risk grew. Previously, a simple antibiotic would suffice, but here, with no other option, Zhu Qingyu had to prepare garlic extract herself three times daily, each batch made fresh.
One afternoon, as Zhu Qingyu distilled garlic extract in the pharmacy, a shadow blocked half the light.
She looked up in surprise—it was the long-unseen Gu Zhao.
In recent days, whether morning or evening, he had deliberately avoided her while she administered medicine to Xie Ze. Even the consultation fee had been paid through Xiong Kun.
The avoidance was so clear, Zhu Qingyu assumed he would not appear until Xie Ze fully recovered. Yet here he was.
Perhaps he came to ask about Xie Ze’s condition, she thought, and nodded politely:
“Xie Gongzi can now get out of bed. Minister, you may go see him.”
Gu Zhao stepped in:
“I came looking for you. Xiong Kun told me that you collected two taels of silver for the consultation.”
Zhu Qingyu was genuinely surprised. Was Gu Zhao here to complain about overcharging? Among the Gu family, while her grandmother and mother-in-law were generous, he was so petty—counting every two taels?
She was unafraid. Her fees were clearly itemized, with a list given to Xiong Kun.
She stood straight and said confidently:
“Yes, the fee was two taels. My standard consultation is 100 wén. Nighttime service doubles it, and because this was an external injury requiring sutures, I added 500 wén—totaling 700 wén. Xie Gongzi’s severe injury consumed many of my materials and occupied my consultation room, and business has been delayed. Hence the total of two taels. I wrote a detailed receipt for Xiong Kun. If anything is unclear, you may ask me.”
Gu Zhao listened as she calculated every cent, noting her plain clothes and wooden hairpin, without interrupting.
For a commoner, earning a living is difficult—especially for a woman alone.
When she finished, he finally said:
“One consultation costs just 100 wén. To save one person, two taels. Even running a large clinic for a year, you might not earn much. Madam Zhu, have you considered a different way of life? I may be presumptuous to ask, but if I have been pretending to ignore the past, should I take responsibility for that night’s incident? You know my situation—I will not let you suffer financially.”