Gu Zhao wove through the crowd of fighting men and sprinted toward the bow of the ship. He kicked the assassin square in the jaw—a sharp crack sounded as the man’s neck bone snapped clean through.
The assassin toppled into the water. Another masked figure swung a long blade at Gu Zhao, who blocked with his scabbard, then drew his sword in one fluid motion and ran the man clean through. Blood sprayed forth, soaking Gu Zhao’s robes.
In the span of a breath, Gu Zhao had killed two men.
Captain Xiong Kun, having dispatched the assassin nearest him, hurried over to stand guard, asking:
“My lord, are you unharmed?”
Gu Zhao crouched beside Xie Ze, pressing down on the wound at his waist and abdomen, and ordered:
“Keep one alive. Finish off the rest quickly. Get ashore and find a physician as fast as possible.”
The front half of Xie Ze’s robes was already stained crimson, blood seeping through Gu Zhao’s fingers with no sign of stopping.
With a wound this severe, Gu Zhao had expected this pampered young master to wail in pain or scream in terror.
But Xie Ze, though his face had gone deathly pale and his eyes were beginning to glaze over, did not utter a single groan. He only gripped the hand Gu Zhao pressed against his abdomen and said in a faint, threadlike voice:
“Cousin, back the way we came, half a li—there’s a Zhu family medical hall. I just saw a light on the second floor.”
…
Zhu Qingyu had just blown out the lamp and settled into bed when she heard a tremendous crash downstairs, followed by the rapid pounding of footsteps on the stairs.
Zhang Shen had recently left for the salt fields and had not yet returned. These past two days were also the medical hall’s monthly inventory, and Zhu Qingyu had been up until midnight counting medicines yesterday. She had simply not gone back to the Zhang estate and had spent the night on the second floor of the Zhu family medical hall.
Five people lived on the first floor of the medical hall: an old man who kept the door and delivered medicines, two older women who helped gather and prepare herbs, and two young female apprentices studying medicine.
All five had been purchased by Zhu Qingyu through various circumstances and counted as servants of the Zhu family medical hall, helping her manage the place day to day—though Zhu Qingyu essentially treated them as employees.
The footsteps upstairs were so urgent that she assumed one of the women downstairs had an emergency. Zhu Qingyu quickly rose and lit the lamp. No sooner had the flame caught than the door burst open with a bang. A tall man, robes stained with blood, long sword in hand and both hands drenched in crimson, barged in.
At first sight, she thought she was facing a bandit come to rob the place. Zhu Qingyu quickly said:
“The money’s in the chest. Take it and go, brave sir—just don’t hurt anyone. Huh, you’re—Vice Minister Gu?”
Half a year had passed, and Gu Zhao’s hair had grown long, now bound up in a cap, which was why Zhu Qingyu hadn’t recognized him at first.
Gu Zhao, however, had recognized her the moment he laid eyes on her. Yet he stood in the room, sword in hand, neither speaking nor moving.
He could not speak. He could not move. Not because he wouldn’t—but because he truly could not.
For one instant, reality and dream merged, striking him like a bolt of lightning. His mind went blank, his blood boiled, and his heart pounded wildly, nearly leaping from his chest.
Just as in his dream, it was her again. She wore her hair loose like silk, dressed in strange, thin undergarments, holding up the lamp, radiant in its glow, gazing at him in confusion.
The undergarments were oddly short by a section. Above, the top revealed snow-white arms and a smooth neck. Below, the trousers ended at the knees, leaving her slender calves and pale, pink-tinged jade feet fully exposed.
Zhu Qingyu recognized Gu Zhao and, seeing him covered in blood, grew even more alarmed:
“My lord, what are you doing here? Are you injured?”
A moment was just a moment. This was reality, not a dream.
He had assumed a physician lived upstairs, never expecting to barge into her private chambers and catch her in her underclothes. Realizing how deeply improper this was, Gu Zhao immediately turned his back.
Seeing Gu Zhao remain silent, Zhu Qingyu guessed he probably didn’t remember her, and added:
“My lord, we met in the capital.”
Gu Zhao kept his back to her, gripping his still-trembling, unsteady hand, convinced he must be possessed by an evil spirit. He replied:
“I know who you are. This is a medical hall—is there a physician here? Someone is injured.”
Behind him came the rustling sound of her dressing, along with her voice:
“I am the physician. Please wait a moment.”
The Zhu family medical hall—she was the physician?
In the capital, the one who treated Grandmother—Lady Zhu?
A realization struck Gu Zhao like a flash of insight, and everything clicked into place:
“You are Lady Zhu?”
Zhu Qingyu had already finished dressing and pinned up her hair. She stepped past Gu Zhao and headed downstairs, replying:
“Yes, that is this humble woman. Where is the patient?”
When Zhu Qingyu saw Xie Ze, he lay in the examination room on the first floor, his face as pale as paper, already unconscious. Two burly men with anxious expressions were frantically pressing cloth against the wound at his waist and abdomen, but the blood still would not stop, soaking through the fabric.
Two stout, strong women shoved their way through the crowd of armed men. One, broad and heavyset, carried a cleaver; the other, tall and sturdy, wielded a medicinal hoe. Both surrounded Zhu Qingyu, watching the surroundings warily.
Two petite young women couldn’t squeeze through, each clutching a large club, peering in from the doorway.
The broad and heavyset Mama Tian immediately lodged a complaint:
“Lady Zhu, Uncle Qi has been detained by them! Are you alright?”
The loud noise Zhu Qingyu had just heard was Mama Tian kicking over a bronze basin as a warning when she saw strangers breaking in late at night and seizing Uncle Qi.
Zhu Qingyu looked at Gu Zhao, and before she could speak, Gu Zhao said first:
“This is urgent, and I apologize for the intrusion, Lady. Xiong Kun, go release the man and offer a proper apology.”
A burly man in the room acknowledged the order, clasped his hands toward Zhu Qingyu and the others, and left.
Zhu Qingyu nodded reassuringly to the two matrons, then bent down to examine Xie Ze’s wound. It was wide and deep—fortunately, it had not reached his vital organs—but the patient had lost too much blood and was in grave danger. The bleeding had to be stopped immediately, so she instructed:
“Mama Tian, fetch clean gauze, as much as you can. Mama Zhao, bring hot water.”
She then directed the two young women at the door:
“Su Mu, prepare the anesthetic and medicinal ointment. Lin Lan, bring my medicine chest.”
The two matrons and the two young women each carried out their orders, charging in and out as if the room full of men were invisible.
Zhu Qingyu looked at Gu Zhao:
“The patient has lost too much blood. The wound must be sutured, or the bleeding cannot be stopped. Does Vice Minister Gu consent to my using the needle?”
No other physician had yet used suturing to treat wounds. Over the past two years, Zhu Qingyu had encountered this many times—unconventional methods were not always accepted by the patient’s family. If she did not explain clearly beforehand and used the needle on flesh without warning, the family might panic and interfere, which would only make things worse.
Gu Zhao, however, did not seem alarmed. He only asked:
“If you use the needle on the wound, do you have full confidence?”
Nothing in the world was certain. Zhu Qingyu never overstated her skill in medicine, so she answered cautiously:
“I cannot guarantee complete success, but without suturing, he will surely die.”