Rulan stood frozen near the edge of the rocky creek bed, her eyes locked onto the old man’s weathered face.
Her mind immediately began breaking down the interaction piece by piece.
Was this man simply making a lucky educated guess to impress an obviously high-born noblewoman, or was he genuinely observing physical symptoms that everyone else had missed?
“What did you notice?” Rulan asked, her voice dropping into a low, measured tone that carried no trace of theatricality.
The old man adjusted the strap of his worn, woven medicine satchel, completely unbothered by her intense, sharp gaze.
“You lifted a heavy oak beam without hesitation, yet your breathing became noticeably shallow immediately afterward—far too shallow for someone possessing that amount of raw physical strength. When your hands rested against your sleeves, there was a small tremor in your fingers. That is not ordinary fatigue. Something has been placing a prolonged strain on your body.”
He paused, his keen eyes scanning her pale jawline under the shifting sunlight.
“Furthermore, your skin bears a subtle, dull yellowish undertone that cosmetics cannot fully mask. I am not attempting to diagnose your exact ailment standing beside a muddy creek, young lady. I am simply stating that your physical vessel is carrying a heavy, silent burden that deserves a proper, thorough examination.”
Rulan studied his expression intently.
There was no theatrical flair in his speech, no dramatic exaggeration, no attempt to sell her an expensive miracle tonic, and zero fear of her stature.
He had cleanly separated raw, objective observation from a formal medical conclusion—a disciplined distinction Rulan respected deeply.
“Are you a physician?” she asked directly.
“I practice medicine,” the old man replied simply, shifting his weight against his wooden walking staff.
“Are you associated with the Imperial Medical Bureau?”
The old man let out a soft, dry chortle, shaking his head slightly with a look of mild amusement.
“No. The Bureau deals in court politics, official seals, high-society favors, and imperial protocol. I deal strictly in herbs, roots, and living bodies.”
His answer was entirely casual, devoid of bitter resentment or defensive pride.
Rulan’s interest sharpened instantly.
An independent physician operating completely outside the jurisdiction and influence of the Imperial Palace was precisely what she had set out to find when she stepped into the royal carriage.
“Why are you in this secluded section of the temple grounds?” Rulan inquired, her eyes tracking the quiet pine forest around them.
“The head abbot allows me to cultivate a medicinal garden near the eastern cliffside,” the old man explained, stepping closer to his injured apprentice.
“In exchange for the land and quiet environment, I treat the local monks, mountain villagers, and laborers when they fall ill. I prefer quiet places. High-born visitors and noble families rarely venture past the grand prayer halls, which suits my daily work just fine.”
Rulan didn’t hesitate.
Opportunities in enemy territory were rare and fleeting.
“Could you examine me?”
The old man stopped, looking at her for a long, quiet moment.
He took in her mud-stained green silk robes, her expensive gold hairpins, the torn fabric at her sleeves, and the quiet, unyielding determination in her eyes. Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
“I could,” he said plainly.
“But certainly not here. I will not conduct a serious, precise medical evaluation standing in a damp ravine with an injured apprentice and an impatient hound pacing around our feet.”
He lifted his wooden walking staff, pointing it toward a narrow dirt path winding further up the wooded slope behind them.
“Follow that trail up to the old eastern herb garden tomorrow morning. I am usually there tending the beds before the second incense stick of the day burns down. If you wish for a proper examination, come there.”
He did not push her.
He simply provided the location, leaving the final decision entirely in her hands.
Rulan had already made her choice internally.
‘I will return.’
The old man turned his full attention back to the teenage boy sitting on the damp grass.
He crouched down with surprising agility for his age, his hands moving over the boy’s bruised left ankle with swift, practiced efficiency.
He didn’t waste time with unnecessary dramatic gestures; his fingers lightly pressed the bone structure, tested the joint’s lateral range of motion, and checked the tissue swelling within a matter of seconds.
“You crossed a rotting timber bridge to pick wild bitter-root,” the old man said, his tone turning dry and stern.
“I told you explicitly three days ago that the wooden support beams were no longer stable.”
“The best, thickest roots were growing on the far bank, Master!” the boy protested, wincing slightly as his master pressed a tender, bruised tendon near his heel.
“I thought if I moved quickly and lightly, the structure wouldn’t collapse under me!”
“Your ankle is sprained and severely bruised, but the bone is not fractured. You will carry the water buckets up the mountain trail using your right leg to lead for the next four days.”
“Four whole days?!” the boy groaned loudly, throwing a hand over his face in total despair.
Rulan watched the interaction in quiet silence.
Competent field medical work was always easy to recognize: the old man’s movements were precise, swift, and completely confident.
He understood exact physical anatomy without needing to hesitate or second-guess his hands.
“What is your name?” Rulan asked, looking down at the physician.
The old man didn’t look up as he expertly tied off the bandage around his apprentice’s ankle.
“Lu Zhen.”
The name meant nothing to Rulan.
“Thank you for the assistance, Master Lu,” Rulan said, inclining her head slightly in a rare gesture of respect.
“Keep your ankles clear of rotting timber on your way back to the temple,” Lu Zhen replied dryly, not bothering to adopt formal court speech or bow. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Rulan turned on her heel and began picking her way back up the dirt path toward the main temple compound.
As she walked up the quiet slope, she reflected on the sheer absurdity of the afternoon.
She had originally set out to bypass General Meng’s guard perimeter, slip away from Lian’er’s constant surveillance, and hunt for an independent physician among the capital’s high-society visitors.
Instead, she had blundered blindly into a thick forest, rescued a troublesome apprentice, and stumbled directly into the exact type of medical practitioner she had been searching for.
She looked down at her sleeves.
They were frayed at the cuffs, smeared with dark yellow dirt, and stained with wet river silt.
Her expensive gold hairpins were loose, and her posture was thoroughly un-courtly.
Yet, for the first time since transmigrating into this fragile, poisoned body, Rulan felt a quiet spark of genuine satisfaction.
‘For once’, she thought dryly to herself, ‘wandering off into unknown territory was actually a remarkably productive decision.’
The thick forest canopy of pine, cypress, and bamboo began to thin out, slowly giving way to the manicured flagstone walkways and sweeping red roofs of the eastern temple terrace.
The rhythmic thrumming of bronze temple bells, the scent of burning incense, and the low chatter of noble visitors drifted back into her ears.
Rulan smoothed down her ruined green sleeves as best she could, preparing her posture for the inevitable stares of the capital aristocracy.
However, before she could even set foot onto the main terrace flagstones, a frantic figure came sprinting wildly around the corner of the secondary scripture hall.
It was Lian’er.
The maid’s hair was completely disheveled, her face was deathly pale, and her chest heaved violently as she ran across the courtyard.
She wasn’t merely worried or annoyed that her mistress had wandered off—she was gripped by fear.
“Princess!” Lian’er gasped, her voice cracking loudly as she spotted the green silk robes near the tree line.
She bolted across the terrace, nearly tripping over the long hem of her own slippers, and threw herself directly toward Rulan.
Rulan stopped dead in her tracks, her instincts immediately sharpening.
Lian’er had never looked this frightened.
Whatever had happened on the main grounds while Rulan was gone, it was serious enough to make her normally composed maid run through an imperial temple like a frightened rabbit.
“Princess…” Lian’er struggled to catch her breath.
“You—you need to come with me.”
Rulan’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
Lian’er glanced nervously toward the main courtyard.
“It’s General Meng.”