Midnight, northern Beijing, Gulou West Slope Street, Tianshui Lane.

Wei Caiwei still lived in the small building next to the Wang residence, though she no longer had to pay rent to her fiancé.

A year ago, as her wedding to Wang Daxia approached, tragic news arrived: Wang Qianhu was missing, neither his living body nor his corpse could be found. In this “missing” state, his fate looked grim, and they would likely have to observe three years of mourning, so the wedding wasn’t held as scheduled and was postponed.

Therefore, although Wei Caiwei and Wang Daxia had the reality of being husband and wife, they still lacked the title—they remained engaged as unmarried fiancés. Wei Caiwei originally had a large house at Shichahai, but to conveniently treat the traumatized Wang Daqiu and to wait for Wang Daxia, she continued living here without moving, only bringing over all her dowry.

After his younger brother Wang Daqiu awakened, Wang Daxia learned that his father’s ship had been attacked by Japanese pirates. He immediately bid farewell to his fiancée and went south alone to visit the Qi and Yu armies who regularly dealt with Japanese pirates (fighting them), searching for traces of the pirates who had robbed the official ship like finding a needle in the ocean.

This search had lasted a year. Wang Daxia occasionally sent letters to the capital to report his safety and recent progress, but hadn’t returned to the capital for a full year. His footprints could be found in Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Fujian, Guangdong, and even Nan’ao. He’d traveled as far as the Ryukyu Islands, patiently hunting his prey like a hunter, never giving up.

Wei Caiwei had never expected that despite all her scheming—anonymously writing reports to the Embroidered Uniform Guard and exposing the White Lotus cult’s nest early—she had only extended Wang Qianhu’s life by three years.

In the previous life he died from a White Lotus bomb, in this life he died under pirates’ guns. Each life ended in violent death, as if it were fate.

When Wang Daxia bid her farewell to go south hunting for vengeance, Wei Caiwei saw with heartbreak that the light in his eyes had vanished.

Wei Caiwei knew that while he appeared carefree and unconcerned on the surface, he actually cared about his father inside. In the previous life, witnessing his father being severely wounded by the explosion, punished with dismissal and house confiscation, driven from home in wind and snow, dying in agony without treatment—the shock had driven him to castrate himself with a blade and vow revenge.

In this life, though he didn’t personally witness his father’s gruesome death, this state of not knowing if he was alive or dead was even more torturous.

However, when his father met with disaster again in this life, Wang Daxia had become stronger both mentally and physically, and had risen in power and position. He didn’t need to take the extreme measure of self-castration—he could rely on accumulated achievements and connections to investigate the pirates who robbed official ships.

But that mischievous, carefree, perpetually cheerful light in his eyes had vanished. The beam of light Wei Caiwei had protected for three years had still disappeared due to his father’s death. She was both heartbroken and furious, wanting to bring out all her secret weapons and poison those pirates a hundred times over!

Damn those pirates! Killing my father-in-law, destroying the light in my husband’s eyes, ruining my wedding!

Before departing, Wang Daxia had embraced her, kissed her lips fiercely, said “Wait for me to return and we’ll marry,” then rode off without looking back, disappearing into the vast snow.

On this dark, snowy night, Wei Caiwei slept deeply. She dreamed she was soaking in a hot water tub. When the water cooled, she was about to get out and add hot water from the stove when a hand carrying an iron kettle approached: “Move back a bit, be careful not to get scalded.”

Wei Caiwei was both surprised and delighted: “You’ve returned?”

Her fiancé Wang Daxia nodded. Not only had he returned, but that beam of light had returned to his eyes—he was the same Wang Daxia as before.

Wang Daxia slowly poured hot water into the bathtub, then also removed his clothes and jumped in with a splash, embracing her while whispering in her ear: “Let me see where you’ve hidden the rose petals this time…”

“Doctor Wei! Doctor Wei, open the door! Our princess requests your presence!”

The spring dream was interrupted by knocking. Wei Caiwei opened her eyes.

Wei Caiwei got in the carriage and hurried to Prince Yu Mansion. By this time, Li Jiubao had semi-transparent pustules even on her face—the great beauty had instantly become an ugly woman.

Wei Caiwei immediately ordered the courtyard gates closed. Including herself, no one was allowed to leave, and servants who had previously come and gone were also confined and quarantined in another courtyard.

Wei Caiwei spoke through the door to Prince Yu and Princess Yu: “Side Consort Li has smallpox. Usually children get smallpox—adults rarely do, typically in winter and spring. When adults get smallpox, it usually isn’t life-threatening and recovers in half a month or so, but children over a year old are already weak and it’s quite dangerous for them.”

“Quickly take the little imperial grandson out of the prince’s mansion—don’t let him stay here. Anyone among his attendants who has had direct or indirect contact with Side Consort Li or others in the courtyard cannot accompany the little imperial grandson out of the mansion.”

The little imperial grandson was Prince Yu Mansion’s lifeline, truly the heaven-chosen child with an imperial throne to inherit. Prince Yu and Princess Yu quickly complied, sending the little prince away overnight…

Wei Caiwei had had smallpox as a child in Tieling, in fact she and Ding Wu had contracted it one after the other. Their adoptive parents, the Wei Nanshan couple, had carefully nursed them both through it without leaving any scars.

After having smallpox once, one wouldn’t get it again. However, if contaminated material clung to one’s body and one went out, it could infect people who hadn’t had smallpox. So Wei Caiwei remained in the courtyard to care for Li Jiubao, who had smallpox. She wrapped Li Jiubao’s hands in gauze to prevent her from scratching the pustules due to unbearable itching and leaving scars or disfigurement.

Li Jiubao was itchy all over and miserable, but what she feared wasn’t the itching—she feared whether the child in her belly would be affected. Pointing at her belly with gauze-wrapped fingers: “Doctor Wei, this child has had many troubles since conception. Will my getting smallpox this time harm the child?”

Wei Caiwei had no certainty. In the previous life, she’d always been in the palace and only knew that Li Jiubao’s second child was a little princess, with both mother and daughter safe. As for what hardships this second pregnancy had endured, Wei Caiwei knew nothing.

Because in the Forbidden City, Emperor Jiajing’s taboo about “two dragons must not meet” made all topics about Prince Yu Mansion forbidden words that no one dared discuss. Wei Caiwei only knew the outcome, not the process.

However, judging from the deaths of Lu Bing and Wang Qianhu, life and death were difficult to change. Chen Jingji had been saved, but at the cost of castration, becoming almost another person entirely. In that case, the little princess should ultimately be born safely in this life too.

Doctors couldn’t panic—they had to give patients confidence.

Wei Caiwei gently caressed Li Jiubao’s belly, her gaze firm: “Good things come with difficulties. The child will be fine—you must believe in her and believe in yourself.”

Li Jiubao’s pregnancy had been tormented by morning sickness—she couldn’t eat or sleep well, and her mood was already somewhat depressed. Now with chickenpea-sized chickenpox covering almost her entire body, her greatest asset—her beauty—was gone. She was even more downcast, and even this usually strong woman couldn’t help shedding tears:

“It’s all my fault—my poor health is making the child suffer with me. Fortunately the little imperial grandson has been coughing these past few days and is staying with the princess. If he had remained with me… he’s only a little over a year old—how could he endure such suffering?”

Wei Caiwei comforted her: “That’s why they say good people have their own heavenly protection. The little imperial grandson was born with the fortune to turn danger into safety. Since that’s the case, why worry, Side Consort? Don’t blame yourself—the children’s lives are gifts from you. Whether your health is good or bad isn’t something you can control. Pregnancy and childbirth are already hard enough.”

Wei Caiwei used her “silver tongue” to dispel Li Jiubao’s worries—her mouth was more effective than prescribing medicine.

Wei Caiwei prepared medicinal formulas. To avoid using internal medicines as much as possible, she used rhubarb, coix seed, tiger cane, phellodendron, and sanguisorba to brew “pox-removing water” (Note 1) to apply to pustule wounds, helping wounds scab and heal quickly while relieving the pain and itching of chickenpox.

She also used dandelion, honeysuckle, astragalus, isatis root and other herbs to make herbal tea as a substitute for medicines that might harm the fetus.

Li Jiubao drank herbal tea and applied the medicinal water. One by one, the “mature” chickenpox scabs fell off, her tender skin recovered as before, and hearing that the little imperial grandson staying elsewhere was safe, her anxious heart gradually settled.

However, complete healing still required time. Old pustules fell off while new ones appeared, like the four seasons occurring on a human body—some just budding and blooming, some already grown and fruiting, some ripe and ready to fall, some already becoming fertile soil for new growth.

Wei Caiwei observed Li Jiubao’s smallpox outbreak. Treating chickenpox was like using a butcher’s knife to kill a chicken for her medical skills. If not for comforting Li Jiubao during pregnancy, she could simply strip off all her clothes, burn them in a fire, wash her hair and body with vinegar and atractylodes, put on new clothes, and go home.

But one should see kindness through to the end, send Buddha all the way to the west—moreover, Li Jiubao was a future patron and support. Wei Caiwei had to stay until the end.

Wei Caiwei spent all day in this small area of the east side courtyard with nothing to do. Walking around, she discovered a small Buddhist shrine with a jade Guanyin statue.

Strange—this hadn’t been here when she last treated Li Jiubao’s pregnancy complications.

Wei Caiwei asked the maids and learned it was a gift from the gambling addict Li Wei.

Wei Caiwei examined the jade Guanyin carefully. With her sharp eye developed from half a lifetime in the palace, this jade Guanyin was top quality in both jade material and craftsmanship, worth a thousand taels of silver.

Where did Li Wei get such a precious item?

Even Prince Yu Mansion, which barely had enough for basic needs, couldn’t produce such top-quality jade—even if someone gave it to Prince Yu, he wouldn’t dare accept it!

Wei Caiwei felt something was wrong with the jade Guanyin. Questioning the maids further, she learned that recently Li Jiubao hadn’t seen any outsiders except Li Wei.

Wei Caiwei’s suspicions grew. She recalled what Li Jiubao had said—”Fortunately the little imperial grandson has been coughing these past few days and is staying with the princess.”

The little imperial grandson had been raised by Li Jiubao’s side since birth. If he hadn’t been coughing, then… chickenpox in a baby just over a year old would be extremely dangerous!

Wei Caiwei picked up the jade Guanyin. Guanyin Bodhisattva held a chubby baby, carved from a single piece of warm white jade without flaws. Even examining it with a Western magnifying glass revealed no cracks or other suspicious features.

However, the jade Guanyin sat on a wooden carved lotus platform base. Wei Caiwei tapped the base with the magnifying glass handle—there was a clear echo, indicating the lotus base was hollow inside.

Wei Caiwei put her palms together, said “Forgive me” to the jade Guanyin, then dismantled it. Even with the magnifying glass, she couldn’t find the mechanism to open the secret compartment in this box. Wei Caiwei simply took a hammer and chisel and forcibly broke off the lowest lotus petal, exposing the base’s secret compartment.

Wei Caiwei poured out a small handful of something resembling skin scab debris from the secret compartment.

Wei Caiwei spoke through a glass window to Prince Yu about what this was: “This is pox matter—what pox doctors use to inoculate seven or eight-year-old healthy children. They take scab debris from children who’ve had pox, then blow it into a child’s nostrils through bamboo tubes, or knead it into pills shaped like date pits and insert them into the nostrils, removing them after one night. If inoculation succeeds, the child will fever and develop pox, but symptoms are usually mild. After scabbing, pox doctors collect the scabs and store them in moist, mild places to keep the pox matter viable for inoculating the next child.”

“This cycle continues, with pox matter quality improving and toxicity weakening, making inoculated children’s symptoms progressively milder while ensuring they never get chickenpox again.”

Prince Yu was very surprised: “How have I never heard of such a thing?”

Wei Caiwei said: “Inoculation isn’t effective for all children and carries death risks. Imperial heirs are precious—who would dare inoculate imperial children? Children of high officials and nobles have servants caring for them in groups and rarely need preventive inoculation. Only commoners who have many children and struggle to raise them—if parents are enlightened, they usually hire pox doctors to inoculate while children are healthy and heal easily.”

“Pox doctors require parents to sign death waivers before inoculation, absolving them of responsibility if children can’t endure it. My adoptive parents also served as pox doctors while practicing medicine in Tieling.”

Prince Yu said: “Doctor Wei means that if children are healthy, contact with this causes only mild symptoms, like wearing chickenpox armor for lifelong safety. But if children are physically weak, this could be fatal?”

“Exactly, especially small infants who can’t speak or understand, only knowing their bodies feel bad so they cry incessantly until they have no strength left. Even with robust health, it’s hard to endure the torment of high fever and intensely itchy chickenpox.” Wei Caiwei said: “Seven to ten years old is most suitable, yet still risky. Any younger, and pox doctors won’t act even for money. Your Highness, someone wants to harm the little imperial grandson.”

Author’s Note: Da Xia will make a brilliant appearance in the next chapter. In the mid-Ming Dynasty, doctors had discovered this principle of passing pox matter generation to generation, reducing toxicity and inactivating it, similar to vaccines.

Note 1: “Pox-removing water” from the paper “Traditional Chinese Medicine Internal and External Treatment of Adult Chickenpox in Fifty-Seven Cases”