The sleeve-arrow Jiuquan had used was short-bladed and carried no poison, but the wound on Chen Baoxiang’s right shoulder was still two inches long and cut quite deep. Physician Wang took one look and declared it needed stitching.

“Stitching?” Zhang Zhixu was startled.

Chen Baoxiang patiently explained: “They thread a sheep-gut line through a needle and sew the wound closed, stitch by stitch, through the flesh along the edges.”

“The procedure itself I understand perfectly well.” Zhang Zhixu wanted to back away. “But why isn’t he using Drifting Horse Herb?”

“Drifting Horse Herb?”

“It’s a remarkable medicine recorded in the Medical Canon — even a single tael can eliminate pain and stanch bleeding. No matter how severe a wound, the patient won’t suffer.”

“That herb sounds extremely rare and precious. Even if they have it, they’d surely be saving it for General Cheng.” Chen Baoxiang muttered. “It’s alright. I can get through this.”

She could get through it — he, on the other hand, was far from certain.

Zhang Zhixu thought with a scowl: it wasn’t as though he had never been injured before, but every time he was, he’d had Drifting Horse Herb applied in rotation, had the Physician God’s silver needles for the pain, and ice packs kept ready around the clock day and night. He’d barely had to suffer at all.

But now — two medical attendants held down Chen Baoxiang’s wrists on either side, while the attendant across from her asked Physician Wang whether stitching flesh was the same as stitching cloth, and in the same breath raised the needle toward Chen Baoxiang.

Zhang Zhixu desperately wanted to flee, but the pain had drained him of the strength to do anything except watch helplessly as the attendant’s trembling hand stabbed toward him.

The sensation of the needle passing through flesh, the sensation of the thread pulling the skin taut — it cycled through his mind again and again, stitch after stitch after stitch, and then — good heavens — one stitch went in at the wrong angle and had to be done over.

…The most brutal of prison tortures would be no worse than this.

And Chen Baoxiang’s sensitivity to pain seemed far sharper than most people’s — these needles hurt more than being cleaved with a broadsword. By the time the wound was finally sewn shut, Zhang Zhixu felt as though he had died a second time.

“All done, don’t worry — it’s all sewn up.” Chen Baoxiang consoled him.

He was trembling from head to toe, eyes red, unable to speak a word.

Chen Baoxiang had said earlier that men of noble birth rarely encountered danger, and that when they did, the experience would be carved into their bones forever.

Zhang Zhixu thought: whether or not it was carved into Pei Ruheng’s bones he didn’t know, but it had certainly been carved into his — deeply and agonizingly. Even if he made it to the grave, he’d have to sit upright in his coffin before the lid was nailed shut and tell the mourners the story of having a wound sewn together without anesthesia.

Drifting in and out of a daze, he heard Chen Baoxiang say: “Sleep. One good sleep and it’ll all be better.”

Her voice was sweet and gentle, and he couldn’t tell whether she was soothing him or herself.

The bed in the guest room was hard and narrow, and the quilt was old. Zhang Zhixu found it deeply objectionable.

But after a night so exhausting and so painful, he couldn’t afford to be particular. He pulled the quilt around himself and closed his eyes.

The night passed without dreams — only the persistent, close-woven ache that would not leave him be.

The next morning, Chen Baoxiang felt somewhat better. She had just begun to ask a servant about the news next door when Pei Ruheng came over himself.

He sat down by the bedside with a grave expression, not saying a word.

Chen Baoxiang grew a little anxious. Great Immortal — has he found something out? Has he come to take me to task?

When someone is in pain, it is hard to be in a good mood, and Zhang Zhixu in particular had no patience whatsoever right now. He didn’t bother holding back: A person who didn’t know better would think you were the one who got shot.

Pei Ruheng froze. He glanced up at her in surprise, but the moment their eyes met, he quickly looked away. “I came to thank you.”

“There’s really no need.”

Pei Ruheng hadn’t expected that response. He was briefly at a loss, then waved his hand for a servant to bring in a tray.

Zhang Zhixu looked it over — inside lay a solid gold hair pin, eight butterfly-shaped openwork ornamental pins with delicate moving wings, and a finely crafted jade-and-gold pendant necklace.

Great Immortal!

Chen Baoxiang was trembling with excitement. Is he presenting me with a betrothal gift?

Zhang Zhixu laughed coldly. This little bit of trinketry counts as a betrothal gift? You’re worth more than this — even a pig at the East Market fetches a better price.

Hold on — if we’re just having a conversation, why are you insulting me?

Chen Baoxiang felt deeply wronged. She reached out a hand to claim the treasures and console herself.

Her own right hand mercilessly knocked away her left.

“Young Master Pei.” The scorn in Zhang Zhixu’s eyes deepened. “Is this really all your life is worth?”

Pei Ruheng’s expression darkened. He pressed his lips together and spoke: “You saved me yesterday — I thought that with this —”

“You thought that if you gave me these things, I’d feel too indebted to keep pressing my advantage — and I’d give up the idea of demanding you marry me in return.” Zhang Zhixu cut him off with a cold laugh. “You needn’t bother. I never had any such intention to begin with.”

Having his thoughts laid out plainly before him, Pei Ruheng flushed slightly with embarrassment: “Good. Then that’s settled.”

He rose and made as if to leave.

In the past, Chen Baoxiang would have always clung to him — she would have called out to stop him, coaxed him softly, pleaded with him not to be angry.

But today, for reasons she couldn’t quite name, he was nearly at the door and she still hadn’t said a word.

She had wanted to speak — but the Great Immortal’s skill was too formidable. One firm clap over her mouth, and the words wouldn’t come.

Do you know what kind of woman Pei Ruheng is drawn to?

What kind?

One who chases after him — he sneers at. One who treats him with measured respect — he finds uninteresting. The kind who won’t give him the time of day — that’s the one he wants.

— Isn’t that just being difficult? Chen Baoxiang stared in disbelief.

“Young Master.” Just as Pei Ruheng was about to step through the door, Shoumo spoke up. “Physician Wang mentioned that Miss Chen’s right shoulder wound means she can’t lift a brush — he asks that you help transcribe the Medical Canon. General Cheng’s side is still in urgent need of it.”

“Indeed.” Pei Ruheng paused and turned to look at her. “My uncle’s condition is severe. I must trouble you further.”

And with that, he came back in himself, smoothed his sleeve, and sat down at the table not far from her.

Chen Baoxiang: “…”

The Great Immortal really did call it.

She couldn’t help but lament inwardly: If you’d told me sooner, I wouldn’t have had to suffer all that.

Zhang Zhixu gave a quiet, scornful laugh. Serves you right.

There was no shortage of people fawning and flattering in a great household like this. Going about it the way she had, she’d never make it into the Pei family in this lifetime.

“I hear the medicine scrolls are quite lengthy,” Pei Ruheng said, arranging the brush and ink before him. “Just recite what you remember, and I’ll write it down for you.”

Chen Baoxiang was about to nod when the Great Immortal spoke for her: “Who do you take us for? It’s barely eight thousand characters. I’ll recite from the beginning — you write from the beginning.”

Hm?

She was dumbstruck. Great Immortal — are you serious? That’s over eight thousand characters.

He was insistent: Reciting a few hundred characters impresses no one. If we’re reciting, we recite it all.

Pei Ruheng was amused by what seemed like inexplicable confidence. He dipped his brush and raised it with unhurried grace. “Very well. Let me see how much you can recite.”

Zhang Zhixu began without haste, starting with the very first medicinal herb.

The remedies chapter was full of rare medicines, but there was a consistent pattern — first the place of origin, then the medicinal properties and the ailments it treated, and finally a detailed passage on how to identify it.

He recited with remarkable fluency. The only times he paused were when a character shared a sound with another and he needed to clarify which one was meant in writing.

Pei Ruheng had started out with a dismissive air, but by the time they reached a thousand characters, he sat up straighter. He had realized Chen Baoxiang wasn’t boasting.

At two thousand characters, he looked up at her in quiet astonishment.

At three thousand, he set down his brush entirely. An admiration he could no longer suppress rose from somewhere deep within him.

“No wonder Physician Wang speaks so highly of you,” he said, looking at her directly. “This kind of perfect, flawless memory — the only person I’ve heard of who possesses such a gift is that prodigy of the Zhang Family.”