Pei Rumei led Chen Baoxiang away from the medicine room, walking and marveling at the same time: “Sister, you’re extraordinary — you can even recite the Materia Medica from memory? That must be so many characters — I think it’s something like nearly a hundred thousand.”

Chen Baoxiang’s vision went dark at those words. She nearly wanted to collapse on the spot herself.

A hundred thousand characters — who could possibly recite that!—

Don’t panic.

Zhang Zhixu said: I can—

What? You can do that too?—

A trivial matter.

Chen Baoxiang couldn’t help but clasp her hands over her heart. If Pei Rumei weren’t standing right there, she would have dropped to her knees and kowtowed to this Immortal of hers. He may have had no magical powers and couldn’t conjure silver, but he was truly remarkable — there was nothing he didn’t know.

With the Immortal’s assurance, Chen Baoxiang’s confidence surged back in full. She swaggered along behind Pei Rumei all the way to the study.

Zhang Zhixu asked for paper and brush, and began to transcribe the first volume with his left hand.

Chen Baoxiang watched her own hand produce elegant, delicate brushwork utterly unlike anything she was capable of, and her eyes lit up: “Immortal, if you sat the imperial examination, you’d surely pass with top honors as the Zhuangyuan.”

“I wouldn’t.” Zhang Zhixu said offhandedly. “When the Emperor makes his selection in the palace, those deemed too fine-looking are only ever appointed as the Tanhua.”

“Ah?” Chen Baoxiang was bewildered.

Zhang Zhixu paused, then hastily amended: “That’s what people say.”

“That’s so unfair,” she said with no suspicion whatsoever, just muttering. “Losing the Zhuangyuan title for nothing — anyone who didn’t know better would think their scholarship wasn’t up to it, when really they were just too good-looking.”

This matter had always been something Zhang Zhixu didn’t wish to speak of. Bringing it up made it seem as though he couldn’t bear the loss, and would make others feel the Emperor was unreasonable.

——In truth, the new Emperor was precisely that unreasonable. With one light-hearted remark — “The Tanhua is better; it suits my son perfectly” — he had erased more than a decade of Zhang Zhixu’s devoted study and made him the first person in history to return home and kneel before the ancestral shrine after his name appeared on the golden list.

In such an absurd world, what was the point of living? Better to be dead.

But he had eaten the Zhang family’s food for so many years — his death could not be in vain. He had to drag Cheng Huaili down with him.

The weight of the thought pressed down on the brush, and a drop of ink fell onto the page.

Chen Baoxiang, bored from sitting, made idle conversation: “I never liked studying from when I was small. Grandmother Ye tried to teach me, but I couldn’t last more than one incense stick’s worth before I had to run three laps through the fields — catching birds, picking off insects, plucking flowers, teasing dogs. By the time I grew up, I had only learned the three characters in Grandmother Ye’s name.”

Zhang Zhixu came back to himself: “You’ve lived a very free life.”

“Is there anyone truly free in this world?” She swayed her feet idly. “Scholars have their own hardships, and farmhands have theirs. But since we’ve come into the world and made this journey, we ought to find at least something that brings us joy, or else what’s the point? Don’t you think?”

Something that brings joy……

Zhang Zhixu’s brush paused, and he drifted into a brief reverie.

Chen Baoxiang had only said it in passing and moved right along, wailing: “How many characters are left? My hand is aching.”

“Almost done.” He set his brush down and continued writing, with a faint smile: “If you want to get something, you have to give something in return.”

The price was steep indeed — a full hour passed, and her backside had gone numb from sitting, before they finally finished the transcription.

When word reached Physician Wang, he was thoroughly skeptical. He dragged his feet for two incense sticks’ worth of time before reluctantly making his way over: “So, how does it look?”

Chen Baoxiang proudly handed over the Immortal’s transcription.

Physician Wang gave it a cursory glance — and his expression of contempt slowly transformed into one of stunned disbelief.

“Bless the ancestral masters.” He rose to his feet. “It truly is the Tianfu-era Materia Medica. This book is a unique surviving copy — legend has it that it was kept exclusively in the palace. In more than fifty years of living, I myself have only ever seen a transcribed copy of the first volume.”

He turned it over and over in his hands, and said to the estate manager beside him in elation: “Word has it that the later volumes contain remarkable medicinal herbs for stanching blood and dulling pain. If this young lady can transcribe them for us, the General’s leg may yet have a chance.”

The estate manager grew agitated with excitement and bowed deeply to Chen Baoxiang: “We are indebted to you, Miss. If the General can be saved, my master will certainly see you handsomely rewarded.”

Chen Baoxiang blinked in bewilderment: “General Cheng is injured in the leg?”

Given Cheng Huaili’s high standing and authority, his injury was not something to be disclosed to outsiders — but considering what the Materia Medica was worth, Physician Wang lowered his voice and explained: “There’s an arrow wound in the leg that has become severely infected. The worst option would be amputation to preserve his life, but if there were a rare medicine, I would still try.”

Zhang Zhixu’s eyes narrowed slightly at that.

At the Roasted Tail Banquet, Cheng Huaili should have been struck by more than one arrow. Yet what the physician is concerned with now is how to save his leg — which means the arrow to the chest truly didn’t cost him his life.

“I believe there’s a dedicated volume on wound remedies in the later sections,” Zhang Zhixu said. “I can transcribe half a volume for everyone by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Miss.” The estate manager promptly directed the servants: “Prepare proper guest quarters and a meal for the honored guest — treat her well and show no discourtesy whatsoever.”

“Yes.”

Physician Wang set down the pages and said with sheepish sincerity: “Earlier, seeing how guileless the young lady appeared, and with her rather flamboyant dress, I thought she had come to cause trouble. I never expected such remarkable talent. It is I who judged by appearances — truly inexcusable. Please accept my apologies.”

As he spoke, he rose and bowed to her.

Chen Baoxiang hurriedly jumped up to stop him, filled with guilt: “Please, think nothing of it.”

His judgment wasn’t even wrong — the talent belonged to the Immortal, not to her. She was just a pretty vase that understood nothing.

She was still thinking of being modest, but the Immortal spoke on her behalf: “I have studied medicine under the Medicine Sage since childhood, though I have always been confined to the written page and have had few opportunities for real practice. Today I am fortunate to meet Physician Wang — I would be honored if you could offer your guidance.”

“Oh?” Physician Wang’s eyes brightened further. “Sun Sihuai — he is your master?”

“Indeed, he is my teacher.”

“Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!” Physician Wang clapped his hands. “Ever since we parted ways at Changbai Mountain, my senior martial brother and I have not seen each other in twelve years. To think I could meet his disciple here.”

Chen Baoxiang broke into a cold sweat—

Immortal, please don’t go around recognizing random masters for me — these people know each other. Two or three questions and we’ll be exposed.

The Immortal paid no heed to her distress. Instead, he cupped his hands in a respectful bow toward Physician Wang: “Junior disciple Chen Baoxiang greets Teacher’s Younger Martial Brother.”

Physician Wang startled — then burst into pleased laughter, stroking his beard: “Your master always kept his gaze so high he never gave me, his martial-brother, a second glance. To think his little apprentice would be so respectful. Good, good — quickly rise.”

Chen Baoxiang was thoroughly bewildered. She had only come to the Pei family to pursue a man — how had she ended up becoming a disciple of the Medicine Sage and a martial-niece of the master physician?

And what was even more alarming was that this physician was extremely warm and fiercely protective of his own — the moment he acknowledged her, he treated her as one of his own people. He turned to the estate manager without hesitation: “No need to arrange a separate guest room — let her stay with me. She can keep company with my own troublesome female disciples.”

“Of course.” The estate manager gave the order and had the arrangements made at once.

Chen Baoxiang kept the smile on her face while nearly weeping inside: Immortal — what if he asks me about the Medicine Sage later? What am I supposed to say?—

I’ll handle everything.

Zhang Zhixu replied, unhurried: You just do what you do. As for everything else, I can set it right for you.

The voice was low and steady, reverberating through her mind — and somehow, it carried a strange and inexplicable sense of reassurance.