Soon, voices of conversation rang out outside the temple, and a few figures gradually emerged from the rain and mist.
A middle-aged man carrying a medicine chest was being hurried along by two beggars. Even though he held an umbrella, his clothes were damp, especially at the hems and sleeves, with water dripping from them.
The man didn’t show any irritation at being pulled along; instead, he looked slightly anxious. As soon as he stepped into the dilapidated temple, he immediately noticed Shangguan Ye and began walking toward him, his gaze falling on Murong Qiufeng lying on the floor. “You called for medical help?”
Shangguan Ye gave the man a cold, indifferent glance and nodded without a word.
The young man approached, finally seeing that the person in white was a strikingly handsome gentleman, though clearly burning with fever. Without hesitation, he set down his medicine chest, squatted, and reached for Murong Qiufeng’s wrist to check his pulse.
Before his hand could touch him, it was grasped firmly by another. The man froze, then looked up in surprise at the dark-clad figure whose expression was stormy.
“He just has a fever. There’s a method to bring it down quickly,” Shangguan Ye said, his face dark and his gaze like steel.
The middle-aged man studied him carefully. Despite feeling the chill and authority radiating from Shangguan Ye, as a physician, his duty to treat the patient came first. He said in a low, firm voice, “A cold can take many forms. I need to determine exactly what type he has before prescribing medicine. You seem anxious over this young master, but please, don’t interfere with my treatment. If the illness worsens, it won’t be me who regrets it.”
Shangguan Ye’s eyes narrowed, his brows knitting, and a wave of fierce energy radiated from him.
The man flinched slightly, body trembling, but his eyes still held stubborn resolve.
Even Murong Qiufeng seemed affected by the tense atmosphere, letting out a muffled sound and a light cough.
Immediately, Shangguan Ye’s icy aura vanished. His expression of cold detachment softened, replaced by worry and urgency. Placing a hand gently on Murong Qiufeng’s forehead, he said in a low voice, “Then let’s get started.”
The physician’s brow twitched in surprise, feeling some irritation at this unusual young master who exuded both coldness and worry, yet he pressed on, carefully checking Murong Qiufeng’s pulse.
He then took a pill from his chest and tried to feed it to Murong Qiufeng, but Shangguan Ye blocked him, his eyes dark and vigilant. He examined the pill closely.
The physician’s lips twitched involuntarily, and his expression hardened. “This is just a fever-reducing medicine. If you don’t trust others, why even call a doctor? I have always acted openly and honestly—never would I harm a stranger. Coming here in the rain, do you think I’m here to do harm? I know the doctor’s duty.”
Shangguan Ye, face stern, snorted and took the pill.
The doctor, somewhat amused and frustrated, turned to reach for his needle pack—but suddenly froze. One of his acupoints was pressed, his mouth slightly opened, and a pill was placed inside. A pat on his chest sent it rolling down his throat.
The man gasped and coughed, glaring at Shangguan Ye. “You—”
“Worlds are dangerous. One must guard against others,” Shangguan Ye said expressionlessly, cold as ice, without a hint of apology.
The physician felt a knot of frustration in his chest, tempted to storm off. But looking at the patient, he restrained himself. Ironically, his patience only made Shangguan Ye more suspicious.
Shangguan Ye tossed the medicine bottle back at him. “Just one pill. If you don’t trust it, you don’t have to take it.”
He carefully inspected the pill, smelled it, then took it himself. Using his inner energy, he verified there were no adverse effects, only a refreshing sensation. Then he cautiously administered it to Murong Qiufeng.
The physician, torn between irritation and admiration, realized the young man clearly cared deeply for the patient—perhaps as a brother might. The devotion was admirable, if slightly infuriating.
He set up his needle kit and carefully administered a few acupuncture points to Murong Qiufeng, which Shangguan Ye did not stop this time.
“This young master’s cold is serious—not just ordinary wind-cold. There is also deep, lingering chill in his body. Though it has been mitigated, he has suffered minor frost-like damage internally. He must rest properly. First reduce the fever, then restore warmth and nurture his internal energy.”
Shangguan Ye’s face darkened; he suspected the internal chill came from the pond earlier.
Hearing the approaching sound of hooves, a carriage soon arrived and stopped at the temple entrance.
Shangguan Ye ignored the others, casually tossing the jade pendant to one of the beggars, lifted Murong Qiufeng, and told the middle-aged man, “Get in the carriage, take him to your clinic.” The beggars quickly opened an umbrella for them and helped them into the carriage, all eyes glued to the pendant, afraid it might be stolen.
The physician sighed, accepted the situation, and climbed in as well, giving the coachman directions.
After the flurry of activity, Murong Qiufeng’s fever began to subside.
“You’re also running a fever. You should rest first and take medicine. I’ll arrange for someone to watch him,” the physician suggested, noticing Shangguan Ye staying close like a shadow, interfering with his treatment.
Shangguan Ye barely moved his eyelids. “No need,” he said simply.
The physician sighed. “Fine. Then you take care of him. I’ll send more medicine shortly. Keep him warm, work up a sweat, and once the fever breaks, I’ll check on him again. Don’t wander off and catch another cold.”
He went on with his instructions.
Shangguan Ye frowned, growing impatient.
The physician felt exasperated, thinking he was begging to provide medical care.
In truth, it was exactly that—Shangguan Ye’s extreme vigilance stemmed from the man’s over-attentiveness.
Shangguan Ye had trained in martial arts under the Snow Mountain elders, and his inner energy leaned cold. This cold energy was negligible to him, but Murong Qiufeng was different. Learning from the Sword Sage, his inner energy was yang-based, and though his body had been strengthened with rare medicines and treatments, he was still prone to illness.
Holding him now, Shangguan Ye felt frustrated almost to the point of vomiting. Yet he knew that if given the choice again, he would act the same way—without hesitation, for the person in his arms was worth it.
