Chapter 54 -

Chapter 54: Chapter

The bell above the clinic door chimed softly as A-Cheng pushed it open, ushering Yimei into the quiet, fragrant warmth of the apothecary. Bundles of dried roots hung from the wooden rafters, and rows of tiny, lacquered drawers lined the high back walls, each labeled with neat, brushed calligraphy.

"Master Lin," A-Cheng called out respectfully to the thin, middle-aged man sorting herbs behind the counter. "My father sent us for supplies."

He handed over Grandmaster Zhang’s handwritten list. Master Lin adjusted his small wooden spectacles, scanning the paper with an approving nod.

"Ah, the Grandmaster’s handwriting," the apothecary murmured, stepping toward the medicine wall. "Snow lotus, red deer velvet, aged ginseng, and dried licorice root. A powerful blend to ignite frozen meridians."

As Master Lin began pulling small brass scales and weighing out dried roots, A-Cheng turned to Yimei, his voice low and informative. "Xiao Yue, since you want to learn the acupuncture and care for your husband yourself, you should pay close attention to the quality of these herbs. Bad herbs will ruin even the best needle work."

Yimei stepped closer to the counter, her eyes sharp and attentive. "Please teach me, Young Master A-Cheng."

A-Cheng picked up a dried, pale slice of ginseng from a tray. "Look at the rings along the cut. The tighter and deeper the lines, the older the root. Young ginseng only warms the skin, but aged mountain ginseng like this one sinks deep into the bone marrow to wake up sleeping blood."

"And the snow lotus?" Yimei asked, pointing to a delicate, pale blossom resting on a sheet of parchment.

"The petals must be whole, clear white, and completely free of yellow rot," A-Cheng explained, lifting the flower gently so she could smell it. "If it smells sickly sweet, it was dried in a damp cellar and lost its spirit. It must smell crisp, like mountain rain. My father uses it to soothe the inflammation caused by the heavy acupuncture needles."

He then pointed toward the dark brown strips of dried licorice root Master Lin was measuring. "And remember what my mother told you in the kitchen, licorice acts as the peacemaker. It tempers the harshness of the snow lotus so your husband’s stomach won’t turn."

Yimei took mental notes, effortlessly absorbing every detail. Her sharp memory etched the sights, scents, and textures into her mind. "I understand. Quality determines the speed of recovery."

"Exactly," A-Cheng smiled, pleased by her quick understanding.

Master Lin wrapped each carefully weighed batch of herbs into brown paper, tying them tightly with natural twine before placing the neat parcels inside Yimei’s woven basket.

"That should cover the first week of his treatment," Master Lin said, nodding politely. "Give my regards to the Grandmaster."

"We will. Thank you, Master Lin," Yimei bowed respectfully.

With the heavy basket resting securely on Yimei’s arm, she and A-Cheng stepped back out into the chilly village square. The morning sun was higher now, glistening off the snow-covered rooftops.

They walked back down the quiet snow-lined path toward the mountain cottage, leaving the noise of the village behind.

"You handled yourself well today, Xiao Yue," A-Cheng noted as they walked side-by-side. "Though... I must admit, I was surprised by how fiercely you spoke back to Su Lan."

Yimei kept her eyes fixed modestly on the snowy path ahead, her voice instantly dropping back into that soft, gentle tone of a devoted wife.

"Forgive me if I seemed improper, A-Cheng," Yimei said softly, her expression full of quiet, believable melancholy. "When one has lost everything and seen their husband suffer so much... one learns not to let harsh words go unanswered. I only care about his recovery. Nothing else matters to me."

A-Cheng looked at her with renewed respect and pity, fully convinced by her selfless love. "You have nothing to apologize for. You are a good wife, Xiao Yue. My father will make sure he walks again."

Yimei bowed her head, hiding the faint, cold smirk that touched her lips.

Soon, the wooden gates of Grandmaster Zhang’s estate came into view.

The wooden front door opened with a loud creak, letting in the cold air as Yimei and A-Cheng came back inside.

Yimei set the basket on the table where Old Madame Zhang was tending the fire. "We brought the herbs, Elder."

Grandmaster Zhang walked into the room, wiping his hands on a towel. He snatched the paper packages from the basket and looked at the herbs with a sharp, strict glare. He poked at the snow lotus and smelled the ginseng, searching for any flaws.

"Acceptable," the old doctor said coldly looking at his son. "At least you didn’t buy rubbish compared to the last one. Bring them into the room now."

They followed him into the dim bedroom. Zhengyu lay on a low bamboo bed, propped up against rough blankets. His face was pale, his mouth set in a tight line. As Yimei walked in, his dark eyes flashed with a clear warning.

Grandmaster Zhang unrolled a leather wrap filled with silver needles. He picked one up and ran it through a candle flame without looking away from Yimei.

"Pay attention," he ordered, his voice cold and stern. "I will not say this twice. The dead energy in his legs is trapped at the Zusanli and Taichong points. If a needle goes in wrong, you will ruin his legs forever."

With a sudden, harsh push, he drove the heated needle deep into the spot below Zhengyu’s knee.

Zhengyu’s jaw clamped tight, the muscles in his cheek bulging. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, but he refused to make a sound.

Yimei watched closely, carefully recording the exact angle and depth of his hand.

[DING!] Nine’s system voice chimed in her mind. [Host, high-level acupuncture skill recorded with 100% accuracy!]

Be quiet, Nine, Yimei thought, keeping her face full of worried concern.

"The skin is turning red," Grandmaster Zhang pointed out, his voice sharp and demanding. "That means the cold energy is fighting back. A-Cheng, grab his ankle. Do not let him move."

"Yes, Father," A-Cheng said, quickly holding Zhengyu’s foot still.

For the next half hour, the old doctor pushed over twenty needles into Zhengyu’s legs without showing any pity. The room filled with the bitter smell of burning herbs and heavy, strained breathing.

"Done," Grandmaster Zhang said coldly, stepping back to wipe his forehead. "The needles must stay for two hours. Girl, come here."

Yimei stepped up to the bed.

"Put your fingers here," he ordered, pointing to a needle near Zhengyu’s ankle. "Do you feel that?"

Yimei pressed her fingers near the needle base. The skin was hot and pulsing fast as trapped blood forced its way through.

She looked down at Zhengyu. He was glaring up at her, his eyes full of pain that she almost felt bad for him.

"I feel it, Grandmaster," Yimei said softly. She let her fingers stay a second too long, leaning down with a tiny, evil smile that only Zhengyu could see. "My husband is being so brave."

Zhengyu gripped the bedframe until his knuckles turned white, forced to endure the brutal needles and her quiet teasing without saying a single word.