“Please wait a moment, Sect Leader. I shall fetch my needles.”
Having said this, Qin Jiuye rose from the bedside and walked toward her medicine box. The moment she turned, she felt Qi-gu’s desperate gaze pinned upon her. The woman was clearly pinning all her hopes of survival on her, wishing she could transform into a needle for Qin Jiuye to command.
Such hope was a heavy burden. Qin Jiuye did her best to ignore the look, retrieved her filiform needles, and returned to the bed.
“Sect Leader, please remove your garments.”
Yuan Qi remained silent, his eyes narrowing slightly.
The swordsman standing nearby immediately spoke in a cold voice. “Perform the acupuncture through his clothes. Do not dawdle; be quick about it.”
Qin Jiuye glanced at Yuan Qi’s gaunt frame and the faint traces of blood near his collar, finally understanding the young Sect Leader’s reservations. Even if he struggled to stand, he was still the master of a sect; he could not expose his unsightly, diseased body before a lowly wandering physician, nor could he let an outsider see the self-inflicted claw marks left by his agony.
If they were at Guoran Residence, she would have stripped him herself long ago. But here, she was under someone else’s roof and had to bow her head. If she dared to strip him, they would likely strip the skin from her bones.
Qin Jiuye sighed inwardly and resorted to a roundabout strategy. “Then I must ask for some wine.”
Three large jars of wine were poured into a basin. Qin Jiuye used it to cleanse her hands and needles, then used a cloth soaked in the liquid to wipe the areas where she would insert the needles. The thin fabric, dampened by the wine, clung to his skin. This served both as a minor cleansing measure and allowed the contours of the muscles beneath the clothes to become visible.
For a physician, giving one’s all went without saying. For a patient, the most basic requirement was not to hide one’s illness. In the past, nobles with shameful ailments would often be secretive, inventing elaborate tricks like "pulse-taking via a silk thread," which only served to delay proper treatment. Now, she was being forced to perform acupuncture through clothing… if her dead scoundrel of a master knew, he would surely crack her skull with a ladle.
Qin Jiuye took a deep breath, hypnotizing herself into believing she had mastered the art of seeing through objects. Then, with eyes wide, she pinched the first needle.
Though her needlework was not the absolute pinnacle of the art, she was famous for her speed and precision. In all of Jiugao, there were few physicians who could truly locate acupoints through a barrier and apply them with such force; she was one of them.
She was not a person of extraordinary talent, but she had understood from a young age that diligence could compensate for dullness. It wasn't so much that her lazy master had taught her, but rather that the countless patients of Dingweng Village had forged her. Those who have suffered know how to endure; those who could not afford expensive medicine relied on needles for relief. Even if she missed the mark, they would not cry out in pain. It was through repeated trial and error, met with their tolerance, that she had honed her skills.
Qin Jiuye pressed her lips thin. The filiform needles fell steadily from her fingertips, standing firm after a gentle twist.
However, locating the acupoints was only the beginning. The key lay in the insertion—whether to pinch or stretch, whether to rub, shake, or rotate the needle. These techniques determined whether the treatment would "obtain qi" and be effective.
Yet Yuan Qi’s body was covered in wounds, and with the layer of clothing between them, no matter how cautious she was, she inevitably touched a sore spot.
Finally, as she placed the tenth needle, the pale man on the bed, his long hair disheveled, suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist.
“It hurts like death. Do you seek a grave?”
Simultaneously, the swordsman guarding the bed drew his blade. The cold edge was instantly pressed against her neck, the sword-intent shearing off a lock of her hair.
Qin Jiuye gasped, the needle in her hand nearly stabbing a hole into Yuan Qi.
She had been careless and forgotten. The man before her was not Old Man Wang or Widow Wu from Dingweng Village; he was the adoptive son of Yuan Shuqing and the current Sect Leader of Fangwai Temple. Even if he was young, he was a true martial artist. Even in the throes of a toxic flare-up, he could kill her with a single palm strike. It seemed not everyone possessed the endurance of the youth she had picked up. For those of the Jianghu, the rage brought by illness was most likely to be vented upon the unlucky physician treating them.
Cold sweat broke out instantly. Qin Jiuye forced down the urge to wrench her arm away, allowing him to squeeze her wrist with a near-brutal strength as she spoke in a low voice.
“Sect Leader, please stay your anger. It was not intentional. The chronic illness has blocked your meridians; I must first use the needles to force open the sealed acupoints to smooth the flow and alleviate the pain of the internal reversal.”
She knew Yuan Qi was studying her as she spoke. His gaze was damp and cold, like a serpent watching its prey. Thus, after she finished speaking, she lowered her head, trying her best not to look at the man on the bed.
After an eternity, his voice finally drifted out. “You do have some skill. The ones before you couldn't even get this far; they only knew how to kneel and beg for mercy.”
Hearing this, Qin Jiuye’s racing heart settled slightly. She had done her best to imply her value as a physician. Before the treatment was finished, he likely wouldn't actually kill her.
Sure enough, the swordsman sheathed his blade and coldly urged, “What are you dazed for? Continue. Be gentler.”
Qin Jiuye dared not delay and hurriedly resumed the treatment.
When martial artists practiced certain special techniques, the major acupoints across their bodies would shift. A physician had to investigate with extreme care to avoid mistakes, especially in those suffering from toxic flare-ups or internal deviations, where the heart-pulse was chaotic and the meridians flowed backward. A single slip could lead to a catastrophic error.
But after that close call, she absolutely could not afford a mistake. If she failed, she didn't know if Yuan Qi would die, but she knew for certain she wouldn't leave this boat alive.
This was the path she had chosen. Even if the steps were treacherous and she was caught between a rock and a hard place, who could she blame?
Taking a deep breath, Qin Jiuye stopped her wandering thoughts and focused entirely on the seventy-two needles she had to place.
With every needle she set, the cold sweat on her neck and back grew thicker. By the time all seventy-two needles were inserted, she looked as if she had been fished out of a lake.
Seventy-two needles, each striking the acupoint perfectly without a hair’s breadth of error; even the angle and depth of insertion were handled with exquisite mastery. The pressure of dancing between life and death suddenly vanished, and Qin Jiuye felt an unprecedented sense of accomplishment. She wondered if her dead scoundrel of a master would have actually praised her for once if he were still alive.
Finishing the final touches, she didn't even have time to wipe the sweat from her face. She stood and said softly, “Sect Leader, the acupuncture is complete. You need only lie still for the duration of one incense stick, and then you may rise.”
Yuan Qi’s complexion seemed to have eased slightly, though his voice remained weak. “Zeng Qing, have her leave a prescription.”
The black-faced man named Zeng Qing stepped forward and grabbed Qin Jiuye by the back of her collar, dragging her to the desk without a word.
Acupuncture was physically taxing work; even if there was no great merit, there was hard labor involved. Yet the people of Fangwai Temple were so lacking in hospitality that it was no wonder no one wanted to treat them.
Qin Jiuye cursed them in her heart but dared not show it. The moment she picked up the brush, her movements paused as a thought flashed through her mind. She spoke respectfully.
“Seeing the Sect Leader’s discomfort earlier, I made an exception to perform the acupuncture first. However, the medical consultation cannot be skipped, and the details must not be overlooked. Otherwise, at best, the medicine won't fit the symptoms and the recovery will be delayed; at worst, it could be counterproductive and worsen the condition…”
Zeng Qing looked extremely impatient, appearing ready to step forward and shut her up, but Yuan Qi, who had just rolled over on the bed, suddenly spoke.
“Ask.”
The swordsman paused, standing back in awkward silence.
Qin Jiuye stole a quick glance at Yuan Qi, licked her dry, cracked lips, and tried to speak in a casual tone. “The Sect Leader’s current ailment appears to be a common pain, but from the pulse, it is quite dangerous and strange. It does not feel like a slow, chronic condition, but rather as if it were being eroded by some toxin. May I ask, Sect Leader, have you practiced any new techniques lately, or… taken anything you shouldn't have?”
Whether it was her imagination or not, the moment her words landed, the room seemed to grow even quieter.
Darkness seemed to grow out from the shadows beneath Yuan Qi, enveloping him and bringing a chill. The man on the bed lazily propped himself up, his long hair falling over his chest like black snakes.
“The temple’s affairs have been hectic lately; I have had no time to study new techniques. Nor do I have Yuan Shuqing’s obsession with refining and swallowing pills. You can put that thought out of your mind.”
Despite her internal cursing, Qin Jiuye smiled and nodded. “I see. Then it must be the summer heat that has caused the Sect Leader’s occasional discomfort. I wonder, then, if you have taken any supplements, tonics, or…”
Before she could finish her leading question, Qi-gu, who had been slumped on the floor, suddenly seemed to regain her spirit. After a fit of coughing, she scolded in a low voice, “Why do you have so many questions? Can’t you see the Sect Leader is exhausted? Just leave a prescription. Whether the prescription is sound is for these brothers to judge. What are you meddling for?”
Qin Jiuye glanced at Qi-gu, but the woman didn't look back, staring only at the small patch of floor in front of her.
Qin Jiuye wasn't stupid; she could see the woman was warning her not to push further, lest she suffer the consequences. She also knew that she likely wouldn't get anything out of this line of questioning anyway. Now that Yuan Qi’s body was comfortable, he seemed entirely uninterested in humoring her; his words were almost certainly perfunctory.
For some reason, she thought of Xinyu, the "Compassionate Raiment Needle." If she were here, she could probably hold a handful of needles in each hand and turn Yuan Qi into a porcupine in an instant before interrogating him thoroughly.
Unfortunately, she lacked such skill. Her needles only knew how to save people.
As Qin Jiuye thought this, the bit of resentment in her heart remained unquelled, but she showed none of it on her face. She simply put brush to paper and left the prescription.
The moment she finished the last stroke, the swordsman snatched away the paper along with the brush and ink, as if afraid she would steal the white jade brush or the carved inkstone if he were a second too late.
Qin Jiuye gave a self-deprecating bow. Using the swordsman’s movement as cover, she leaned her body slightly, and the medicine box on her shoulder fell to the floor.
The strap on this ragged medicine box was one she had replaced just last month. Because it hadn't been broken in
