At the horizon’s edge, the first line of dawn slowly illuminated the skies.
A single beat of the morning drum rang out from the Taiji Palace, stirring all one hundred and eight wards of Chang’an from slumber.
The awakening sequence rippled out from palace to outer city – first drums in imperial compounds, then echoing street drums relaying the thundering rhythmic beats in gradual succession throughout. Sound cascaded between thoroughfares and corner towers through the firmament, rolling continuously for some three thousand strikes.
Finally as stars began receding against brightening daybreak in the east.
Within the canopy carriage, Jiang Kui sat frozen helpless beneath rhythmic thunder, the unconscious boy’s head slumped onto her shoulder through all three thousand rousing drumbeats.
“Hey…” she whispered softly by his ear. “Zhu Zian, are you just asleep?”
Only the faint slight puffs of his breathing fluttered against her cheek, laced with a tinge of warmth and dampness.
“Say something…” she pleaded anxiously. “Don’t tell me you can’t be roused?”
Still utterly unstirring, after some hesitation Jiang Kui gingerly propped him upright against the cabin wall to sit by his side supporting him.
When the coach jostled over uneven roads, she steadied his lolling head, eventually resigning herself to his limp weight sagging half across her body as he remained deep in oblivious reverie.
Silken morning rays draped over his serene features. Eyes sealed fast beneath quivering feathery lashes, bloodless lips tightly drawn as if still enduring unseen torment even immersed in dreamscape.
Jiang Kui wavered once more before cautiously bringing fingertips glowing with inner energy close, intending to diagnose him by pulse.
Yet the instant her hair brushed his nose, Zhu Zian’s hand abruptly snapped up clapping her wrist in an iron vise, though eyes never opened.
“Zhu Zian?” Jiang Kui froze, stunned.
“…Don’t…touch…” he rasped almost inaudibly, the entreating timbre tinged with hoarseness no louder than the lightest stirring night breeze.
Something constricted painfully within at his quiet plea – this time a sharp piercing sensation as if pricked by an unseen needle’s sting.
Though his grip remained gentle unable to constrain her, for some reason she found herself unable to pull away, tensions only easing once he sank back into fitful slumber, fingers sliding limply to rest beside her own.
In the pearly morning glow Jiang Kui gazed wordlessly at the unconscious boy’s face beside her, moved by mysterious sympathy welling inexplicably only to swiftly vanish like morning dew.
The lower city ward Changle housed the eclectic and exotic – from street performers to martial artists – vibrant and colourful scenes unfolding with dawn’s lively clamor.
Amidst awakening drumbeats, eateries and storefronts threw open their doors as crowds milled purposefully about, the usual morning crush of traffic and congestion. The percussive clangs of an ironsmith rang out not far from a steaming breakfast crepe peddler’s cheerful hawking cries. A cornucopia of sumptuous scents suffused the streets and alleys with market-goers streaming to and fro.
At a small side lane’s dead end stood a white canopy coach bedecked in jingling jade pendants and silken tassels. Almost immediately upon halting the teen girl supporting an unconscious boy half-stumbled hastily outside. Nearly dragging him down winding alleys, she halted before an unassuming lacquered door to rap urgently.
Creaking slightly, a sliding panel opened. “Young Master Jiang?” a pretty face peered out, hair in a loose high knot above finely arched brows and piercing eyes.
“Is Master Shen in?” Jiang Kui breathlessly asked. “Master Pu Liu has remained unrousably asleep…”
The panel abruptly shut and muffled shuffling sounded within before the dark door swung open. The woman briefly eyed the pair slumped against each other, Zhu Zian’s lolling head revealing ashen pallor yet surprisingly youthful features. She looked mildly taken aback – “This gentleman is Master Pu Liu…?”
Perhaps astonished by discrepancies between reputation and actual age.
“No time to explain,” Jiang Kui talked over her impatiently. “Something’s badly wrong after taking a vicious palm strike, possibly damaging his organs. Master Shen must see to him quickly!”
“The master is away on a house call,” the woman informed briskly. “I shall fetch him immediately!”
Turning, she called sharply beyond the threshold: “Xiaochen! Out here, lend a hand!”
A gangly boy of no more than ten years emerged, sickly yet energetic, immediately assisting Jiang Kui in maneuvering Zhu Zian within.
It was a humble square courtyard with a lone plum tree centered amidst the open grounds. That early morn exuded earthy scents from freshly turned soil as herbs with glistening dewy leaves stretched in the pure dawn air.
This modest and tranquil space housed merely two families – this woman with her son, alongside the physician. For ten years Jiang Kui frequented it, more so recently for occasional post-brawl treatments by the well-renowned doctor.
Though preferring not to advertise himself, Master Shen’s fame had steadily spread through Chang’an’s jianghu circles and peasant markets alike. His skills proved phenomenal yet his temperament remained eccentric at best – immensely steep fees at times, free treatment at others, depending solely on whims.
Legends told of one snowy winter’s eve some eight years past, this unfathomably gifted doctor had wandered down Changle alone bearing a dilapidated case and disheveled Daoist robes reeking faintly of chrysanthemum wine.
Spying this secluded residence, he sought immediate purchase despite the proprietor’s initial reluctance towards his perceived arrogance. Driven by impatience a staggering price was slapped down, well beyond Shen’s means.
Undeterred, this strange physician simply erected a banner at the local market square and for three consecutive days treated all who approached. The first saw gratis service, the next discounted rates, only from the third and onwards did normal charges apply.
Of the myriad patients over those days, none failed to show immense improvements if not outright cures from his miraculous prescriptions. His burgeoning profits easily covered the lofty asking price.
The previous owner rented space on premises to the woman and her son Xiaochen. Logically their departure would follow the transfer of deed yet something in the boy inexplicably moved the eccentric doctor upon first sight, impulsively inviting both to remain on as tenants.
And thus, Master Shen’s fame flourished so that a decade later, all wandering martial artists and weary travelers knew to seek this unparalleled physician for peerless remedy to any malady they suffer.
Though reputed for temperamental qualities, Jiang Kui harbored nothing but sincere admiration for Shen’s superlative expertise. So at the first sign of Zhu Zian’s distress, her reflex sent them racing frantically to the Changle clinics.
With Jiang Kui’s assistance Xiaochen lay the unconscious patient comfortably abed before hurrying off to boil water preparatory of the returning doctor’s prescribed decoctions. From the adjoining kitchen percolated sounds of sloshing pots amidst scrolling steam. Settling wearily bedside, Jiang Kui studied the reposed boy.
Limp against pillows, face turned aside baring the elegant jawline’s sweep, he resembled some life-sized porcelain doll surrendered pliantly for her manipulations, vestiges of innocence yet clinging to his tidy scholarly semblance.
“Master Jiang.” The housing entrance creaked open as the woman APPeared. “Master Shen has returned.”
Entering behind the summoned doctor was none other than Luo eleven. Presumably he had already informed their esteemed guest of Zhu Zian’s condition previously at the door. After setting his case down Shen selected a silver needle set before approaching the bedside patient.
His expression shifted subtly seeing Zhu Zian’s wan complexion. “Young Master Jiang, please wait outside. Luo eleven stays.”
The muffled closing door left Jiang Kui pacing fretfully across exterior corridors. Within, Master Shen commenced the invasive treatment before a taut silence enshrouded the still and stifling room.
The boiling kettle had long reached a furious screaming pitch, frantic bubblings eventually calming after obvious cool water additions to prevent boiling over.
Finally Shen sighed heavily, as if bracing himself before muted words carried through the walls into the deathly hushed chamber. “Did I not explicitly warn against unnecessary palace visits this season? Yet the young lord continues ignoring physician’s orders?”
Luo Eleven’s subdued voice. “It is so.”
“And you did not restrain him?”
“My remonstrances failed.”
The doctor snorted derisively. “Then force him if needed!”
“I dare not.” A rustling shake of the head. “He remains my liege.”
Another explosive exhale of sheer exasperation. “Does he truly not fear death?!”
“Why would one who already knows his numbered days…hold any fear of death?”
Silence reigned but for errant sun rays upon stone floors, limning all in burnished halos. Realization seemed to gradually dawn upon Shen looking upwards with closed eyes as emotions settled back beneath an impassive facade before tersely continuing his interrogation.
“The nature of these grave injuries?”
“Origins remain uncertain, but the perpetrator’s mastery seems beyond even my inferior skills, possibly surpassing even Young Master Jiang,” Luo eleven assessed frankly. “It resembles a legendary wicked Palm style supposedly capable of pulverizing internal organs. His Highness suffered no lasting pulmonary damage but the resultant enervation triggered severe chills rendering him comatose.”
The physician inhaled deeply prior to pronouncing sentence.
“Unconsciousness requires immediate treatment from one abundant in inner force. With Minister Ling away and your energies skewing yin…go summon Young Master Jiang.”
Yet Luo Eleven remained motionless without response.
“Now what?” Shen bit out impatiently.
“My lord refuses her contact.”
“Absurd obstinance when survival hangs at stake! On what grounds deny critical intervention?!”
Luo Eleven hesitated briefly. “…so she not glimpse him thus.”
The door swept open right then as Jiang Kui strained to peer within, assessing Zhu Zian’s improved complexion though slumber still claimed him fast. “Why hasn’t he awakened yet?” She queried softly as if fearing her voice might rouse him prematurely.
“Young Master Jiang. I beg you keep him company awhile.” Luo Eleven gently entreated before soundlessly exiting the premises.
The repetitive bubbling of boiling decoctions permeated from the kitchens once more. Dragging over a stool, Jiang Kui settled silently by the bedside propping her chin on steepled hands, attentively studying Zhu Zian’s unconscious form.
Her gaze drifted from his disheveled fringe, faintly trembling lashes, tightly compressed lips down to one hand draped limply over the sheets. Master Shen’s earlier ministrations had bared a slim wrist from formerly ensconcing sleeves.
Jiang Kui’s stare sharpened abruptly upon glimpse of a braided crimson catenary cord tied there, its brilliant hue thrown into even greater contrast against his blanched skin.
It was the ribbon she had once fastened around her discarded wine flask, seized by Zhu Zian back at the bookshop as collateral interest.
It was also the ribbon binding her loose hair.
As the morning drums ceased their endless sequence, her heartbeats quickened to fill the absence.
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