The physician was quite young, a boy of about seventeen or eighteen.
He wore a set of vibrant Miao ethnic attire, its hems and cuffs embroidered with intricate silver-threaded patterns. With every step he took, the silver ornaments adorning his body chimed melodiously, harmonizing with the lively glimmer in his eyes.
The boy’s crimson eyes were strikingly bright, his snow-white hair tied into a high ponytail with a red ribbon, swaying behind him. The ends of his hair danced lightly in the mountain breeze, brushing against the hem of his red robes, which fluttered with a spirited grace—like a leaping flame.
Chu'he watched him approach, her hand instinctively pressing against her chest, where her heart had lost its rhythm, pounding wildly.
Song Tieniu led the young physician inside. "My wife isn’t feeling well," he said. "We’d be grateful for your expertise, Ninth."
The foreign-dressed boy had a rather arrogant disposition. He glanced briefly at Song Tieniu without responding, striding straight to Chu'he instead.
His crimson eyes swept over her face, his gaze shifting with an air of casual arrogance. "What’s the trouble?"
"My heart feels uneasy," Chu'he answered softly. Unable to resist, she stole another glance at Ninth’s white hair, then at Chongyang’s, before finally settling on Song Tieniu’s black locks. Her expression turned peculiar.
The physician named Ninth gave Chu'he another once-over from head to toe before extending a hand toward Song Tieniu.
Song Tieniu was slow to react. "What do you need?"
Ninth scowled impatiently. "Paper, ink, and brush. I’ll write a prescription."
Chu'he spoke up timidly, "Doctor, you haven’t even taken my pulse. How can you prescribe medicine?"
Ninth smirked. "Are you doubting my skill?"
Afraid of displeasing him, Song Tieniu quickly explained to Chu'he, "Wife, you’ve been very ill and forgotten many things. Ninth is a master physician who settled in our village from afar. His medical skills are divine—just by observing, he can diagnose the most complex ailments."
Chu'he let out an "Oh."
At Song Tieniu’s repeated use of "wife," Ninth’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Song Tieniu soon returned with brush and paper, personally grinding the ink for the physician.
Ninth sat upright in his chair, posture rigid, eyes fixed ahead—every bit the image of a revered master.
Song Tieniu respectfully handed him the brush. "Doctor, please."
Ninth gave a lofty "Hmm," then grasped the brush with all five fingers—not like someone writing, but like a child clutching a stick to doodle in the dirt.
Chu'he tugged at Song Tieniu’s sleeve and whispered, "Look at how he’s holding the brush. Does this seem reliable?"
Song Tieniu murmured back, "Masters always have their eccentricities. The stranger their habits, the more profound their knowledge."
Chu'he eyed him skeptically.
Moments later, Ninth lifted the paper. "Done."
Song Tieniu took the prescription, studying it for a long while before hesitantly asking, "Might the doctor clarify the names of these herbs?"
"What names?" Ninth stood, the corners of his eyes lifting with undisguised pride. "I drew pictures so you wouldn’t struggle with the characters. Find these herbs in the mountains, brew them, and give the decoction to the patient. She’ll recover."
Song Tieniu stared at the messy black blobs on the paper, his face troubled.
Ninth seemed baffled by his stupidity. Pointing at each scribble, he recited, "This is hemostatic grass, this is Hundred-Mile Red, this is Eternal Fragrance, this is Withered Wood Frost… Got it?"
Song Tieniu swallowed. "...Got it."
Apart from hemostatic grass, he’d never heard of the others. He wanted to ask more, but the physician’s impatience silenced him.
Song Tieniu approached the bed, speaking gently to his frail wife. "Rest well at home. I’ll gather the herbs and return soon."
He turned to the child. "Chongyang, be good and take care of your mother."
Chongyang nodded. "I will."
Chu'he added, "Be careful in the mountains."
As the family exchanged farewells, the fiery-robed boy spoke again. "These herbs are rare. You’d best hurry back. Otherwise, all that’s left here is a sick woman and a child who can’t lift a finger. If something happens, there’ll be no one to help."
Song Tieniu considered this. "You’re right. Wife, I’ll ask Chun Ming and his wife to come assist."
Ninth’s eyelid twitched. He smiled. "Good. If her condition worsens, they might know enough to intervene."
Song Tieniu frowned, realizing that asking Song Chunming and Lan Yingying might not be ideal either. Then an idea struck him, and he glanced at Ninth—though he hesitated.
Ninth raised a brow. "Why stare at me?"
Since he’d asked, Song Tieniu spoke plainly. "I’ll pay extra. Could the doctor stay here a day or two? I’d feel better leaving if you were here."
Chongyang objected. "No."
Ninth looked down at him.
Song Tieniu asked, "Why not?"
Chongyang clung to Chu'he. "If Father’s gone, another man staying… people will talk."
This was precisely Song Tieniu’s earlier hesitation.
Ninth scoffed. "I, a master physician, never charge more than ten coins. Every patient I’ve treated sings my praises. Just days ago, Aunt Wang from the east side offered me her fair and—fair and…"
Chu'he supplied, "Fair and lovely."
"Right, her fair and lovely daughter in marriage. I refused." Ninth sneered. "And now, out of kindness, I’m accused of harboring—hog-hearted intentions…"
Chu'he shut her eyes. "Ulterior motives."
Ninth stiffened, then lifted his chin and turned away. "To think I’d be suspected of ulterior motives, of causing scandal. I won’t treat this case. Find someone else—someone lower."
Chu'he corrected, "Someone better."
Ninth’s steps faltered, slowing.
Finally, Song Tieniu caught up and grabbed his arm. "Doctor, we wronged you with our petty suspicions. A man of your noble character would never stoop to such baseness! Please stay and treat my wife. I’ll be forever grateful!"
Ninth spun back decisively. "Fine. Since you beg so sincerely, I’ll stay a while longer."
Chongyang, still beside Chu'he, scrunched his face into a scowl.
Assured of his wife and child’s safety in the hands of this virtuous physician, Song Tieniu gave a few more instructions before reluctantly departing at Ninth’s urging.
Chu'he patted Chongyang’s head. "Fetch the doctor some tea."
Chongyang slid off the bed, brushing past Ninth. Their eyes met briefly—and once outside, the boy’s expression darkened.
Wherever the heart has a weakness, it can be led astray.
Fortunately, he’d found Ninth’s.
Yet, against all odds, Ninth—who should have been lost—had turned back.
Had his memories remained intact?
Impossible.
If his memory served him right, he would have killed the man long ago instead of merely finding him irritating.
Yet here he was, walking back again. He needed to find a way to get rid of him quickly.
In the room, the gazes of the man and woman met once more, sparking like lightning igniting fire. The air thickened with an unmistakably ambiguous tension.
Chu'he straightened her posture. "I've forgotten some things."
Ninth replied, "I've forgotten some things too."
Chu'he hesitated before speaking. "I don’t know why, but the moment I first saw you..."
Ninth finished her thought, "My heart started racing."
The young man leaned closer, his crimson eyes gleaming like scattered stars, bright enough to burn. The faint jingling of his silver ornaments had quieted, leaving only their intertwined breaths lingering in the air.
His gaze remained fixed on her lips. Driven by instinct rather than reason, he bent down—uncaring of who she was married to. He just wanted a taste.
From the very first glance, he had wanted this.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to trick that fool Song Tieniu into leaving with some nonexistent medicinal herbs, just so he could stay behind.
But Chu'he swiftly raised a hand to cover his mouth.
"Tell me..." Her expression twisted in turmoil before she finally lowered her voice to a whisper. "Is it possible that Chongyang is... our child? That we had an affair behind Tieniu’s back?"
The young man froze. "...What?"
Chu'he pulled him down to sit on the bed, leaning in with an earnest look. "Think about it. We both felt something the moment we saw each other. Maybe there really was something between us before. And Chongyang looks so much like you—who else could he have inherited such striking features from?"
Influenced by Chu'he’s reasoning, Ninth’s sharp mind began turning the idea over.
True. Chongyang resembled him. If the boy wasn’t his son, whose could he be?
"Damn it, how could I be such a terrible woman—cheating on my husband!"
Chu'he clutched her head in despair, horrified by her own moral shortcomings.
Ninth, who lacked any sense of morality, watched her meltdown calmly before standing up.
Chu'he grabbed his sleeve. "Where are you going?"
"My woman can’t be someone else’s wife, and my son can’t call another man 'father.'" The young man grinned, his smile pure and innocent. "I’m going to kill Song Tieniu."
Chu'he lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. "No! We can’t keep making mistakes!"
Just then, Chongyang walked in carrying a tray of tea. Taking in the frenzied pair before him, an inexplicable sense of foreboding settled over him.
The script he had arranged seemed to be veering in an entirely unexpected direction.
