As the fireworks of the New Year's Eve rose into the sky, Gu Zhao, leading the troops on campaign, turned his head to glance back at the military camp not far away.
Flickers of firelight dotted the camp—was she still arranging night consultations?
He wondered which of those specks of light belonged to her lantern.
At this hour, he didn’t even know if she had eaten.
Given how she had neglected meals during the last busy stretch in Gucheng, she probably hadn’t had a proper meal now either.
These random thoughts churned in Gu Zhao's mind. He wanted to go back, see her for a moment, offer a few words of advice—but it was only a thought. The swift horse beneath him did not slow in the slightest.
The commander was critically ill, the deputy commander had died of illness, foreign enemies had invaded, and an internal epidemic had yet to be quelled. This was a moment of crisis, a time of life and death. There was not a single instant to spare for personal feelings, not even a moment for farewell.
At this very moment, rushing to the battlefield, charging into the fray, defending the homeland—that was his duty.
Forcing down the surging emotions within him, Gu Zhao was about to turn away when he saw a lantern appear on the high reviewing platform of the camp.
Ordinarily, at this time of night, she would never go to the reviewing platform.
That was where the commander observed troop training; now it was pitch black, with not a single patient in sight. She had no reason to be there.
Though he knew this rationally, emotionally, Gu Zhao felt a tremor in his heart. Somehow, he was certain that the person standing by that lantern was none other than her.
Even knowing that in the dead of night, at such a great distance, she could neither see him nor hear his words, Gu Zhao nonetheless reined in his horse, stopped abruptly, and waved vigorously toward the lantern on the platform, shouting loudly:
“Lord Zhu, may the New Year bring you great fortune!”
Having said this, Gu Zhao raised his horsewhip, spurred his mount forward, and in moments merged into the dark, departing column of soldiers, becoming indistinguishable among them.
The cold wind of New Year's Eve carried Gu Zhao's New Year's greeting, but by the time it reached the reviewing platform, only the howling of the north wind remained as a sigh.
That gust of wind made the lantern on the platform sway, flickering between light and shadow.
Su Mu, who had hurried after Zhu Qingyu to the reviewing platform, shielded the lantern and draped a military cloak over Zhu Qingyu, saying:
“Doctor Zhu, so you ran all the way up here just to watch the fireworks! But you should have worn a thicker coat and brought a lantern. It’s pitch black here. Don’t be fooled by how warm it feels during the day like spring—it’s freezing at night! Don’t catch a chill. Oh, why have the fireworks stopped? Is that it?”
Zhu Qingyu wrapped the cloak tighter around herself, watching Gu Zhao’s outstretched hand lower, then watching him fade into the army. She smiled:
“Yes, Doctor Su, I'll follow your instructions—next time I'll bring a lantern and wear a thicker coat. It seems the fireworks are over. Let's go down.”
Zhu Qingyu descended from the reviewing platform. What awaited her was a dense maze of camp tents and countless patients.
Although Zhu Qingyu and the others had gone to eat, those assigned to various duties under orders were still hard at work, without a moment’s rest.
For Zhu Qingyu, every single person here was her patient. But for those who had been dispatched to help, the ones lying there might be their relatives or comrades. They would only care even more and work even harder than she did.
Setting aside her fleeting romantic thoughts, Zhu Qingyu walked toward the intensive care ward.
She had many more important things to do; there was no time to dwell on her own feelings. Keeping as many people alive as possible was her responsibility.
……
Uncle Qi arrived at Dingsheng Pass the next day at noon, following the main contingent returning from the city. The first thing he did was rush to the military camp to install the equipment from the Yangzhou medical clinic.
Half of the camp’s meeting hall had been converted into an intensive care ward, and the other half into Zhu Qingyu’s consultation room.
By the afternoon, the initial triage was largely complete, and Zhu Qingyu was reviewing the symptom reports submitted for each patient.
There were simply too many patients. Aside from those in critical condition, she didn’t even have time to glance at the others. She could only work with the reports handed in by Su Mu and the others, categorize them, and pick a few typical cases to examine in person.
Finally, she categorized the tens of thousands of symptoms into four or five types, devised a prescription for each, and ensured the broad situation was under control.
As she was reading the reports, a gentle and composed voice spoke:
“Lord Zhu, the report for the eastern barracks is ready.”
The hand that handed over the report was unmistakably that of a noblewoman—flawlessly cared for, without a single blemish.
The handwriting on the report was also graceful and neat; the characters matched the person.
Zhu Qingyu accepted the report and looked up. Although the newcomer had a cloth covering her face, and although she had not had much interaction with First Miss Wen along the way, she immediately recognized her—the one submitting the report was First Miss Wen.
Zhu Qingyu was very surprised:
“Miss Wen, why is it you?”
First Miss Wen smiled with utmost gentleness, her gaze as warm as spring water as she looked at Zhu Qingyu:
“I heard from the Chief Clerk that Lord Zhu needed people who could read and write. I thought I might be able to help.”
Zhu Qingyu hadn’t been familiar with First Miss Wen before and had thought her somewhat aloof, but hearing her speak today, she realized she wasn’t aloof at all. Just hearing her voice made one’s heart melt.
Among all the people she had met, none had such serene warmth as First Miss Wen.
No wonder Xie Ze had taken a liking to her at first sight. Such a wonderful girl—Zhu Qingyu found herself liking her too.
She wanted to ask First Miss Wen’s name but worried it might be presumptuous. Before she could speak, First Miss Wen said:
“I find you very approachable, Lord Zhu, but we haven’t had the chance to get to know each other along the way. Calling me ‘Miss Wen’ sounds too formal. If you don’t mind, you may call me by my given name, Huiqing.”
Ah, Wen Huiqing’s voice was truly lovely.
Zhu Qingyu nodded vigorously, clutching the report. Hearing such a gentle voice made it impossible to refuse.
Since Wen Huiqing had come to help, Xie Ze naturally followed suit. In the days that followed, the two of them took over the statistical work, freeing Su Mu and Lin Lan to spend more time treating patients.
One day, after coming out of the intensive care ward and returning to her consultation room, Zhu Qingyu found a boy of about thirteen or fourteen standing by her desk, reading her manuscript of “A Treatise on All Diseases.”
Hearing her return, the boy looked flustered, quickly put the book down, and blushed deeply:
“Lord Zhu, I came to deliver documents. The book fell on the floor, so I picked it up and took a glance—I didn’t mean to, really.”
The familiar, distinctive accent made Zhu Qingyu smile:
“It’s all right. I leave my books here for people to read. Are you from Shu?”
The boy’s face grew even redder:
“Yeah, that’s right, ain’t it?”
Delighted to meet a fellow native, Zhu Qingyu asked further:
“Oh, we’re from the same hometown! Which part of Shu are you from?”
Hearing she was a fellow townsman, the boy relaxed considerably and answered shyly:
“Zhujia Village, y’know?”
Perhaps worried that Zhujia Village wasn’t well known enough and that Lord Zhu wouldn’t know where it was, he added:
“It’s the Zhujia Village at the foot of Qingyun Mountain, sir. You know Qingyun Mountain, don’t you?”
