Just as the Left Virtuous King was about to be cut down by a long blade, he used a flexibility that belied his mountain-like frame, thrusting his long spear into the ground and using it as a pivot to leap into the air.
Leveraging the one-zhang-eight-chi height of the spear, he soared through the air, dodging both Xiong Kun's lance thrust and Gu Zhao's sweeping blade, landing in a battlefield strewn with blooming purple flowers.
The Left Virtuous King evaded the attack but lost his horse.
Gu Zhao turned, dismounted, and charged furiously at the Left Virtuous King with his long blade raised, shouting:
"Now! Face your death!"
The Left Virtuous King had roamed the battlefields for years, his fierce reputation far and wide, yet in a single exchange, an unknown young man had forced him off his horse. Such humiliation drove him to near madness. He reached to swing his spear, intending to smash this arrogant youth into the mud, to crush him into pieces.
But the moment he grasped it, the spear that usually felt as natural as his own limb now weighed like ten thousand catties, impossible to lift.
Looking around, he saw Xiong Kun leading over a hundred Northern Frontier soldiers, unafraid of the spear's razor-sharp iron teeth, throwing themselves like human shields onto the weapon that had dropped to the ground when he dismounted, rendering the Left Virtuous King completely immobile.
Given some time, the Left Virtuous King might have dealt with those ants and reclaimed his weapon.
But Gu Zhao gave him no such time. To fight a beast, one must first remove its claws, pull its teeth, strip it of its advantages, and strike a fatal blow while it was vulnerable.
The earlier "Now!" was meant for Xiong Kun and his men.
In that fleeting moment, Gu Zhao was already upon him, long blade in hand, swinging it once more toward the Left Virtuous King's neck.
The Left Virtuous King released his spear, losing the weapon he had wielded so adeptly.
He dodged again, drawing his side sword with a reverse grip, and instead of parrying Gu Zhao's blade, he thrust directly at Gu Zhao.
A blade for a sword—the Left Virtuous King gambled that this unknown youth would not dare trade life for life and would surely retreat.
Gu Zhao was no reckless man. In a fair one-on-one fight against this foremost Northern barbarian general, he might not have been his match. Every strike he made relied on surprise.
At this moment, Gu Zhao could have dodged, but in a narrow pass, courage prevails against the fierce. Against someone as ruthless as the Left Virtuous King, retreating once would breed hesitation, lose momentum, and eliminate any chance of victory.
At this critical juncture of life-and-death struggle, not a single step could be ceded!
Thus, seizing this perfect opportunity, facing an enemy thrown into disadvantage, Gu Zhao showed no fear or hesitation. He gave his foe no time to catch his breath or regroup. He took the sword strike head-on.
The Left Virtuous King’s full-strength thrust pierced Gu Zhao’s armor and ran through his body.
At the same moment, Gu Zhao’s long blade, angled through the gap between the Left Virtuous King’s neck guard and chin, struck with all his might, severing the barbarian’s head.
The Left Virtuous King’s head hit the ground, blood spraying. The mountain-like giant toppled with a crash, like an earth-shattering landslide.
The pain of the weapon piercing his body washed over Gu Zhao, nearly making him collapse. He used his blade as a crutch but fell sideways.
Voices around him shouted:
"Vice Minister Gu! Vice Minister Gu!"
Gu Zhao lay on the ground. Before his eyes was a small purple flower, swaying in the wind.
Its fragrance, carried by the valley breeze, brushed against his face.
The flowers have bloomed. On the way back, he could bring one to her.
With that thought, Gu Zhao’s consciousness grew dim, and he closed his eyes.
...
In the military camp at Dingsheng Pass, where patients were housed, when the first patient recovered fully and prepared to leave, Zhu Qingyu set aside her work to see him off.
The first—or rather, the first pair—of patients were siblings from a hunter’s family: a brother aged fourteen and a sister aged twelve, still children.
Perhaps due to their youth, or because a hunter’s family ate meat frequently and had strong constitutions, when Zhu Qingyu first saw them, they were both unconscious from illness, assigned to the intensive care ward. But after drinking the medicine, they improved day by day, quickly becoming lively and active as if nothing had been wrong.
Zhu Qingyu had checked on them the night before, declared them fit to leave, and asked for their address, arranging for someone to notify their family to come fetch them the next day.
The two children jumped for joy on the spot, too excited to sleep all night. The next morning, they came running, clutching flowers, and called out:
"Lord Zhu! Lord Zhu! These are for you! Can we leave now?"
Somehow, word had spread that Lord Zhu liked flowers. During this time, Zhu Qingyu had received all sorts of flowers from various people.
This winter was warm, so wildflowers bloomed especially early in the first month of the lunar year.
Some patients who hadn’t fully recovered but could walk about along the camp would pick flowers and bring them to her. Others assigned to help, on their way here in the morning, would also bring some if they found them along the road, treating it almost as a daily routine.
The flowers became so numerous that her desk could no longer hold them. Eventually, Zhu Qingyu had to place a large basket outside the consultation room, asking everyone to put their flowers there.
Every morning, when Zhu Qingyu left her room for rounds, she would pass the basket and see a vibrant array of spring blossoms in every color.
Zhu Qingyu wrote the number two in the final column on her board and smiled at the lively siblings:
"Yes, congratulations on your recovery. I’ll see you out."
The farewell procession was unusually grand. Not only Zhu Qingyu but the entire staff of the Zhu Family Clinic, those without immediate duties, and even patients who had recovered enough to stand, all accompanied the siblings to the gate.
The tightly shut gate of the military camp swung open.
Zhu Qingyu had imagined the siblings’ relatives would be just their parents, or perhaps a few other kin—at most ten people. She would hand them over and return to work.
But when the camp gates opened, a dense crowd filled the space outside, stretching as far as the eye could see. On both sides of the road, soldiers stood guard, and even the Eldest Grand Princess’s carriage was present.
At the very front stood a couple waiting eagerly. When they saw the siblings emerge, they rushed over.
Since the outbreak of the epidemic, no patient who entered the camp had ever walked out alive—except to be cremated.
This couple had already assumed their children were lost, weeping day and night. When someone came yesterday to say the children had recovered and could go home, they dared not believe it.
Now, seeing their two children alive and well, they could no longer hold back. The couple embraced their children and wailed uncontrollably. The siblings, who had come out smiling, joined in their parents’ sobs, crying loudly.
What is lost and found is all the more precious.
As the family of four rejoiced, weeping openly, the couple knelt with their children and kowtowed before Zhu Qingyu:
"We thank Lord Zhu for saving our children! We kowtow to you! You are a living, merciful bodhisattva!"
The common people, tormented by suffering, always expressed their emotions so frankly and simply.
Zhu Qingyu had encountered patients before who would kneel without hesitation at the slightest disagreement, but this couple suddenly knocking their heads on the ground with such force startled her. Hurriedly, she helped them up:
“There’s no need for this. Please go back now.”
On the entire street, the people waiting were all hoping to be reunited with their families. They watched the reunited family with envy, as if they had come today just to soak in the couple’s joy and good fortune.
The Eldest Grand Princess alighted from her carriage. Even her gaze, as she looked at the husband and wife, carried a hint of longing.
She came every day to visit Grand General Wen. Zhu Qingyu nodded at the Eldest Grand Princess and, as usual, led her into the military camp to visit the patient in the side hall.
Perhaps to avoid putting pressure on Zhu Qingyu, the Eldest Grand Princess had never asked when Grand General Wen would recover or if he ever would. But today, on the way to the side hall, she finally couldn’t hold back and asked:
“Doctor Zhu, the Grand General…”
Just as she began speaking, an attendant tasked with caring for Grand General Wen came rushing over at full sprint:
“Lord Zhu! Grand General Wen has woken up!”
