Zhu Qingyu had faced many critically ill patients and had also faced many family members of such patients. Worried that the family might not be able to accept the news, she always chose her words carefully whenever she spoke to them, exercising exceptional caution.
She had also tried to imagine what it must feel like—that unbearable grief and powerlessness of receiving the news in an instant, of wanting to do something but being unable to do anything, of simply watching a loved one slip away before one's eyes.
Zhu Qingyu tried to empathize, tried to see things from their perspective, to say something that might make the family feel a little better.
Now, when she herself faced that moment, when she herself stood in the position of a patient's family member, she finally understood what it truly felt like.
It was a blankness in the mind—neither sadness nor pain had time to register. It was as if her brain, foreseeing the impact, had automatically activated a defense mechanism, shielding her from the devastating agony.
Gu Zhao is dying?
Gu Zhao is dying!
Gu Zhao is dying!?
These words looped endlessly in her mind—loud, chaotic, growing stronger and more powerful each time, like a tsunami trying to break through the protective barrier her brain had erected, trying to crash down on the person receiving the news.
Even though her mind was already in turmoil, Zhu Qingyu still asked in a calm voice:
“Where is he?”
After the death of the Left Worthy King of the Northern Barbarians, the narrow canyon greatly limited the advantage of the barbarian cavalry. With no one left as skilled in single combat as the Left Worthy King to lead a breakthrough, their defeat was merely a matter of time.
The Northern Frontier Army had achieved a great victory, but Gu Zhao, who had led the troops, was severely wounded. His condition had been worsening along the journey, and the day before, he had fallen into a coma, with barely a breath left in him.
Xiong Kun had been on edge the entire journey, terrified that Gu Zhao might die on the road. Now, seeing how calm Lady Zhu was, his anxious heart finally found some stability.
Thank heavens, they had found Lady Zhu!
Lady Zhu could even cure epidemics—surely she could heal General Gu!
The moment he saw Zhu Qingyu, Xiong Kun nearly burst into tears:
“He’s in the supply cart at the rear!”
As they spoke, General Sun and the supply cart had already arrived.
“Lady Zhu! General Gu, he—”
Zhu Qingyu stepped forward quickly and approached the cart.
A soldier was in the cart attending to Gu Zhao. Seeing Lady Zhu approach, he hurriedly lifted the curtain.
Zhu Qingyu climbed into the cart and saw Gu Zhao, whom she had not seen in a long time.
She still remembered the last time she saw him—at night, beneath rising fireworks, Gu Zhao on horseback, turning to look back. In his armor, he had looked so spirited, so invincible.
But now, Gu Zhao lay in his undergarments, wrapped in bedding, his hair loose, burning with fever, his breathing so faint he seemed as good as dead.
Zhu Qingyu lifted a corner of his blanket to take his pulse.
The moment she saw him, the protective barrier her mind had raised collapsed instantly.
While taking Gu Zhao's pulse, a surge of unbearable pain gripped Zhu Qingyu’s heart. The agony came in relentless waves, crashing over her, nearly consuming her entire being.
She had never seen Gu Zhao like this. She had never imagined she would ever see him like this.
Once, Zhu Qingyu had rejected Gu Zhao because she feared that, in the future, they might come to loathe each other. But only now, seeing Gu Zhao in such a state, did she wake up, filled with regret.
Life may span a hundred years, or it may last only a single moment. Everything that seems ordinary and within reach at this moment, if not cherished, could turn to ashes and vanish in the next.
Even if they had become bitter enemies—so what? There was something far more terrible in this world: eternal separation.
Gu Zhao’s pulse was extremely faint, barely present, much as Xiong Kun had said—his life hanging by a thread.
Zhu Qingyu pulled the blanket aside further, unbuttoned his clothes, unwrapped his bandages, and examined his wounds.
Beneath his left shoulder blade was a shocking, festering wound. It was so close to his heart that if it had been even slightly off, he would never have made it back alive.
Xiong Kun hurried into the cart as well, his bulky frame crouching in a corner as tears streamed down his face.
Zhu Qingyu gave her orders:
“He needs the wound cleaned and stitched immediately. Move him to my treatment room. Now!”
The supply cart drove straight into the military camp and stopped at the entrance of the meeting hall.
Following Zhu Qingyu’s instructions, several soldiers carried Gu Zhao into her treatment room.
The commotion had drawn the attention of the staff from the Zhu family medical clinic, and they all rushed over.
Su Mu was the first to run in:
“Lady Zhu! What’s happened?”
Zhu Dashan, now Su Mu’s little shadow, followed right behind and said,
“Lady Zhu.”
Lin Lan, Nanny Tian, and the others, slower to arrive, stood at the doorway, peering in.
Zhu Qingyu gave orders one by one:
“Su Mu, prepare the anesthetic. Lin Lan, bring my newly made wound medicine—the one in the innermost bottle. Nanny Tian, I need clean bandages, a lot of them. Nanny Zhao, bring hot water. Dashan, come here and stay with General Gu. Uncle Qi, guard the door for now—don’t let anyone barge in. Everyone else, leave— the patient needs rest.”
Her instructions were as clear as ever, just like every previous time.
Everyone followed the orders, just as they always did in the treatment room.
It’s all right, she told herself. Treat him like an ordinary patient. She could cure him.
Zhu Qingyu washed her hands in a copper basin, desperately reassuring herself.
But as she dried her hands with a cloth, the phrase "Gu Zhao is dying" forced its way into her mind again, unbidden.
This time, her brain’s protective mechanism failed. Those few words, suddenly surfacing, sent an uncontrollable tremor through her hands—so much so that she couldn’t even hold the cloth.
Zhu Dashan, having been instructed to stay with General Gu, didn’t know what to do. Just as he was about to ask Zhu Qingyu, he saw her cloth fall, quickly picked it up, and asked:
“Lady Zhu, what should I do?”
Zhu Qingyu looked at him—still so young and thin. Yet this was the boy to whom she had once made many wishes: that he would come first in his exams, pass his certifications, have smooth surgeries. Every single wish had come true.
She took a deep breath and said:
“Dashan, pray for him. Pray that he is safe, that he lives a long life.”
Zhu Dashan blinked in confusion:
“Huh?”
Zhu Qingyu said again:
“Say yes.”
Still more confused, but since Lady Zhu told him to, he nodded without hesitation:
“Yes, yes, yes! General Gu will surely be safe and live a long life!”
A placebo works not just on patients, but on doctors as well. Zhu Qingyu walked to her desk to fetch her medical kit. The hands that had been trembling just moments ago had now steadied, soothed by Zhu Dashan’s reassurance.
He will be fine. I will cure him.
Zhu Qingyu thought this once more as she picked up her kit and walked to the treatment bed. Su Mu and the others had returned with the anesthetic, bandages, and hot water.
Even Xie Ze, upon hearing the news, rushed over:
“Lady Zhu! What happened to my cousin!?”
Zhu Qingyu looked at Xie Ze, then at Xiong Kun, who was still squatting at the door, refusing to leave, and said...
“Lord Bear, if you come here, he may wake up midway. Please make sure to hold him down. Young Marquis, this bottle of anesthetic—if he wakes up, give it to him immediately.”
Gu Zhao’s wounds were so severely infected that in some places Zhu Qingyu had to cut away the necrotic tissue with a knife. The pain was no less than that of Guan Yu scraping poison from his bone.
Zhu Qingyu had never treated Guan Yu, so he didn’t know how the general would have fared in such a situation.
But Gu Zhao was clearly no Guan Yu. He couldn’t remain impassive like the legendary warrior. On the verge of death, the agony of having his flesh and blood cut and scraped jolted him awake. His eyes flew open, he gasped, and sat up abruptly, grabbing Zhu Qingyu by the wrist.
Zhu Qingyu winced at the grip, then looked at him.
“Let go. Lie down.”
Gu Zhao stared at Zhu Qingyu, who was close enough to touch. His face was full of confusion, as though he had no idea where he was or even felt the pain of his injuries. He obediently let go—and even reflexively smiled at Zhu Qingyu.
As Gu Zhao released his hand, a little flower fell, landing on Zhu Qingyu’s sleeve.
This blossom, which had bloomed on the battlefield, accompanied Lord Gu back to the side of the girl he loved.
