Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 27

Yan Xingyi had switched to another feather fan, this one even more exquisitely crafted, with feathers whiter and softer than before.

He Qingsheng eyed him skeptically. “It’s been autumn for so long, why are you still waving that fan around?”

Yan Xingyi grinned mysteriously, covering his mouth with the fan. “Ah, you wouldn’t understand. What Chinese person could resist the allure of ‘a feather fan and silk scarf, chatting and laughing while enemy ships turn to ashes in the blink of an eye’?”

His earlier attempt at calling her “fellow traveller” had been a mere probe, but this line shattered the unfamiliarity between He Qingsheng and Yan Xingyi.

It gave her a sense of kinship with this, her only fellow transmigrator in this world.

“You’ve done pretty well for yourself here,” she remarked.

Yan Xingyi waved a hand modestly. “Ah, you flatter me. You haven’t done too bad either-” His words trailed off as he took in He Qingsheng’s bloodstained white robes. Awkwardly, he rubbed his nose and swallowed the rest of his sentence.

He Qingsheng understood and brushed it off. “Who would’ve thought we were in the same car when the accident happened, yet we arrived at different times and had such vastly different experiences?”

Her memories before transmigrating stopped at the moment the taxi was knocked off the bridge.

The violent impact had knocked her unconscious instantly.

When she woke again, she was lying on a sickbed in Fuliu Sect.

Her senior sister told her that when their master found her at the foot of a cliff, her internal organs had already been shattered.

Had she not landed near an immortal sect by sheer luck, she would have been a wandering ghost five hundred years ago.

He Qingsheng had wondered, if she had survived by crossing into this world, perhaps the others in the car had too.

But she had only shared a fleeting ride with the other three passengers. She barely remembered them, making any search for them impossible.

All she recalled was sitting in the front passenger seat, with another girl in the back. Yan Xingyi had been seated diagonally behind her and had struck up a conversation with the girl.

Now, talking to Yan Xingyi, she gradually felt a faint sense of familiarity.

“Imperial Preceptor Yan, have you lived in Su Dynasty all these years since you crossed over?”

“I was going to ask you to just call me Brother Yan, but then I realized you’re probably a few hundred years older than me now.” Yan Xingyi chuckled. “I’ve been here about eight years. The previous imperial preceptor took me in, and I inherited his legacy. All in all, I’ve been working for the Su Dynasty for five years.”

He spoke candidly, with no apparent concealment.

She quietly noted the key details before steering the conversation elsewhere, continuing their idle chat.

Their brief twenty years of ivory tower life in the modern world had become one of the few comforts they shared in this vastly different world.

But unlike He Qingsheng, Yan Xingyi had been a few years older before transmigrating. He had already weathered the harsh realities of society, achieved financial freedom, and seen a broader world.

Though He Qingsheng was now centuries his senior, she had spent all her time in Fuliu Sect: studying, cultivating, secluding herself, then studying again, in an endless cycle. Her mindset still carried the heavy naivety of a student, making her seem far more inexperienced compared to Yan Xingyi.

Yan Xingyi was a smooth talker, while He Qingsheng matched his energy, growing more talkative the more engaged she became.

Their conversation stretched on, and before they knew it, most of the day had passed.

Meanwhile, in a bamboo pavilion not far away, Ying Qujie and the Prince of Liang sat in silence, staring at each other.

Ying Qujie quietly checked the prince’s pulse, his ears practically pricked to catch the distant chatter.

The Prince of Liang broke the silence. “Physician, how do I fare? Is it lovesickness that ails me?”

Ying Qujie glanced at Prince Liang, who was muttering to himself with an increasingly wild grin: “If lovesickness really takes hold, I’ll just threaten Father to arrange a marriage between me and Miss Chu for me, heh heh heh heh…”

Too cringe to watch.

Ying Qujie put away his handkerchief and interrupted the prince’s delightful fantasy: “Your Highness does not suffer from lovesickness.”

“Ah?” Prince Liang slumped onto the stone table, wilting like a deflated balloon.

“However, Your Highness’s chronic illness can still be treated.”

Prince Liang immediately sat up straight, his usual frivolous demeanor vanishing without a trace.

Born with a congenital weakness, he had been sickly since childhood. Later, an accidental poisoning left him with lasting complications. His parents, the Emperor and Empress, had sought renowned physicians far and wide for him. Only one in ten thousand physicians could even identify his condition and even then, none could cure it.

The verdict from all physicians was unanimous: living to adulthood would already be a gift from heaven. With precious medicines and treasures sustaining him, he might stretch his life to twenty-two at most.

Prince Liang studied Ying Qujie with a scrutinizing gaze, his expression solemn. He asked again, unable to hide the excitement in his voice: “Physician Ying, do you know what illness I have?”

“Naturally.”

Ying Qujie called for brush and ink, no longer paying attention to the repeated cries of “Imperial Preceptor Yan” from next door. He focused entirely on the medical texts he had memorized, carefully analyzing Prince Liang’s pulse and symptoms before silently composing a prescription.

Prince Liang held his breath as he stood beside Ying Qujie, watching the calm strokes of the brush as bold, vigorous characters appeared line by line before him.

Hope grew like ink spreading across paper.

Ying Qujie’s brush paused slightly. A drop of freshly drawn ink fell from the tip, smudging the edge of a character.

Of the three characters “Chi Shu Liu” (Red Bean Willow), only half of “Liu” (Willow) remained intact.

“Physician Ying, what rare herb is this ‘Chi Shu Liu’? I’ve never heard of it.”

“A slip of the brush. Your Highness, forgive me.” Ying Qujie casually crossed out the ingredient and continued writing the prescription.

Everything seemed normal, save for the slightly erratic flourishes in his calligraphy, the only hint of his turbulent thoughts.

Chi Shu, also known as red beans, or “seeds of longing.”

Chi Shu Liu “longing lingers.”

It was a medicinal ingredient made from a variant of red beans and ancient willow trees from post roads, processed through a special method.

According to ancient Tianyu medical texts, Chi Shu Liu was the ultimate cure for longing.

He must be out of his mind.

The prescription spanned several pages, and Ying Qujie’s mind wandered just as far.

Only when Prince Liang called his name did he hand over the dried pages.

“These will only temporarily relieve Your Highness’s heart palpitations. After I write a letter explaining your condition to Tianyu Mountain, you may take my token there, your chronic illness can be cured in that place.”

Ying Qujie noticed the hesitation in Prince Liang’s expression at these words, outweighing even his desire for a cure.

Prince Liang: “Must I go to Tianyu Mountain?”

Ying Qujie: “Yes. Only Tianyu has the necessary environment for treatment.”

Having said this much, Prince Liang understood that to be cured, he would have to leave the capital.

After a moment of silence, Prince Liang spoke, his voice almost ethereal: “How long would the treatment take?”

“At least five or six years, possibly over a decade.” Noticing the complexity in Prince Liang’s expression, Ying Qujie assumed it was due to the prince’s youth and reluctance to leave the capital. He offered a perfunctory consolation: “Your Highness is young. Even ten years of treatment would be preferable to lingering with only four or five years left.”

Prince Liang clutched the prescription in his hand, tightening and loosening his grip repeatedly. Finally, he sighed, a sound so faint it was almost inaudible. “Miss Chu… is also very important to me.”

Before Ying Qujie could fully comprehend, the Prince of Liang abruptly changed the subject: “The person the Imperial Preceptor was speaking with must be quite important to you, Physician Ying?”

Ying Qujie instinctively avoided the question, shaking his head. Before he could voice his denial, a chilling sensation coiled around his neck.

“Physician Ying, your words wound me. How could I not be important? After all, I’ve accompanied you for part of your journey.” He Qingsheng leaned in close behind him, her icy fingers brushing against the nape of his neck.

He Qingsheng’s words were clearly twisting the logic, there was a vast difference between “most important” and “not important,” yet Ying Qujie’s focus was entirely elsewhere.

Physician Ying, Imperial Preceptor Yan, even their titles were so similar.

Who knew which one she was really addressing?

Ying Qujie abruptly stood up and bowed to the Prince of Liang. “Your Highness, the diagnosis is complete. I shall take my leave.”

“Ah?” Yan Xingyi, who had followed He Qingsheng into the pavilion, brushed past Ying Qujie. “Physician Ying, won’t you stay a while longer?”

“No,” Ying Qujie replied mildly, his gaze lingering on the fan Yan Xingyi was waving. Seeing that He Qingsheng remained rooted in place with no intention of leaving, he added, “Let’s go.”

He Qingsheng: “You go ahead. Imperial Preceptor Yan and I haven’t finished our conversation. I won’t be returning tonight.”

Ying Qujie: “?”

Ying Qujie smiled placidly. “Fine.”

In three swift strides, he reached the garden gate. Glancing sideways, he saw He Qingsheng still standing there and promptly turned on his heel, storming off.

Watching Ying Qujie’s brisk retreat, Yan Xingyi called out to He Qingsheng, “Does Physician Ying seem upset?”

He Qingsheng stared at Ying Qujie’s faintly furious silhouette, utterly baffled. “How should I know?”

…

“How should I know?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Ying Qujie realized how harsh they sounded and quickly amended, “I’m not scolding you. Your Sister He ran into an old acquaintance and is staying over tonight. She won’t be back.”

“Oh.” Ying Wen shrank his neck slightly. Uncle was in a bad mood today.

On his way back to the estate, Ying Qujie passed through the garden and happened upon Ying Wen. The boy immediately bombarded him with questions about He Qingsheng’s whereabouts, leading to the earlier exchange.

Ying Qujie fiddled with the carving knife in his hand, unable to resist the urge to refine the wooden figurine he was working on. The small poplar and sandalwood had been carved into two palm-sized puppets: one larger, with detailed clothing textures, and the other merely a human-like skeletal frame.

Though the faces of the puppets lacked the exquisite craftsmanship of the wood demon Ming Shu’s carvings, their features were already recognizable. The work was far from that of a beginner.

“Why were you looking for her?” Ying Qujie asked.

Ying Wen pouted. “I was hungry, and then I heard someone calling me. I couldn’t help but eat their offerings again. Sister, He told me not to, but the scent was so tempting, it made me unbearably hungry.”

He grew increasingly guilty as he spoke. “I wanted to apologize to her.”

Ying Qujie: “Wenwen, you can eat the offerings?”

Ying Wen didn’t understand why Ying Qujie was asking, but it was clear this was something his uncle didn’t know.

The realization that even his well-read uncle had gaps in his knowledge made the boy puff up with pride.

“Uncle, did you know? We ghosts can actually sustain ourselves on offerings. Hehe, bet you didn’t know, I even sneaked some of the fruits from the Kitchen God’s altar once! Crispy and so fragrant!”

At the mention of food, Ying Wen swallowed hard, his mouth watering. To him, his uncle now seemed just as tantalizing as the big chicken leg on the Kitchen God’s altar, utterly irresistible.

Ying Qujie fell into thought.

“You just said you wanted to apologize to your Sister He, right?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ying Wen nodded obediently. “Mother says we should apologize when we’ve done wrong. Wenwen wants to be a good child who owns up to mistakes and corrects them.”

“Good. Then wait here for me. I’ll go fetch your Sister He.”

Ying Qujie smiled at Ying Wen, tucked the small wooden figurine from the table into his sleeve, pushed open the door, and hurried out.

He needed to find incense and, incidentally, He Qingsheng.

Just incidentally.

Ying Wen watched as the “chicken leg” swayed before him before swaggering out of sight. Unable to resist, he followed.

…

At the gates of Prince Liang’s residence.

Prince Liang said, “The Grand Diviner? He’s returned to the Diviner’s residence. Physician Ying, you seem in quite a hurry, is something the matter? Do you need me to escort you there?”

“No need. The Diviner’s residence isn’t far from here. I wouldn’t want to trouble Your Highness.” Ying Qujie strode off briskly.

Prince Liang watched his rapidly disappearing figure and sighed to his attendant, “How I envy those who know martial arts. The Diviner’s residence is practically at the opposite end of the city, yet he calls it ‘not far.'”

At the Diviner’s residence.

“Miss He? Didn’t she just leave?” Yan Xingyi looked puzzled, then explained, “If you didn’t cross paths on the way, she must have phased through the walls again, force of habit. Earlier, I noticed you seemed plagued by a malicious spirit, which is why I asked you to come see me. I was worried when you didn’t show up, but now it seems you and Miss He are already acquainted. My concern was unnecessary.”

Yan Xingyi seemed eager to chat further, but Ying Qujie had no patience for small talk. With a nod to acknowledge the information, he turned and left.

Moonlight stretched like silk, the world hushed in silence.

Draped curtains, a flickering lamp.

It was very late.

Ying Qujie pushed open the courtyard gate and was met by a biting gust of wind. A shiver ran down his spine to his scalp, chilling him to the core.

Then he heard,

“Where have you been?” It was He Qingsheng’s voice.

“I-”

“Look out!”