The Eldest Princess is Always Feigning Poverty and Weakness - Chapter 8

After experiencing a sudden ambush, a bitter struggle, poisoning, and excessive blood loss, Qi Luyao finally reached her limit and lost consciousness.

Wen Ningzhou lunged forward to catch her before she could slide to the ground. Looking at the bloodless face inches from her own, Wen Ningzhou tested the temperature of the stranger’s forehead with the back of her hand. A fever was setting in; the skin was already starting to burn.

Qi Luyao’s eyelids remained heavily closed, and her breathing was shallow. Although Wen Ningzhou viewed herself as a mere passerby in this world—an outsider—the person before her was a living being. To Qi Luyao, this wasn’t a novel; it was her life.

A life that was currently hanging by a thread.

Sighing, Wen Ningzhou propped Qi Luyao against a tree trunk. She shed her own padded jacket and used it to press against the wounds, allowing the fabric to soak up the blood so it wouldn’t leave a trail on the ground.

Left in only her pale mauve velvet camisole, Wen Ningzhou shivered as a gust of wind bit at her skin. She adjusted her posture and, with great difficulty, hoisted the woman onto her back, manually wrapping Qi Luyao’s arms around her neck.

Supporting Qi Luyao by her thighs, Wen Ningzhou found that the movement kept the cold at bay. Despite being so tall, the woman was much lighter than Wen Ningzhou had anticipated. She had expected a grueling struggle to even take a step, but the person wasn’t heavy at all.

She was simply much taller than Wen Ningzhou, likely with a slender frame—the kind of “lean but toned” build that Wen Ningzhou found herself quite envious of.

As she walked, Wen Ningzhou couldn’t help but marvel: These NPC “data-people” are truly perfect—impeccable in every way. She realized there was no point in being jealous of a fictional character’s physique.

Retracing her steps, she carefully cleared the markers she had left behind. Every so often, she paused to check Qi Luyao’s breathing.

She was terrified that the woman might go cold while still on her back.

She had set out for a stroll and ended up picking up a stray, losing her back-basket and all her gathered firewood in the process. She simply didn’t have enough hands or strength to carry them.

The journey that had felt short on the way out now seemed endless. She had wandered much further than she thought, ending up on the far side of the mountain.

If she hadn’t been careful enough to leave those markers—ones only she could understand—it was doubtful she would have found her way back at all, let alone with a wounded passenger.

“It’s so exhausting… Little ancestor, you’d better hang in there,” Wen Ningzhou muttered to herself, trying to keep Qi Luyao conscious.

She was terrified that she was carrying “dead data” back home. If that were the case, no amount of mental “game” reinforcement would stop her from being traumatized.

Taking a deep breath, she realized that while the load hadn’t felt heavy at first, the fatigue was setting in. To distract herself, she began to babble.

The woman was unconscious, anyway; it wasn’t like she could hear her.

“Your life basically belongs to me now, you know?” Wen Ningzhou said.

“From this day forward, I, Old Man Zhou, am your second father.”

“Carrying a wounded person across such a long mountain path… this isn’t just a road; it’s a touching display of father-son—well, father-daughter—devotion.”

“However, I still hope that once you’re healed, you’ll leave my house immediately.”

Despite having lost her jacket, Wen Ningzhou was now actually feeling quite hot. Sweat beaded at her temples, her cheeks were flushed a bright red, and she was breathing heavily. Each step forward felt more laboured than the last.

“Papa can’t get any money; he can’t afford to raise both of us.”

She could have been so happy, but poverty had ruined her. The thought of her empty pockets made her pout. “Sigh, Papa is useless.”

Gasping for air, she finally managed to bring the patient back home. Not daring to let her guard down, Wen Ningzhou carefully lowered the woman onto the bed.

She moved the quilts onto a chair and immediately checked the woman’s breathing. She was becoming a bit neurotic, needing to feel the puff of air against her finger every few minutes.

After placing a cup of water by the bedside, she rushed out to lock the courtyard gate.

Returning to the kitchen, she drew a bucket of fresh water from the well, shoved some firewood into the stove, and started a pot of water to boil.

Wen Ningzhou made several trips back and forth, carrying basins and buckets into the bedroom. She tore up several pieces of unused cloth, soaked them in the boiling water, and added salt for disinfection.

She liked to be prepared for the worst. Living on this remote mountain so far from the market, she kept a small stash of medicine for colds and fevers, along with external remedies for bleeding and burns.

However, her supplies were meager only enough for a single dose. They were meant for emergencies, just in case she fell ill and couldn’t make it to the apothecary.

The remedies for bleeding and burns were even scarcer. Wen Ningzhou was only afraid of accidentally hurting herself while chopping wood or cooking.

The herbs she had bought at the market apothecary were natural plants and didn’t really have an “expiry date,” but having lived as a modern person for so long, she reflexively felt that everything had a shelf life.

Consequently, she only kept a small amount, intending to restock periodically.

Fortunately, the styptic medicine was in powder form and could be applied directly to a wound without boiling. Wen Ningzhou set a clay pot on the stove to brew the fever-reducing tea.

Taking the cloth pieces from the boiling saltwater, she carefully rinsed them several times with fresh water. With a great deal of patience and courage, she began to unfasten Qi Luyao’s clothing.

The pale pink jacket was stained in several places with both dark, poisoned blood and fresh crimson. Wen Ningzhou’s brow furrowed at the sight.

She had never seen so much blood in one sitting. In her past life, she had always been squeamish about graphic injuries. The scene before her was the kind of thing that would be censored or pixelated in a movie—it was far too visceral.

The small bedroom was thick with the metallic scent of blood. Terrified of the cold, she had patched the window paper and kept the door tightly shut. Without ventilation, the smell lingered, heavy and cloying.

She folded a damp cloth and placed it on the woman’s forehead. Qi Luyao’s brow was knit tight, and she was breaking out in a cold sweat.

With her heart in her throat, Wen Ningzhou gritted her teeth and unfastened the outer robes. They were soaked through. The outermost layer was stained with purplish-black blood, and the white inner garment was a complete mess. Wen Ningzhou’s hands were now stained red with Qi Luyao’s blood.

How can a person lose this much blood? Wen Ningzhou’s hands shook uncontrollably. She was afraid afraid of the wound, afraid of the blood, and afraid that this person she had struggled so hard to bring home would die anyway.

She didn’t want to witness a death happening right in front of her. As she peeled away the layers of clothing, the sight became increasingly horrifying. Wen Ningzhou felt a wave of nausea.

The combined assault on her sight and smell made her stomach churn, but it was mostly out of fear. She bit her lip and desperately tried to encourage herself, clinging to the “game” logic. She’s data. She’s a game character. Don’t panic. Don’t be afraid.

This looks like blood, but it’s just code.

With that thought, Wen Ningzhou unfastened the inner garment. Beneath it was a chest binder, the original colour of the fabric now completely obscured by blood. Centred around the wounds, the blood was red at the heart and black toward the edges.

This, at least, suggested the poison was being cleared. The fresh blood was a normal colour, no longer that terrifying purplish-black that made her scalp tingle.

It seemed the woman had taken an antidote immediately after being poisoned. Wen Ningzhou felt a glimmer of hope; as long as she cleaned the wounds, stopped the bleeding, and prevented infection or fever, she might be able to save this life.

But the blood loss was severe. Wen Ningzhou couldn’t afford to relax. She had never been so mentally focused in her life.

Even during her university entrance exams, she hadn’t been this tense. Her nerves were so frayed she found herself swallowing reflexively.

Swallowing while staring at a bloody, mangled wound—the image felt disturbingly morbid.

Wen Ningzhou then used a pair of scissors to cut through the chest binder. It was too difficult to unfasten it from the back without moving the patient, and she didn’t dare risk it.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

The moment the binder fell away, Wen Ningzhou let out a muffled curse. Tears finally began to stream down her face, born from sheer terror.

The wounds were horrific. She couldn’t bear to look. The abdominal wound was clearly a sword cut, but the one on the chest was harder to identify. The original entry point wasn’t large, but due to the poison, the flesh around it had begun to rot from the inside out.

The “perfect data person” was a peerless beauty, but Wen Ningzhou couldn’t spare a glance for anything else. Like a true doctor, she saw no gender or allure—only a patient.

Sniffling and wiping her eyes, she carefully dabbed the blood away. The abdominal wound was easier to manage; once the area was cleared, she sprinkled the styptic powder over it.

It was the chest wound that she only dared to inspect by biting her lip and forcing herself to look. She realized there was something embedded in the flesh.

Ignoring the blood on her hands, Wen Ningzhou discarded her inhibitions. She wiped her tears with her sleeve and stood up to light a candle.

Holding the candle close, she confirmed that something was indeed lodged in the wound. It looked small—likely a projectile shaped like a flying dagger. It was almost entirely buried, with only the very tip of the tail visible in the flesh.

Wen Ningzhou had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment; the visual impact was simply too much. She stared at the projectile with an expression of pure, unadulterated distress.

“I have to… I have to get this out,” she said, her voice wobbling with a sob.

“Hang in there, okay? It’s going to hurt. I’m not good at this, and you’re already in such a bad way.”

“And you had to run into an amateur like me… I’m afraid to pull it. My hands aren’t steady.”

Despite her protests, she knew she was the only option. She found a needle and a small pair of bamboo tweezers in her sewing basket.

She held them over the candle flame to sterilize them before approaching the wound.

Crude disinfection, a doctor who studied maths, makeshift medicine, and endless blood—Wen Ningzhou felt terrible for the person lying on the bed.

How can one person have so much blood? She had already gone through several pieces of soaked cloth.

“How much must this hurt?” she whispered with a sigh.

She leaned in close to the wound. Without the restraint of the binder, her face was nearly pressed against the woman’s chest.

Holding her breath, Wen Ningzhou sobbed silently. she didn’t dare make a sound or even sniff for fear of affecting her steady hand.

One hand used the bamboo tweezers to grip the end of the projectile, while the other used the needle to carefully prize it out.

She was staring directly into the raw, bloody flesh.

Wen Ningzhou looked a pitiful sight—the scene was so visceral that she was weeping openly.

Finally, the tip of the projectile emerged. She immediately pressed a cloth around the area and, gritting her teeth, used her fingers to pull the object out.

The sensation of pulling a blade out of living flesh was something Wen Ningzhou never wanted to experience again.

“God damn it! Which bastard did this?”

“Just wait until I catch him! I’ll wring his bloody neck!”

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Wen Ningzhou cursed like a sailor while wiping her tears and nose, all while trying to stop the bleeding. She sprinkled the last of her medicine on the wound and pressed down hard with both hands.

Doing a hundred things at once, she wept and swore. The scene was so wretched that Qi Luyao, briefly regaining a sliver of consciousness, felt as though the injury were on the girl instead of herself.

“Damn his ancestors… that hurts like hell,” Wen Ningzhou’s cursing escalated.

She cursed the lack of anesthesia, the heartless person who had attacked her, and finally, she just let out a loud, hiccupping sob.

Now that the tension of the procedure was fading, the adrenaline was leaving her. Her legs felt like jelly, and she finally had the spare energy to vent her feelings.

Qi Luyao felt a wave of helpless amusement. In a weak, thready voice, she said, “I don’t feel pain.”

“Please… stop crying.”

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