Chapter Forty-Two: Emergency Rescue

Yun Hao fixed his gaze beyond Changsun Wuji and caught sight of a strikingly handsome young man. His face was as fair as powdered jade, his lips as if painted with vermilion. Any so-called heartthrobs of later ages paled in comparison; next to this youth, they were as the earth to the heavens.

He had no idea who this person was, but even the arrogant Changsun Wuji, upon seeing the young man, immediately put down his sword and bowed respectfully. “Master Chai!”

“Who is that? He’s really something!” someone whispered nearby. Changsun Wuji was a renowned figure in Taiyuan; few didn’t know him, and yet here he was, bowing to a beautiful youth. The crowd began speculating: who could this young man be?

“Maybe he’s the eldest son of the Duke of Tang?” someone guessed.

“Nonsense. I’ve seen the Duke’s eldest son. This lad looks a little younger,” another retorted.

The handsome youth gazed at Yun Hao, then turned to Zhang Wenzhong and offered a deep bow. “I am Chai Shao, currently a steward of the Duke of Tang’s household. May I ask, Divine Physician Zhang—is it true my second brother’s injury cannot be healed?”

Yun Hao was so angry his head spun. I said it could be treated, yet here you all are, wasting precious time. If this goes on, the Celestial Khan will soon become a dead Khan, and my own prospects will vanish with him. Chai Shao, you bastard, go back and embrace your Princess Pingyang! They say she’s a heroine in her own right.

“Master Chai, I know you’re betrothed to the daughter of the Duke of Tang. That makes you the young master’s prospective brother-in-law. If you keep delaying like this, he’ll bleed to death! When that happens, even if the great physicians of legend were resurrected, it would be too late,” Yun Hao declared loudly to Chai Shao.

Chai Shao was taken aback. He was indeed engaged to Princess Pingyang, but Li Yuan had only recently arrived in Taiyuan, so few in the city knew of the arrangement. Since the wedding hadn’t yet occurred, Chai Shao hadn’t made a public announcement. To have this child lay bare the truth so directly was entirely unexpected.

He looked Yun Hao up and down, then down and up again, searching his mind at lightning speed, scouring his mental archives—only to reach a frustrating conclusion: he had no idea who this boy was.

He turned a questioning gaze to Zhang Wenzhong. Though he didn’t know Yun Hao, he certainly recognized Zhang Wenzhong, the famed physician of Taiyuan. No matter how high and mighty a man was, he would fall ill someday. In this life, even if you never had to beg anyone, you would still have to rely on a doctor.

“What Brother Hao says is true. The vital essence in the body is generated in the valley behind the navel. If too much blood is lost, the very foundation of life is damaged. At that point, not even a celestial immortal could save him,” Zhang Wenzhong replied cautiously. He had no wish for the Duke of Tang’s son to die under his care.

“Uh… Then, please begin the treatment, sir!” Chai Shao said. With that, Changsun Wuji could no longer object. He shot Yun Hao a venomous glare and stepped aside.

Zhang Wenzhong ordered someone to fetch golden needles and began administering acupuncture to Li Er’s back. Zhang’s reputation was well deserved—after a dozen or so needles, Yun Yue could see with her own eyes that the bleeding was finally stopping. Yet when Zhang Wenzhong examined the wide, gaping wound, as if made by a crocodile’s jaws, he was at a loss. All he could do was instruct an assistant to fetch wound powder and apply it to Li Er’s injury.

Yun Hao picked up the powder and sniffed—quicklime. Damn, it was quicklime, mixed haphazardly with various herbs. Yun Hao couldn’t fathom what medicinal benefit any herb could have once mixed with quicklime. In his experience, quicklime was used for whitewashing houses or coating fruit trees to ward off pests—he never imagined it would be used on wounds.

“Wait!” Yun Hao stopped Zhang Wenzhong’s murderous intent. Using quicklime on the injured was nothing short of murder.

“With such a large wound, it must be disinfected and stitched. Otherwise, how could it ever heal? If you do it your way, this man’s life will be ruined. Any external force from now on and the wound will tear open again, putting his life in danger.” Only now did Yun Hao realize why, in ancient times, so many generals died when their wounds burst open. It was these so-called wound powders that did more harm than good, preventing natural healing and leaving hidden ailments even if the wound closed. He recalled an article on a famous military website discussing the recovery of wounded generals.

“Is that true?” Chai Shao’s expression changed drastically. Li Shimin had been fond of martial pursuits from a young age, skilled on horseback and on foot, and was highly valued by Li Yuan. If he ended up crippled and unable to draw a bow or wield a spear, how could Chai Shao face Li Yuan? Moreover, Li Yuan had been plagued by headaches lately, and it was in hopes of a tiger’s gallbladder that Li Er had gone hunting with Changsun Wuji. If Li Yuan learned of this, he might well take their heads.

“Don’t believe me? The Duke of Tang’s family has a long military tradition—surely you have household guards who have suffered severe wounds. Ask around: how many became invalids after being injured, and how many died from recurring wound ruptures? Hmph!” Yun Hao raised his nose loftily, the very picture of a sage from beyond the mundane world.

Well, to these Tang dynasty bumpkins, he really was a sage from another world.

Chai Shao eyed Yun Hao uncertainly, but seemed to make up his mind at last. “Boy, this is no child’s play. Have you thought it through?”

“Of course! Just say whether you’ll let me treat him. If we delay any longer and he dies of tetanus, the end won’t be pretty,” Yun Hao said without hesitation.

With these words, he was gambling both his and his mother’s lives. Chai Shao’s tone was clear: if anything happened to Li Shimin, they would surely be buried with him.

“Very well, young man, do your best!” Seeing Yun Hao accept without a hint of hesitation, Chai Shao could only acquiesce. At this point, it was do-or-die. Li Shimin was a once-in-a-generation talent; he could not be allowed to become a cripple. If anything went wrong, Yun Hao would pay with his life.

As soon as Chai Shao agreed, Yun Hao dashed back to the courtyard, ignoring his mother’s questions, grabbed her sewing basket and a small jar of alcohol he’d concocted over the past two days, and ran back out. His mother had no idea her life now hung in the balance.

Fortunately, he had taken some first aid courses. Yun Hao poured the alcohol into a small bowl—painstakingly distilled for making perfume, two large jars of spirits yielding only this much. He soaked the needles and thread in the alcohol, then used a clean linen cloth dipped in the liquid to carefully clean the wound, bit by bit, removing all foreign matter and blood. He had no intention of saving the man only for him to die of infection. Luckily, Li Shimin was already unconscious; otherwise, the pain from the cleaning alone would have made him faint.

His chubby hands clumsily threaded the needle; his sewing skills left much to be desired. But who cared? It wasn’t as if he was stitching a face. Who, apart from Li Er’s wife, would ever see his back?

Zhang Wenzhong, Chai Shao, and Changsun Wuji watched in shock, jaws nearly dropping. Sewing up a wound with needle and thread—people weren’t clothing! But as they moved to intervene, they saw Yun Hao working with methodical precision, and the wound closing rapidly under his hands. It seemed there was nothing amiss after all.

“Brother Hao, are you sure this will work?” Zhang Wenzhong asked anxiously as Yun Hao finished the crude stitches.

“Enough of that! The man is strong—just keep wiping the wound with alcohol each day. As long as there’s no redness or swelling, his life is saved,” Yun Hao said, satisfied with his handiwork. Though the stitches were rough, Li Shimin’s color was returning, and his pulse was steady. Yun Hao was sure the man would live.

“Men, seize him!” Yun Hao was still basking in triumph when Changsun Wuji barked an order. Two fierce soldiers rushed over and lifted Yun Hao like a chicken, hauling him away.

P.S.: Regarding the “earth from the roofbeam” remedy, see the Compendium of Materia Medica. I’m not making this up; it really is a folk cure for hanging!