Pretending to Be the Medicine God's Disciple (Part 1)

Although Xiao Yeheng was certain she wouldn't find any medicine, he considered his current state—so long as he could hold out another day, he wouldn't die.

So, he gave her a faint nod.

Yan Shuixin became a temporary menial worker. She was frequently called out of the cell to do chores, and with only one other inmate left in Cell No. 59—a cripple whose leg was severely injured—the guards didn't bother locking the door anymore.

"You wait here. I'll find a way," Yan Shuixin said, rising to her feet and heading out.

"Don't go…" Xiao Yeheng tried to stop her, afraid she'd run into danger.

But he didn't even have the strength to get out of bed. He could only watch helplessly as she walked farther and farther down the narrow corridor outside the cell.

Lowering his head, he stared at his half-amputated left leg and felt an overwhelming urge to cut it off himself.

Since he'd already given her his word, he might as well wait.

———

Once outside the prison, Yan Shuixin went straight to the storage room to grab a broom and began cleaning the passageway outside the cells and the open yard beyond.

The guards on duty merely glanced at her—by now, they were used to her presence.

She went on to the courtyard behind the kitchen to chop firewood, then to the well to haul water.

She moved about busily and efficiently, every bit the image of a diligent and capable servant.

By the time she was done, it was nearly noon.

"Damn it!" Menial worker Zheng Quan stormed into the kitchen, grumbling. "What the hell's wrong with the Warden? Shoved all the responsibility onto me—nearly blew a fuse!"

Yan Shuixin was carrying firewood over to the stove and blinked in confusion. "Master Zheng, what happened?"

"Isn't it that Warden again?" Zheng Quan cursed under his breath. "His skin's flared up again today—blamed my cooking for being dirty. The senior officials get their own private meals, yet I don't hear anyone else complaining. He's the only one with skin problems—how is that my fault?"

Yan Shuixin immediately knew her trick had worked—the rat droppings she'd smeared on his chair the day before had taken effect. She played along with indignation. "Exactly. Your cooking is always clean. This must be some misunderstanding."

"Hmph. He's the boss. If he wants to be unreasonable, we servants can only swallow the beatings and curses." Zheng Quan huffed. "Now that that prison doctor, Old Huang, is dead, and the Warden's allergic flare-ups have no one to treat them, he's been in a foul mood. Got so worked up yesterday he broke Officer Wang Mo's leg in a brawl. Even I caught a punch—my chest is still black and blue."

Hearing this, Yan Shuixin knew her chance had come. "Brother Zheng, you could try using Sanqi powder. It stops bleeding, disperses bruises, and eases pain."

Zheng Quan looked at her suspiciously. "How would a girl like you know that?"

"Oh, that." Yan Shuixin made something up on the spot. "I'm actually the sole disciple of the Medicine God, Sima Jing. I've learned a fair bit of medical skill."

Sima Jing, a native of Zhangzhou, had once lived in the capital for years. He was renowned as the Medicine God of this generation—childless, wifeless, and famously without disciples. He had died at the age of sixty-five.

This was something she'd read in the original novel.

If she wanted others to quickly believe in her medical skills, impersonating a famed healer's disciple was the fastest way.

Zheng Quan clearly didn't believe her. "You? A pampered daughter of the Ministry of Rites? How could you be the disciple of the Medicine God?"

"Well…" Yan Shuixin spun a half-truth, "When I was young, my mother used to take me to the temple to pray. One day, in the rear mountains behind Lingfu Temple, I encountered the great Sima Jing. He said I had good fortune and took me in as his apprentice. But my master was a recluse, disliked worldly attachments, and forbade me from telling anyone. Not even my family knew."

Only the part about her mother taking her to the temple was true—the rest was pure fabrication.

Zheng Quan looked at her, half-convinced. "So why are you saying it now?"

Yan Shuixin made a sorrowful face. "My master has already passed away. I figured… there's no harm in speaking of it now."

"Brother Zheng, your injury doesn't look good. Even medicine might not be fast enough. Why don't I try acupuncture? It'll ease the pain quickly." Yan Shuixin offered gently.

Acupuncture required silver needles—those could only be found in the prison infirmary. If she could get inside, she'd find a way to get the medicine Xiao Yeheng needed.

"Don't take me for a fool…" Zheng Quan still didn't believe her.

Yan Shuixin deliberately exaggerated his condition. "Brother Zheng, if left untreated, your internal injuries may damage your organs. Eating may become painful. Try swallowing—see if it already hurts?"

Zheng Quan swallowed—and winced. Pain radiated through his chest.

"If not for your kindness, I wouldn't even be allowed out of my cell." Yan Shuixin pressed on gently. "I bear you no grudge—why would I harm you?"

Her words, laced with both urgency and calm persuasion, finally swayed Zheng Quan. "You really think you can cure me?"

She nodded solemnly. "I promise, no lasting harm. Just bring me a set of silver needles for acupuncture."

"That stuff's in the infirmary, but the Warden doesn't let anyone inside."

---

Part 2 coming next.