Not only had the heavy-headed dizziness vanished, but he’d stopped coughing entirely.
His entire appearance seemed visibly brighter and more spirited!
The temple physicians were utterly shocked.
They checked his pulse, and sure enough—his wind chill had miraculously healed overnight!
Chang Gongwu was moved to tears, almost fainting from excitement inside the temple. He’d thought he was doomed, and had drunk that mysterious youth’s medicine with the mindset that he might as well die trying—
But to his astonishment, the medicine turned out to be a true miracle!
Many people in the temple had witnessed the scene the day before and were dumbfounded.
Those who had doubted the youth and refused to take his medicine now regretted it so deeply that their livers ached.
Some were gravely ill; others only mildly so.
The mildly ill thought perhaps they still had a chance to meet that young man again and beg for another bowl of divine medicine.
But the severely ill, whose breaths were already faint and lives hanging by a thread, regretted it so bitterly that their eyelids rolled back—they nearly fainted from remorse!
This incident spread through Yong’an Temple like wildfire.
Hundreds of refugees soon knew about it.
Zhong Ganping, desperate to save his son, refused to let go of even a sliver of hope. Add to that the “manifestation” of the Bodhisattva he had witnessed the previous day in the quiet chamber—he almost immediately believed that this black-clad youth was the divine guidance sent by the Bodhisattva himself!
When he recounted the story of the Bodhisattva’s revelation, the commoners in the temple and their families grew even more agitated—
Could it be that they truly were saved?!
However, by the next morning, the black-robed youth never returned.
The refugees in the temple grew anxious, bowing and kowtowing frantically before the Bodhisattva statue—and Zhong Ganping was the most desperate among them!
He paced back and forth in the quiet chamber, heart burning with regret.
He regretted that when he heard the commotion outside yesterday, he hadn’t gone to take a look—if he had, perhaps he could have met the youth the Bodhisattva had sent!
And yet, the only bowl of divine medicine had gone to some nameless worker?!
What about his own son then?!
Zhong Ganping immediately gave orders, anxiously demanding that the youth physician from yesterday be found as soon as possible.
And so, word spread—not just among the refugees of the temple, but beyond its walls as well.
Soon, people in Prince Ning’s residence also heard of it.
One of the guards, Guard C, who often went out to the market selling eggs, heard the story too. He hurried back and told his adoptive father and teacher, Guard D.
The two speculated—
Could that youth physician be the same person who had quietly sent them the wind-chill medicine earlier?
If so, then that youth had truly saved his adoptive father’s life—an enormous favor beyond measure!
Zhong Ganping wanted to find the youth physician, and so did Guard D.
How could they not repay such a lifesaving grace?
But then came the question—once they found him, how could they repay him?
The father and son both fell into distress. Their savings had already been spent treating the illness. Though they had a few copper coins earned by running errands for the Third Young Master, it wasn’t nearly enough to show proper gratitude.
Guard C grew deeply troubled.
It was the end of winter—freezing cold. Even if he went to the streets to break stones or perform tricks, he couldn’t earn much. The only thing profitable now was grain.
Then suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind—The Third Young Master’s hens.
Those hens laid so many eggs, and there were quite a few of them.
If he borrowed one for a while, would the Third Young Master even notice?
He swore he only meant to borrow it temporarily—let it lay a few batches of eggs, earn a bit of silver, and he would return it at once.
Guard C wasn’t the kind of man who stole chickens or dogs, but at this moment, thinking of that unrepayable debt of life, the thought flickered in his mind before he could stop it.
───♡───
The story of a man at Yong’an Temple, cured from the brink of death by a single bowl of medicinal soup, quickly reached the ears of Princess Ning.
Her heart, long gripped by anxiety, finally flared with a spark of hope.
Almost immediately, she ordered with authority, “Bring that person to me—no matter what! Within three days, you must find that youth and must bring the miracle medicine to Wenxiu!”
The servants around her lowered their eyes, silently thinking—In such a vast capital, finding someone who never even showed his face within three days… how could that possibly be easy?
This princess always appeared dignified on the surface, but in truth, she’d done countless oppressive things.
The Second Young Master had fallen gravely ill right after returning from the creek—surely, it was retribution…
Of course, none of the servants dared say that aloud. They all hurried out to search.
Princess Ning, worn thin by days of worry and anger, looked utterly haggard.
She sat back down by the bed, grasping Lu Wenxiu’s hand, and finally let out a faint sigh of relief.
Since someone had indeed been cured, that meant the youth physician truly possessed remarkable skill.
As long as she found him, Wenxiu could surely be treated.
—At this moment, she still believed it was as simple as finding a single person.
───♡───
Meanwhile, inside Yong’an Temple, voices overlapped one after another.
The seriously ill commoners were all blaming the few people from yesterday.
——“If it weren’t for your rude words yesterday, how could that young divine physician have left without a word, packing up and going away?! It’s all your fault, we’ve lost our only cure!”
——“How can you blame me for that? Weren’t you all the ones who didn’t believe him and said he was a swindler?!”
——“Then what do we do now? If we can’t find that divine physician, we’ll still have to wait for death!”
───♡───
When Lu Huan woke up that morning, he planned to boil the remaining medicine early, pour it into his waterskin, and bring it with him.
That way, he wouldn’t have to borrow the abbot’s stove again in the crowded temple, wasting so much time like yesterday.
He also intended to finish carving the object he hadn’t completed the night before.
So that morning, he didn’t go to Yong’an Temple.
Yet unexpectedly, when he woke, he saw fifty packs of medicine neatly placed on his table.
Things suddenly appearing inside his house and courtyard was something Lu Huan had slowly gotten used to.
He no longer reacted with the same shock as the first time, when his bedding had mysteriously been replaced overnight.
But these medicines—these were truly timely rain.
Could it be that that person knew he had gone to Yong’an Temple yesterday… and knew what he had done?
The feeling of being constantly watched left Lu Huan’s heart oddly conflicted.
To him, it was a sensation he had never once experienced before.
From childhood to now, no one had ever cared about him—no one had ever noticed whether he lived or died—let alone someone who paid such careful attention to his every action…
Yet faintly, he realized—he didn’t seem to dislike it.
In fact, somehow, he seemed to have started looking forward to that person’s arrival, to communicating with them.
Besides, the note he had left yesterday to express his thanks had been taken away.
Although that person still left no reply, Lu Huan noticed that before, the visitor only appeared once every three or four days.
But yesterday—yesterday was the first time they had appeared two nights in a row.
That meant, ever since he started leaving notes, their communication was becoming more and more frequent.
For some reason, just knowing that filled Lu Huan with a faint, secret elation—though not a hint of it showed on his face.
Thinking of this, Lu Huan left something on the table again that day—along with another note.
───♡───
Meanwhile, Su Xi had set an alarm for three-thirty in the morning just to keep up with the in-game plot and check what was happening at Yong’an Temple.
It was still deep in the night at that hour. She struggled awake, groped for her phone, and sleepily logged in.
The moment she entered the game, she caught sight of her little Zai Zai placing something on the table.
It was—
A lifelike wood-carved rabbit, about the size of a palm.
Delicate and finely shaped, with beautiful grain and craftsmanship.
In the faint morning light shining through the Zai Zai’s window, the wood even glowed with a soft, jade-like sheen—exquisite and charming.
Probably because she had given him that rabbit lantern before, he had specially carved this rabbit as a gift for her?
Su Xi had never seen something so lovely before.
Her drowsiness vanished in an instant—she propped her elbow up and stared intently at her Zai Zai in front of the table.
Another gift?
Just yesterday, she had complained that in the game “Travel Frog,” the frog at least sent postcards every day, while this game’s Zai Zai never sent anything.
Yet here he was—again and again—sending her gifts.
And today’s was even handmade!
The motherly heart within her swelled with joy and pride.
She was so touched she felt dizzy with happiness!
The little Zai Zai stood before the table and continued writing his note for the day.
——“The sky is clear today, no snow. I picked up a cheap wooden rabbit at the marketplace and am returning it as a lantern gift.”
After finishing, he lifted the brush.
Though he didn’t know what to write to this person—whose identity he still didn’t know—he nonetheless wanted to write something.
He wanted to keep communicating, to maintain this fragile thread of connection.
Because he was always alone.
Whether in daylight or in the depths of night, through the passing of spring and fall, the coming and going of winters and summers—he had always been alone.
Only after that person appeared did a small spark of fire flicker to life in his long, endless nights—pa da—quiet yet warm.
Even such trivial things as talking about the weather, no one had ever done that with him before.
But now, he wanted to say such things too, like ordinary people do: to speak lightly of the cold, or of flowers blooming.
───♡───
Outside the screen, Su Xi nearly burst out laughing.
Wait a second, little Zai Zai, aren’t you lying through your teeth right now?!
What do you mean you picked up a cheap wooden rabbit at the market?
And why go out of your way to emphasize it was cheap?!
You clearly carved it yourself all night long, finally finishing it after so much effort!
So game characters can lie after all!
Su Xi couldn’t stop laughing, then turned her gaze back to his expression.
The young boy stood by the window with his hands behind his back.
His brows and eyes were soft, no longer carrying the usual chill or solemnity—just quiet thoughtfulness.
For a moment, he didn’t look like that reserved, heavy-hearted, mysterious illegitimate son.
Instead, he seemed like a carefree youth, pondering what to write in a letter—someone who had grown up without worries.
Su Xi stared at him through the screen for a while, and suddenly realized something.
Even though the Zai Zai never said it outright, nor showed it on his face, deep down—he seemed attached to her presence.
Almost as if he had been waiting for her to appear each time.
He never showed his joy or anger easily, but whenever she gave even a small response, he would quietly grow happy.
Realizing this, Su Xi hesitated for a moment, then made a decision in her heart.
From now on, she would set an alarm every day—log in every eight hours—so the Zai Zai would find that she had visited each night, instead of having to wait three whole days, staring at the screen, hoping she’d appear again.
After setting the alarm, Su Xi was struck by a sudden headache of realization…
Was she—perhaps—getting too addicted to this game?
