Chapter 38: "Miracle Doctor" Qin Xiaomo

Upon hearing this, the old master of the valley exclaimed repeatedly, “Good, good, good! Oracle, come with me at once.”

“If I may trouble you, please tell me along the way about your son’s current symptoms,” Qin Xiaomo replied, uncharacteristically formal.

“It’s no trouble at all. We’ll speak as we walk.” The old master stepped aside, and Qin Xiaomo, after a polite exchange, cradled the white bundle in her arms and, accompanied by Jiang Wei and Red Birthmark, followed him.

As he described the illness, the old master led Qin Xiaomo down a shady path, turning a corner before truly entering the manor. She had expected the architecture to be dazzling, ostentatious, with gold and jade flaunted at every turn, but instead, a different scene unfolded before her eyes: a river pond, its banks built up with large stone blocks, lined not with opulent peonies but with pear trees. Come autumn, the pear blossoms would bloom on both shores, and when petals fell, the sight must be enchanting. A red lacquered arch bridge spanned the water, and a winding, natural wood-colored corridor with red pillars traced the shore, a perfect place for summer evenings—cooling off, chatting, and admiring the moon. All the manor’s buildings were two-story, natural wood with gray roofs edged in gold and eaves curling skyward. Upstairs, broad terraces extended outward, enclosed by carved wooden railings entwined with vines. There was no strict division between inner and outer quarters; the old master lived in the central, largest, and tallest building, while his children each occupied a corner, every one adorned with rock gardens and flowers, each uniquely charming.

Pointing toward a distant pavilion, the old master explained, “The eastern building is where my third son resides. Let’s hurry there.” Qin Xiaomo thought to herself, the east is the most honored direction—so even if the old master didn’t say it outright, everyone knows where the wind blows. Looking closer, the northern building was barely a hundred meters from the eastern one, and only these two were not separated by the river pond. Between them stood just rock gardens and shrubbery, easily crossed if one wished. With this thought, she pointed to the northern pavilion and asked, “And who lives in that nearby building?”

“Oh, that’s my second son. I have three sons and only one daughter. Of the sons in the eastern and northern pavilions, one was born to my wife, the other to a concubine. I let them live close, hoping brotherhood would foster harmony, and the household would prosper.”

“The old master truly understands the way to a flourishing household. May I ask, do servants and attendants live in the same building as their masters?”

“Usually, only two close attendants stay. The rest live in another courtyard beside the main one, returning there at night unless they’re on guard duty. Is there a reason for your inquiry?” the old master answered truthfully.

“Oh, I just wish to understand the third young master’s living environment, to better discern his daily habits. Since his illness came on suddenly, no clue can be overlooked, wouldn’t you agree?” Qin Xiaomo smiled.

“Indeed, indeed. Is there anything else you’d like to know? I shall answer everything.”

“I have a general sense of the symptoms, nothing further for now. Let’s hurry on.”

The old master then led Qin Xiaomo into the eastern building.

As soon as they entered the third young master’s room, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and an overpowering ginseng aroma. Qin Xiaomo couldn’t help but frown. No matter how many herbal concoctions had been poured down him these past days, none had worked; now, they were using copious amounts of ginseng just to keep him alive. Clearly, even the famed Doctor Xue was at his wit’s end.

“Greetings, old master.”

Qin Xiaomo followed the voice to see a physician of about fifty, eyes sharp and drooping, holding a bundle of golden acupuncture needles. His hair was a bit disheveled, and his face weary—evidence of his recent exertions. Yet, his gaze lacked the compassion one would expect from a healer.

“Doctor Xue, too courteous. This is the famed Oracle Qin Xiaomo, whose reputation spread across three counties today. She… she…” The old master faltered, embarrassed to say he wanted to try someone else after Doctor Xue’s efforts.

“Doctor Xue, I greet you respectfully. As a junior, I shouldn’t intrude, but upon hearing of the third young master’s strange illness and knowing you are present, I couldn’t help but come. I know a bit of medicine myself, so I hoped to observe and learn. If I offend, please forgive my boldness.”

Qin Xiaomo’s humility was impeccable. Doctor Xue, though his pride had been wounded and he felt anger, found himself unable to retort.

He reconsidered: her arrival was timely. He had been anxious these days not only about the illness but for his own safety. If she intervened and the young master recovered, he could claim it was thanks to his earlier efforts; if not, she’d be blamed for reckless treatment, and he could absolve himself. At this, he relaxed.

Doctor Xue’s thoughts were transparent to Qin Xiaomo, a modern woman. If not for the old master’s promise of a wish, she’d never wade into these troubled waters.

Just then, the sickly, pale young man on the bed suddenly gasped desperately, as if suffocating, retching intermittently. Lifting the corner of the blanket, his skin was revealed to be mottled with blue and purple.

Seeing this, Qin Xiaomo recalled her schooldays, when she loved pickled vegetables so much she once snuck some only days after they were made, resulting in food poisoning and a hospital stay. Her symptoms had been strikingly similar—bluish-purple skin, though she caught it early, so it wasn’t as severe or widespread. Now, she felt fairly confident.

To be sure, Qin Xiaomo asked, “Has the third young master suffered abdominal pain, diarrhea, or tinnitus recently?”

“The Oracle is truly gifted. The morning before last, the young master complained of tinnitus and dizziness, seemed fatigued, so we let him rest. He slept until afternoon, then awoke much worse—abdominal discomfort, nausea, pain. We summoned a physician immediately, but treatment only worsened his condition. Later, we called…” The young master’s attendant paused, glancing at Doctor Xue before continuing, “Yesterday, the young master had diarrhea and vomiting all day. Later, he forced down two oranges, but quickly vomited them up. Oh, and yesterday afternoon, his symptoms eased a bit, but after sipping some rice porridge in the evening, he grew much worse. This morning…” The attendant looked at the young master, then knelt before Qin Xiaomo, weeping, “Please, Oracle, save our young master!”

“Did everyone eat the evening porridge?” Qin Xiaomo asked quickly.

“No, it was only for the young master. Who would dare touch it, except the taster?”

“Bring him here.”

After some time, the taster entered, trembling and kneeling, fearing he’d be sentenced to death.

Qin Xiaomo spoke gently, “Don’t be afraid, I just have a few questions.”

“Yes, Oracle, ask whatever you wish,” the taster replied, voice quivering.

“Last night after tasting the porridge, did you feel any discomfort?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Was there anything unusual about the porridge’s color or flavor?”

“No,” he shook his head again, then paused, “Actually, last night’s rice porridge had a faintly salty taste—does that count? I suppose the cook wanted to make it more palatable for the young master, so added a pinch of salt.”

“That’s it,” Qin Xiaomo mused. “Everyone, please leave the room. With so many here, your young master’s illness will only worsen.” Indeed, the oxygen was being sucked away—he was almost suffocating.

No sooner had she spoken than the third young master, amid his retching, suddenly began to convulse.