Once They Were Married, This Was How It Was

(Two-in-one)

Qin Wangchuan is still accepting orders as usual these days, but he's not working on anything for the time being.

After returning from the Master's house, he kept reading medical books.

Several thread-bound handwritten books were spread out on the stone table. The pages were yellowed, the edges were curled, and the text was filled with dense annotations.

Through these small characters, Qin Wangchuan seemed to see the Master studying the illness all night long.

As far as I can remember, when the children in the private school got sick, they never had to call a doctor.

The master pulled the man closer, asked him what was wrong, and then went to brew medicine, the bitter smell filling the entire room.

He pinched his nose and forced it down his throat, drinking it for several days in a row, and his symptoms were almost completely cured.

He only realized it now.

So, the Master also studied medicine.

White Dew lay at his feet, occasionally glancing up at him before resting her head back on her front legs.

Qin Zhaoer climbed over the wall and stood by the stone table for a while.

Seeing that Qin Wangchuan didn't even look up, he finally became impatient, picked up a medical book that had already been read through, flipped through a few pages, and then slammed it shut.

"Taking the pulse, listening to the heart, acupuncture, dispensing medicine." She threw the book back on the table. "What's the use of learning all this stuff?"

"Why don't we get that old man a magic pill?"

Born in the Immortal Court, she naturally had no exposure to these mortal medical techniques, nor would she bother with them.

In Qin Zhaoer's eyes, being sick is an injury, and an injury is a cure-all—medicine, Spirit Liquid, or secluded healing.

Why all the twists and turns?

"Master has never cultivated, he can't withstand the medicinal power." Qin Wangchuan turned to the next page, paused, and looked up at her. "Besides, you know how to refine pills?"

Qin Zhaoer remained silent.

Of course she wouldn't.

They're not Rogue Cultivator; they don't need to learn alchemy on their own, which would be a waste of their cultivation time.

Qin Wangchuan, of course, wouldn't either.

Qin Zhaoer sat down, propping her chin up.

Watching this man, who once held sway over everything, earnestly reading a yellowed medical book, I couldn't quite describe the feeling in my heart.

She hated it, hated that he lowered himself to do these useless things.

"You're Divine Son, destined to reach the pinnacle. Learning these things is utterly useless!" She stamped her foot. "And how long would it take to read all these books like this?"

"It's nothing." Qin Wangchuan didn't even look up, turning the page. "I'm a genius."

For the first time, he felt grateful for the existence of such a system.

High Origin Source and good comprehension.

These medical books are basically easy to understand at a glance; you can memorize the concepts of meridians, medicinal properties, and acupoints after just one look.

There's no need to waste too much time on it repeatedly.

For anyone else, it would take years just to memorize all these prescriptions.

Qin Zhaoer opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Seeing his indifferent attitude, she angrily crossed her arms and turned her face away.

After a while, he secretly turned back.

She didn't say anything, just propped her head up and stared at his profile as he turned the pages of his book.

White Dew lay at his feet, her ears twitched, but she didn't open her eyes.

After observing for several days, Qin Wangchuan gained a general understanding of the Master's illness.

Tuberculosis.

In a previous life, it was called tuberculosis.

There is no cure in this world.

But the lack of a cure doesn't mean you can only wait to die.

It replenishes deficiencies and strengthens the body, fights tuberculosis and kills parasites; when combined with acupuncture, it can alleviate symptoms.

Hold them off.

After putting it off for a while, my health finally recovered.

Perhaps then I can survive.

At night.

Qin Wangchuan closed the last book, sat on the stone bench for a while, and then realized that it was already dark.

The shadow of the Jujube Tree melted into the night, and nothing could be seen except for the lamp on the wall, which was still lit, illuminating the pile of yellowed medical books in front of it.

Qin Zhaoer had left sometime earlier, leaving only him and White Dew in the courtyard.

White Dew lay at my feet, her eyes gleaming faintly in the darkness.

There were a few steamed buns on the table, brought by Qin Zhaoer earlier, and they were already a bit cold.

He picked one up and took a bite.

It's filled with meat; the crust is a bit hard, but the filling is still warm.

It tastes really good.

"Sir," White Dew suddenly spoke, her voice very soft, "The life of a mortal has an end. No matter how skillful the medical technique, it is impossible to keep him alive indefinitely."

Qin Wangchuan stuffed the remaining bun wrapper into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it, then picked up another one.

"The lives of mortals do indeed have an end, and I did not intend for you, Master, to live on forever."

He said, "The Master was kind and benevolent throughout his life, dedicated to teaching and nurturing students, and never mistreating anyone."

"People like this shouldn't have to suffer through their illness."

"I can accept that Master will die of old age, peacefully in his sleep, and leave this world in tranquility."

"But being seriously ill, coughing up blood to the point of being unable to breathe, and suffering from pain that keeps me awake all night—that won't do."

"We can't do that."

"That would be too painful."

White Dew did not speak.

It doesn't understand.

With a general idea of the treatment method in mind, Qin Wangchuan finally felt relieved.

He stacked the medical books, stood up, stretched, and blew out the lamp on the table.

The courtyard darkened, with only the lamp on the wall still lit, illuminating a corner of the Jujube Tree and the stone table.

White Dew lay under the tree, resting her head on her front legs, her eyes half-open and half-closed.

"Go to sleep," Qin Wangchuan said, turning and going into the house.

In the neighboring courtyard, Qin Zhaoer kept staring at the top of the wall.

Seeing that the lights in Qin Wangchuan's house were off, she immediately moved a chair from inside the house, tiptoed to the corner of the wall, climbed up on tiptoe, and clung to the top of the wall with both hands, only half of her head showing.

The front yard was empty.

The lamp was still on, illuminating the stack of medical books on the stone table.

She ate all the steamed buns she brought over.

Qin Zhaoer jumped off the chair, then carried it and tiptoed towards the backyard.

There was no one in the backyard either.

The lights went out, and there was no sound from inside.

I'm really asleep.

Qin Zhaoer leaned over the wall, staring at the dark window for a long time, a slight smile unconsciously curving her lips.

She was relieved.

He got off the chair, turned his head—

Wen's mother stood right behind him.

She stood there for an unknown amount of time, holding an oil lamp in her hand, the orange light illuminating her face.

Qin Zhaoer was stunned for a moment, and subconsciously took half a step back.

Wen's mother didn't speak, she just looked at her for a while, then her lips twitched, and she finally smiled.

She didn't ask what you were doing, nor did she say anything else.

He simply waved to Qin Zhaoer, then turned and walked into the inner room.

Qin Zhaoer patted the dust off her skirt and followed behind, her steps very light, as if she had done something wrong.

After entering the room, Madam Wen placed the oil lamp on the table, sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked up at Qin Zhaoer.

The orange light cast two shadows on the wall, one large and one small, close together.

She stared at it for a long time, making Qin Zhaoer feel uneasy. Just as she was about to speak, Wen's mother spoke first.

"Zhao'er, do you like Qin Wangchuan?"

Qin Zhaoer opened her mouth, instinctively wanting to deny it—"I don't like him? Who likes him? I don't."

But when he met his mother's eyes, he swallowed the words back.

She lowered her head and nodded.

"Um."

The sound was very soft, as soft as a mosquito's hum.

But as soon as that "hmm" was uttered, Wen's mother smiled knowingly.

She reached out and pulled Qin Zhaoer closer, gently smoothing her hair, which had been ruffled by the night wind, and slowly combing it with her fingers, just like when they were children.

"Wangchuan was a good child," said Wen's mother, pausing for a moment, "But unfortunately, his life was too bitter."

"Mom is gone, Dad is gone, and now the teacher is sick."

He's hurting inside, but he won't say it. You have to understand.

Will he feel bad?

Qin Zhaoer was taken aback.

Yes, he'll be sad if that old man dies.

Why did it take you so long to think of that?

He had been trying to break free, but upon hearing those words, he suddenly stopped.

"Then what should I do?" She lowered her head, her voice muffled.

From the very first day she came into this world, Qin Zhaoer was acting.

She played a good daughter, portraying a deep family bond.

Her concern was fake, her coquettishness was fake, even her smile was fake.

But now, these words that came out of his own mouth were true.

She really didn't know what to do.

"It's very simple."

"Spend more time with him these days, and don't be temperamental," Wen's mother said softly, as if coaxing her to sleep. "Don't just stand by and watch, and don't go up and disturb him."

"Go pour him a cup of tea, cook him a bowl of noodles, leave it there and go; don't wait for him to thank you."

Qin Zhaoer raised her head.

"What's the point?" She frowned, her tone full of confusion. "Besides, isn't this just serving others?"

Wen's mother looked at her but didn't answer immediately.

His fingers slid down her hair, landing on her cheek, his fingertips gently brushing against it, and he smiled.

"It's all about serving," she said. "That's how it is when two people live together after marriage."

"You serve me, I'll serve you."

"And who said it's useless? It's useful!"

"When he looks back on this period, he won't remember how many cups of tea you poured or how many bowls of noodles you cooked."

He will remember that when he looks back, you will always be there.

That's enough.

Qin Zhaoer opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

She lowered her head, buried her face in her mother's arms, and mumbled a soft "hmm."

Wen's mother's hand returned to her hair, and she continued to comb it slowly.

The next day.

The previous doctor had already prescribed anti-tuberculosis and anti-parasitic medicine for the master, so Qin Wangchuan began by replenishing his vital energy and strengthening his constitution.

Ordinary tonics won't work; we need to add Spirit Grass.

But once the Spirit Grass is added, all the ready-made tonics in medical books become invalid.

The medicinal properties have changed, and the balance of the principal, assistant, adjuvant, and guiding herbs has been completely disrupted.

In other words, you have to try everything, one thing at a time, and start from scratch.

The most critical issue is that even if the perfect ratio is found, no one will test the drug.

Both he and Qin Zhaoer were cultivators, so they could drink poison like water without any ill effects.

How can you force-feed a teacher medicine whose quality you don't even know?

Qin Wangchuan stared blankly at the pile of medicinal herbs on the table for a long time.

Zhou Heng entered at that moment.

He came to help as usual, and as soon as he entered, he saw Qin Wangchuan sitting in front of the stone table, holding a medical book in one hand and a Spirit Grass in the other, his brows furrowed tightly.

After a moment's thought, it became clear what they were doing.

The Master is ill, Qin Wangchuan is trying to find a solution.

Zhou Heng also came from a private school, and he drank a lot of the black medicinal soup brewed by the teacher when he was a child.

After hesitating for a moment, I still came up.

"You want to learn how to treat the master's illness, right?" He paused. "If there's anything I can do to help, just say so."

Qin Wangchuan looked up at him, and without being polite, directly said that he needed someone to test the drug.

Zhou Heng agreed without hesitation this time.

The first batch of medicine was quickly prepared.

The prescription wasn't made up out of thin air; it was a mild tonic formula selected from medical books, with the most nourishing ingredient replaced by a Spirit Grass, while the rest remained unchanged.

The medicine, once brewed, was dark and its bitter smell permeated the entire yard.

But I can assure you it won't kill anyone.

Zhou Heng took it and tilted his head back to drink it.

Qin Wangchuan stared at him. "How does it feel?"

"I don't feel anything," Zhou Heng wiped his mouth, "My stomach just feels warm."

Before he could finish speaking, his expression suddenly changed.

From white to green, from green to purple, clutching her stomach, she turned and ran, faster than ever before.

Qin Wangchuan gazed thoughtfully at the figure disappearing into the alleyway.

Is it too nourishing, or is it due to conflicting medicinal properties?

There are no answers; we can only explore as we go.

We need to hurry.

--

After trying the medicine all day, Zhou Heng returned to the martial arts gym, clutching his stomach.

Instead of returning to his own place, he went straight to the backyard.

Blacksmith Song was hammering a hoe, sparks flying everywhere, when he saw him come in, he paused.

"I want to learn blacksmithing," Zhou Heng said.

Blacksmith Song looked him up and down.

Zhou Heng's father had an old acquaintance with him. The boy had actually studied it for a while when he was young, but he found it boring and quit after a few days.

"Kid, didn't I hear you were taken in as a disciple by a celestial master? Why are you now eyeing this blacksmithing business?"

Zhou Heng recounted how the Master had fallen ill and how Qin Wangchuan had begun studying medicine.

Blacksmith Song put down his hammer and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"What does his studying medicine have to do with you?"

"It's related."

Zhou Heng paused, recalling what Fan Yuan had told him, and then seriously raised his head, "I owe him a favor."

"His blacksmithing skills were just starting to improve, and now he's studying medicine. He can't manage both. I'm helping him out."

Blacksmith Song stared at him for a long while, then suddenly laughed.

He bent down and pulled an old hammer from under the stove, weighed it in his hand, and handed it over.

"Blacksmithing looks simple, but it's actually incredibly mentally taxing. You've learned it before, so I don't need to explain. But what about the Immortal Master?"

"They won't fall behind over there either." Zhou Heng took the hammer, gripped it tightly until his knuckles turned white. "I can do it."

The Blacksmith Song looked at him, twirling the hammer in his hand, and muttered:

"You've grown up."

He paused for a moment, then added, "Your father should be pleased to know."

In fact, Fan Yuan wasn't idle either.

After teaching Zhou Heng some breathing techniques, he went out to find a treatment method.

However, the results were minimal.

Those Cultivator still have a chance, but ordinary people who contract tuberculosis will surely die.

Meanwhile, in Qin Wangchuan's territory, the drug trials are still ongoing.

But it's too slow.

So he began taking the Spirit Grass out to seek advice from other doctors.

I went to many places and contacted many people.

It was later discovered that although the Spirit Grass was highly nourishing, its medicinal properties were too strong.

Adjunctive medicines not only cannot enhance the efficacy of the medicine, but on the contrary, should be selected from herbs that suppress it.

I suddenly had a clue.

The recipe was revised and updated again and again. Zhou Heng would come and drink a bowl every day, and then run away after finishing it.

After running for more than half a month, I finally stopped.

After drinking the new prescription, I felt only a warm sensation in my stomach, and no other reaction occurred.

After drinking it for a week, my complexion actually improved a lot.

Only then did I dare to give it to my teacher.

The dosage should not be too high; start small and increase gradually.

That day, Qin Wangchuan carried a medicine pot to the Master's house. White Dew did not follow; she lay down under the Jujube Tree and took a nap.

When he entered, the room was quite lively.

The teacher was a good teacher, and everyone in the neighborhood spoke highly of him.

The children chased and played outside the yard, and the adults would come in to sit and look after them whenever they had time.

I'm busy with my own things when I'm not free.