Capital City, Yang Qing's residence.
"Bu Er! Bu Er!"
Jiang Zhizhou landed in the courtyard with Yang Qing in his arms, scanning his surroundings as he urgently called Bu Er's name.
Bu Er rushed out from inside. Seeing the man lying limply in Jiang Zhizhou's arms, he exclaimed, "What happened to the young master?"
"His old ailment must have flared up!" As though waking from a dream, Bu Er slapped his forehead and immediately began searching himself.
Before long, he produced a small, exquisite bottle, pulled out its stopper, and tipped out a pill, which he hurriedly slipped into Yang Qing's mouth.
Only when Yang Qing's breathing had steadied somewhat did Bu Er let out a deep sigh of relief and raise a hand to wipe away the sweat that had seeped into the corners of his eyes.
But before he could lower his hand, Jiang Zhizhou seized it. "What exactly is this old ailment of your young master's?"
Looking deeply troubled, Bu Er glanced at the still-unconscious Yang Qing, then looked up at Jiang Zhizhou. "Young Master Jiang, our young master survived by crawling out of a heap of corpses. As for the details, you had better ask him yourself..."
Jiang Zhizhou glared at Bu Er but ultimately said nothing more. Instead, he turned and carried Yang Qing into the bedchamber.
By the time he settled Yang Qing on the bed, Yang Qing had slowly opened his eyes.
"Xiao Zhou..."
Jiang Zhizhou had been about to fetch a chair so he could keep watch beside the bed. Suddenly hearing that familiar voice, he spun around, his eyes wide.
"I would like to know just how many lives you think you have."
Yang Qing struggled to lift the corners of his mouth. "Xiao Zhou, to tell you the truth, this