Jingting opened the letter from Xuhua and immediately put it away. The first few sentences had already stabbed him in his heart. Why was she so poetic, starting with 'the mansion is covered in white'? As if she couldn't start with: 'The old general Liu died.' She had to be dramatic and almost made Jingting cry.
"How is she?" Xicheng, who came to the clinic, asked, he missed his sister so much, but he couldn't go to her. His father made it clear. He was too similar to him for anyone to recognize him. Xuhua was a bit more like mother, she had the softness of a woman, yet maintained her father's hardness if needed.
"I don't know, read it yourself…" Jingting threw the letter closer to him and took the medicinal journal he was reading. He found it outside in one of the stalls and couldn't believe how some blatant untruths of the human body could be written down and recommended to people to follow.
"Your general had won one of his battles. He came back with a few cuts, though. Xuhua suspected it was done on purpose. It looked too reckless, given nobody else came in so badly wounded as he." Jingting sighed. He knew it would happen, but he couldn't go and comfort him, leaving everything behind.
"Your next patient is here," the servant said. Somehow, Jingting's work suddenly became the work of a miracle healer, and many rich people wanted to come to his clinic.
So he found a loop in the system, and he charged his services by how much money you had. Xiaowu would ask their names, and according to their profession, he calculated the probable income they had and went into a table they had made together and charged according to that. Xiaowu, the elder brother of Xiaoqi, was really good at accounting, so he took care of everything.
"Do you know why he is here?" Jingting asked, and Xiaoqi and Xicheng both shook their heads in unison.
"I'll go then," he took the veiled hat from the table, and secured it in his hair. He walked through the back of the clinic to his kind of room. It was a private place with a table and chairs, there was also a bed on the side if needed, so patients could lie there.
When he sat down and saw the mini pillow before him, he went back into his work mode. He called in Dalin and told him to let the patient in.
An older-looking man came in, looking quite unhealthy. He was pale with a big red nose, big belly, bloodshot eyes, and breathing heavily.
The way he looked told him enough, so when he placed down his hand on the pillow, Jingting needed just a brief touch to verify his diagnosis.
"You have a pain in your side because your liver is drowning in wine, and you can't sleep because your stomach is screaming from the grease of too many roasted ducks," Jingting said, his voice flat and clinical.
"Your spleen has given up," Jingting continued, dropping the man's hand. "It can no longer move the dampness in your body, so it has turned to phlegm. That is why you breathe like a dying ox. I'll give you medicine, but if you don't stop killing your body, it won't do anything."
Jingting stood up and walked to the apothecary cabinets. He didn't reach for the expensive ginseng or the rare herbs. He grabbed Huang Lian for the heat and Shan Zha to cut through the food stagnation. And called in Xiaowu.
"Charge him only the half rate and the medicine, I didn't help him much," he whispered and went back to the table where the confused officer was.
"That's it?" he asked, completely stumped.
"And what else do you expect? I told you, you are overeating and drinking too much, medicine won't save you if you don't change your lifestyle. It depends on you if you want to kill yourself or not." He was harsh but truthful. As the man left, clutching his bitter herbs, Xichen watched from the doorway.
"You were a bit harsh, weren't you?" Xicheng asked softly. "He's a paying patient." Jingting wiped the table where the man's arm had rested and changed the pillow. He went to the basin and washed his own hands, feeling disgusted.
"He is a man who thinks he can buy his way out of the consequences of his choices. I have no patience for it today…" He wanted to add something, but stopped, thinking whether he should say it aloud or not.
"And I was so disgusted with him…" Even when he thought about it, his stomach was turning, and his gag reflex acted up.
"What's happening with you?" Xicheng asked, concerned. Jingting became pale too suddenly.
"I can't sleep lately," he answered, actually letting Xicheng hold him up and almost carrying him to the chair. His head was spinning, and his vision was getting blurry.
"Open the window!" he immediately whispered with urgency Xicheng heard for the first time. Xicheng lurched to the side window and immediately opened both wings, letting the fresh air in.
Jingting slumped back into the chair, his chest heavy. He gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. The fresh air hit his face, but the feeling of being disgusted didn't leave him. It wasn't just the smell of the merchant's greasy skin. It was the smell of everything. The medicine, the old wood, the ink. Suddenly, and out of nowhere, it was bothering him. Making him feel like it was pressing into his pores, smothering him.
"Jingting, breathe," Xicheng said, standing over him, hovering but afraid to touch.
"You're as white as mourning clothes. What happened?" Jingting managed to breathe in, his eyes squeezed shut.
"He was just... too much. Everything is... too much." His stomach did another violent flip.
"You haven't eaten properly since the General left," Xicheng noted, his voice dropping to a gentle, worrying tone. "And you haven't slept much. Even a stone wall would crumble under that, Jingting." There was silence. He said nothing.
"You are the same as the General. You are killing yourself…" Jingting avoided Xicheng's gaze and closed his eyes once more.
He wanted to see him too much… Maybe…