Second Miss Zheng Yutan had suffered a thoroughly unexpected humiliation, and it nearly drove her mad.
She gained no sense of accomplishment at all.
Her scheme against Zheng Qian had failed, leaving her utterly embarrassed. Now, more than ever, she suspected Zheng Qian might be a ghost.
Zheng Yutan wasn't afraid of ghosts. Compared to them, humans were far more terrifying. She was human—she could make a ghost scatter its soul.
She sat quietly, thinking back to how Zheng Qian had treated Fifth Young Master's wound. The more she remembered, the more resentful she felt.
Fifteen days later, Zheng Run's injury had mostly healed.
He could barely walk on his own, and Zheng Qian reminded him not to exert himself, insisting he rest as much as possible.
However, he still had to go to school.
The Zheng family didn't have a private academy at home, for a simple reason—they couldn't afford it.
Since his grandfather had lost all the family wealth, the Zhengs were a hollow shell of their former grandeur. But as a noble household, Zheng Run could still attend the National Academy (Guozi Jian).
The National Academy was for princes, nobles, and children of high-ranking officials.
It was less about formal study and more about networking. The rules weren't strict, and many wealthy families even had private tutors for their sons.
After the Dragon Boat Festival, the academy held many events, such as polo matches.
Zheng Run loved polo the most. He was clamoring to go to school, but really, it was just to see the matches.
Supported by his young attendants, he boarded the carriage.
Just as the carriage turned two corners, it was suddenly stopped.
Zheng Run lifted the curtain angrily: "Why stop the carriage?"
The attendants and coachman looked awkward.
Beside the carriage stood an elderly man, bowing politely: "Fifth Young Master, I am a doctor from the Jin Kui Hall. Do you remember me?"
It was this old man's two junior attendants who had stopped the carriage.
Zheng Run raised an eyebrow. He remembered this old fellow had once said he was beyond help, and the memory made him fume.
"You dare call yourself a doctor with that lousy medical skill? Has Jin Kui Hall run out of patients?"
At fourteen, he was in the perfect stage of fearless arrogance. In the academy, he could even challenge princes' sons. Even a small doctor couldn't intimidate him; he would defy a crown prince if he wanted.
The elderly doctor wasn't offended. He smiled gently: "Fifth Young Master, I only wish to invite you for tea, examine your wound, and perhaps learn a thing or two. I beg you to grant me this honor."
Master Lu, in his fifties, was considered a respected elder. A senior bowing to a junior was a great gesture, and Fifth Young Master, vain as he was, couldn't refuse.
With the attendants' help, he stepped down and entered a nearby tea house.
The second floor had a private room, already set with tea and snacks.
"Half-grown boys eat their elders' fortunes," the saying went. At this age, Zheng Run was especially hungry. Seeing the steaming cakes, he forgot everything else and eagerly began to eat.
Master Lu only intended to inspect his wound.
"Look at it yourself, nothing to see," Zheng Run said, showing his foot.
At that moment, a young man entered.
Zheng Run paused in surprise.
Master Lu immediately introduced him: "This is my nephew. He also studies medicine. Fifth Young Master, may he examine you as well? Your elder sister's skill is extraordinary; we are fortunate to observe."
Zheng Run snorted.
The young man barely looked at him, focusing solely on the wound. After examining it, he left without a word.
Master Lu asked several questions:
"Fifth Young Master, the stitches your sister used—what happened to them? Were they removed?"
"No, they're gone."
"How could they be gone?" the elder exclaimed.
"Collagen thread—it's absorbed. You don't even know that?" Zheng Run replied casually.
He was genuinely curious, so he had asked his elder sister. She explained that the stitches were made of collagen, not cotton, and could be absorbed naturally by the body—harmless to both skin and wound.
He didn't understand "absorption" or "collagen" at all. But, to save face, he spoke confidently. Anyone who asked further would appear foolish, so no one pressed.
Master Lu, embarrassed, could not reply.
Zheng Run answered questions while sampling all the pastries, finally enjoying a particularly delicious date paste puff.
"Package a few of these date paste puffs and send them to Jing'an Marquis House for my sister," he instructed.
The servants complied.
Satisfied and full, Zheng Run grew impatient with further questioning: "Why ask these things? Can your medicine compare to my sister's skill?"
With that, he went downstairs. The pastries were already sent, and he was helped back into the carriage.
After he left, Master Lu moved to the adjacent private room.
The young man was sitting, drinking tea. He wore a teal robe with gold embroidery, highlighting his tall, elegant figure. His features were sharp—high brow bones, straight nose—handsome, yet his deep-set eyes held a faint, ominous intensity.
"Young Master, I've confirmed—Fifth Young Master didn't take any medicine, nor did he use any external remedies. His recovery was entirely due to that lady's washing and stitching of the wound," Master Lu said.
The young man, Lu Shu, was the eldest son of the Lu family of Jin Kui Hall, also the hall's Young Master.
Trained since childhood, his medical skill was unmatched. With Lu family's superior medicines, he had already earned the nickname "Young Divine Doctor" in his early twenties.
Even he found it hard to believe what Master Lu reported.
The wound, normally uncontrollable by even Jin Kui Hall's hemostatic powders, had been stopped simply by tying with a sash. And the wound was stitched like a garment—unheard of.
Upon close inspection, the stitches had indeed been absorbed by the body.
"Collagen thread," the word lingered in his mind. What could this mean?
Lu Shu had a photographic memory. He had memorized far more medical texts than most people would see in a lifetime. Every known disease, he could trace in the records—except this new technique.
Absorbed? It must mean the skin 'ate' it, as if the medicine entered through the skin.
But what kind of thread could be absorbed this way?
He was eager to meet this mysterious lady of the Jing'an Marquis House.
"She applied medicine," Lu Shu interrupted Master Lu. "You said she inserted a thin thread into the skin—surely that's medicinal. We just don't know it yet."
"Young Master, what kind of medicine is this? Even shamanic doctors aren't like this. Her skill… it's miraculous, almost like bringing the dead back to life," Master Lu said.
"I must meet her," Lu Shu said firmly.
Master Lu hesitated: "That may not be easy. She is, after all, part of a noble household—though it is, frankly, modest."
"Mind your words. A Marquis' household is still a Marquis' household. That is not for us to decide," Lu Shu said.
He was determined—he would find a way to meet the lady of the Jing'an Marquis House.