Hongzhi Year 18, Twenty-Fourth Day of the First Month.
This time arriving at the camp, it was already the third day.
The camp gate guards were already familiar with Zhu Houzhao's black Jinyiwei clothes. Seeing him, they let us pass directly, no longer blocking. But what was in their eyes was not admiration—it was an indescribable wariness. Like a bowstring pulled tight for too long, not knowing when it would snap.
That day, Deputy Director Sun didn't come. The Imperial Hospital side said there were other important matters, but I secretly suspected—perhaps yesterday he lost face from what His Highness said, and simply didn't want to come. Coming was also nothing to say, might as well not come.
Zhu Houzhao walked in front, pace faster than yesterday by a few points. These past few days he seemed like a different person—in the Eastern Palace still that lazy manner, but once stepping into this camp, like a horse long confined to a trough, finally released to the wilderness.
That row of low houses was still the same. But today there was one more person at the door.
An officer. Forty-something, square face, sideburns and beard, the armor on his body looked more decent than ordinary soldiers, but not much better—shoulder iron plate rusted at a corner, collar leather rope worn white. He stood before the door, hands behind his back, like a stake nailed into the ground.
Seeing us come, he bowed in salute.
"Subordinate Zhou De, Jingying Battalion Commander. Hearing Your Highness is personally here, specially came to—"
"No need." Zhu Houzhao cut him off, walking straight in.
Zhou De paused, hurriedly followed. His strides were large, a few steps catching up to Zhu Houzhao's side.
"Your Highness, this room is dirty, the subordinate has had people clean another place—"
"No need." Zhu Houzhao didn't look back, another sentence.
Zhou De's face stiffened for an instant. He stopped, gaze falling on me. That look wasn't heavy, but like a thin needle, pricking lightly.
I didn't pay attention, following Zhu Houzhao into the room.
Today the room was brighter than the previous two days. Don't know who tore a few holes in the windows, light leaking in from the holes, casting a few bright white spots on the ground. The air was still stifling, but that sweet decay smell seemed lighter—perhaps because of ventilation, or perhaps I was gradually getting used to it.
Zhu Houzhao walked to that burned soldier, squatted down.
"How is he?" he asked.
I unwrapped the gauze to check. The wound was a circle smaller than yesterday—black edges hadn't spread further, pus in the middle also less. New granulation tissue was pink, tender like grass sprouts just emerging in early spring.
"Improving." I said.
He nodded, stood up.
"What about that one?" He jerked his chin toward the scurvy soldier.
"Gums still swollen, but not worsening. Need fresh vegetables, what was said yesterday—"
"Already on the way." He cut me off.
I looked at him. He wasn't looking at me, walking straight to the third patient, bending to look closely.
"What about this one?"
"Fever broke. Still diarrhea."
His eyebrows furrowed slightly.
"Can cure?"
"Can. But must first find out what caused it."
He didn't ask more, turned and walked out. I followed behind. Reaching the door, Zhou De was still standing there, posture unchanged, hands behind his back, like a wooden stake driven into the ground.
"Your Highness," he spoke. "The subordinate has something to report."
"Speak."
Zhou De glanced at me. That glance was short, but I could see—he was weighing, whether to say it in front of me.
"Speak." Zhu Houzhao吐 (吐) ed another word. Tone unchanged, but Zhou De's shoulders shrank slightly.
"Replying to Your Highness," he lowered his voice. "The medicine these soldiers used was originally allocated from the Imperial Hospital. But—"
He paused.
"But what?"
"But last month, the Imperial Hospital changed a batch of medicines. Said 'old medicine unusable, changed for new'. Who knew after changing, sickness actually increased."
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. He looked at Zhou De, waiting for him to continue.
"The subordinate checked," Zhou De's voice lowered a few points. "That batch of medicine didn't come through the Imperial Hospital's proper channels. Someone procured it from outside."
"Who?"
"Don't know." Zhou De lowered his head. "The subordinate couldn't find out. Asked the Imperial Hospital, they said 'someone above approved it'. Asked above, they said 'Imperial Hospital matters, not our jurisdiction'."
Zhu Houzhao was silent.
Wind blew from the camp gate direction, carrying the scent of soil and withered grass. Stray hairs on his forehead were blown loose, hanging by his face.
"Where is the medicine?" he asked.
"In the warehouse. Does Your Highness want to go see?"
"Lead the way."
The warehouse was on the camp's west side. Larger than that row of low houses, but equally dilapidated. Wall roots damp, mold spots climbing half the wall. But the lock on the door was new—a shiny iron lock, out of place with this broken room.
Zhou De took out the key and unlocked it. Door pushed open, a strong medicinal smell hit the face—bitterness mixed with an indescribable sour rot smell.
I wrinkled my nose.
Zhu Houzhao stepped inside. The warehouse was piled with hemp sacks, large and small, stacked almost to the ceiling. Some sacks had labels—"Astragalus," "Atractylodes," "Licorice"—all common medicines.
I walked to a sack of Astragalus, untied the opening, grabbed a handful out.
Leaned close to smell.
Wrong.
Astragalus should be sweet, with a beany smell, the scent of sun-dried vegetation. But this handful—I sniffed again—had a faint sour smell, like something went moldy, then was dried by someone, the smell suppressed by other scents.
I broke off a small piece, put it in my mouth.
"Don't—" Zhu Houzhao reached to stop, didn't stop me.
I chewed.
Bitter. Not the taste Astragalus should have—Astragalus isn't bitter. It was another kind of bitter, astringent, like chewing a piece of tree bark.
I spat it out.
"Wrong." I said.
"How wrong?" Zhu Houzhao asked.
"This batch of medicine," I weighed the Astragalus in my hand. "Is fake."
Zhou De's face changed. "Fake?"
"Astragalus should be sweet, this is bitter. Atractylodes should have fragrance, you smell—" I opened the nearby Atractylodes sack, grabbed a handful and handed it to him. He sniffed, eyebrows twisting together.
"No smell." he said.
"Right. Atractylodes should have a fresh scent, this has no smell at all. Like it was boiled, then dried."
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. He walked to another sack, untied the opening, grabbed a handful out.
"What about this?" He handed it over.
It was Honeysuckle. I took it and looked closely—color dark, not fresh golden yellow, but gray and dusty, like left for many years. Flower buds were all broken, fingers pinching turned to powder.
"This is also fake." I said. "Honeysuckle should be whole flowers, color bright. This is—dregs. Used by someone, dried, then brought to sell."
Zhou De's face went pale.
"Your Highness, the subordinate really didn't know—"
"Didn't say you knew." Zhu Houzhao cut him off. Tone plain, but I saw his fingers gripping the sack opening tighten.
He walked to the door, standing in the sunlight. Back to me, shoulder line very tight.
"This batch of medicine," he said. "Who handled it?"
"Imperial Hospital warehouse manager, surname Zhao, named Zhao Cheng."
"Where is he?"
"Should be at the Imperial Hospital."
Zhu Houzhao didn't turn around. Sunlight cast his shadow on the ground, a long strip, stretching into the warehouse, stretching onto those sacks full of fake medicine.
"Go." he said.
The Imperial Hospital's warehouse was in a corner of the east city. Arriving it was already afternoon, sun slanting west, light slanting onto the door studs, reflecting dim yellow light.
Zhu Houzhao didn't take the main gate. He led me around to the back alley, slipping in through a small door. Door wasn't locked, pushing open revealed a narrow corridor, both sides piled with sundries—broken medicine jars, old sieves, a bundle of firewood no one cleaned up.
Zhao Cheng's room was next to the warehouse, a cramped single room. Door closed, faint voices inside.
Zhu Houzhao didn't knock. He pushed the door open directly.
Two people sat inside. One forty-something, thin long face, mustache, wearing low-ranking Imperial Hospital uniform—this was Zhao Cheng. The other wore a military uniform, back to the door, features unclear.
Seeing Zhu Houzhao, they both froze.
Zhao Cheng's face went white instantly. He猛地 (suddenly) stood up, chair kuangdang sound flipping onto the ground.
"Your, Your Highness—"
The one in military uniform also stood up, turning around. I recognized at once—it was Zhou De. The battalion commander seen at the camp gate early this morning.
Seeing me, he also paused. Then gaze shifted to Zhu Houzhao, expression on his face changed—no longer surprise, but a kind of "finished" grayness.
Zhu Houzhao stood at the door. He didn't go in, didn't speak. Just looked at them.
The room was strangely quiet. So quiet I could hear Zhao Cheng's heartbeat—he stood there, lips trembling, fingers also trembling.
"Your Highness," Zhao Cheng's voice trembled. "The subject—"
"The medicine matter," Zhu Houzhao cut him off, voice neither high nor low. "You handled it?"
Zhao Cheng's legs went soft, putong knelt down, forehead kowtowing the ground.
"Your Highness spare my life! The subject, the subject was also following orders—"
"Whose orders?"
Zhao Cheng went silent. Forehead pressed to the ground, shoulders shaking badly.
"Whose orders?" Zhu Houzhao asked again. Voice still that plain tone, but Zhao Cheng's shoulders shook more severely.
"It was… the Ministry of War…" Zhao Cheng's voice thin as a mosquito hum. "Ministry of War's Bureau Director Liu… said that batch of medicine was returned from the border, still usable… told the subject to switch it to the Jingying Camp…"
Ministry of War.
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. He stood there, backlight shining in, his face hidden in darkness, expression indistinguishable.
"Which bureau is Bureau Director Liu from in the Ministry of War?" he asked.
"Ministry of War Military Selection Bureau Director… Liu An."
Zhu Houzhao nodded.
He turned and walked out.
I followed behind. Out the small door, walking into the back alley. Alley narrow, both sides high walls, sun couldn't shine in. His back walked in front, black and deep, almost merging into the shadow.
Walking to the alley entrance, he stopped.
"Lizi."
"Mm?"
"You just said, those medicines are fake."
"Mm."
"Can find out who did it?"
I thought for a moment. Medicine counterfeiting, in this world,无非 (nothing more than) a few paths—medicine merchants, Imperial Hospital warehouse, procurement people. Following this chain upwards, always can touch the root.
"Can." I said.
"How long?"
"Three days."
He looked at me. Alley entrance light fell on his face, half bright half dark.
"Three days." He repeated.
"Mm."
He nodded, turned and continued walking.
I followed behind. Out of the alley, sunlight suddenly bright enough to dazzle, I squinted. His back in the light, black clothes warmed slightly by the sun.
But I always felt, someone was watching us from the dark.
I turned and looked back.
The alley was empty. Nothing there.
But that feeling remained—like an invisible thread, tied behind, tugging lightly.
(End of Chapter 13)