Hongzhi Year 18, Twenty-Ninth Day of the First Month.
Chen hour (7-9 am), East City Great Camp.
When we arrived, the sky had just fully brightened. The camp gate was more imposing than the Jingjiao Great Camp, two rows of guards standing at the entrance, armor neat, spears bright as snow. But walking inside, it wasn't quite the same.
There was a strong medicinal smell in the air, mixed with the scent of blood, like someone had poured a bowl of blood into a pot of boiling herbal soup. When the wind blew, the smell waxed and waned, like an invisible hand choking one's throat.
The barracks were quieter than I imagined. Not that morning quiet that should be—it was that kind of quiet deliberately suppressed, manufactured. Like a person with a serious illness, still forcing themselves to put on neat clothes, sitting in the hall to meet guests.
I wrinkled my nose.
"Wrong." I said.
Zhu Houzhao looked at me. "How wrong?"
"Too quiet. And too clean." I scanned the open ground in front of the barracks—swept spotless, not even a fallen leaf. But under the wall roots, in the grass cracks, there were dark brown traces, like blood washed by water then seeped into the mud. "This place has been processed."
Jiang Bin shouldered his stick, looked around. "Someone cleaned the place up before we came."
Qian Ning stood at the very back, hands tucked in his sleeves, wearing that forever unreadable smile. "That means, someone is afraid we'll see something."
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. He glanced in the direction of the barracks, stepped forward.
We followed behind.
Inside the barracks was even quieter than outside. People lay on the kang beds, one next to another, like stacked firewood. Quilts covered neatly, even the wrinkle directions were consistent. But that smell—medicinal smell, blood smell, and that sweet decay smell—seeped out from under the quilts, couldn't be covered.
I walked to the nearest soldier, lifted the quilt.
His arm had a wound. Not a new wound, nor an old wound—it was that kind of wound processed by someone, bandaged neatly but already rotten underneath. Gauze was new, blindingly white, but the liquid seeping from the gauze edges was yellow-green, carrying a fishy stench.
I unwrapped the gauze. Skin around the wound was black, edges neat, middle was deep red flesh, already festering. Exactly the same as that soldier with the leg burn at the Jingjiao Great Camp.
"It's the same batch of medicine." I said.
Zhu Houzhao squatted down to look, stood up.
"Jiang Bin, you go ask the manager here, see what they say." His voice was very flat. "Qian Ning, you go find people to pump for info, see if anyone knows where the medicine came from."
Jiang Bin shouldered his stick, turned and left. Strides large, carrying wind, like going to find someone to fight. Qian Ning smiled, unhurriedly went in another direction.
Zhu Houzhao looked at me.
"You check details."
"What about you?" I asked.
He scanned the whole barracks. "I look at the big picture."
I nodded, squatted down to continue checking wounds. He said another sentence:
"Don't run around."
I looked up at him. "You too."
His mouth corner twitched up slightly, didn't say more, turned and walked away.
I lowered my head, brought my attention back to the wound.
Second soldier, same wound on leg. Third, on back. Fourth, on arm. Every wound was slightly different, but had one common point—none were natural infections. Edges neat, like burned or corroded by something. Exactly the same symptoms as that batch of fake medicine at the Jingjiao Great Camp.
I stood up, walked to the corner where medicines were piled. Hemp sacks stacked neatly, exactly the same as in Henghe Hall's warehouse. I untied a sack, grabbed a handful out.
Astragalus. Color slightly white, slices very thin, smelled of a faint sourness. Same batch as that fake medicine at Henghe Hall.
I put the dregs back, walked to Zhu Houzhao's side.
"Not died of illness," I said. "It's a medicine problem."
He looked at me, waiting for me to continue.
"Same fake medicine as the Jingjiao Great Camp. Astragalus is dregs, Atractylodes is boiled, Angelica too. These soldiers took fake medicine, illness wouldn't heal, wounds wouldn't heal, minor illnesses dragged into major illnesses, major illnesses dragged to death." I paused. "Not died of illness, killed by medicine."
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. His eyes were very dark, like a frozen river surface, couldn't see what was underneath.
"Can find out who brought the medicine in?" he asked.
"Can. But need time."
He nodded, about to speak, when suddenly a shout came from the barracks entrance.
"Who are you? Who let you in?"
An officer-like person rushed in, followed by four or five soldiers. Seeing us, his face changed—not surprise, but a kind of "sure enough someone came" nervousness.
"We are—"
My words not yet finished, that officer waved his hand. "Arrest them!"
Four soldiers charged over.
Jiang Bin moved first.
He flashed out from the side, stick sweeping horizontally, the first soldier hadn't reacted before being swept to the ground. The second swung a fist, Jiang Bin sidestepped, elbow aiming for his ribs, that person muffled a grunt, bent over, kicked over by Jiang Bin.
The third drew his sword. Sword not yet out of sheath, Zhu Houzhao was already there. He gripped that person's wrist, twisted, sword and sheath fell to the ground. That person cried out in pain, pushed out by Zhu Houzhao, hit the wall, slid down and didn't move.
The fourth hesitated for a moment, turned and ran.
Tables overturned. People fell everywhere. Dust flew up, mixed with medicinal smell and blood smell, choking people breathless.
I stepped back, wanting to avoid the chaos—
Someone charged from the side.
I didn't see him. Only heard footsteps, fast, heavy, coming my way.
I subconsciously turned back—
A hand gripped my wrist.
Strength very steady. Not a yank, but a pull. I was pulled back, whole body crashing into a person's embrace.
It was his.
His chest was very hard, heartbeat very fast. Transmitting through the fabric, beat by beat, like drumming.
I didn't look up, also knew it was him. His scent—clean person, no blood smell, no medicinal smell, only a little bit of soap nut fragrance.
His arm encircled my waist side, blocking my whole body behind him.
"Stand behind." he低声 (low voice) said, voice right above my head.
"I can—"
"I know." He cut me off. "But no need."
I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, then swallowed it back.
That officer seeing the situation unfavorable, turned to run. Zhu Houzhao let go of me, stepped forward, gripped his back neck, pressed down. That person's face hit the table, muffled sound, knife in hand flew out, fell to the ground, spun twice.
"Who let you come?" Zhu Houzhao asked.
That officer didn't speak.
"Who sent the medicine?"
Still didn't speak.
I took a deep breath, suppressed my heartbeat, scanned the barracks. Four people lying on the ground, two taken down by Jiang Bin, two beaten by Zhu Houzhao. Three more soldiers huddled in the corner, not daring to move.
My gaze swept over that officer's face—he was looking left.
I followed his gaze. In the left corner of the barracks, there was a person. Not a soldier, wearing casual clothes, shrinking behind the crowd, moving toward the door.
"Left one is the head." I said.
Zhu Houzhao didn't turn back. He let go of that officer, stepped out, gripped that person's shoulder before he touched the door frame. That person turned back, face full of terror.
"Not my business— I just delivered medicine—"
"Who let you deliver?" Zhu Houzhao asked.
"It was… Ministry of War people… surname Wang… said to be Minister Wang's cousin—"
Zhu Houzhao let go. That person collapsed on the ground, whole body trembling.
The barracks quieted down. People lying on the ground, people shrinking in corners, air full of dust and blood smell.
Qian Ning walked in from the door, patted dust off his sleeves, looked at the mess on the ground.
"Your speed of making a move, is faster than I imagined." he said, tone carrying a bit of appreciation.
Jiang Bin shouldered his stick, glanced at him. "Your nonsense isn't little either."
Qian Ning smiled, didn't refute.
I walked to Zhu Houzhao's side, checked if he was injured. None. He was very clean, not even much dust. But his right hand—that hand with the splint removed that hadn't been used much—back of hand had several red marks, like rubbed by something.
I grabbed his wrist, turned over to look.
He looked down at me.
"Fine." he said.
"Don't move." I didn't look up, gently pressed around the wound with my finger. No swelling, no broken skin, just red in a few places. Hit something, not serious. But I still took a handkerchief from my sleeve, wiped it for him.
He looked down at me, didn't speak.
Very quiet. So quiet I could hear his breathing, beat by beat, very steady.
"You almost had an accident just now." he said.
"You too." I lowered my head, continued wiping dust off his hand back.
"I'm used to it."
I put the handkerchief away, looked up at him. "I'm not."
His eyelashes trembled. Very light, like a butterfly flapping its wings.
He didn't speak. I didn't speak either.
Qian Ning stood nearby, looked at us, then looked at Jiang Bin, mouth corner twitched up, tactfully didn't open his mouth.
After a while, Zhu Houzhao turned around, looking at that medicine delivery person on the ground.
"Where is Wang De?"
"D… don't know… He only shows up outside the city… location different every time…"
Zhu Houzhao was silent for a moment, walked to the barracks door. Sky was already fully bright, sunlight shone in, making the dust on the ground clearly visible. He stood in the light, back to us.
"Today is just the small fry," Qian Ning walked to his side, voice not high. "The people above, haven't moved yet."
Zhu Houzhao didn't turn back.
"Then force them out." he said.
I stood in the barracks, watching his back. Sunlight fell on his shoulder, gray short jacket lit white. His shadow cast on the ground, very long, all the way stretching to my feet.
He stood in front of me.
Like he was used to it.
(End of Chapter 18)