HNYWEF -Chapter 97 The Disease He Dares Not Treat

In the third year of Zhenguan, the fifth day of the eleventh lunar month.

The weather had turned cold. Wind poured in from the alley entrance, carrying that dry winter chill that made people’s faces sting.

The Zhou family smithy had its door closed.

Not because it had shut down, but because it was too cold—if the door stayed open, all the warmth inside would be blown away.

Inside, Zhou Xiong was forging iron. The furnace burned hot. Zhou Hong stood beside him working the bellows, and Zhou Yi squatted in a corner poking at the furnace ash with a metal rod—poke once, glance once, poke again, glance again.

“Clang.”

“Clang.”

The hammer strikes came one after another, steady and unhurried.

Then suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside.

Thud, thud, thud—fast and urgent.

Zhou Yi looked up toward the door.

It was pushed open, and a burst of cold wind rushed in.

Cheng Yaojin stood at the entrance, panting heavily. His face was red from the cold, and clouds of white breath rose from his mouth.

“Bear-brain!”

Zhou Xiong’s hammer froze mid-air.

He looked at Cheng Yaojin.

Cheng Yaojin didn’t even step inside. He just stood at the doorway and blurted out:

“Du Ruhui is not going to make it!”

Zhou Xiong’s brows tightened.

Just for a moment.

He didn’t speak. He set the hammer down and wiped his hands.

Only then did Cheng Yaojin step inside and close the door, sealing the cold wind out. He stood there still catching his breath.

“What happened?” Zhou Xiong asked, his voice rough and hoarse.

Cheng Yaojin said, “I don’t really know. I only heard he was fine a few days ago, then suddenly fell ill these past days and even resigned from office. His Majesty is anxious. All the imperial physicians have gone, but none of them can figure it out. Old Li thought you might have a way and told you to go take a look.”

Zhou Xiong stood there, unmoving.

Zhou Hong watched his elder brother.

What was going on? A high official in the capital falls ill—why would they come looking for his brother?

Zhou Xiong remained silent for two breaths.

Then he spoke.

“Look, treating illness isn’t really my strong suit…”

Cheng Yaojin froze. “Huh?”

Zhou Xiong said, “Wounds, broken bones, things that bleed—I can handle those. But illness… I’m really not good at it.”

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He looked at Zhou Xiong for a long moment.

Then he scratched his head.

“So… are you going or not?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer immediately.

He turned and looked at Zhou Hong.

“Watch the shop for me.”

Zhou Hong nodded.

Then he looked at Zhou Yi.

“Don’t slack off.”

Zhou Yi also nodded.

Zhou Xiong went into the back room and pulled out a wooden box—the one holding all his tools: tweezers, small blades, needles, thread, medicinal powders, everything related to his craft.

He carried the box and walked to the door.

Cheng Yaojin quickly opened it.

Cold wind slapped his face as Zhou Xiong stepped outside.

His expression didn’t change. He followed Cheng Yaojin into the street.

After a few steps, he suddenly stopped.

He turned back and looked at Cheng Yaojin.

“What illness does he have?”

Cheng Yaojin said, “No idea. The physicians said something like consumption? Or something like that. I didn’t really understand.”

Zhou Xiong frowned again.

He didn’t ask further and kept walking.

The alley was freezing. Their footsteps echoed on the blue stone pavement—clack, clack, clack.

Cheng Yaojin slowed down and waited for him to catch up.

“Bear-brain.”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

Cheng Yaojin said, “What you just said… not your strong suit?”

Zhou Xiong nodded.

Cheng Yaojin thought for a moment. “Then what can you even do if you go?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer.

After waiting a while and getting no response, Cheng Yaojin continued:

“I mean, you’ve treated so many people. You’ve never treated illness before?”

Zhou Xiong said, “I have.”

Cheng Yaojin paused. “Then why say you’re not good at it?”

Zhou Xiong said, “The ones I treated were minor illnesses. If it’s serious, even if it’s given to me, I wouldn’t dare treat it.”

Cheng Yaojin scratched his head, still not fully understanding.

But he didn’t ask further.

The wind slipped into their collars, biting cold.

Zhou Xiong suddenly spoke again.

“What did he look like when it started?”

Cheng Yaojin thought for a moment.

“How would I know? Just… not looking well.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t ask anything else.

He frowned slightly again.

They reached the end of the alley. A carriage was waiting there, the driver stamping his feet and rubbing his hands to keep warm.

Cheng Yaojin climbed in first, then turned back and reached out to pull Zhou Xiong up.

Zhou Xiong got on.

The curtain dropped, and the inside dimmed.

The carriage started moving, wheels rolling over stone with a steady rumble.

Zhou Xiong leaned against the wall, holding the wooden box, eyes closed.

I don’t know how to treat illness—but I can examine it. Symptoms, prescriptions—that’s the physicians’ job.

What he feared was seeing something beyond saving.

He already knew Du Ruhui’s ending.

The carriage rolled farther and farther away. The wind still blew at the mouth of the alley.

Inside the smithy, Zhou Hong and Zhou Yi were still standing there.

Zhou Hong looked toward the doorway for a long moment.

Then he turned back and returned to the furnace.

“Keep working.”

Zhou Yi ran over and squatted down, continuing to poke the furnace ash.

“Clang.”

“Clang.”

The hammering started again.