HNYWEF -Chapter 98 Yin–Yang Separation Decision

When the carriage stopped at the entrance of the Du residence, Zhou Xiong glanced at the gate.

White paper strips were hanging on it—still not fully posted. The man wasn’t dead yet, but preparations had already begun.

He got down carrying a wooden box and followed Cheng Yaojin inside.

A group of people stood in the courtyard—officials in court robes, men in plain clothes, and several physicians from the Imperial Medical Bureau, gathered together and whispering.

When they saw Zhou Xiong enter, all those gazes turned at once and landed on him.

Some recognized him. Some didn’t.

Some were measuring him. Some were openly disdainful.

Zhou Xiong showed no expression. He walked straight through them and went inside.

Cheng Yaojin led the way, his loud voice almost startling.

“Make way, make way! The doctor’s here!”

They entered the main hall, went around a screen, and reached the inner room.

A brazier was burning inside, making the room warm—but there was a heavy, indescribable stifling feeling in that warmth.

A man lay on the bed, covered in thick quilts, only his face exposed.

Zhou Xiong had seen him a few times before, but never looked closely.

Du Ruhui.

Thin.

Much thinner than before—more than just a little.

His cheekbones jutted out sharply, his eye sockets were deeply sunken, his complexion was ashen, and his lips were pale.

Someone was sitting beside the bed.

Li Shimin.

Hearing the footsteps, he raised his head toward the door.

When he saw it was Zhou Xiong, he nodded slightly.

Said nothing.

Zhou Xiong also nodded back.

He walked in and stopped by the bed.

Du Ruhui’s eyes moved, slowly opening a slit as he saw him.

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

“Doctor Zhou… you…”

His voice was extremely hoarse, forced out as if scraped from his throat.

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He placed the wooden box on the nearby table and opened it.

Inside were neatly arranged tools: forceps, small knives, probes, medicinal powders—and one more item.

A wooden tube, thick in the middle and thin at both ends, wrapped in leather, with two fine copper tubes attached.

He took it out.

The murmuring of the imperial physicians at the door stopped instantly when they saw it.

Someone leaned forward slightly.

Someone frowned.

Someone squinted, recognizing it—this was a diagnostic instrument for listening. In common terms, a “listening tube.” They had seen it before, but rarely used it.

No one spoke.

Zhou Xiong inserted the copper tubes into his ears and pressed the wooden end against Du Ruhui’s chest.

The room fell silent.

So quiet that even the faint crackling of sparks from the brazier could be heard.

Zhou Xiong closed his eyes and listened.

One beat.

Two beats.

Three beats.

His brow slowly furrowed.

After a moment, he moved the tube downward, to the back, and continued listening.

His brow furrowed even deeper.

When he finished, he removed the stethoscope-like device and placed it back into the box.

Then he reached out and placed his hand on Du Ruhui’s wrist.

Pulse diagnosis.

This time he closed his eyes for even longer.

No one in the room dared to make a sound.

Li Shimin sat motionless beside him, staring at Zhou Xiong’s face.

Zhou Xiong opened his eyes.

He gently placed Du Ruhui’s hand back under the quilt.

Then he stood up.

Looked at Du Ruhui.

Du Ruhui also looked at him.

Suddenly, Du Ruhui smiled.

A very faint smile.

“That expression of yours… I know what it means.”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Du Ruhui continued, “Alright. Go rest. Let His Majesty talk to you.”

Zhou Xiong seemed like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Then he turned and walked out.

At the doorway, he heard Du Ruhui say from behind:

“Your Majesty, you don’t need to keep a straight face either. It doesn’t look good.”

Li Shimin said nothing.

Outside, the imperial physicians were still standing in the courtyard. When they saw Zhou Xiong come out, some tried to approach and ask questions, but one glance from him made them retreat.

Zhou Xiong stood under the corridor, waiting.

After a while, Li Shimin came out.

He walked up to Zhou Xiong and stopped.

Looked at him.

He looked for three breaths.

Then he spoke.

His voice was very calm.

“How is it?”

周雄 looked at him as well.

A moment of silence passed.

Then he spoke.

“Yin–Yang Separation Decision.”

李世民’s brows moved slightly.

Just a slight movement.

He looked at Zhou Xiong, waiting for him to continue.

Zhou Xiong said nothing more.

But that gaze had already said everything that needed to be said.

Li Shimin stood there, motionless.

A cold wind drifted through the corridor.

There was no expression on his face.

But Zhou Xiong saw it—his hand trembled again.

Just like that day in the courtyard.

Li Shimin nodded.

Just once.

Then he turned and walked inside.

After two steps, he suddenly stopped.

Without turning back.

“How long?”

Zhou Xiong replied, “It varies from person to person.”

He didn’t want to, and didn’t dare, state it too definitively.

Li Shimin stood there for a moment.

Then he continued walking.

His figure disappeared behind the curtain.

Zhou Xiong stood in the corridor, looking at that curtain.

He watched for a while.

Then he picked up the wooden box and walked out.

In the courtyard, the imperial physicians were still whispering among themselves. One of them glanced at him, then quickly looked away again.

Zhou Xiong didn’t pay them any attention.

He walked out of the Du residence.

程咬金 suddenly appeared from somewhere and came up beside him.

“How is it?”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He kept walking.

Cheng Yaojin followed behind him. After waiting a while and seeing that he still wouldn’t speak, he didn’t ask again.

The two of them walked one in front, one behind, along the street.

After a while, Zhou Xiong suddenly stopped.

He looked ahead.

Cheng Yaojin followed his gaze—but saw nothing. Just an ordinary street, ordinary shops, ordinary people passing by.

“Bear Blind?” he asked.

Zhou Xiong didn’t respond.

He stood there for a moment.

Then he continued walking.

He knew history.

He knew 杜如晦 would die in the third month of the fourth year of Zhenguan.

But that was just words on a page.

Now, that man was lying there, thin as a stick of bones, still telling Li Shimin, “Don’t keep a stern face—it’s ugly.”

Now, he couldn’t smile anymore.

He thought of why he had learned medicine in the first place.

Cheng Yaojin suddenly spoke beside him.

“Bear Blind.”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

Cheng Yaojin said, “That expression of yours is exactly the same as what Du Ruhui just said.”

Zhou Xiong froze slightly.

Cheng Yaojin continued, “He knows what it means. I know too.”

He paused.

“So just stop putting that face on.”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

Three breaths passed.

Then he suddenly let out a soft laugh.

Very light.

He said nothing.

And kept walking.

Cheng Yaojin followed behind, also smiling.

Both smiles were helpless.

They walked through the cold wind, neither of them speaking.

They reached the entrance of the alley.

Zhou Xiong turned in.

Cheng Yaojin stood at the alley mouth, watching that figure disappear inside.

He watched for a while.

Then he turned and walked away.

The wind kept blowing.

The sky was a dull gray.