C18 Drinking Medicine What Was There to be Afraid Of?

Nangong Han observed the situation, feeling a bit displeased, his words carrying a sharp edge. "What? Have you cozied up to my butler? Let me tell you, my butler doesn't earn much. If you have any ulterior motives, it's best to lay them out now. Don't pretend to be a saint here."

He thought about the effort he had put into rescuing this woman from the bottom of the cliff, only for her to leave without a word of thanks, as if he didn't matter at all. With his busy schedule, constantly running around to solve the headless corpse case, he figured she should have at least come to express her gratitude since he couldn't find the time to visit her.

The strange emotions he felt upon learning she was missing had, upon seeing her again, turned into a ridiculous sense of annoyance. This woman was truly ungrateful. Of course, he wouldn't let her see how petty he felt inside.

Xuanniang, unaware of his inner turmoil, spoke sincerely, expressing her gratitude. "Sir, please don't say such hurtful things. I'm only doing this to repay your kindness. If it weren't for you, I would have died at the bottom of that cliff, my body long gone."

"Are you sure? If you cure my lung ailment, I'd reward you with a fortune. Are you really going to pass up such a lucrative opportunity?"

Nangong Han ignored her words, instead fixing Xuanniang with a sharp, mocking gaze, as if he had already decided she was someone who only cared about money and lacked gratitude. His eyes were so intense and penetrating that if Xuanniang weren't confident in her own integrity, she might have trembled under his scrutiny.

Xuanniang silently reminded herself of two principles: as a person from ancient times, never entertain wild thoughts; as a healer, never argue with someone who is ill, especially someone who once saved your life. She chose not to respond to Nangong Han's cutting remarks, and seeing her indifference, he fell silent as well.

Taking advantage of Nangong Han's writing tools, Xuanniang stood by the desk, calmly practicing her calligraphy, while Nangong Han, feeling dizzy from a high fever, sat casually on the edge of the bed.

The room fell into a quiet stillness, with neither of them finding the silence awkward. After about the time it takes for incense to burn, Chiyan entered the room carrying a bowl of medicine. Seeing the medicine, Xuanniang noticed a change in Nangong Han's expression. She quickly turned to Chiyan and asked, "Didn't you have the maid prepare some candied fruit?"

Chiyan looked puzzled, not understanding her question. "Candied fruit? Do you like it? If so, I'll have the servants bring a few varieties for you."

Xuanniang didn't say anything further, which was as good as agreeing. Nangong Han, standing nearby, understood what was happening. His face turned a shade of iron as he walked over, picked up the bowl of medicine, and downed it in one go.

"A real man needs candy to take his medicine? What a joke," Nangong Han remarked. But as soon as he said it, his face twisted as if he wanted to spit the medicine out. Under Xuanniang's amused gaze, he forced himself to swallow it back down.

Chiyan chimed in from the side, "Nangong, are you afraid of taking medicine?"

Hearing this, Nangong Han shot Chiyan a glare filled with menace. Suddenly, Xuanniang started counting down, "Three, two, one. Down!"

With a thud, Nangong Han collapsed to the ground before anyone could react. Just before he completely passed out, he stubbornly tried to keep his eyes open and get up, but the medicine's effect was too strong, and he fell into a deep sleep.

"Doctor, is Nangong going to be okay?" Chiyan asked worriedly.

"Don't worry," the doctor replied. "I just made the medicine a bit strong. He really held out, though—I added quite a bit of bitter herbs. As they say, good medicine tastes bitter. Once he drinks it, he'll fall right asleep. Rest assured, after a good nap, his fever should break."

Chiyan called a few people in to help Nangong Han onto the bed. Xuanniang immediately began examining his body.

Initially, Xuanniang just rolled up Nangong Han's sleeves, revealing two bare arms. But the arms were covered in a web of scars, both old and new, with bruises and deep wounds that were shocking to see.

These injuries startled Xuanniang. Ignoring the surprised looks from others, she hurriedly unbuttoned Nangong Han's shirt, exposing his chest. The wounds there were even more horrifying, with scars snaking across his skin like centipedes. Some small wounds had turned black, clearly infected again as new skin tried to form.

Some wounds were recurring, showing signs of redness and swelling, indicating that Nangong Han had been eating things he shouldn't have.

Xuanniang frowned, feeling a surge of anger. This person didn't care about his own health at all. As a doctor, she was most frustrated by patients who didn't listen. She couldn't believe that other doctors hadn't warned him against eating spicy food or ginger.

Looking at these wounds, it was clear they were due to his own negligence, not symptoms of poisoning.