20demayo Chapter 86 Madam Li is critically ill
Chapter 86 Madam Li is critically ill
June 14th, dusk.
The sun was slowly sinking behind Qing Shi Ridge, and the orange-red hue on the horizon, like charcoal burning brightly in a stove, was gradually extinguishing, leaving only a layer of murky light mixed with ash.
The work in the village had just ended.
The rustling sound of washing the medicine grinder by the well, the whirring sound of sharpening the hoe at the courtyard gate, and the rustling sound of pen tips gliding across paper under the jujube tree all intertwine to create a sense of tranquility after a busy day.
Xiao Hei, who was dozing at Wang Zhihuan's feet, suddenly perked up its ears.
This is a talent etched into our blood after thousands of years of domestication by humans.
Their ability to guard the house is fundamental; they don't need any training or training to be vigilant.
It let out a low growl towards the direction of the official road, a muffled thunderous tremor rumbling from its throat, its tail stiffened, and its four paws dug tightly into the ground.
Wang Zhihuan put down his pen, his brows furrowed.
Little Black is no weakling like Ah Huang; its alertness indicates that something is amiss.
In no time, the sound of hooves thundered, and a tidal wave rolled in from the other side.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!
The horseshoes pounded the earth, their muffled thuds like the beating of a chest.
A horse-drawn carriage rushed in like a madman, and before the driver could even rein in the carriage properly, a piercing scream ripped through the air:
"Master Wang! Is Master Wang here?! Help—!"
According to the etiquette of the Tang Dynasty, passersby must quietly step aside when they see the carriages of officials.
But these rules have long since vanished in the face of the current urgent situation.
Chen Laosan was a Qianniu Guard, a seasoned officer who had seen many battles, but at this moment his face was ashen.
The carriage was still lurching forward with inertia when, ignoring the dull thud of his knees hitting the carriage shaft, he practically tumbled off the carriage.
His usual composure was replaced by a near-collapse of anxiety; he was breathing heavily, each word seeming to be squeezed out of his throat:
"Young Master Wang, Madam Li is coughing again... This time it's different; she's having trouble breathing and there's even blood. Master requests your presence immediately!"
"Don't panic, don't rush! Where is he? Explain the situation clearly."
Wang Zhihuan suddenly stood up, grabbed Chen Laosan's trembling shoulder, and tried to calm him down. "Take a deep breath and speak slowly. Can Madam still speak?"
"I can't speak... I'm just panting... Master Li is waiting for me at the mansion!" Old Chen said incoherently, his face covered in tears and snot.
Wang Zhihuan's heart sank. He had a deep bond with this family, especially Sizi and Changle... He dared not think any further.
"Zhou Xia!" Wang Zhihuan turned around, his voice suddenly rising, filled with an undeniable urgency, "Take your needles! Quick! Madam Li is critically ill, coughing up blood!"
Zhou Xia, who was adding fresh mugwort to the mortar and pestle, suddenly shuddered, spilling half of the mugwort in her hand. Her face turned pale instantly: "Yes! Master, I'll go right away!"
Wang Zhihuan had already rushed into the house and brought out the medicine box nailed together with pine planks.
He tightened the leather belt, opened the needle pouch, and counted nine needles—not one missing.
He turned and walked out, not stopping as he passed the courtyard gate, only turning back to call out, "Old Zhang, watch the yard for me! The geese haven't been fed yet; the food's in the second vat in the kitchen. Don't let Ah Huang steal any!"
Chen Laosan turned his donkey cart around, and Wang Zhihuan and Zhou Xia jumped on.
The donkey's hooves dug a trail of yellow dust on the dirt road, which was quickly swallowed up by the twilight.
The carriage sped along. Zhou Xia sat at the back of the carriage, clutching a medicine box, her fingers gripping the leather strap tightly.
Wang Zhi was still sitting next to him, his usual indifference completely gone, and his lips were now pressed into a thin line.
Although his eyes were fixed on the lights that were gradually coming on ahead, his mind was filled with Chang Le's beautiful face and the soft, sweet cries of the child Si Zi.
The road widened as we walked, and the loess soil turned into bluestone slabs.
As the car slowed down, the houses on both sides changed from low mud walls to high walls and large courtyards.
One lantern after another lit up, some vermilion, some dim yellow, forming a row of silent eyes in the twilight.
When Zhou Xia first entered Chang'an, looking at the bustling scene, his Adam's apple bobbed, but he couldn't utter a single word.
Wang Zhihuan had no interest in the scenery at the moment; an inexplicable worry weighed heavily on his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.
However, perhaps because the matter was too strange, it aroused his subconscious vigilance.
The image of the donkey cart passing through the village gate earlier still forced its way into his mind—
They passed one ward after another. When the soldiers guarding the ward saw Chen Laosan, they neither asked questions nor stopped him, but silently stepped aside to let him pass.
Sure enough, this family was just as I had guessed; they were anything but simple.
The donkey cart stopped at a side gate. The walls were made of thick rammed earth and brick, and the gatehouse was low and practical.
There was no plaque hanging above the door; only two windproof lamps were suspended beside the doorway.
Two guards stood at the entrance, dressed in civilian clothes, but their backs were ramrod straight, and one hand was always on their waist—a posture only guards of the palace would adopt.
Stepping through the door, you enter a long corridor.
The corridor pillars are made of nanmu wood, with perfectly fitting mortise and tenon joints. Underfoot, square ceramic bricks are laid out, thick and heavy, with seams as fine as lines.
It has long been polished by years of footsteps to a warm and delicate sheen, without a trace of dust.
A sandalwood scent floated in the air, but beneath it lay another, more bitter and sharp aroma—medicine.
Wang Zhihuan suddenly stopped, his nostrils twitching as he sniffed the medicine, his expression darkening further.
He's familiar with this recipe.
It wasn't the herbal tea recipe he had prepared before; it seemed more like the one used by the official medical department—it definitely contained ephedra, and in a significant amount.
The pungent, pungent aroma, even mixed with sandalwood, couldn't be suppressed and wafted straight to the nose.
He diagnosed Madam Li's illness clearly last time, finding that it was due to deficiency of lung yin as the root cause and deficiency fire scorching the lungs as the manifestation. The medicine should only moisten, not dry, and should only lower, not raise.
Ephedra is a pungent and potent herb. Using it on someone with yin deficiency is like pouring out an already nearly exhausted lamp oil.
The combination was so intense that it couldn't be suppressed even when mixed with sandalwood. He quickened his pace, almost running through the corridor, and rushed into the side hall.
The interior of the hall was simply furnished, but the scene on the couch was chilling.
Madam Li lay half-reclined, her face ashen, her lips purple, and with each breath she could hear a sharp whistling sound from her throat, like a broken bellows being pulled.
She had crumpled the corner of the blanket into a ball, and the dark red bloodstains on the handkerchief beside the pillow were shocking.
Blood in sputum indicates damage to the lung vessels.
"Madam Li!" Wang Zhihuan disregarded etiquette and rushed to the bedside.
Chang Le knelt by the couch, dressed in plain clothes with only a silver hairpin in her hair, her eyes already red-rimmed.
Upon seeing Wang Zhihuan enter, he seemed to grasp at a straw, "Young Master Wang... Mother... she can't breathe, and she's bleeding..."
"I understand. Don't worry, I'm here." Wang Zhihuan squatted down in front of the bed and placed three fingers on Empress Zhangsun's wrist.
The pulse under the fingers is floating, large, and weak, while the pulse at the cun position is weak. This is a critical sign of deficient yang rising upwards and yin failing to restrain yang!
He lifted her eyelids again, examined her tongue, and made his decision.