The Guanghua Temple was shrouded in a thin mist in the early morning, without the throngs of incense-burning pilgrims, nor the monks striking the bell for morning prayers. It appeared ethereal, like a land of immortals.
The person standing within felt momentarily disoriented, unsure of where they were, with a sense of floating desire for transcendence.
A cry of agony shattered the silence, a shrill wail as if someone were being tortured, causing listeners to involuntarily shudder.
Seventh Chen's feeling of cultivating immortality vanished instantly.
"It's starting again," he muttered to himself, "Paradise turns to hell."
After this first cry, a cascade of sobs followed, the wailing of older children, the screams of little ones quickly enveloped the whole Guanghua Temple, even Seventh Chen, who had heard it for days, couldn't bear it and hurriedly stuffed his ears with cloth.
The cries were even louder from the rear hall, not only children were weeping, but adults were in tears too.
Inside the room, three beds were arrayed with children of various ages lying on them. Although there were only three children, the room was crowded with more than a dozen people.
Four or five people stood before each bed, three restraining a child, two doctors busily working.
The room was filled with the strong scent of medicine and alcohol.
Miss Jun was among them, her mouth and nose covered, focused as she wiped the wounds of a child with a piece of cotton cloth. On the other side, another doctor was also performing the same task, their side adorned with a bowl filled with a dark, inky medicine, from which a strong smell of alcohol wafted.
Every time the cotton cloth dipped in medicine touched the sores, the child's screams escalated, their body twisting violently, almost overpowering the three adults—it was clear how severe the pain was.
"I can't do this anymore," finally a woman in the room broke down, crying hysterically as she pushed away the doctors surrounding the bed and tightly embraced the child, wailing loudly.
"We won't treat them, this torment, it would be better to die."
Miss Jun was pushed aside, and the other doctor stood by as well; everyone remained silent, simply watching the woman.
This was not the first time this had happened.
The breakdown of this woman did not affect the other two beds—there, the families, though already in tears, clenched their teeth and gripped their children firmly as the two doctors remorselessly continued to apply the medicinal cotton to the sore-infested skin, the cries loudening with each application.
Amongst these cries, the woman at the bed gradually exhausted her strength. She looked at the child in her arms who was gasping with an open mouth, looking at his swollen, oozing wounds covering his skin, his face red and black, his original features no longer discernible.
The woman gently caressed the child's face.
Although the pox mainly infected children, adults could also catch it, though it wasn't usually as severe. And because the outbreaks looked so terrifying, aside from their own parents, no one else dared come close, let alone touch them face to face.
When a child contracted the pox, even their family recoiled in fear and no doctor was willing to treat them, forcing them to be trapped in a room, waiting for death.
Now someone was treating him, someone was willing to try.
The woman dried her tears, sat upright, and steadied her child's shoulders.
"Okay, Doctor, please," she said hoarsely.
The two men who had stepped back came forward again to hold the child who, familiar with the procedure, began to howl once more.
Children are children, unaware of the pain of living, unknowing of the sorrow of death.
Miss Jun and the doctor said nothing and continued with their previous actions.
Compared to the cries and howls like Purgatory, another row of rooms was somewhat quieter, but no less tense.
"Sanniu, drink up, keep drinking," a woman propped up a half-grown child who seemed to have no consciousness, urging him through tears, as she brought a bowl of medicine to his lips.
The child did not move.
"Mother, pour it down," a man beside her said.
The woman propped the child up a bit more and poured the medicine down his throat—the child, still barely conscious, swallowed it, but was already too weak and choked continuously.
The woman wept even harder.
The doctor walked over, looking at the bowls laid out.
"Wait an hour before continuing with the medicine," he instructed while taking out a bowl. Unlike the other room filled with the strong smell of alcohol, this one carried a faint sweet aroma.
The bowl contained honey.
The doctor dipped a cotton cloth in the honey and wiped it over the sores of the sick child. This did not provoke the cries and howls of the child, either because the irritation from the honey was very mild, or perhaps because the child lying here was already in a critical condition, unaware of anything.
...
"Imperial Physician Jiang, have you not heard that Guanghua Temple is now like the Northern Administrative Court's dungeon, too horrible to bear?" a royal physician said with a face full of dissatisfaction and sympathy.
"The people at the foot of the mountain have been scared off; everyone has nightmares just hearing about it," another added.
"Is it necessary to be so terrifying to treat a case of pox?" Imperial Physician Jiang frowned, "How did she treat it?"
The imperial physicians exchanged glances.
"How else would she treat it? The honey and hoptree method; since she took away so many of those ingredients, obviously she employed that method," one imperial physician said.
"She also requested a lot of liquor," another physician added.
"Liquor is used to exorcise evil spirits," said another physician.
Using strong liquor and white ash was common practice to bury those who had died from the illness, to prevent further spread of the contagion—they often used this method.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
"Were there many deaths?" Imperial Physician Jiang picked up on this point and asked.
"There must have been quite a few," one physician said.
Imperial Physician Jiang's frown deepened.
"What do you mean 'must have been'?" he asked, recalling what the same physician had said earlier about hearing what had happened inside Guanghua Temple, "Didn't you personally go and see it for yourselves?"
The imperial physicians exchanged glances again, their expressions somewhat sheepish.
"Your excellency, you may not be aware," they said.
Since the day when Miss Jun incited the Jinyiwei to cause a commotion at the Imperial Hospital, although Imperial Physician Jiang didn't allow anyone to file a complaint, he took two days of sick leave and went home to rest.
This would serve as evidence in the future and also show restraint and avoidance.
"Thousand-Man Commander Lu was also at Guanghua Temple, strictly forbidding the entrance of any unrelated persons," one physician mentioned, "Even the carriage for delivering medicinal materials was not permitted entry; someone from inside came out to receive it."
Hence, they could only speculate about the actual situation inside the temple based on hearsay.
Lu Yunqi actually took people there? Imperial Physician Jiang frowned. Was he not busy?
Of course, he wasn't idle. By sealing off the area and keeping the exterior ignorant of the interior's concreteness, it allowed more flexibility to levy accusations when the time came—this indeed was in keeping with Jinyiwei's usual methods.
Imperial Physician Jiang nodded. It must be so.
...............
"Miss, Miss, please sit down. The water will be ready soon, have something to eat first."
Liu'er was busily fussing over Miss Jun.
Miss Jun was indeed tired and casually took a seat on the straw mat in the corridor.
Liu'er then brought over a bowl of ginseng soup.
"Is this from our household or…" Miss Jun asked.
Liu'er giggled.
"Of course, it's from the Imperial Hospital," she said, "The emperor said to use medicinal resources as needed, so Seventh Chen conveniently requested some ginseng and deer antler, suggesting that Miss and the Doctors should use them to bolster our health—it's also part of the treatment."
Miss Jun laughed, but then her smile abruptly froze as she looked in a certain direction; Liu'er also looked over and her face fell.
Standing under the small drooping flower gate was Lu Yunqi, watching Miss Jun with his hands behind his back.
"This man is so annoying, why has he come again?" Liu'er said.
"He said he was to issue an imperial command to impose martial law over Guanghua Temple," Miss Jun responded, lowering her gaze to slowly sip the ginseng soup, her eyebrows knitting together in frustration.
This person really was lingering like a persistent spectre.
An action, a word from her that day had such a significant effect—a troublesome one.
Sometimes, she felt she could barely control her temper and wanted to shout at him, "Don't look at me with those eyes."
The gaze upon her suddenly shifted away, and at the same time, footsteps were heard. Miss Jun looked up to see Lu Yunqi, who appeared to have been pushed a few steps away, standing in the courtyard, while another person took his place under the gate.
Zhu Zan.
Why had he come as well?
Miss Jun couldn't help but smile slightly as she watched him.
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Ancient treatments for pox hailed from the "Elbow Emergency First Aid" recorded by Ge Hong during the Jin Dynasty.