The young master’s plea made Wanqing notice that his trouser legs were rolled up high, revealing bandages wrapped around them with faint traces of blood. The area beneath the bandages was visibly swollen into a large lump.
Seeing the grown man with tears in his eyes, pleading like a child, Wanqing—though not particularly kind by nature (her ruthlessness was reserved for those who wronged or provoked her)—couldn’t ignore her instincts as a healer. She bent down to examine his injury, her slender fingers pressing lightly on the affected area.
The young master let out an even more agonized cry at her touch, prompting her to withdraw her hand quickly. She then looked up at Prince Ning, who was seated on a nearby chair.
“If I’m not mistaken, his leg isn’t just injured from the fall—it’s likely dislocated,” Wanqing said.
Prince Ning’s thick brows furrowed slightly. “Can it be treated?”
“Brother Ning, you underestimate me. Fortunately, he met me. Any delay, and not only would walking be impossible, but the tendons might also be damaged. Young master, don’t be nervous. Relax.”
Though Prince Ning was usually aloof, his concern for others was evident. With a confident smile, Wanqing lifted her skirt slightly and knelt to soothe the young man. She gently rolled up his trouser leg and carefully pressed her fingers against the injured area.
After assessing the misaligned bone, she retrieved silver needles from her sleeve—slender and gleaming—and inserted two of them into the injured leg.
“Bear with it. I’ll reset the bone now.” The needles numbed the pain, and the young master’s expression gradually eased from agony to relief. Wanqing measured the alignment with her fingers, then suddenly applied force.
“Ah—!” With a swift, sharp motion, she struck the injured area with the heel of her palm. A crisp *snap* followed, and the young master, who had just relaxed, cried out in renewed pain, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.
“Done. Try moving your leg—see if it still hurts as much. Though the bone is reset, you’ll need rest and some bone-strengthening medicine for recovery.”
As she removed the needles, Wanqing smiled lightly and gave him further instructions.
“Let me see… It moves! And the pain is much less. Miss, you truly are a miracle worker!”
Though sweat still clung to his brow, the young master’s expression had brightened considerably. He cautiously tested his leg, finding the pain greatly reduced, and even managed to stand with some effort. Though it still ached, the improvement was undeniable. Grateful for her timely intervention and remarkable skill, he gazed at her with admiration.
“I wouldn’t call myself a miracle worker—just someone with a bit of knowledge. You should return home and rest properly. Let’s go.”
Wanqing gave a faint smile at the young nobleman’s praise, tucking away her needles before turning to Prince Ning and the others.
“Wait, miss! I’m Song Ziqian, son of the Zhenguo General’s household. May I ask your name? I’d like to visit with my family to express our gratitude.”
Though Prince Ning was unmistakable behind her, the young nobleman—despite his limp—stepped forward, cupping his hands respectfully and introducing himself.
“No need for formalities. It was a small matter. You should hurry home and rest.”
With another faint smile, Wanqing dismissed his thanks and turned to follow Prince Ning toward their carriage.
Though this was just a minor incident, it hadn’t gone unnoticed by passersby.
“Miss, please—I beg you! Save my Xiaomao! Please, miss…!”
Just as Prince Ning was helped into the carriage by Qingfeng, and Wanqing was about to board, a disheveled woman in coarse clothing rushed from the crowd, kneeling before the carriage and kowtowing desperately.
Wanqing paused, glancing back at the woman. The scorching heat hadn’t deterred the growing crowd, many of whom now watched with curiosity and admiration after witnessing her earlier feat.
With her recent windfall still fresh and dangers unresolved, Wanqing hesitated at the woman’s plea.
“Wanwan, perhaps you could help her,” Prince Ning suggested from the carriage.
“Very well. Where is the patient, madam?”
Relieved, the woman called out, “Husband! Bring Xiaomao to the miracle doctor!”
A man dressed similarly soon emerged from the crowd, carrying a frail, ashen-faced child of about five or six. The boy lay limp in his arms, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, his breathing labored as if he were being strangled.
“Place him in the shade by the carriage. Everyone, please make way.”
Under the blazing sun, Wanqing directed them to a shaded spot. She then took the child’s thin wrist, her fingers pressing lightly to assess his pulse.
“Miss, can my Xiaomao be saved?” the woman asked anxiously.
“This is the Niu family, isn’t it?”
“They’ve waited years for this child. They’ve sold everything for his treatment, but he’s only gotten worse.”
“Many doctors have said there’s no hope—just waiting for death.”
“Let’s see if this girl, who fixed a man’s leg in moments, can do anything.”
Overhearing the murmurs, Wanqing saw the despair in the parents’ eyes. Though the illness was severe, she thought of her own childhood—bereft of parental love—and resolved to save their treasured child.
“Don’t worry, madam. It’s treatable, though complicated. First, I’ll use needles to unblock his meridians.”
After inserting and removing the needles, the child’s breathing eased noticeably.
“Honglian, fetch paper and ink.”
Seeing the parents’ tearful gratitude, Wanqing wrote a prescription.
“Madam, prepare this medicine—two doses daily. Also, where do you live? I’ll visit tomorrow to apply more needles.”
Handing over the prescription, Wanqing made sure to arrange a follow-up, determined to see the child recover.
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