Eastern Han Dynasty, not the Three Kingdoms

As dusk deepened, the medicine furnaces in the clinic gurgled, the flames casting a warm yellow glow on the medicine cabinets on the wall. Without a word, Zhang Fubao rolled up his sleeves and offered to help: "Sir, don't delay! Let's save as many as we can!"

The two men plunged into the bustle of activity. Preparing medicine, decocting it, bandaging wounds, figures moving back and forth beneath the flickering candlelight. Only after the third drumbeat of the night watchman had been properly bandaged was the last wounded soldier's wound properly bandaged. The guards outside the door had already urged him several times, their cries of "Young Master, it's late" reaching his ears. Only then did Zhang Fubao remove his medicine-stained apron.

Zhang Fubao adjusted the jade crown holding his hair, bowed, and said to Hua Tuo, "Sir, you've been working hard these days. You must take good care of yourself and eat on time." The old doctor smiled wryly, his wrinkled face full of fatigue. "Alas, I forget the time when I'm busy. Fortunately, someone has been quietly bringing me food lately, so I don't have to starve." With that, a long sigh escaped his throat, and his graying brows knitted tightly into a knot.

Seeing Hua Tuo's solemn expression, Zhang Fubao couldn't help but ask curiously: "Sir, there are so many patients that can't be saved. Why are you so worried?" Hua Tuo looked at the closed door of the inner room, and worry appeared in his cloudy eyes: "You don't know that there is a difficult patient lying in the west wing." He paused, and his voice became heavier. "The young man was shot by several arrows, all near his heart. He was thought to have no chance of survival, but he relied on his strong physique to survive."

"I've changed the prescription countless times, but I've lost too much blood and my vitality has been severely damaged. I'm still in a coma." Hua Tuo's old fingers unconsciously stroked the medicine hoe. "These days, I've relied on precious medicinal herbs to keep me alive, but if this continues..." Before he finished speaking, he sighed again. "Even if I can get through this, there are still miracle drugs like thousand-year-old ginseng and ten-thousand-year-old Ganoderma lucidum, but I'm afraid they will eventually run out of power."

These words gripped Zhang Fubao like a magnet. She gazed toward the west wing, her eyes ablaze. As she listened to Hua Tuo's description, her throat slipped unconsciously. The night breeze blew through the hall, carrying the aroma of medicine across the jade crown that held her hair, but it couldn't dispel the strange glint that suddenly ignited in her eyes. Thousand-year-old ginseng, ten-thousand-year-old Ganoderma lucidum—these miraculous herbs, considered even by Hua Tuo to be incredibly rare, now conjured up the outline of the carved secret door in her father's study.

As the daughter of a descendant of the Tianshi Dao, she had known from a young age that a sandalwood box inlaid with gold and jade lay dormant in the secret room behind her father's study. It was a secret treasure passed down through the generations of the Zhang family, a treasure trove amassed over countless years by the lineage of Zhang Liang, Marquis of Liu. As a child, she had occasionally glimpsed the contents of the box: several thousand-year-old ginseng stalks gleaming with amber, and ten-thousand-year-old Ganoderma lucidum, its caps as spherical as disks, wrapped in plain silk. Even the breathable crevices exuded an air of otherworldly nobility.

But she knew even more clearly that her father valued that box more than his own life. These treasures were not only lifesaving remedies, but also the foundation of the Tianshi Dao's continued existence for generations, carrying the solemn mission of protecting its followers and bringing peace to the world. Normally, her father's expression was solemn even when mentioning these items. If she rashly asked for them, she would undoubtedly touch his most sensitive spot.

"Sir, may I have a look at this brave man?" Zhang Fubao lowered her eyes to hide the turbulent thoughts in her eyes, but her fingers under her wide sleeves unconsciously clenched the medicine bag at her waist. "Those who study medicine always have some obsession, perhaps... there are some new methods." She heard her voice trembling. She hoped that the patient in the inner room was really in danger, so that her father would give in for the sake of justice; but she was also afraid that it was just a common illness and that her unruly behavior would disappoint her father.

The candlelight in the clinic flickered, casting a flickering light on Hua Tuo's wrinkled face. The old doctor sighed as he observed the young man feigning composure before him, then led Zhang Fubao toward the west wing. Zhang Fubao took a deep breath, and as his brocade boots crossed the threshold, a subtle gust of wind rustled, as if even the air itself had frozen.

The midnight gong pierced the cold night. Hua Tuo led Zhang Fubao to the door of the west wing. The old doctor's withered knuckles knocked on the carved wooden door. His fingertips touched the frost on the door panel, and the coldness penetrated through his fingertips and penetrated into the bones.

"Who?" A woman's voice suddenly rang out from inside the door, shrouded in alarm. The candlelight flickered violently between the cracks in the door, distorting the two figures.

"Miss, it's me." Hua Tuo subconsciously stroked his graying beard, and his old voice echoed in the corridor, "I'm done with my work and was thinking about you..." Before he finished speaking, hurried footsteps were heard from inside the door, but it was the rustling of clothes brushing against the screen, and there was no response.

Zhang Fubao stared at the tightly closed wooden door, the jade crown holding her hair gleaming coldly in the moonlight. She noticed the light shimmering through the crack in the doorway, and a faint, swaying figure was visible—clearly, someone inside was observing them through the door.

"This young friend has quite a bit of insight into medicine." Hua Tuo raised his voice, leaning sideways to guide Zhang Fubao forward, his wide black sleeves sweeping away the remaining snow on the corridor. "Perhaps he has a cure for your husband's condition..." He deliberately emphasized the three words "your husband," his aged gaze fixed on the peeling red lacquer on the door panel.

The sound of the wooden door latch being pulled apart pierced the silence, and Zhen Mi's movements to open the door were filled with a certain urgency. In the dim flickering candlelight, she approached, lantern in hand. The halo of light swept across the jade crown holding Zhang Fubao's hair and the cloud pattern embroidered on the hem of her formal attire. Her grip on the lamp suddenly froze. Memories surged back. Standing before her now was Zhang Lu's daughter—Zhang Fubao. How could she forget those slightly raised almond-shaped eyes, and the faint dimple on her right cheek when she smiled?

"Is... is it you?" Zhen Mi's throat tightened. The oil lamp swayed gently in her palm, distorting the three people's shadows on the mottled wall. She stole a glance toward the bed. She and the old shopkeeper had previously analyzed that this young general might be a general from Xiliang. If his identity was discovered, it would be a big trouble.

Her heartbeats were like drums, pounding her eardrums. Zhen Mi recalled the day she'd disguised herself as a man and met Zhang Fubao, the man who'd mistakenly thought she was Ma Chao of Xiliang and had developed feelings for her, and the look of reluctance in his eyes as they'd parted. If the truth were revealed now, not to mention the danger of her general's identity being exposed, the mere thought of having deceived such sincerity... She dared not think any more, digging her nails deep into her palms, ruffling the hem of her coarse skirt.

"Miss, are you feeling unwell?" Zhang Fubao keenly sensed something was wrong and took a half-step forward to feel her pulse. Zhen Mi abruptly stepped back, her back slamming heavily against the medicine cabinet, causing the herbs in the wooden box to rustle. She forced a smile, a bitter taste in her throat: "Thank you very much for your concern, but it's late at night and I'm tired..."

Seeing Zhen Mi retreat like a frightened bird, Zhang Fubao mistakenly thought that she was hesitant about the distinction between men and women, so he smiled brightly and said, "Don't be afraid, sister. I am a woman too!" Before he finished speaking, she had already neatly removed the jade crown that bound her hair, and her black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, making her eyebrows and eyes even more lively.

As Zhang Fubao spoke, her eyes suddenly fixed on Zhen Mi's face. She tilted her head and looked at her, "Sister, your features look so familiar..." She took a half step forward, her warm breath brushing against Zhen Mi's ear, "Can you bring the oil lamp closer?"

Zhen Mi felt her heartbeat so loud that her temples throbbed, and she nearly knocked over the oil lamp in her hand. The truth was about to be revealed, and she made up her mind, and knelt on the blue brick floor with a "thump": "Sister, I recognized you the moment you walked in! I am Zhen Mi from Jizhou!"

These words were like thunder. Zhang Fubao's face flushed crimson instantly, and the tips of her ears felt so hot that they were almost on fire. Thinking back to when she had mistaken Zhen Mi for Ma Chao and had foolishly developed admiration for her, now that the truth was revealed, she was instantly overwhelmed by shame. But the joy of reunion was even more overwhelming than the embarrassment. She didn't care about her manners, and suddenly reached out to pull Zhen Mi up, then hugged her in her arms: "Sister! I've been thinking about you day and night and looking forward to seeing you again, and we meet again here!"

As the two embraced, Zhang Fubao caught a whiff of the faint medicinal fragrance of Zhen Mi's hair, mingled with the faint scent of cedar. She was startled to realize how much thinner she had become. Her thin back rubbed against her palms, and her eyes suddenly felt sore. It turned out that her sister had been worrying so much about the patient on the sickbed these past few days.

Zhang Fubao put his arm around Zhen Mi's thin shoulders, his fingertips touching the bony spine under her coarse clothes. His heart suddenly tightened: "Sister, how come you have become so thin now?" His warm palms were against Zhen Mi's back, and he could clearly feel her tense muscles gradually relaxing.

Zhen Mi's heart finally settled, her nose aching, and she was on the verge of tears. She'd assumed that the misunderstanding in their youth would bring resentment, but she hadn't expected the other party to be so sincere. She clutched Zhang Fubao's sleeve, her voice trembling, "Sister, I've let you down..."

"What nonsense!" Zhang Fubao held her face, gently wiping away the tears that were about to fall from her eyes with his thumb. "Why are you apologizing for no reason?" She turned her head to look at the bed, where a figure was faintly visible behind the white curtains. "Is that your husband lying on this bed?"

Zhen Mi took a half step back as if burned, the tips of her ears instantly reddening. The medicinal aroma in the room suddenly grew stronger, and her fingers trembled slightly as she twisted the hem of her skirt. From the beginning to the end, she and the young general on the couch had been nothing more than a chance encounter, and her care and concern for him were merely wishful thinking. But looking into Zhang Fubao's clear eyes, the words on her lips turned back, and she lowered her eyes and whispered, "Yes... he's my husband." She turned away, hiding her burning cheeks in the shadows. "He's been seriously injured and hasn't woken up yet..."

Zhang Fubao's breath hitched for a moment as he leaned in for a closer look. The figure on the couch was pale as a sheet, his cheeks deeply sunken, his once full features distorted by the pain of illness. His lips were chapped and bloodless, and his entire body seemed frail, as if a gust of wind could blow it away. Yet, even so, his high nose, the smooth lines of his brow bone beneath his sword-like brows, and the slightly upturned curve of his tightly closed eyes evoked a glimpse of his former heroic spirit.

Zhang Fubao looked at the face lying on the couch, which looked haggard but still could not hide its heroic spirit, and sighed sincerely: "Sister, you really have good taste. Look at your brother-in-law's eyebrows, eyes and bones. He is so handsome even when he is sick!" Before he finished speaking, he caught a glimpse of Zhen Mi's ears turning red. She hurriedly lowered her head and tucked the hem of her skirt. Her shyness made her look even more charming.

But the exclamations still lingered in the room, and Zhang Fubao was torn between her inner thoughts and her own. Gazing at Zhen Mi's haggard face, she recalled Hua Tuo's words about the "miracle medicine that prolongs life." Then she thought of the sandalwood box hidden in the secret compartment of her father's study—a secret treasure passed down through generations of the Zhang family. Beyond her father and eldest brother, even her sister, Zhang Qiying, might not know what lay within. It was a treasured possession rarely shown to anyone in the Tianshi Mansion. Retrieving the thousand-year-old ginseng and ten-thousand-year-old Ganoderma lucidum might truly save this man's life, but her father, who always cherished this treasure, would never allow her to use this heirloom for an outsider.