The Best Medicine

The first thing that Yan Zheyun noticed when he came to was the pain. The dull ache in his upper thigh caused him to wince, and he didn't dare to shift his leg immediately. He was also experiencing a terrible headache that felt like a hangover, which might be the aftereffects of whatever they'd drugged him with.

The events of the previous evening raced through his mind in disjointed flashes. Yan Zheyun squeezed his eyes shut and dug the heels of his palms into the back of his eyelids like that would help him erase the images.

Holy shit.

Before yesterday, he hadn't known that aphrodisiacs could be that potent. He'd assumed that if the scumbags were going to drug him with anything, it would be the ancient equivalent of Rohypnol to sedate him and make him unable to resist their assault.

The so-called 'spring medicine' that was commonly used as a plot device in romance novels, whether BL or otherwise, was greatly exaggerated. Scientifically, no aphrodisiac could increase someone's libido by so much that they would lose control of all their inhibitions and abandon themselves to pleasure.

Basically, Yan Zheyun's biggest mistake had been to forget that he wasn't in his original world anyone, where the laws of science governed. He was in a BL novel, in which convenient steamy sex was the be-all and end-all of the plotline. So what if it wasn't an actual drug? Spring medicine was going to be as effective here as Panadol was in real life.

He let out a regretful groan.

"You're awake," a voice called from behind a privacy screen, and Yan Zheyun finally paid enough attention to his surroundings to realise that he wasn't in the Wu Estate.

An elderly gentleman with a hunched back scrutinised him over the top of a pair of small, circular spectacles. Yan Zheyun had long since stopped trying to guess which real-world dynasty the Ye Dynasty was actually based off. Maybe spectacles had been invented yet, maybe not. It didn't matter anymore.

He blinked back at the old man owlishly, earning himself a snort.

"Well, lad, you look fine today."

Yan Zheyun propped himself up on his arms because it felt rude to remain lying down with someone else, especially an elder, present. A thin blanket slipped from around his shoulders to pool at his waist. He was dressed in a plain white hemp robe that was rough against his skin, and the reminder of what had happened to his clothes yesterday brought a blush to his cheeks.

The old man gave him a knowing look. "I take it that the drugs have worn off then."

"What happened?" Yan Zheyun asked. He startled when he heard how hoarse his voice was.

"Well, after you arrived, we had to give you mafei powder to pry you off the young master that brought you in." The old man's grin was wry. "For someone with a stab wound to your thigh, you sure had a lot of strength left in your legs to cling on."

…who was this codger and why was he so brazen?

"I—" Yan Zheyun spluttered. But he couldn't protest since he didn't have the full picture. The bits and pieces that he could remember were appalling though. A hot hand on his body, a hard chest pressed against his own, and through it all, the dark depths of Young Master Huang's gaze as it stared into his own.

If this wasn't social suicide, Yan Zheyun didn't know what was. He couldn't explain why the walls of his defences had come crumbling down the second he realised he'd run into Young Master Huang. He knew that he was physically attracted to the man, but that didn't stop him from being a stranger, whom Yan Zheyun had only met twice before. Worst still, his identity was a complete mystery.

And yet, a part of Yan Zheyun had surrendered blissfully without thinking.

He didn't want to consider the implications of that.

Tossing the blanket off, he considered his injury. His thigh was neatly bandaged now, and besides the pain, there didn't seem to be any serious bleeding, which probably explained why he was still alive despite being in an era without readily available blood transfusions.

"You missed the meridians connected with the foot tai yang or foot yang ming," the old man said sagely, as though he expected the terms to make sense to Yan Zheyun. "Which was lucky. Otherwise, you would have been spurting blood all over your companion's carriage, and less able to…shall we say…correct other problems."

Back in his own world, Yan Zheyun didn't often go the traditional medicine route whenever he had an ailment. As such, stuff like 'meridians' was only a concept he was familiar with because of his little sister's xianxia novel habits. But if the physician—he was pretty sure this was what the old man was but he also sounded a bit like a pervert, so—said that he was okay, and Yan Zheyun himself didn't feel as horrible as he'd expected, then he was probably going to survive.

He pointedly didn't ask about the 'other problems'. The four rounds of relief he'd experienced, three in the carriage itself and one…one where he had clung shamelessly to Young Master Huang's shoulders in this very bed and begged for more…

They had been more than enough to take the edge off matters and he was actually feeling very drained now, not to mention massively dehydrated.

"May I have a cup of water please?"

The physician let out a grunt of displeasure but handed him one anyway. After swigging it down gratefully, Yan Zheyun tried to haul himself to his feet with the support of an adjunct table, that was covered in used parchment with indecipherable scribbling all over it.

He noticed a dark silk fabric on it too, stained in dried blood, and he recognised it as the handkerchief that Young Master Huang had tied around his thigh the previous night like a tourniquet. Why had a nobleman known how to do that? It was just another secret about this elusive young master that Yan Zheyun might never find out.

What had he been doing while Young Master Huang bandaged him up? Dread mounted in him as the memories came back in dribs and drabs, of how he'd actually tried to—to kabedon Young Master Huang, of all things. In a moving carriage. With a thigh wound that he'd inflicted upon himself. And he'd used the most clichéd pick-up line ever known to CEOs too.

No wonder Young Master Huang hadn't waited around for Yan Zheyun to wake up. If Yan Zheyun had been in his position, where he'd been felt up by a mere servant, crassly propositioned, and then harassed until he provided multiple handjobs, Yan Zheyun would have departed too. He might even have tossed himself out of the carriage and left himself to rot.

Good thing he wouldn't have to face Young Master Huang personally. Yan Zheyun might spontaneously combust on the spot.

He picked up Young Master Huang's handkerchief and tucked it away into his robes with a calm he didn't feel. He could feel the physician watching him with barely concealed amusement and Yan Zheyun tried valiantly to ignore that as he collected his knife too, tucking it back into his shoe.

"Will I be able to walk right away?" He put his weight down on the affected leg gingerly, half-expecting the bandages to completely soak up with blood.

The physician shrugged. "Depends on your pain tolerance. I'll prescribe you some Corydalis, which you need to boil in hot vinegar before consumption."

Yan Zheyun's face turned green, and not even at the prospect of spending money that he might not have.

"Um." He hesitated. He also ransacked his brains for the appropriate term to use when addressing a medical practitioner. There were too many, like 'daifu' and 'langzhong'. But he wasn't sure which one was the right one since it changed from period to period. "I may not be able to afford that," he said, at last, settling for a generically polite sentence that avoided making a direct reference to the physician.

The physician waved him off. "Your companion already foot the cost," was the physician's flippant reply. "Bring the herbs home with you, otherwise it would mean that this old man is taking advantage of you, and we don't do that here in Gongzheng Hall."

Yan Zheyun had no choice but to comply. But whether he was going to actually drink it or not was a different matter. Unless the pain became unbearable, he thought that he might just attempt to live with it. Besides how foul the concoction sounded, he wasn't convinced that the herb itself, that Cordalysis or whatever, wouldn't be toxic. After experiencing modern medicine, it was really difficult to completely trust anything that wasn't empirically proven by a science lab.

But he knew he was going to have to get used to it, especially because it looked like he was stuck here for good.

"You mentioned a mafei powder earlier," he asked. "Should I look out for any side effects?" Yan Zheyun had actually heard of mafei powder before because the research on it had hit headline news a couple of years ago. It was an anaesthetic used in ancient times for surgeries, that had apparently been created from a combination of wine and extract of the cannabis plant.

He'd never tried any recreational drugs in his life and hadn't realised that this transmigration into a historical novel would be his first accident foray into the illicit.

"Grogginess, vomiting, breathing difficulties," the physician rattled on. "But you probably won't have to worry about that. The biggest issue is whether your wound festers. If it doesn't, good, if it does, you may die."

"…thank you."

"Here, have a poultice to help soothe your injury."

A cute medicine boy ran up to him with two wrapped packets. Yan Zheyun thanked them both before slowly limping out. His thigh and head were killing him, but those were the only two places where his body hurt.

[I should be glad that the virtuous young master didn't take me up on my offer,] he thought wryly, unable to forget how, in a fit of irrational desperation, he'd tried to get Young Master Huang to finger him. Hard.

It turned out that the walk back to the Wu Estate would be impossibly long, but Young Master Huang had already thoughtfully paid for a simple carthorse to escort him most of the way. The cart driver had been waiting outside for a while now, and he was a surly young man that reminded Yan Zheyun a bit of Wu Zhong. He didn't look or behave like a typical cart driver, but Yan Zheyun didn't ask him any invasive questions because the livelihoods of others weren't his business.

He was worried that his suspicious disappearance would have been noticed and that he would get into trouble upon returning. He'd considered running away too but had quickly dismissed that thought after he realised he was now only capable of moving at a turtle's pace. In other words, they would find him and drag him back in no time.

More importantly, if someone else had seen him with Young Master Huang yesterday and then reported it to Scumbags 1 and 2, they might blame him for helping Yan Zheyun escape.

The scumbags might not have protagonist halos, but as the gongs of the novel, they might be strong enough to reduce Young Master Huang to cannon fodder if Yan Zheyun wasn't careful. And this was unacceptable.

Although, come to think of it, Young Master Huang had been sitting in a red-wheeled carriage too. Was he a distant relative to the imperial family?

He hoped that this would keep Young Master Huang relatively safe from the crazies at least.

Yan Zheyun's worries turned out to be unfounded. When he reached, the entire Wu Household was in an uproar. Yan Zheyun sneaked to the kitchens to try and collect some intel on the situation.

Wu Zhong's eyes narrowed when he noticed Yan Zheyun loitering half-out of sight in the servant's laundry area. Yan Zheyun gave him a small, beckoning wave. In response, Wu Zhong strode over briskly and yanked on Yan Zheyun's arm to pull him behind the building.

"Where did you go yesterday night?" he hissed. "The stable master was looking for the both of you."

The both of them?

Yan Zheyun frowned in confusion. He braced himself against the wall to give his injured leg some rest. "I went to see a physician because I hurt myself by accident," he lied quickly. "Who else was missing?"

"Xiao Ma! He wasn't with you? We thought he must have instigated you to skive off in town."

The corners of Yan Zheyun's mouth straightened into a flat line. "Xiao Ma is missing?" A number of possibilities ran through his mind, each one more terrible than the last. He didn't put it past Wu Bin and Scumbag 2 to harm the people Yan Zheyun cared about as punishment. This was another error that Yan Zheyun had made, letting others know of his friendship with Wu Zhong and Xiao Ma.

But their warmth had been hard to refuse.

Even if he regretted now, the damage had already been done.

"Is he back yet?" Yan Zheyun turned to leave, wanting to rush back to the stables and make sure Xiao Ma and the stable master were safe.

But Wu Zhong seized his arm. "Go the long route," he advised. "And stay out of sight as much as possible. An accident happened yesterday, and the master and mistress are furious."

This was what Yan Zheyun was here for. He knew that Wu Zhong would update him on any important information that he'd missed out on. Judging by Wu Zhong's behaviour, no one else had taken note of Yan Zhayun's absence yesterday night. So what was this accident he spoke of?

"It's the third young mistress," Wu Zhong said, and Yan Zheyun felt something seize in his throat.

Wu Roushu. What had she done?

"She was found naked in the guest rooms this morning, lying with the fourth prince. Both of them claimed that they'd been drugged and there was spring medicine found in the incense burner."

The fourth prince. Given the specific circumstances, Yan Zheyun could only assume that this was Scumbag 2.

"What were their reactions?" he asked, still reeling from how different the plot trajectory was. In the actual novel, Wu Roushu had died by the time Wu Bin's nuptials had taken place, not even allowed a simple funeral because of how inauspicious it would be to have that right before a wedding. And now, she wasn't just alive, she'd also had her modesty outraged by a member of the imperial family.

If the rumours were right, of course. But Yan Zheyun had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to it than that.

Yan Zheyun wondered if the old emperor would froth at his mouth upon receiving the news.

"The fourth prince is understandably outraged. But what can he do? To protect his reputation, he has already agreed to take her as a side concubine."