Chapter 45: No Cure 

The night was hazy, the frosty moon casting a chill.

Ye City’s streets glowed with dim lanterns, merchants and peddlers hawking wares. In a few days, the Lantern Festival would make the scene even livelier.

Heading down West Street, the surroundings grew dark and quiet, with only cold winds whistling past. Weiyuan Escort Agency sat midway, its outline faintly visible under moonlight.

Ji Yanqing held Su Ningyue’s pale hand, hurrying toward Weiyuan. Riding his Night-Shining Jade Lion would be faster, but the snowy steed was too conspicuous.

If possible, Ji Yanqing preferred discretion, especially when strolling with a pretty girl. Such news inexplicably reached Auntie Xie’s ears, followed by her sour lectures.

Weiyuan’s main gate was shut, but a side door by the west wall led to the courtyard. Su Ningyue unlocked it with a copper key.

Creak—

The door opened, revealing several rooms.

Thick walls, dark tiles, peeling red pillars, and flickering candles on the verge of extinction painted a desolate scene.

Once, Chief Escort Su Yuanshan, at the peak of Huiyang Realm, was mentored by the Boundless Sword Sect’s leader, earning fame. His bold, chivalrous nature won countless friends, and Weiyuan thrived.

But heroes fade. Su Yuanshan, no martial saint, couldn’t harness fate like Master Gu Yun or nurture his soul with sword intent like the Sword Sect leader.

Past fifty, he still escorted valuable shipments personally, as in his prime.

Disaster struck. En route to Yangzhou with precious cargo, he was ambushed by Demon Sect remnants.

Weiyuan could handle common bandits, but facing Demon Sect members was like sending a mortal to slay Tang Seng’s disciples.

Caught off-guard, the escort team suffered heavy losses in a bloody battle, with survivors barely escaping.

Su Yuanshan, poisoned by frost, survived but was left with a chronic illness, his pulse erratic.

Sighing, Ji Yanqing followed Su Ningyue to the east wing.

Per the original plot, Su Yuanshan wouldn’t survive past next spring’s Awakening of Insects.

In the room, a fire burned, a frail, gray-haired man wrapped in worn quilts. His gaunt face was bloodless, his disheveled hair framing sunken, lifeless eyes.

“Is… cough cough… Ningyue back?” he rasped, struggling to lift an arm, coughing incessantly.

“Rest, Father. I’ll brew your medicine,” Su Ningyue said gently, helping him lean comfortably against a pillow.

Only then did Su Yuanshan notice the white-robed youth.

“Ningyue… cough… who’s this?”

Before she could answer, Ji Yanqing said, “Greetings, Chief Su. I’m Qi Shu, a humble steward of the Bronze Sparrow Chamber, handling grain transport in Jizhou.”

“Qi Shu has helped Weiyuan greatly. Things are improving, and next year’s business will surely flourish,” Su Ningyue said optimistically, though inwardly uncertain if Weiyuan could survive.

To shield her father’s health, she kept the recent Ma family conflict secret, ensuring he could rest easy.

Hearing her hopeful words, Ji Yanqing shook his head. In the original story, Weiyuan’s situation worsened next year, partly due to such optimism.

Su Yuanshan struggled to bow, valuing gratitude as a martial man. Helping Weiyuan was a personal favor.

“This old man, Su Yuanshan… greets Steward Qi,” he said.

Ji Yanqing stopped him. “You’re too kind, Senior. I’m just a nobody in the Chamber. We’ll rely on Weiyuan for future escorts.”

His tone was warm, devoid of princely airs.

Seeing their rapport, Su Ningyue relaxed, clutching the ginseng and heading to the kitchen.

A seasoned man, Su Yuanshan sensed deeper intent. The Chamber would send more business to Weiyuan, but merchants never acted without profit. What was Qi Shu’s price?

Young yet a steward, Qi Shu could rise further, perhaps to elder. Such a figure wouldn’t care for a small agency like Weiyuan.

He came with Ningyue tonight…

Su Yuanshan grew wary. As his daughter blossomed, predators eyeing her beauty multiplied.

As a man, he valued gratitude.

As a father, he cherished his daughter more.

Her happiness trumped all.

Before he could probe, Ji Yanqing grasped his wrist, channeling warm spiritual energy into his meridians.

“Your condition is frost poison in the bones,” Ji Yanqing said, frowning. “From the technique, it’s the Demon Sect’s Frost Blood Palm, three years old.”

Like the story’s protagonist skilled in acupuncture, Ji Yanqing knew nothing of medicine.

His diagnosis came from obsessively recalling Canglan Goddess Chronicles’ plot, fearing an overlooked detail could end his second life abruptly.

As a typical yellow-haired villain, the Heir’s role was to drop gold for the protagonist, not wield medical expertise.

Getting a disease would be more fitting.

Su Yuanshan was stunned. Many famed doctors had examined his poison, but none diagnosed it so precisely via pulse alone.

“Is… my diagnosis correct?” Ji Yanqing asked, smiling.

After a pause, Su Yuanshan nodded, increasingly wary of this youth shrouded in mystery, his true name likely false.

“And… cough… how long do I have, Steward Qi?”

“Three months at most, with poison in your marrow,” Ji Yanqing said bluntly. “But neutralizing it could extend your life by eight years.”

“You jest. Even Qinglian Valley’s elders called it incurable,” Su Yuanshan sighed.

“They couldn’t, but I can,” Ji Yanqing said.

No medicine could cure it, but poison could counter poison.

Medicine and poison shared roots. What medicine failed, poison could solve. The Wei King’s Mansion had a poison expert, “Little Poison Saint.”

“What do you want?” Su Yuanshan’s tone turned grave.

“Don’t worry, I won’t force Ningyue,” Ji Yanqing said, reading his fears, smiling. “I want the sword aura left in you by Boundless Sword Sect’s leader, Lu Zhan.”