Chapter 63: The Murderous Physician, Ping Yizhi

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Originally, Yang Wenhao had enemies from the Qingcheng and Songshan sects. Now, Huashan had joined their ranks as well. Undeniably, all of this was due to Yang Wenhao’s own carelessness.

“Still too inexperienced in the ways of the world,” he mused, shaking his head with a sigh. However, he felt no regret. He could have used the system to purchase elixirs to heal his injuries, but those pills cost hundreds at best, with no upper limit. On second thought, he decided against it; better to let the pain serve as a lesson. Wounds have a way of etching memories deep, ensuring one doesn't make the same mistake twice.

He cultivated throughout the night, managing to suppress the damage. By morning, his wounds had begun to scab over and heal. At dawn, Dongfang Bubai came to his room, insisting they seek out the infamous "Murderous Miracle Doctor" Ping Yizhi. Left with no choice, Yang Wenhao accompanied Dongfang Bubai on the journey.

Along the way, Dongfang Bubai tended to Yang Wenhao with great care, while Yang Wenhao took advantage of the time to recover and further study the scriptures and techniques he had acquired at Shaolin Temple.

Ping Yizhi resided in the prefecture of Kaifeng. Thus, Dongfang Bubai brought Yang Wenhao there. The streets were festooned with lanterns and banners, but Dongfang Bubai no longer had the mood to admire them.

Truth be told, Yang Wenhao’s injuries were nearly healed; there was little need to seek out Ping Yizhi. Yet Dongfang Bubai insisted, worrying about possible aftereffects.

“This is the place,” Dongfang Bubai announced, stopping in front of a modest courtyard. From the outside, it looked like any ordinary household, but Yang Wenhao could guess well enough who lived within. With the far-reaching intelligence of the Sun and Moon Cult, even if Ping Yizhi were absent, Dongfang Bubai would know his exact whereabouts.

“Wait here for a moment. I’ll be back soon,” Dongfang Bubai said before stepping into the courtyard.

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A while later, two figures emerged from the courtyard: Dongfang Bubai, and an elderly man with a pallid complexion.

“This is the renowned Murderous Miracle Doctor, Ping Yizhi,” Dongfang Bubai introduced.

“You flatter me,” Ping Yizhi replied humbly, bowing. He then turned to Yang Wenhao, “You must be the promising young hero of the martial world, Master Yang.”

“You overstate it, sir,” Yang Wenhao replied with a faint smile and a polite bow. “I am no such rising star—merely someone who has removed a few unsightly individuals.”

“How interesting,” Ping Yizhi chuckled, gesturing for them to enter. “Please, both of you, come inside.”

Once inside, Ping Yizhi called out, “Wife, bring in some tea for our guests.”

“Coming, coming,” replied a homely woman who emerged from the side room.

“This is my humble wife,” Ping Yizhi introduced.

It was clear why Ping Yizhi was keeping such a low profile—there was no need to explain; Yang Wenhao knew it was because of Dongfang Bubai’s presence. No matter how famed Ping Yizhi might be for both killing and saving lives, in front of Dongfang Bubai, all his bravado amounted to little more than child’s play. He dared not show any arrogance, lest he bring disaster upon himself.

“Please, have a seat,” Ping Yizhi offered. Once they were settled, he asked, “May I know which of you requires my medical assistance?”

“He has suffered a serious injury,” Dongfang Bubai replied.

“A serious injury?” Ping Yizhi looked at Yang Wenhao in confusion. He seemed perfectly healthy—ruddy cheeks and bright eyes. Was he perhaps misunderstanding the term “serious injury”?

Yang Wenhao smiled, “Indeed, sir, I am injured, though not as gravely as described. If you could spare a private room, I will show you the wound, and you may judge for yourself.”

Ping Yizhi nodded, “Since you request it, I shall oblige.”

Dongfang Bubai sat quietly, sipping tea, saying nothing. Seeing this, Yang Wenhao breathed a small sigh of relief, then followed Ping Yizhi to a private room.

Yang Wenhao peeled back his shirt, revealing the wound inflicted by Yue Buqun. At the sight of it, Ping Yizhi couldn’t help but exclaim, “Such a wound is clearly from a sword—a through-and-through at that. Fortunately, you suppressed the injury in time, or infection and necrosis would have set in, making things far more complicated.”

He continued, “Given its current state, there’s no need for my intervention. At most, I can prescribe you some medicine to restore your vitality.”

Yang Wenhao nodded slightly. “When we return, simply say you’ve treated me. As for the prescription, just write something suitable.”

Ping Yizhi, experienced in the ways of the world, immediately understood Yang Wenhao’s intention and agreed, “As you wish, sir.”

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When Yang Wenhao returned from the side room, Dongfang Bubai looked to Ping Yizhi and asked, “How is he?”

“I have done all I can to treat Master Yang,” Ping Yizhi replied. “There are no further issues—he simply needs to take some restorative medicine to replenish his strength.”

“See to it, then,” Dongfang Bubai ordered.

A short while later, Ping Yizhi returned with two prescriptions and several bags of prepared herbal medicine, placing them before Yang Wenhao.

Yang Wenhao’s expression turned sour at the sight. Everyone knows Chinese medicine is notoriously bitter—hence the saying, ‘good medicine tastes bitter.’ To have to drink it even when nearly fully recovered was more than a little unpleasant. Yet, seeing Dongfang Bubai’s look, refusal was clearly not an option.

After bidding farewell to Ping Yizhi, Dongfang Bubai wasted no time finding a place to decoct the medicine for Yang Wenhao.

As the aroma of boiling herbs wafted through the air, Yang Wenhao’s face twisted as though he were constipated.

An hour later, Dongfang Bubai entered, carrying the medicine. “It’s ready, still hot. Drink it slowly.”

“Drink it slowly?” Yang Wenhao’s mouth twitched. “Can’t I skip it?”

“No,” Dongfang Bubai shook her head. “Ping Yizhi said you must, or you’ll harm your vitality—it’s bad for a young man.”

Yang Wenhao let out a long sigh. There was no escape—better to get it over with quickly than drag it out.

“Very well.”

Suppressing his revulsion, Yang Wenhao picked up the bowl and downed the decoction in one go, ignoring the bitterness.

Moments later, his mouth was awash with the acrid taste, but the warmth spreading through his body felt soothing.

“Here, since you know the medicine is bitter, I made some sweet soup for you. Try it.”

Dongfang Bubai handed him a bowl of sweetened soup, which took Yang Wenhao by surprise.

With his mouth still full of bitterness, the sweet soup was a welcome relief.

(End of this chapter)