After the abdominal cavity was opened, there was blood.
Zheng Qian moved quickly, skillfully suctioning the blood and placing it into a tray beside her.
At that moment, Prince Anying could no longer bear it. He turned and quickly left the east wing room, and soon the sound of him vomiting could be heard in the distance. Imperial Physician Sun's face turned deathly pale, unsteady on his feet.
Lu Shu's father felt extremely unwell as well—he was on the verge of vomiting, his legs trembling.
Ancient physicians, who had never been on a battlefield and had no experience with internal organs, were greatly shaken by the sight.
"Even if he's asleep, he should feel pain—why doesn't he feel it?" Imperial Physician Sun asked incoherently.
"Because of anesthesia," Zheng Qian replied.
"…"
What kind of anesthesia was this, to be so effective?
Outside, the Lu family watched through the windows. Some could not stand the smell of blood and stepped away.
Zheng Chi stood by a window, while two younger people had already fled, unable to endure it.
"A person being opened up like that… yet he looks like he's asleep," Zheng Chi thought, a strange heat flickering in his chest. "If only back then… my legs…"
His heart twisted painfully, and even his legs seemed to ache in response.
Inside, Zheng Qian was examining the abdominal cavity.
This was too much for Imperial Physician Sun and Lu Shu's father—they both rushed out to vomit.
Old Master Lu's face was already pale; he was close to his limit as well.
Zheng Qian, however, looked relieved. "It's not a liver rupture. Thank goodness."
In the end, she found the problem: a tear about three centimeters long in the mesentery of the small intestine.
A repair was all that was needed.
After completing the repair, she checked the abdominal cavity thoroughly to ensure no gauze or cotton was left behind, then proceeded to close the incision.
Watching her stitch with such precision, like embroidering in a household, Old Master Lu felt both curious and horrified.
Her stitches were neat and even, as if she had practiced them countless times.
After suturing, she disinfected the wound and administered antibiotics.
"The wound must not get wet. Once he wakes up, he can get out of bed and walk. Don't let him make large movements, but he must walk a bit. I'll come back tomorrow and the day after to check on him. After that, follow the Lu family's treatment for recovery," Zheng Qian said.
Old Master Lu asked, "Such a large wound—won't it fester?"
"It won't."
"How can that be possible?"
Of course it was possible—because she had antibiotics.
But Zheng Qian did not explain. Instead, she asked, "Old Master, if the wound were to worsen, how many days would it take?"
"By tomorrow night, it would begin."
"I don't think so. We'll see tomorrow night," she replied.
She removed her surgical clothes.
All surgical items were packed away. She requested a small room, sorted the medical waste, and stored it back in her space.
By the time everything was finished, it was already deep into the night.
Zheng Qian and her brother returned home.
The cat leapt into Zheng Qian's arms, and she held it loosely, feeling a bit exhausted.
Zheng Chi remained silent the entire time. Only when the carriage was about to arrive did he finally ask, "You dared to cut someone open like that?"
"I did," Zheng Qian said.
Zheng Chi was momentarily at a loss for words.
Meanwhile, no one in the Lu household could sleep.
After rinsing his mouth, Xiao Mingyu was invited to rest in a small outer room. Imperial Physician Sun stayed in the room next to his and came over to chat.
"Your Highness, do you think Lu Shu will die tonight?"
"How would I know?" Xiao Mingyu replied.
"Then… can you obtain Miss Zheng's anesthesia? It's miraculous—even cutting open the abdomen doesn't cause pain," Imperial Physician Sun said.
Xiao Mingyu glanced at him indifferently. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"
Imperial Physician Sun could only laugh awkwardly.
The rest of the Lu family, following Zheng Qian's instructions, could not enter to see Lu Shu, and gathered in the courtyard instead.
"I'm afraid he won't survive the night."
"With such severe injuries, fever is inevitable. We must prepare cooling medicine."
"Originally, the eldest young master wouldn't have survived either."
"Terrifying—how could that woman dare to do such a thing?"
"Absolutely reckless."
Old Master Lu, however, sat quietly in the main hall, sipping tea, his thoughts drifting far away.
He recalled a long-ago memory.
When he was twelve, he had been in a small thatched hut with his grandfather. Nearby lay a beggar who had been struck by a carriage and suffered internal injuries.
Following an old medical text, his grandfather had performed abdominal surgery.
He had watched from the side—without fear.
"Can you save him, Grandfather?" he had asked.
The grandfather had replied, "The book says it's possible. We'll sew his abdomen back up."
"But Grandfather, the last maid you stitched up—she died on the third day. Her wound swelled terribly. Can this one survive?"
"Let's hope so," his grandfather had said.
The beggar died the next afternoon—just like the maid before him, with suppuration, high fever, and a wound swollen like a rising bun.
Old Master Lu already knew the outcome. So why had he allowed Zheng Qian to attempt it on his grandson?
Why?
Was it unwillingness to accept failure?
His grandfather had tried seven times and killed seven people, concluding that the ancestral medical text left by Lu Qi was flawed and unusable.
Using it would destroy the Lu family's century-old legacy. And his grandfather's grandfather had said the same—that the text was heretical and forbidden.
Yet his grandfather had refused to give up and tried anyway.
And what about him?
Had he, too, fallen into the same obsession?
Previously, Lu Shu had mentioned that the fifth young master of the Jing'an Marquis household had his foot stitched—and survived.
That too was done by Zheng Qian.
Old Master Lu shuddered.
Lu Shu's father left the courtyard to prepare a coffin.
Lu Shu's mother had already fainted twice from crying and was slowly coming to terms with the painful reality, waiting for her son to pass.
"After he dies, who will be the next 'little divine physician' supported by Grandfather? Could it be me?" the second young master asked hopefully.
"Most likely it will be the Ninth," his wife cut in.
Each person had their own thoughts.
The next morning, Lu Shu awoke from general anesthesia.
Old Master Lu did not allow anyone else in. He entered alone and asked, "How do you feel?"
"It hurts."
Of course it hurt—his abdomen had been cut open. Not passing out from the pain was already a miracle.
The old master stayed and spoke with him for a long time.
After a few words, Lu Shu's strength gave out, and he fell asleep again.
The Lu family had already prepared white cloth and a coffin, ready to arrange the funeral once he passed.
Old Master Lu sat silently by his side, powerless, intending to accompany his grandson through his final moments.
Imperial Physician Sun and Prince Anying had also not left, waiting for the outcome.
In the afternoon, Lu Shu awoke again.
It still hurt.
"I'm a little thirsty," he said.
The old master personally tried to give him water.
He did not dare look at the wound or touch his grandson's feverish body.
But when he lifted Lu Shu's head to feed him water, his hand touched the boy's skin—and found it was slightly cooler than his own palm.
The water cup slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground.
Crash.
"Has he… already passed?" someone asked, peering in from the window.
Lu Shu's father hurried in, grief-stricken, to comfort the old master.
But instead, he saw the old master frozen in place, reaching out to touch Lu Shu's head—while Lu Shu's eyes were still open, not yet gone.
The old master looked as if he had seen a ghost.
"No… impossible!"
It was impossible for him not to have a fever.
He rushed to check the wound.
There was no sign of suppuration—the stitches were neat and orderly, resting quietly on the skin, with no swelling at all.
The old master staggered back two steps.
How could this be?
This kind of wound—this kind of attempt—he had performed it seven times with his grandfather.
Seven times. Every single one ended in death.
He remembered clearly how the symptoms progressed each time.
So why?
Why wasn't Lu Shu's wound swelling?
Why was there no high fever?
The old master shuddered once again.