Chapter Thirty-Four: You’re Sick—Gravely Ill

The man's urging voice acted as a catalyst for his underlings. They rubbed their hands together eagerly, faces alight with excitement, and charged toward Li Zisheng and Wang Qianlang. Yet before they could vault over the table, Li Zisheng's calm "Wait a moment" caused them to falter.

The burly man regarded Li Zisheng with undisguised contempt, inwardly scoffing at how this brat, faced with a bit of commotion, was already quailing. "Enough," he commanded with a wave of his hand; he had no desire to escalate matters—for all that Li Zisheng was still a student of Tiandeng Academy.

Still, his disdain only grew more apparent, twisting his face into a near caricature of itself. "Boy, I told you to write me seven or eight couplets, and that would be the end of it. Why bring trouble upon yourself? Now, though, you’ve frightened my men—there must be some price paid. Here’s what you’ll do: you and your cousin crawl under my crotch, and I’ll let you off. Otherwise, I’ll cripple you both right here and show you just what I’m capable of."

His grotesque features looked almost monstrous, yet the smile on his lips could not mask his inner arrogance. "You two dare provoke Brother Yan? You must be tired of living."

"You’re ill. Seriously ill," Li Zisheng replied blandly, his eyes full of pity.

"What did you say, you little bastard? Are you looking to die?" The burly man flew into a rage.

"Get them! Break their legs—I’ll take responsibility for whatever happens!" The underlings, unable to tolerate Li Zisheng's insolence, seized whatever they could and prepared to attack.

Even the one who had feigned illness earlier now stood up, glaring furiously at Li Zisheng.

But Li Zisheng fixed his gaze on the burly man and spoke casually, "Do you often feel exhausted? Palpitations? Shortness of breath? Parched throat? Weakness in your lower back and knees? Swelling in your limbs?"

"Hold on," the burly man barked, quickly halting his men. They, too, sighed with relief; after all, assaulting a Tiandeng scholar wasn’t a trivial matter.

"How did you know?" The burly man stared hard at Li Zisheng, deeply unsettled. He had indeed been feeling unwell of late, but when he visited the clinic, the doctor merely prescribed some blood-tonifying medicine and seemed unconcerned. He hadn’t thought it serious—his meals were always rich and nourishing; surely he wasn’t lacking in anything.

"I know much more than that. If you value your life, give me your arm and let me take your pulse. Answer my questions truthfully, or not even the gods can save you," Li Zisheng said coldly.

The burly man wavered, unsettled by how precisely Li Zisheng had described his symptoms. "Fine, brat. But if you dare trick me, I’ll cripple you myself."

He ordered his underlings to clear the area. Clever as ever, they drove out the commoners but left the wealthy and noble untouched—those young scions, after all, were there to watch the spectacle and had no intention of leaving.

The burly man, mindful of whom he might offend, offered his arm, his face still clouded with anger as he looked at Li Zisheng. Li Zisheng calmly placed a cloth under the arm and took his pulse.

After a short while, Li Zisheng withdrew his hand, his expression grave. "First, tell me your name," he asked.

The question unsettled the burly man further. "My surname is Zhou. Zhou Linqing," he replied.

"Zhou Linqing, answer me honestly: have you recently experienced excessive thirst and urination? Heat in your palms and soles? Constipation?"

Li Zisheng’s voice was loud enough to carry. Zhou Linqing wanted to gag him, but there was nothing he could do—every word struck home, more accurately than the clinic’s Dr. Huang. He suppressed his anger, nodded, and waited for further diagnosis.

"I find your pulse weak and floating, with a rapid rhythm—signs of exterior heat. In early spring, one expects a taut pulse, but yours is thin and feeble, suggesting evil has entered the nutritive level. Stick out your tongue," Li Zisheng commanded.

Zhou Linqing, now thoroughly cowed, obediently stuck out his tongue. His underlings held their breath, not daring to interrupt.

"Red and dark, with tooth marks at the edges, a thin white coating, and little moisture," Li Zisheng pronounced, giving Zhou Linqing’s face a sharp pinch, distorting his features.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Zhou Linqing clutched his face, astonished by the boy’s strength—how could a child pinch so painfully? He rubbed his now bruised and reddened cheek.

"Are you going to cooperate or not? If you can’t endure a little pain, just beat me up and be done with it. My time is valuable," Li Zisheng sneered.

Chastened, Zhou Linqing dropped his hand and thrust his face forward again, sticking out his tongue. Li Zisheng seized the chance for a little petty vengeance, pinching and kneading with renewed vigor.

"Enough," Zhou Linqing sighed in relief when Li Zisheng finally spoke; another moment and his face might have been ruined.

"As I said, you’re ill—seriously ill. If you want me to cure you, it depends on your attitude. But mark my words: if untreated, this malady will kill you."

With that, Li Zisheng didn’t spare him another glance. He picked up his chopsticks, unconcerned that his meal had gone cold, and resumed eating. He hadn’t even finished before this group had interrupted him—best to fill his stomach first.

Zhou Linqing watched Li Zisheng, seething with resentment but no longer daring to provoke him.