Chapter Thirty-Five: Method

“He’s been unconscious since last night, and strange blisters have appeared all over his body!” Zhu Yingtai hurriedly spoke, her face tinged with worry. After all, they were well acquainted; now, to see him lying lifeless on the bed unsettled her deeply.

“He hasn’t woken up since last night? Tell me slowly—no, I’ll see for myself.” Liu Ping quickly threw on his clothes, stepped into his high wooden clogs, and hurried toward Wang Hong’s room.

Room Number Three, Block B.

A crowd of students lingered outside the door. Within, a physician was examining Wang Hong’s pulse, while two tutors waited anxiously by his side.

Wang Hong lay comatose, his complexion ashen, his skin covered in clusters of blister-like bumps, resembling the warty back of a toad—disgustingly grotesque.

After a while, the physician shook his head with a sigh. “I do not know what illness this is… It’s most peculiar; his pulse is so chaotic, he seems at death’s door…”

At these words, Tutor Li and Tutor Zhou immediately grew more anxious.

“Is there any hope of curing him?” Tutor Li pressed.

The physician stood and bowed apologetically. “I’m afraid not. Forgive my incompetence…”

Tutor Zhou interjected, “What are you saying? There must be something you can try! You cannot simply declare yourself powerless!”

The physician sighed, about to reply, when the door swung open and Liu Ping entered.

Tutor Zhou frowned and scolded, “Didn’t I say no one was allowed in? Out!”

Liu Ping replied, “Greetings to you both. I am Wang Hong’s friend and possess some knowledge of medicine. Allow me to observe; I promise not to cause any trouble.”

Hearing this, Tutor Li nodded. “You may stay.”

Meanwhile, Tutor Zhou continued to question the physician. “Quickly, give us a solution! If you cannot cure him, can you not at least recommend a skilled healer?”

The physician looked troubled, forcing a bitter smile. An illness like this—even a god would find it hard to save him. All he could say was, “I do know several skilled healers, but they are far from here—I fear there isn’t enough time…”

Tutor Zhou, exceedingly frustrated by the physician’s helplessness, could no longer restrain his anger. “How can there not be enough time? He only returned last night—how can someone die in a single day? What strange malady acts so swiftly? You say it’s not this, nor that—are we simply to watch him die? Do you even know who he is? He is the second son of the wealthy merchant Wang Bin—are all his riches not enough to bring forth a renowned physician?”

The implication was clear: he took the physician for a quack.

Tutor Li shook his head. “Zhengming, do not make things harder for Doctor Lu. For now, we must quickly notify his family…”

Liu Ping fixed his gaze on Wang Hong’s pallid face. He remembered that just yesterday, Wang Hong had looked unwell, though he had thought little of it then, assuming his friend was merely shaken and would recover with some rest. Who could have guessed he would not wake again?

When had the cause of his coma arisen? Liu Ping frowned, searching his memory—suddenly, an image flashed through his mind:

The hand of a female corpse had gripped Wang Hong’s shoulder, forcing him to the ground.

“Could it be from that moment?” Liu Ping couldn’t help but exclaim, drawing the attention of the sighing physician and the anxious tutors.

“That’s right!” Tutor Li’s eyes lit up. “You were with Wang Hong yesterday—do you have any clues?”

Tutor Zhou added, “You were with him yesterday? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Quick, tell us—what happened? What led to this condition?”

Even the physician perked up. “Yes, if we can trace the source, perhaps we can treat him.”

Liu Ping said nothing, but instead tore open Wang Hong’s upper garment.

With a tearing sound, Wang Hong’s shoulder was exposed.

The three observers gasped, recoiling as an awful stench wafted over them. They had noticed a foul odor earlier but hadn’t realized it came from his wound. Now they saw Wang Hong’s shoulder, black as ink, marked by a distinct palm print—soft and decaying, surrounded by clusters of gray, watery blisters.

“So it is,” Liu Ping murmured, his expression grave.

“What malady is this? A handprint… could it be…” Tutor Li’s anxious face turned ashen.

At that moment, Zhu Yingtai squeezed into the room. The two shocked tutors and the physician were too preoccupied to notice her.

Outside, the students whispered among themselves, curiosity piqued. Some, bolder than others, crowded in to glimpse Wang Hong’s wound.

“What happened?” Zhu Yingtai, staring at the eerie handprint, felt a chill crawl up her spine. Shivering, she asked in a tremulous voice, “Did you… encounter a ghost?”

“So that’s it—not an illness, but the work of a vengeful spirit. No wonder the pulse is so strange,” the physician finally muttered, stroking his chin in shock.

“A ghost did this? No wonder Wang Hong was fine yesterday and is now like this!”

“Incredible—such things truly exist!”

“Where did Liu Ping and Wang Hong go to provoke such things? And why did Liu Ping return unharmed?”

The murmurs grew louder, until Tutor Zhou could stand it no longer. “Silence! Out, all of you! Do you have nothing better to do?”

Normally a figure of authority, Tutor Zhou’s outburst brought instant quiet.

Liu Ping placed his hand on Wang Hong’s arm, channeling spiritual energy in an attempt to heal the wound.

But it had little effect—the energy vanished instantaneously, like water into sand, causing not the slightest ripple. Soon, all the energy he had gathered the night before was gone, and Wang Hong showed no sign of improvement.

With a sigh, feeling the gaze of the tutors, the physician, and the students, Liu Ping considered briefly, then recounted the events of the previous night.

Though the tale was simply told, neither embellished nor concealed, it was enough to make the listeners gasp, astonished that such bizarre events could occur.

With the story finished, the students began whispering once more.

The tutors and physician were at a loss—what could be done?

Just then, a student with a dark, broad face entered and declared, “I know how to resolve this.”

Liu Ping looked up in surprise—it was Lu Liang.

Lu Liang, noticing Liu Ping’s astonishment, snorted. “Why are you looking at me like that? In a crisis like this, how could I keep my knowledge to myself? I’m no petty villain.”

Tutor Zhou quickly asked, “What is your solution? Speak quickly.”

The room fell silent again, all eyes turning to Lu Liang.

Lu Liang said, “On Shifang Street, there is a Daoist temple—not dedicated to any celestial lord, but known for fortune-telling and divination. The Daoist priest there is deeply learned, famed for always being accurate and fulfilling all requests. However, the temple is usually closed to outsiders—without a letter of introduction, it’s impossible to enter…”

At this, the physician’s eyes lit up. “Ah, I know the place—you must mean…”