Rising Phoenix

Even though Feng Zhiwei had the plague, no one quarantined her. They all just showered and washed and changed often, though every time someone left the yard, they would have to clean their bodies with a medicinal bath.

Ning Yi understood that despite their anxiety, they could not allow anyone to fall sick. He had to take care of himself, for if he fell, it would be that much harder for Feng Zhiwei to survive. He did not spare himself the trouble, heading out again and again, bathing every time until his skin began to crack.

At night, he would allow no attendants as he slept in Feng Zhiwei’s room. Every two hours he would wake and check her vitals, and every time her condition only made him more anxious. Sometimes she burned so hot that Ning Yi could feel the heat from a meter away, and sometimes her temperature would fall so cold that the room would plunge noticeably. Ning Yi would bring the ice bag when she needed it, and then he would quickly toss it aside for a thick cotton quilt and lite the fire stove beside the bed, switching back and forth so many times even he lost count.

Once, he passed out in his exhaustion and dreamed that Feng Zhiwei had stopped breathing. Jerking way, he leapt out of his bed and rushed over to Feng Zhiwei, blindly smashing a tea pot and cutting his finger in the fragments. Shaking, he held out his hand to feel her breath, and only after he felt the warmth tremble of air against his bleeding finger did he let out a long sigh of relief.

That night he silently clutched his bleeding finger, quietly waiting by her beside, not daring to drift off again.

In the span of a few days, Ning Yi lost weight, his face paling so much that his attendants thought they could see faint green veins through his skin, but through it all his eyes burnt with a demonic fire. Ning Cheng could finally stand it no longer, and one night he broke in and refused to leave only for Ning Yi to bodily kick him out. Ning Cheng clutched the frame of the door and howled until Ning Yi smashed a precious porcelain vase on his head.

Three days later Gu Nanyi acted, sealing Ning Yi’s acupuncture points and tossing him out before dragging another bed into Feng Zhiwei’s room for himself. He lay uncomfortably for a while before finally moving to the foot of Feng Zhiwei’s bed, curling up by the rosewood bed’s feet. He thought back to how Feng Zhiwei had once slept at the foot of his bed, and whenever he had wakened he could see her face as she clutched her cotton blanket, her long lashes curving over her eyelids.

At that time, he had thought that she had slept so well that the foot of the bed must be very comfortable. Only now did he realize that it was not comfortable at all.

But though it was uncomfortable, he did not move. He waited quietly for Feng Zhiwei to wake and look down to check on him just as he had done all those days ago. What would he say when she woke? He had to plan it well.

But after waiting and waiting, Feng Zhiwei never looked down at him. He had already figured out what he would say, but he never had the chance to speak. He shut his eyes, the weight in his chest returning; he could not understand why the autumn night was so cold, biting down into his flesh and bones.

At a certain point, he was no longer just waiting. It turned out the foot of the bed was a convenient place to sleep, and whenever Feng Zhiwei felt hot, he could reach out and shift over the ice pack. As soon as she ended up too cold, he could easily drag over the blanket and light the fire stove, and attending her did not even affect his sleep.

On a night of drizzling rain, Ning Yi sat inside the room while Gu Nanyi lay on the rooftop. The melody of his leaf flute rose and fell, aching the heart; everyone waited in the yard, listening as a paper door slid open. The finest physician in South Sea trembled as he shakily exited the room, his face pale as he fell to the ground and kowtowed.

Ning Yi never appeared from the silent room, and though the rain never let up, quiet, sorrowful pillars of white smoke refused to scatter.

Yan Huaishi fell weakly to his knees, his gaze empty.

Helian Zheng howled in anguish, rushing off to punch something.

The students of Qing Ming Academy stood dazed as the rain fell, and no one knew if the water on their face was rain or tears.

The yard fell into mournful silence as every soul stilled. The physician’s head knocked into the wood veranda floor again and again, the dull hollow thwack striking the pain deeper and deeper into their hearts. The misting, autumn rain stretched on and on dripping down from pale yellowing leaves and grey faces alike.

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No light shone through the darkness of the ajar door and sharp eyes could barely make out the silhouette of Ning Yi’s skinny, unmoving back.

After a long stretch of the deathly silence, his quiet voice called out.

“Get out.”

The physician fled, relief on every wrinkle in his face. As he hurried off, he stumbled and almost fell; luckily, Hua Qiong caught him and when she took in the harried expression on the famous physician’s face, sympathy crossed her face and she offered to walk him out.

She had just escorted the physician to the gates and was turning back when he overheard the gatekeeper cursing, tossing his hat down as he said: “Stupid bastard. He still dares scam people by the gates, even at this hour!”

Hua Qiong turned, her curious eyes making out a man a distance away from the gates, his head turning this way and that. The gatekeeper continued angrily complaining: “He still refuses to leave! Just another fool here for the reward! Even the number one physician in Feng Zhou City is powerless, how can a man that can’t even write a prescription have a cure? Bringing him to His Highness is just courting death!”

Hua Qiong examined the distant figure, her gaze meeting the man’s hopeful eyes. She considered him for a moment before waving him forward.

Ning Yi sat quietly in the smoke filled room.

Behind the mist of smoke lay Feng Zhiwei, pale as death.

She no longer flashed hot and cold, and there was no more of the terrifying, gut wrenching vomiting. She just lay quietly, sleeping gently like a wisp of cloud so light in the air as it floated away.

Ning Yi stared at her face for an indecipherable length of time; slowly, he reached forward and gradually pulled back the thin skin mask covering her face.

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His fingers brushed over her skin from her chin upwards until he touched her drooping brows, making sure that the face underneath the mask was that drooping brow tallow face.

This woman was so afraid of others seeing her true face that she did not mind the trouble of wearing two masks.

Ning Yi smiled joylessly, dipping a towel in the basin by the bed and slowly wringing it.

It must be uncomfortable wearing two masks; she should at least be clean.

Ning Yi gripped the warm towel with icy fingers and he felt like he was clutching his own heart. His fingers tensed, and he dazedly thought back to the first time they had met, that day by the lake in Qiu Mansion’s inner yard. She had thrown her head just so, half of her body submerged in that icy water as she grabbed at her wet hair.