Right on cue, Boyi jogged back over, slightly out of breath but trying very hard to sound official. "Lord instructed me to guide you. I will show you the patient."
"Great," He Yuying muttered flatly. "I was worried we'd have to diagnose random rocks."
And so, they followed Boyi through the eerily silent village. Along the way, guards watched them pass with wide eyes. Some looked impressed. Others looked confused. A few looked like they were debating whether this was a team of heroic cultivators or the opening act of a traveling circus. When they reached the patient's house, the guards stationed outside took one look at Shen Zhenyu's grim face, then at He Yuying's completely unbothered one, and wisely decided to step aside. No questions asked.
The house however, was… trying its best.
It was small and crooked, leaning slightly. Every step made the floor creak ominously, as if it was groaning "why me". The wood looked so aged and soft that a determined sneeze could probably punch a hole through the wall. Inside wasn't much better. It was narrow, dusty, and smelled faintly of damp socks. Only one lonely candle flickered bravely in the corner of a side room, trying and failing to hold back the gloom.
Boyi led them in carefully. "There is only one person living here," he said in a hushed voice. "A young man. Twenty-seven. He caught the disease on the second day of the Weeping Moon. His condition worsened two days ago, but…" Boyi's face tightened. "He is still alive."
Linyue gave a small nod. "What does he do?"
"He transports and delivers goods to nearby villages," Boyi replied.
"Did he go out on the second day of the Weeping Moon?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"No," Boyi shook his head. "He stayed inside."
"Has he received treatment?"
"Yes," Boyi sighed. "The physicians tried all kinds of medicine. But nothing works. His condition worsens every day."
That tracked with what Master Yin Xue had said earlier. It might not be a regular illness. Maybe poison. Or something worse. Some poisons affected people differently based on their cultivation. Some common folks did cultivate—not to slay demons or become soldiers, but just enough to carry a big sack of rice without toppling over. They didn't want fame or battles. Just working knees, a healthy spine, and maybe a good night's sleep.
So Linyue asked quietly, "Does he cultivate?"
Boyi blinked at Linyue's question, clearly caught off guard. "Eh… I didn't ask that."
Linyue gave him a look that said Really? but said nothing.
Song Meiyu immediately raised her hand. "Leave it to me! I'll ask him while I poke around."
"Poke gently," He Yuying muttered.
Boyi led them down a short, creaky hallway to a half-open door. The smell of old herbs and faint dampness hung in the air. Linyue peeked in and spotted the patient lying motionless on a narrow bed. He was so pale, it looked like all the color had been politely evacuated from his face. His lips were white, his cheeks sunken, and his frame frighteningly thin.
He looked thirty-seven at least. Possibly forty.
"...That's not twenty-seven," Shen Zhenyu muttered.
"He's had a rough week," Song Meiyu whispered back.
Boyi stepped aside to let Song Meiyu enter, but stretched out his arms to block the others. "Lord instructed me not to let the rest of you in. Especially… Miss," he added, casting a nervous glance at Linyue.
Linyue nodded and stepped back without protest. She didn't look offended at all. If anything, she seemed mildly amused.
Shen Zhenyu crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his eyes cool as he watched Boyi. He didn't argue, but the sharpness in his gaze said he was not thrilled.
Meanwhile, He Yuying had already fished out a small snack from his sleeve and was chewing with complete indifference. "Great. I didn't want to go in anyway."
From inside the room, Song Meiyu's cheerful voice floated out. She was introducing herself, asking very specific questions, and possibly poking at things with alarming enthusiasm.
Ten minutes later, the door creaked open. Song Meiyu stepped out, her usual bright grin firmly in place. The others turned to her in unison, clearly expecting a grand, dramatic diagnosis. But instead, she clasped her hands together and said brightly, "Can I check another patient?"
"Eh? Uh…" Boyi hesitated. After a brief internal struggle (and perhaps a tiny moment of soul regret), he gave a stiff nod.
Without missing a beat, Song Meiyu started leading the way out of the house. "I'm still not ready to give a proper answer yet," she admitted with a vague wave of her hand. "I need to see a few more cases. You all can wait outside, under a tree, beside a possibly haunted well, or on a very normal-looking chair in front of a dusty shop."
"Noted," Linyue nodded.
Despite all her chatter, Song Meiyu took her work seriously. Just like Master Yin Xue, she became someone else entirely when it came to her job. Focused, sharp-eyed, and professional with occasional polite poking.
Shen Zhenyu nodded in agreement.
He Yuying, mid-snack, muttered, "Great. I can relax."
The three watched as Song Meiyu disappeared around the corner with Boyi. Left behind, they turned and drifted toward the nearest wooden bench in front of a dusty old shop. The shop looked like it hadn't seen business or a broom in years.
Linyue sat down gracefully. Shen Zhenyu remained standing, leaning against a creaky post with his usual calm composure. He Yuying flopped onto the bench, fully prepared to fuse with it over the next several hours.
And so, they waited.
And waited.
And kept waiting.
The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of old wood, herbs, and faint decay. No birds chirped. No breeze stirred. Occasionally, guards passed by carrying stretchers. Some with unconscious people. Some who clearly wouldn't be waking up again.
"...We should've waited by the haunted well," He Yuying murmured, breaking the silence. "At least it has more atmosphere."
Linyue didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the next stretcher being carried down the road. Her fingers tapped gently against her sleeve.
Shen Zhenyu just stared at the sky, expression unreadable.
By the time the sun had vanished and shadows swallowed the village whole, the three of them were starting to feel like moss might grow on their sleeves at any moment. And finally, Song Meiyu came bouncing back down the road, her hair slightly windblown, her expression bright and victorious.
"Let's go back!" she announced cheerfully. "I've gathered all the information I can get from here. The patients, the patterns, the smells, everything."
Linyue rose from her seat and offered her a warm smile. "You're amazing, Sister Meiyu."
Shen Zhenyu gave her a small, rare nod of approval. "You've worked hard."
Even He Yuying, who had been lying on the bench, silently extended a small cloth bag of snacks toward her.
Song Meiyu gasped. "Is this… your dried sweet plums?!"
He Yuying didn't answer, he just looked away like it wasn't a big deal (It was.)
Song Meiyu giggled, popped one in her mouth, and skipped along beside them as they made their way toward the village gate. Their horses were still tied up where they had left them, munching lazily on dried grass. Linyue's horse in particular gave a loud, weary snort.
The four mounted up in near-perfect rhythm, except for Song Meiyu, who almost dropped her plum bag and made a tiny "eep!" sound. They trotted side by side out of the village, leaving behind the haunted well, the droopy shop signs, and Boyi, who stood at the gate watching them leave. He waved politely to the four people who were equal parts heroic cultivators and walking migraines.
"Next time," He Yuying said as their horses' hooves clopped against the quiet road, "let's investigate something cheerful. Like a missing dumpling cart."
Song Meiyu grinned. "Only if they let me poke the dumplings."
Shen Zhenyu exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as if praying for inner peace.
Linyue, seated tall and composed, smiled faintly as if all of this chaos was perfectly normal.
Under the darkening sky, with the wind gently tugging at their sleeves, Song Meiyu popped another dried plum into her mouth and straightened her back.
"Now," she declared, "for my official report. Prepare yourselves. This tale includes mystery, danger, and possibly garlic."