Tanglong Year One, September 20th. Night.
The night in Chang'an had never been so uneasy.
The dental clinic had been open for nearly three months. The plaque at the entrance was no longer brand new; the four characters "Qingyan Dental Clinic" glowed with a gentle wood tone in the twilight. Over a hundred jars of tooth powder had been sold from the cabinets, dozens of patients treated, and Shen Yue could now independently mix tooth powder and perform simple oral examinations.
Everything was moving in a good direction.
Then, the coup arrived.
By evening, rumors were spreading through the wards—the Prince of Linzi had led troops into the palace. No one knew the exact details, only that the lights on the corner towers were twice as bright as usual, and the ward gates had closed half an hour earlier than normal. Soldiers patrolled everywhere; their armor gleamed coldly under the torchlight, and the sound of hooves was as urgent as a rainstorm.
I stood at the entrance of the clinic, looking toward Zhuque Avenue.
"Third Lady," Qingyuan whispered behind me, "close the door. Tonight is not peaceful."
"Wait a little longer."
"Waiting for whom?"
I didn't answer.
Waiting for whom? I was waiting for someone who wouldn't come. Tonight, he was in the palace, amidst the flash of swords and shadows, between life and death. And I could only stand at the door of this small clinic, unable to do anything.
The ward gates closed. Pedestrians gradually dispersed from the streets, leaving only the footsteps of patrolling soldiers. I closed the door but did not bolt it.
Qingyuan looked at me, puzzled.
"What if someone is injured?" I said. "What if someone needs a doctor?"
She asked no more, silently going to the kitchen to boil a large pot of water, cooking clean cotton bolts one by one and hanging them on bamboo poles to dry. Shen Yue inventoried all the tools in the medicine box again and ground two new jars of hemostatic powder.
The three of us guarded this small clinic, waiting for wounded who might never come.
Hai Hour (9 PM - 11 PM). The night in Chang'an was very quiet, so quiet one could hear one's own heartbeat.
Suddenly, a burst of urgent hoofbeats came from the distance. Not one horse, but many. The sound grew closer and denser, as if about to crush the bluestone pavement.
I stood up and walked to the door.
On Zhuque Avenue, a squadron of cavalry was charging toward us. The light of torches danced in the night, revealing blood on their armor—not the blood of one person, but of many. Some had cloth strips wrapped around their arms, soaked through with blood; others slumped over their horses, unknown whether injured or dead.
My heart sank sharply.
The cavalry squadron stopped at the clinic entrance. The leading general dismounted. I saw his face—it was Chen Xuanli, Li Longji's bodyguard. His armor was covered in blood; a crack ran through the guard on his left shoulder, but he ignored it, striding toward me.
"Miss Gu!" His voice was hoarse, as if he had been shouting on the battlefield all night. "His Highness is injured!"
I didn't ask what happened. I turned, ran back inside, grabbed my medicine box, and rushed out.
"Qingyuan! Bring out the hot water! Shen Yue, bring all the cotton, strong wine, and hemostatic powder to the consultation room!"
"Yes!" they answered in unison, without unnecessary words. In three months, they had learned too much from me; they knew when to ask why and when not to.
Chen Xuanli led me to the middle of the convoy. A roofless carriage stood by the roadside; someone was lying inside.
No, not lying. Leaning.
He leaned against the carriage board, his armor covered in blood, indistinguishable whether his own or others'. His helmet was lost somewhere; his hair hung loosely on his shoulders, with strands stuck to his face by blood. His face was as white as paper, his lips cracked, his breathing rapid and shallow.
But his eyes were open.
Seeing me, he even smiled slightly.
"Gu Qingyan," his voice was as rough as sandpaper, "your business has arrived."
I didn't smile. I walked over and silently began to examine his injuries.
Left Arm. The wound was on the outer side of the upper left arm. The armor had been slashed open; several fragments of iron were embedded in the flesh. The blade had cut through skin and muscle, exposing dark red muscle layers, deep enough to see bone. Blood was still gushing out, unstoppable.
I pressed the artery proximal to the heart. The blood flow decreased significantly—fortunately, the brachial artery wasn't hit, or he wouldn't have made it this far.
"The wound needs cleaning, the fragments removed, and then sutured," I said.
"Suture."
"There is no painkiller. It will be very painful."
"I know."
I glanced at him.
He leaned against the carriage board, gritting his teeth, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead one by one, yet his eyes remained bright, even carrying a light I couldn't quite define. Not excitement, but the light of survival. The light of someone who has crawled out of a pile of corpses and realized they are still alive.
"Doesn't it hurt?" I asked.
"It hurts," he said, the words squeezed through clenched teeth. "But coming back alive makes it worth it."
I said nothing more.
"Lift him inside," I told Chen Xuanli. "Gently. Don't bump his left arm."
Two guards carefully lifted him off the carriage. His body was heavy; the weight of armor and flesh pressed on their shoulders. As they crossed the threshold, he frowned slightly but made no sound.
Inside the consultation room, Qingyuan had already prepared the hot water, cotton, and strong wine. Shen Yue was heating tweezers and needles over a fire basin; the firelight reflected on her face, her hands steady.
"Everyone out," I told the guards. "All of you."
"Miss Gu—"
"I need to clean the wound. Too many people makes it unclean. Leave one person outside to wait; I'll call if needed."
Chen Xuanli hesitated for a moment, then led the others out.
The door closed.
Inside the room, there was only me, Li Longji, Qingyuan, and Shen Yue.
I took a deep breath and walked to the examination bed.
Debridement
"Your Highness, I must first remove the armor fragments. Then clean the wound and suture. It will be very painful."
"Begin."
The first fragment was embedded near the surface of the flesh. I gripped it with tweezers and gently pulled it out.
The muscles in his arm tensed; blue veins bulged from his wrist all the way to his upper arm, but he made no sound.
The second was deeper, embedded in the muscle layer. I used a bamboo stick to pry open the edge of the wound and inserted the tweezers—
His other hand gripped the edge of the examination bed, his knuckles turning white.
"If it hurts, scream."
"I won't," he said.
The third. The fourth. Each fragment came out with blood, dropped into the copper basin with a dull thud.
My fingers were trembling.
Not from fear, but because—this wasn't dental surgery; this was a war wound. During my internship at Vancouver General Hospital, I had seen car accidents, knife wounds, gunshot wounds, but I had never removed so many fragments from one person at once. And this person, three months ago, had sat in my consultation room, legs crossed, smiling and saying, "This King learns everything quickly." He taught me to ride, gave me mouthwash, and was the first to congratulate me on my opening day.
Three months. From summer to autumn, from toothache to coup.
I gritted my teeth and steadied my fingers.
All fragments were removed. I rinsed the wound with strong wine—
The moment the alcohol hit, his entire body tensed. Blue veins bulged from his neck to his temples; sweat rolled down his forehead, landing on the examination bed, staining it dark.
But he made no sound.
He just stared死死 (fixedly) at me.
"Why are you looking at me?" I asked while suturing. As the needle passed through flesh, I could feel his body trembling.
"Your hand isn't shaking," he said.
"Mm."
"Steadier than my soldiers. The military doctors in the border armies are skilled in acupuncture and plasters, but for deep wounds like this, none have your craftsmanship."
"I am a doctor."
"No," he said, his voice very light. "You are not an ordinary doctor."
I didn't respond. In total, fourteen stitches. Each stitch was dense and even—a skill honed at Vancouver General Hospital. When suturing emergency trauma patients, hands must be steady, stitches even, with no carelessness. My mentor had said: Patients entrust their lives to you; you cannot disappoint them.
After the last stitch, I cut the silk thread, applied hemostatic and anti-inflammatory powder to the wound, and bandaged it with clean cotton.
"Done."
He looked down at his bandaged left arm and moved his fingers.
"It can move."
"Of course it can. Tendons and vessels weren't damaged."
He looked up at me.
"Gu Qingyan."
"Hmm?"
"Do you know where I went tonight?"
I was silent for a moment.
"I know."
He raised an eyebrow.
"All of Chang'an is talking about it," I said. "The Prince of Linzi led troops into the palace; Empress Wei has been executed."
He said nothing, just looking at me. There was scrutiny in his gaze, probing, and something else I couldn't define.
"Aren't you afraid?" he asked.
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of me."
"Why should I be afraid?"
"Because I killed people." He said this calmly, as if commenting on the weather. "Many people."
I looked at him.
There were still bloodstains on his face, splashed on, now dried into dark brown patches. The blood on his armor was similar; some had coagulated, some was still wet.
"Your Highness," I said, "you did not kill innocent people."
He paused.
"Empress Wei poisoned Emperor Zhong, usurped the court, and brought chaos to the world," I said. "If she doesn't die, more people will die."
He looked at me for a long time.
"You, a woman, understand these things?"
"I don't understand court politics." I packed the tools into the medicine box. "But I understand one principle: if someone is injured, they must be treated; if someone is sick, they must be healed. As for who injured whom, who killed whom—that is beyond a doctor's control."
He leaned against the examination bed and closed his eyes.
I thought he was tired and was about to get up to pour him some water when he suddenly spoke.
"Someone told me," he said, his voice very light, "that on the night of the coup, you followed my army into the palace city."
My hand paused.
"You saved wounded soldier after wounded soldier in piles of corpses," he opened his eyes and looked at me. "Kneeling in pools of blood to bandage people, with corpses right beside you, without blinking once."
I lowered my head and continued organizing the medicine box.
"You thought I didn't know?"
"Your Highness was busy; I thought no one cared about such small matters."
"Small matters?" He repeated the words, his tone incredulous. "Gu Qingyan, a woman whose hands don't shake while saving people in piles of corpses—you think this is a small matter?"
I said nothing.
"A merchant's daughter from Changzhou," he continued, "who can treat teeth, suture wounds, knows what bacteria are, knows what sterilization is. Steadier than my soldiers in a pile of corpses."
His voice grew lower and lower, as if speaking only to me.
"Gu Qingyan, who exactly are you?"
I was silent for a long time.
The consultation room was so quiet one could hear Qingyuan boiling water in the kitchen, the footsteps of guards patrolling outside, and his own breathing—steadier than before, but still somewhat rapid.
I looked up at him.
"I am your doctor," I said. "That is enough."
He looked at me for a long time.
So long that I thought he wouldn't speak again.
Then he smiled.
That smile—different from when he taught me to ride in the training ground, different from when he was caught stealing cherry pastries in the clinic. That smile was light, faint, like the smile of someone exhausted who could finally relax.
"Enough," he said.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the examination bed.
His breathing gradually steadied.
A Sleepless Night
I stood beside him, looking at his face.
Asleep, he didn't look like a prince who had just launched a coup, nor like a general who had killed countless people. Just an injured young man, exhausted, finally able to close his eyes.
Three months ago, he first sat on this examination bed, frowning from toothache. Three months later, he lay here covered in blood because of a coup.
I gently covered him with a blanket.
Turning around, I found Qingyuan standing at the door, holding a bowl of brown sugar water, her eyes red.
"Third Lady," she whispered, "His Highness, he..."
"He's fine," I took the brown sugar water. "He'll be better after a sleep."
"Third Lady," she hesitated, "you just said... you are his doctor. But isn't his tooth already healed?"
I was silent for a moment.
"The tooth is healed, but people still get injured," I said. "When people are injured, they need a doctor."
"What if they keep getting injured?"
"Then we keep treating."
Qingyuan looked at me, as if wanting to say something, but finally just nodded.
That night, I didn't return to the side room to sleep.
I sat on a chair at the door of the consultation room all night. Every two hours, I went in to check his wound, feel his forehead, and measure his pulse and breathing. After blood loss, the greatest fear was fever from the wound—in this era, there were no antibiotics; once infected, it was a matter of life and death.
This was all I could do.
Yin Hour (3 AM - 5 AM). He woke up once.
"Gu Qingyan."
"I'm here."
"What watch is it?"
"Fourth watch."
"Why haven't you slept?"
"Afraid your wound might fever."
He was silent for a moment.
"You've been guarding outside the whole time?"
"Mm."
He looked at me, his eyes holding something indefinable. Not gratitude, not being moved, but something else—as if confirming something.
"Go to sleep."
"Not tired."
"Liar," he said. "Your eyes are all red."
I said nothing.
He sighed and shifted toward the inside of the examination bed.
"Come up."
"...What?"
"Come up and sleep. How can you sleep on a chair?"
"Your Highness—"
"Are you afraid of me, or afraid of yourself?"
I stood still, my heart beating so fast it felt like it would jump out of my chest. Not fear. It was something else. It was the glance he gave me turning back in the pool of blood, the shock in his eyes when he said "Your hand isn't shaking," the seriousness in his voice when he asked "Who exactly are you?"
These thoughts crowded together, blocking my throat, making me unable to speak.
He looked at me, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.
"Gu Qingyan, my wound hurts; I don't have the strength to argue with you. Either come up and sleep, or sit on the chair. But don't stand there staring at me; I can't sleep."
I hesitated for a long time.
Finally, I spread a straw mat on the floor beside the examination bed and lay down.
He looked down at me, said nothing, just pulled a corner of the blanket down to cover me.
"Your Highness, your wound—"
"The wound is on the left arm; I'm using my right hand to pull the blanket."
The blanket was thin but warm. It smelled of blood, medicinal powder, and that indefinable scent of his.
I clutched that corner of the blanket and said nothing more.
The consultation room was very quiet. One could hear his breathing, much steadier than before. One could hear the watchman's clapper outside the window, one slow and three fast—it was the fourth watch. One could hear one's own heartbeat, thump-thump-thump, so loud I couldn't sleep.
"Gu Qingyan."
"Hmm?"
"Will you stay in Chang'an forever?"
I thought for a moment. "Probably."
"Probably?"
"My clinic is here. My patients are here." I paused. "Your Highness is also here."
He said nothing.
But I felt the blanket move slightly—his hand, through the blanket, lightly touched the back of my hand.
Just a touch. Quickly withdrawn.
As light as an accidental brush.
But I knew it wasn't.
That night, I lay on the floor, eyes open, until dawn.
Daybreak
Tanglong Year One, September 21st. The first day after the coup.
The sun in Chang'an rose as usual. The ward gates opened as usual; the sounds of street vendors rose as usual. The old man selling Hu cakes set up his stove at the street corner as usual; the scent of sesame seeds drifted into the clinic window.
It seemed as if nothing had happened.
But I knew everything had changed.
Li Longji slept on the examination bed all night and woke at dawn. His face was still a bit pale, but his spirit was much better.
"Does the wound hurt?" I asked him.
"It's alright."
"Let me see."
I unwrapped the bandage and checked—the wound hadn't continued to bleed, the edges were well-aligned, and there were no signs of redness, swelling, heat, or pain.
"Recovery is good." I reapplied medicine and re-bandaged it. "Don't use your left arm for a few days, and don't get it wet. Change the dressing in three days."
"In three days?" He looked at me. "You're not coming to the residence?"
"Your Highness comes to the clinic."
"This King is injured; how can I come?"
"Can't Your Highness ride a horse?"
"My left arm is injured; I can't ride."
"Then you can take a carriage."
He looked at me, his expression complex.
"Gu Qingyan, do you not want to come to the residence?"
"No."
"Then why not come?"
"Because Your Highness's status is different now," I lowered my head to pack the medicine box. "The coup succeeded; Your Highness is a great hero. Many people wait to see you in the residence every day. I, a dentist, shouldn't join the crowd."
He was silent for a moment.
"Gu Qingyan, look at me."
I looked up.
He leaned against the examination bed, his left arm bandaged, hair loose, wearing neither armor nor official robes, only an inner garment. He looked haggard, but his eyes were serious—the same seriousness he had when drawing a bow on the training ground.
"No matter what my status is," he said, "my teeth are still under your care. My injuries are still treated by you."
He paused.
"You just said, 'I am your doctor.' Do those words still count?"
"They count."
"Then come to the residence."
Looking at him, I suddenly felt my nose sting.
"Alright."
He smiled and sat up from the examination bed.
"Then now, can you get this King something to eat? From last night until now, I haven't eaten anything."
I went to the kitchen and cooked a bowl of porridge for him. I added red dates and goji berries to replenish blood and energy. Qingyuan watched the fire for me, whispering, "Third Lady, you are so good to His Highness."
"He is a patient."
"But you aren't this good to other patients."
The spoon in my hand paused.
"Other patients don't get carried over here in the middle of the night," I said.
Qingyuan glanced at me and didn't press further.
The porridge was ready; I brought it to the consultation room.
Li Longji leaned against the examination bed, looking at the calligraphy hanging on the wall—"Expert in Skill, Benevolent in Heart". I had hung this on opening day; it had been nearly three months.
"Drink the porridge." I handed him the bowl.
He reached out with his right hand to take it and took a sip.
"Sweet?"
"I added red dates. To replenish blood."
"Aren't you afraid I'll get a toothache from sweets?"
"The sugar content in red dates isn't high; eating them occasionally is fine."
He took another sip and suddenly said: "Gu Qingyan, do you know how dangerous last night was?"
I paused.
"Empress Wei's people fought to the death; the palace was a killing field all night." He lowered his head, looking at the porridge in the bowl. "Seven of my guards died, over a dozen were injured. If that blade had been a little deeper, my left arm would have been useless."
He didn't look up; his voice was calm, as if telling someone else's story.
"If that blade had cut not the arm, but the neck—you wouldn't be seeing me now."
I stood beside him, my fingers clutching the strap of the medicine box until my knuckles turned white.
"So," he looked up at me, "yesterday when you said 'I am your doctor,' I was very happy to hear it."
"Happy about what?"
"Happy that someone is waiting to treat my injuries." He smiled. "Happy that someone would worry if I died."
My eyes suddenly grew hot.
"Your Highness won't die," I said.
"How do you know?"
"Because I am your doctor. I won't let you die."
He looked at me, stunned for a long time.
Then he smiled. That smile was light, faint, but more real than ever before.
"Good," he said. "Then this King is reassured."
He lowered his head and continued drinking the porridge.
I stood beside him, looking at his profile. Sunlight streamed in from the window, falling on his loose hair, on his bandaged left arm, on the rim of the bowl in his hand.
Chen Xuanli had been waiting at the door for an hour. Piles of secret memorials were on the desk; eunuchs hurried in and out. The whole of Chang'an knew—a new power structure was taking shape.
Yet he sat in my clinic, drinking a bowl of red date porridge.
When leaving, he stood at the door and looked back at me.
"Gu Qingyan."
"Hmm?"
"Come change the dressing every day."
"Your Highness, the wound doesn't need daily changing—"
"It does," he said. "This King says it does, so it does."
He mounted his horse—using his right hand, his left arm hanging by his side,不敢 (daring not) to exert force. The horse walked a few steps when he suddenly reined in and turned back.
"About today," he said, lowering his voice, "tell no one."
"About what?"
"About you coming to the residence. About treating my injuries."
I paused.
"If anyone asks you," he压低 (lowered) his voice further, "just say you came to check teeth."
I nodded.
He turned his horse and galloped away. The sound of hooves faded on the bluestone road, disappearing at the end of Zhuque Avenue.
I stood at the door, watching his back disappear into the morning light.
Qingyuan whispered behind me: "Third Lady, what did His Highness mean by those words just now?"
"I don't know."
"Could it be that you—"
"Qingyuan."
"Hmm?"
"Go clean the consultation room. Wipe the blood clean, boil the cotton again."
"Yes."
She asked no more.
I turned back into the consultation room and began cleaning up what he had used. The bloody water in the copper basin had cooled; the cotton strips were stained with blood; the wine jar was more than half empty; the tweezers and needles lay in the tray, waiting to be cleaned and sterilized.
I washed them one by one and put them back in the cabinet.
Then I sat down, opened the medical record, and wrote today's entry:
Patient: Li Longji.
Diagnosis: Knife wound on upper left arm, deep into muscle layer, significant blood loss.
Treatment: Debridement, fourteen sutures, hemostasis and anti-inflammation.
Instructions: Change dressing in three days. Avoid exertion, avoid water.
After writing the last character, I closed the file and placed it in the cabinet.
Next to it sat the jar of tooth powder he had left at the clinic three months ago. I had never returned it.
I picked up the jar of tooth powder and turned it in my hand.
Outside the window, the sun in Chang'an rose higher, illuminating the entire street brightly.
My clinic was located in Chongren Ward; half the leaves of the locust tree in front had fallen. The autumn wind blew, making a rustling sound.
Life must go on. Patients must be seen. Tooth powder must be ground.
Only from today on, among my patients, there is a prince who must come every day for a dressing change.
Clearly a doctor, yet unknowingly becoming the Prince of Linzi's "imperial physician." If someone in the court resents my origins, trouble could arise.
But I am not afraid.
Because he said—no matter what his status is, his teeth are still under my care, his injuries still treated by me.
That is enough.
(End of Chapter 4)