“Your Highness, I am well-versed in this matter and will be able to serve the young lady admirably,” Nanny Zhao said sternly.
Though Qi Mohan understood her meaning, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about Nanny Zhao’s words was odd. Yet, for the moment, he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“Nanny, it’s growing late. You should retire for the night.”
Knowing her master’s stubborn temperament, Nanny Zhao didn’t press further. “In that case, I shall take my leave.”
Though she hadn’t glimpsed the girl in her master’s chambers, Nanny Zhao could infer from Qi Mohan’s demeanor that he held her in high regard—so much so that he had even tended to her ‘post-intimacy care’ himself.
To Nanny Zhao, his refusal to meet Princes Heng and Jin only confirmed his infatuation with this girl. And that was splendid news! No matter the girl’s background, if she could stir the heart of a man who had never shown interest in women, she was undoubtedly a rare treasure.
Before long, she mused, Prince Rong’s Mansion might welcome a new mistress—a joyous occasion.
Unaware of this misunderstanding, Qi Mohan returned to his quarters, where Si Si immediately pulled him onto a chair.
“Let me examine your feet. The mall has medicines for external injuries—I’ll apply some for you.”
As for her wounds, the cuts on her neck were minor; with proper care, they’d heal within days. Scars were no concern—her pharmacy boasted an array of removal creams.
The deeper gash on her leg, however, gave her pause. While inspecting it earlier, she’d noted its severity: wide and deep, but thankfully not fracturing a bone, otherwise walking would’ve been impossible.
In her time, such wounds required stitches, but this world lacked such medical advances. Without the skills of a transmigrated heroine, her only recourse was to rely on the mall’s medicines to prevent infection or tetanus.
Ignoring Qi Mohan’s hesitation, she focused her consciousness on the mall. Soon, a cluster of identical square boxes materialized on the table—ointments for external injuries and assorted antibiotics.
Under Qi Mohan’s watchful gaze, she meticulously reviewed each drug’s instructions, keeping the suitable ones and returning the rest.
Qi Mohan observed silently, recognizing the foreign script on the small white leaflets as relics of her era. Though curiosity gnawed at him, he held his tongue, allowing her to concentrate.
“These are medicines from my time,”** Si Si explained, anticipating his questions. “They’re more effective than herbal remedies for wounds.”
Pointing at a box of capsules, Qi Mohan frowned. “This… is medicine?”
“Yes, commonly used where I’m from.” She waved a tube of ointment.
“Now, let me treat your feet. They need attention.”
Qi Mohan’s injuries were grave, but he’d neglected them in his concern for Si Si. At Suolan Lake, he’d only done a cursory cleanup; now, the wounds were ghastly. Yet, as a man of this era, baring his feet to a woman felt improper.
“There’s no need. At dawn, I’ll summon the imperial physician.”
Si Si caught the evasion in his tone. **”You haven’t treated them at all, have you? Leaving wounds untended risks infection.”
Without waiting for consent, she tugged his leg, guiding his foot onto the opposite chair.
Flushing, Qi Mohan relented.
In the dim lantern light, Si Si studied his bloodstained socks—faded from rain and repeated wear. A pang of guilt struck her. Her fevered haze had obscured his sacrifices.
As she reached to remove his socks, Qi Mohan recoiled. “I can do it.”
She waited, but her eyes were fixed on his feet.
The moment the fabric grazed his ankles, Qi Mohan hissed, face blanching. His knuckles whitened, but he stifled further sound.
Si Si’s breath caught. The soles and insteps were a grotesque mosaic of puncture wounds, crusted with half-clotted blood and powdery remnants of haphazard treatment. The flesh around them bulged angrily, oozing pus and blood, some gashes so deep they revealed bone.
Never had she seen such gruesome injuries. Instinct screamed to recoil, but loyalty held her steady.
“This will hurt,” she whispered, dabbing iodine onto a cotton ball.
Qi Mohan gritted his teeth, sweat beading his brow. “Take your time. I’ve endured worse.”
Her hands trembled as she worked. “Just a little longer… it’ll heal soon.”
“I’m fine,” he murmured, noting her distress. “This is nothing.”
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