Volume One: The Hidden Dragon Chapter Three: This Body Feels a Bit Weak

The page had barely turned when Chen Si blurted with a grin, “Damn, you were fierce just now. When the marquis wakes up and hands out rewards, don’t forget to treat us to wine!”

“Ha, easy, easy. I’ve long had it in for those damned eunuchs. The marquis had already spoken—how could I not beat the bastard?”

“What are you lot doing? Move it! Stop bloody loafing!”

“Marquis! You have to hold on!”

...

The gurgle of boiling water, the chatter and boasting of the servants in the courtyard, Jing Bo’s harsh scolding...

The noises swelled and ebbed, far and near, until at last they all became a low, droning hum.

Liu Heng did not know how long had passed before he suddenly felt a warm, damp cloth, carrying the scent of ash from burned herbs and wood, gently wiping his brow and neck. The touch was tender, though faintly trembling.

He struggled to open his eyelids.

The sudden light stabbed at his eyes. He shut them at once, let himself adjust for a moment, then slowly opened them again. His vision remained blurred for a long while before finally coming into focus.

He was still in the same room. The windows stood wide open, and the world outside seemed brighter now, no longer the heavy, dim murk from before, which only made him more irritable.

The strange stench in the air had faded a great deal, replaced by the smell of rising steam, wood ash, and a faint trace of alcohol.

Still unpleasant, but far better than the rotten reek that had filled the room when he first woke.

Jing Bo’s wrinkled old face was pressed close. The old man was watching him anxiously while wiping his forehead with the wet cloth...

When he saw Liu Heng open his eyes, a blaze of joy exploded in the old man’s cloudy gaze. His lips trembled as if he wanted to speak, but tears came first, spilling out before the words could.

It made Liu Heng feel a strange, sour ache in his heart. Jing Bo was probably the only person in this world who truly cared about him...

And then he thought of the original owner of this body, that living beast. He deserved to die...

“Marquis! You’re awake at last! Heaven has opened its eyes, it has opened its eyes!”

Jing Bo choked on his words and hurriedly set the towel into the copper basin beside him.

Liu Heng tried to speak, but his throat was so dry it felt as though it were cracking open, burning like fire. He managed only a slight movement of his fingers.

Jing Bo understood at once and hastily brought over a clay bowl filled with warm water.

“Marquis, water! Warm water! Just as you said—boiled first, then cooled to warm!”

He carefully supported the back of Liu Heng’s neck and fed him a little at a time.

The lukewarm water moistened his throat and cleared his muddled mind somewhat.

“Out... outside?”

His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible.

“They’re still pouring boiling water! Exactly as you ordered—never stopped! Mouths and noses are covered too!”

Jing Bo answered at once, his face full of the awe of a man who had narrowly escaped death, together with a strange, feverish excitement.

“They’ve poured boiling water several times now—by the well, by the latrine, along the base of the walls... they haven’t even spared the rat holes! Strong liquor has been sprinkled too! All the doors and windows are wide open! Everyone’s covering their faces with the cloth you had boiled... that cloth... that cloth...”

He seemed unsure how to describe that bizarre equipment.

Liu Heng gave a faint nod to show he understood. He struggled to sit up, but his body was still weak and limp, every bone aching dully.

Leaning against the rolled bedding Jing Bo had propped behind him, he caught his breath and looked out the window.

The courtyard was still busy, but far more orderly than before.

Several servants were using long-handled wooden ladles to scoop scalding water from the still-boiling cauldrons and carefully splash it into the corners and onto the ground.

Steam rose and condensed into white mist in the chilly air of early spring.

Everyone had coarse linen wrapped over their mouths and noses, leaving only their eyes visible. There was less confusion in those eyes now, and more numb obedience—and perhaps a trace of something else, some hard-to-name sense of peace?

As if these absurd measures had truly become the only lifeline they could cling to in the plague!

Noticing Liu Heng’s gaze, a young servant carrying firewood straightened reflexively, his expression showing both respect and a touch of fawning.

Liu Heng remembered him. This was the young man who had secretly kicked the little eunuch in the crotch earlier. His name seemed to be Chen Si. He was quite a talent; he could be kept close in the future.

“Marquis, you are truly divine!”

Seeing that Liu Heng seemed a little better, Jing Bo could no longer hold back. He lowered his voice, his words trembling with both tears and excitement.

Ever since the courtyard had begun following his instructions—splashing water, sprinkling liquor, and wearing that cloth—the foul air in the place really had begun to thin. There had been one fellow who was still coughing that morning, and everyone had been on edge, but after they covered themselves, he had stopped coughing by afternoon. No one else had collapsed since. Even this old servant himself felt less tightness in his chest!

He looked at Liu Heng with unbelievable reverence.

The once unruly young marquis, after this illness, seemed to have changed so much... Old Marquis, this servant will not fail your trust...

Liu Heng tugged at the corner of his mouth but said nothing.

Disinfection, isolation, and cutting off the chain of transmission—these were the most basic measures against an epidemic. In this era, though, they were no less than miracles. He had gambled correctly.

This first step was at least temporarily secure.

“And the eunuchs?”

Liu Heng’s voice was low as he asked the most important question.

The excitement on Jing Bo’s face was instantly replaced by fear. His voice shook. “Gone... gone... They were scared off by you... by what you did... No one has come to make trouble again!”

He thought of the ferocity with which Liu Heng had overturned the little palace attendant, and that roar of “Beat him to death,” and even now he still felt a chill.

“But... but Marquis, they’re men from the palace! If we’ve offended the Grand Attendant Zhang... we... we may be...”

“Afraid?”

Liu Heng cut him off. “If we’re afraid, will they spare us? Besides, we already offended them once. One more time won’t matter.”

His gaze swept over the busy figures in the courtyard. “And right now, it isn’t us who should be afraid.”

Jing Bo opened his mouth, but when he met Liu Heng’s calm eyes, the words caught in his throat.

Yes. What use was fear? The young marquis had even dared strike a palace man—could one really expect mercy from them?

Although the young master Hong... no, the emperor... although the emperor was the old marquis’s younger brother, it had been many years since Jing Bo had last seen him after his accession. Who knew what sort of man he had become? Old Marquis, this servant has failed you...

“Jing Bo, go and give some reward money to a few of the servants and the relay men. They’ve all had it hard. Give more to Chen Si. That boy is quick-witted; keep him close from now on.”

Jing Bo answered and turned to the courtyard.

A moment later, a cheer rose from outside.

...

“Bring... paper, ink, cloth.”

Seeing Jing Bo return again, Liu Heng, still breathing hard, gave new instructions.

Jing Bo, who had been sorrowing in secret, froze. “Marquis? What are you going to write? Your body...”

“Go get it!”

Liu Heng’s tone brooked no argument.

Time was short. The eunuchs had been driven off, but that old quail Zhang Rang would never let matters rest.

He had to find a shield for himself immediately. Without an official post, relying only on a title, he would not be able to hold out for long.

This epidemic was his bargaining chip.

As for Emperor Ling of Han, his uncle, he might not be reliable. The imperial clan had always been cold by nature; after so many years apart, it would already be fortunate if the emperor still recognized him as his nephew. Besides, the Han court never lacked imperial kinsmen—there had even been descendants of the Han house who sold straw sandals for a living...

Jing Bo dared not ask further and hurried off to search.

Liu Heng leaned back against the bedding, closed his eyes, and gathered his thoughts for a moment. Then, swiftly in his mind, he arranged and simplified the preventive measures he had learned from the epidemic in his former life, along with the methods he had just confirmed were effective here. He had to write them down!

He had to write a manual of survival—something that could move certain people to action. That would be his key.

Jing Bo spread a sheet of coarse linen cloth over the small desk, ground the ink, and handed the brush to Liu Heng, his face full of worry.

Liu Heng drew a deep breath, forced down the weakness of his body and the trembling in his arm, and took the brush tightly. The tip, laden with thick black ink, fell onto the rough cloth.

His handwriting was crooked and ugly, without the slightest grace.

The original owner of this body had grown up without a mother, the sole heir of the marquisate, and no one had ever forced him to do anything. He had long been obsessed with wine, women, and pleasure, neglecting study; and on top of that, Liu Heng had only just crossed over into this body, his brushwork was unfamiliar. Being able to write at all was already not bad.

And writing characters from right to left was truly maddening!

The title had only six words, simple and blunt: Essentials for Surviving the Plague.

The content was even more direct:

One: Foul air is the source. Stop it first.

Patients must be strictly isolated. No one may enter or leave. Assign attendants, and whenever anyone goes in or out, cover mouth and nose with boiled coarse cloth.

Excreta from the sick must be buried in deep pits and covered with quicklime. If none is available, bury it under a thick layer of wood ash.

Inside and outside the dwelling, repeatedly splash boiling water. Give special attention to latrines, wells, and drains.

Keep doors and windows wide open to ventilate. Incense is useless and only adds foul air; discard it at once.

For the dead, burn the body immediately. If burial is unavoidable, keep it far from any water source and cover it thickly with lime and wood ash...

...

There was no ornate language, no citations from the classics—only the most direct, brutal, practical survival guide.

Liu Heng wrote very slowly, as if each stroke drained him dry. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead.

By the end, his hand trembled so badly he could barely hold the brush, and the characters had become twisted beyond recognition.

Back then, even when he had had to launch seven or eight times in a single night, he had never trembled like this. Liu Heng could imagine just how weak this body truly was.

Of course, he conveniently ignored the matter of repeatedly passing out from launching too often.

Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to finish every key point. When he wrote the last character, it was as though all his strength had been drawn out of him; he collapsed at once, his vision going dark in waves.

“Marquis!”

Jing Bo hurried to support him. Seeing his pale face and sweat-soaked brow, the old man’s heart ached so much that tears kept falling.

Liu Heng panted rapidly, pointing at the ink-smeared sheet of coarse cloth on the desk. His voice was faint, but urgent and unyielding: “Jing Bo, listen carefully... take this and go at once to find someone...”

“Who?”

Jing Bo leaned in quickly.

“The Censor, Liu Tao!”

Liu Heng squeezed the name out from between his teeth.

This was one of the few men in Luoyang at present who still cared for the common people and dared to stand up to the eunuchs. Of course, more importantly, the original owner of this body had once saved him, and in doing so had offended Zhang Rang, that castrated old turtle! This was karma, and it was the only lifeline he could grasp!

“Tell him... Yangwu Marquis Liu Heng... by chance found this method while ill... it may save countless lives... ask Lord Liu to read it at once! Act at once! If we delay... disaster beyond measure may follow!”

He seized Jing Bo’s arm. “Jing Bo, of all the people I can trust now, only you. You must... deliver it to him yourself! No one else is to handle it! Go!”

“Lord Liu Tao?”

Jing Bo froze for a moment, then recalled that a few days ago the young marquis had indeed helped this censor, who had been beaten and expelled from the palace by the eunuchs for speaking too frankly, when he collapsed by the roadside.

At the time, the swaggering young marquis had not only rescued Lord Liu, but had also cursed the eunuchs as useless geldings. The Grand Attendant Zhang probably summoned him into the palace while he was gravely ill because of that very incident!

At that thought, Jing Bo suddenly realized how important this ugly manuscript on cloth really was. It might truly save countless lives in Luoyang, and it might also be the Yangwu Marquisate’s only path to survival!

“Yes! This old servant understands! I will deliver it even if I have to die doing so!”

A flash of resolve crossed Jing Bo’s face. He snatched up the sheet of coarse cloth, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the most secure place against his chest. With one last worried look at the exhausted Liu Heng, he gritted his teeth and rushed outside!

As he ran, he shouted, “Chen Si! You damned fool, guard the door! Guard the marquis! I’ll be back at once!”

Watching Jing Bo’s slightly hunched back burst forward with astonishing speed before vanishing at the courtyard gate, Liu Heng let out an admiring breath. That old man really was something.

Then his body, unable to hold out any longer, softened again and his vision began to blacken.

Damn it, this body was really fucking weak...

Seeing Chen Si peeking from the doorway, Liu Heng murmured, “Stop gawking. Come here... help me lie down...”

Chen Si hurried in at once, carefully helping him onto the bed, then stole a reverent glance at him.

The young marquis was truly formidable. When ordinary people saw palace men, they would tremble like leaves, but only the marquis dared order them beaten. No wonder he was a marquis...

Liu Heng lay with his eyes closed on the couch, and as his thoughts drifted, he slipped into sleep.

The wager had been placed. Whether it led to a road of survival... or a return to the world he had left behind... or perhaps no return at all... maybe even another rebirth entirely... damn it...

It all depended on whether that censor, famed for his steadfastness, would believe this nonsense he had “by chance found while ill”...