Volume One: The Hidden Dragon Beneath the Depths Chapter Six: I Have a System Too?

The echo of the drumbeat still lingered as silence held for only a fleeting moment.

“Bang—!!!”

The heavy palace carriage door was suddenly pushed open from the inside, creating a narrow gap. Clearly, those inside were caught off guard by the abrupt drumbeats.

Several figures dressed in deep blue eunuch robes squeezed through the opening. Leading them was a pale-faced, clean-shaven eunuch—the very same official who had been sent to the post station to deliver an imperial order and was earlier scared off by Liu Heng.

At this moment, all traces of his previous cold arrogance had vanished, replaced by sheer terror and disbelief. His narrow eyes widened to their fullest, fixed unblinkingly on the blood-stained bluestone slab before the palace gates, and on the limp figure sprawled motionless upon it, like a heap of rotten mud.

“Lord Yangwu...?”

He cried out in a strangled voice, tone distorted with fear: “He... he struck the drum? And yet... he’s been beaten like this?”

Behind him surged two squads of palace guards clad in dark armor, wielding long halberds, swift and radiating lethal intent.

As soon as they emerged from the carriage, they fanned out, halberds pointed forward, filling the square before the palace gate with a palpable menace.

Leading them was a burly military marquis with a face as dark as a red jujube. His piercing gaze swept swiftly across the scene—the execution guards, the frozen squad commander, the kneeling old servant weeping and kowtowing, and the “bloodied man” at the center of the stone slab whose fate hung in the balance.

“What happened?”

The burly marquis’s voice boomed, his sharp eyes fixating on the squad commander responsible for the punishment.

The commander’s face had drained of color, lips trembling as he pointed at Liu Heng on the slab, his expression a mixture of shock and fear.

“Reporting to Marquis Zhang! It is... Lord Yangwu Liu Heng! He entered the palace by imperial order, yet insisted on striking the remonstrance drum. According to ancestral law, I... I carried out the cane punishment... but... but after the thirteenth stroke, he... he revealed his jade clan token and then... then lunged to strike the drum!”

The commander’s voice faltered, sweat pouring down his forehead, eyes filled with dread.

To publicly beat a member of the royal clan to such a state could be a grave matter. At worst, the charge of “insubordination” and “harming a royal kin” could ruin him utterly.

“Clan jade token?”

Marquis Zhang furrowed his brow and glanced beneath Liu Heng’s torn garment to the white jade token pressed against his chest, stained with blood yet still lustrous. The character “Liu” was clearly visible.

His pupils constricted sharply, then his eyes darted to the ghastly wounds on Liu Heng’s back—deep to the bone, flesh mangled beyond recognition. His face darkened instantly.

“Damn it!”

He spun sharply, glaring fiercely at the squad commander.

“If he is a clan member entering by imperial edict, why did you not verify his identity first and act cautiously? To beat him to such a state! If the lord suffers harm, will any of you still keep your heads?”

Though his duty was palace security, Marquis Zhang understood the weight of royal blood, especially in these troubled times of rampant plague and unrest. If a clan marquis died at the palace gate, it would be a catastrophe.

Terrified, the squad commander dropped to his knees, trembling all over.

“I... I deserve death! I saw his appearance... so disheveled, I thought he was just a commoner... I only assumed…”

He stammered, unwilling to continue.

“Useless!”

Marquis Zhang snorted angrily, dismissing him. Striding over, he knelt beside Liu Heng, extending two fingers cautiously to check the pulse at his neck.

The pulse was faint, nearly imperceptible, breath as thin as a wisp. Even a veteran like Marquis Zhang involuntarily gasped at the gruesome wounds. Thirteen strokes of the cane—near fatal for a man already gravely ill.

“Hurry!”

Marquis Zhang rose abruptly, shouting behind him: “Rush him to the Imperial Medical Office! Fast!”

His tone was urgent, leaving no room for doubt. This man must not die here—at least not immediately.

“Wait!”

The pale-faced eunuch finally regained some composure, a calculating gleam flashing in his narrow eyes as he sharply interrupted.

He forced calm, flicking his whisk over Liu Heng on the ground as he said to Marquis Zhang:

“Marquis Zhang! Though this man is clan kin, he first defied palace regulations with his loud outcry and insulted Zhang Changshi. Furthermore, he broke the law by forcefully striking the remonstrance drum. His intentions are suspicious! How do we know he’s not stirring trouble or plotting rebellion? From our standpoint, such a defiant rogue should be...”

“Should be what?”

A colder voice suddenly cut in from within the palace gates, interrupting the eunuch’s words.

All eyes turned to see a broad-shouldered man step slowly through the carriage door gap. His jaw was also clean-shaven and pale, but his gaze was calm, imbued with an unspoken depth. He wore a common eunuch’s robe, but his bearing far surpassed that of the pale-faced eunuch.

He was none other than Jian Shuo—the mid-ranking eunuch among the Ten Changshi, second only in power to Zhang Rang and Zhao Zhong.

Jian Shuo’s eyes swept indifferently across the scene, lingering briefly on the pale-faced eunuch, who stiffened and swallowed his next words, bowing his head in silence.

Finally, Jian Shuo’s gaze settled on the barely breathing Liu Heng, especially lingering on the blood-stained jade token over his heart and the horrific wound on his back.

“Marquis Zhang.”

Jian Shuo’s voice was low but carried clearly to everyone present.

“Lord Yangwu entered the palace by imperial order to pay homage. On the way, he was obstructed and struck the remonstrance drum—a right granted by His Majesty to all loyal subjects. Even if his words or actions were improper, the emperor’s judgment will decide that. Though ancestral law prescribes thirty cane strokes, the lord is gravely wounded and near death. The priority now is saving his life. Should the royal kin perish at the palace gate due to lack of timely aid, the consequences…”

His gaze casually swept the kneeling squad commander and pale-faced eunuch.

“...no one here would bear responsibility.”

His words, light as a feather, fell like a ton of stone on the crowd’s hearts. Especially the phrases “perish at the palace gate” and “consequences” made Marquis Zhang and the pale-faced eunuch’s faces even grimmer.

“Deputy Eunuch Jian speaks rightly!”

Marquis Zhang immediately cupped his fist in response, secretly relieved. With Jian Shuo’s endorsement, saving the man was now justified.

“Hurry! Be gentle!”

Two elite palace guards dashed forward carefully lifting Liu Heng’s limp body. Despite their care, the pain caused by touching the wound drew a faint groan, and the body twitched unconsciously.

Jingbo crawled to the stretcher, tears streaming, longing to touch but afraid, he could only hoarsely cry out: “My lord... please hold on... hold on…”

“Rush him to the Imperial Medical Office at once! Use the best medicines, spare no cost, and save Lord Yangwu’s life!”

Jian Shuo spoke again, his tone an unchallengeable command.

“Marquis Zhang, you will escort him personally.”

“Understood!”

Marquis Zhang accepted the order, hand on his sword hilt, personally leading a squad of armored guards as they hurried toward the Imperial Medical Office within the palace. Their heavy footsteps echoed along the empty palace path.

Jian Shuo remained behind, watching the stretcher fade into the distance with a deep and inscrutable gaze.

He knew well the sordid feud between Zhang Rang and this Lord Yangwu. The marquis’s outcry by striking the drum was a desperate gambit, directly targeting Zhang Rang—a do-or-die play.

Jian Shuo’s intervention was hardly benevolent.

First, a royal kin dying at the palace gate—especially beaten by his own guards—would severely damage the eunuch faction’s reputation. In these turbulent times, with plague raging, the fire in Luoyang, and Zhang Rang pressing the emperor for heavy taxes and forced labor, while loyal ministers like Yang Ci and Liu Tao were accusing him, this was a volatile situation. If a marquis died suddenly, reformists would pounce, and Jian Shuo himself would not escape unscathed.

Second, Zhang Rang had grown arrogant of late. This was an opportunity to check his rise and perhaps even profit from the chaos.

Third, the “plague remedy” and “life-saving method” that the dying marquis had shouted before collapsing might hold some genuine secret. In a city gripped by pestilence and fear—even within the palace—this was something worth “noting.”

“Deputy Eunuch Jian…”

The pale-faced eunuch approached, face full of reluctance and fear.

“Just let him in like this? What will Zhang Changshi say…”

Jian Shuo didn’t even raise his eyelids, voice calm and even.

“I said, saving lives is paramount. As for the rest… the emperor’s summons will clarify everything.”

His gaze finally turned to the pale-faced eunuch, icy with warning.

“You, report immediately to Zhang Changshi. Tell him everything here—every word—without omission. Especially those last words of Lord Yangwu before he struck the drum.”

The eunuch shuddered under that gaze, hastily bowing.

“Understood! I will go at once!”

Without lingering, he hurried off with two junior eunuchs toward Zhang Rang’s residence.

Watching their flustered retreat, a faint, amused smile flickered on Jian Shuo’s lips before he regained his usual impassive mien. He turned and slowly walked back into the shadow beyond the palace gate, a sleeve flicking lightly.

“Close the palace gate.”

The heavy carriage door slowly swung shut once more.

…

Inside the Imperial Medical Office, a special quiet chamber was brightly lit.

Liu Heng was carefully laid on a hard cot, face down, his horrific wounds fully exposed. Flesh torn and mangled deep to the bone, swollen bruises black and purple bulging high, edges curling and oozing dark blood and pale yellow tissue fluid. Nearly no unbroken skin remained on his back—too gruesome to behold.

The chief imperial physician was an elderly man with white hair and beard, brow deeply furrowed, his face so solemn it seemed to drip gravity. Around him stood several senior medical officers, all holding their breath, barely daring to breathe.

“Hot water! Strong liquor! Wound ointment! Quickly!”

The chief physician’s voice trembled faintly.

He had practiced medicine for decades and witnessed countless injuries, but never had a royal marquis been brought in so mangled. The wounds were too severe, the patient utterly weak, barely clinging to life—a situation almost beyond hope.

“Master, this cane wound is too severe, the toxic swelling has invaded deeply, the lord’s vital energy is exhausted. I fear... I fear…”

A middle-aged doctor glanced at the wound and spoke cautiously.

The implication was hopeless.

The chief physician said nothing, placing his thin fingers on Liu Heng’s pulse points, concentrating intensely. The pulse was large but hollow, rapid and irregular, then faint as a dying thread. The prognosis was dire.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. If he couldn’t save this man, his tenure as chief physician might well be over.

But how to save him? Ordinary external application of wound powders would not stop the putrefaction. Internal decoctions were impossible—patient unconscious, breath shallow, forced administration risked immediate choking death.

Just as the chief physician’s mind swirled with helplessness, Liu Heng, still unconscious and barely breathing, suddenly emitted a faint, mosquito-like moan from deep in his throat.

“…Alcohol... strong liquor... clean... clean it…”

The broken, indistinct words struck the chief physician’s mind like lightning.

Strong liquor for cleaning?!

Suddenly he recalled vague rumors from just before the marquis arrived—tales that at the Guiren Post Station and the residence of remonstrance official Liu Tao, scalding water and strong liquor were used to “ward off corruption,” with apparently effective results…

The chief physician’s dim old eyes suddenly flared with a spark of hope—like a drowning man grasping a last straw.

“Quick! Fetch the strong liquor!”

He almost shouted, choosing to try this desperate measure. This young marquis could not die under his care.

“Understood!”

A medicine boy dashed off immediately.

Soon, several jars of strong liquor were carried in. The chief physician wasted no time, personally taking one and soaking a clean cloth thoroughly.

Gazing at Liu Heng’s ghastly back wound, he gritted his teeth and pressed the liquor-soaked cloth carefully but resolutely onto it.

“Ugh… ah…”

Liu Heng’s body arched sharply in unconscious agony, letting out a pained moan.

“Hold him down!” the chief physician barked, but the attendants did not stop.

Gritting his teeth, with the cloth soaked in strong liquor, he scrubbed again and again, fiercely cleansing the wound and surrounding blood, pus, and necrotic flesh—swift and merciless.

He knew well that without thorough debridement, gangrene would develop, and even divine intervention could not save him.

The pungent scent of liquor mixed with blood filled the room. Liu Heng writhed violently in pain, held firmly by several strong attendants.

Each scrub brought heart-wrenching sobs and violent spasms. Large beads of sweat and tears mixed with blood smeared his face.

This torturous cleansing continued for an unknown length of time. When the chief physician finally ceased and discarded the bloodied, pus-soaked cloth, though the wound remained gruesome, most of the filth and curled necrotic skin had been forcibly removed, revealing a relatively “cleaner” surface beneath, still bleeding but no longer mired in filth.

Panting heavily, pale as death, sweat soaking his back, the chief physician looked at the deeply unconscious Liu Heng on the cot and allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

The most dangerous and infection-prone stage had been forcibly overcome with this extreme method. Next…

“Apply the finest wound-healing powder thickly! Quick!”

A medical officer carefully spread a pale yellow powder evenly over the marquis’s horrific back wound.

Silence filled the chamber except for Liu Heng’s faint, barely audible, irregular breathing.

The chief physician sat exhausted nearby, eyes heavy with complexity as he looked at the fragile young royal kin.

With such brutal cleansing, such grievous wounds and deep illness… his chances of survival remained slim.

The chief physician did not know if Liu Heng would live. He only knew he had done all he could. What remained was fate, or perhaps… how strong the marquis’s own life force truly was.

Some unknown time passed—perhaps moments, perhaps a long hour. Liu Heng’s consciousness drifted hazily; he struggled against pain to faintly perceive the world around him.

He seemed to hear voices, near and far:

“…external wounds… strong liquor cleansing… terribly harsh… yet seemingly effective…”

“…vital energy waning… almost gone…”

“…cinnabar… warding evil… wound powder… do all that can be done, then leave it to fate…”

Amidst the fog of his fading mind, a cold, mechanical, emotionless voice suddenly rang out deep within his consciousness:

[Beep! Host’s vital signs critically dangerous; willpower on the verge of collapse; conditions met for “miraculous survival”!]

[“Medical Nation” system forcibly activating… 1%… 5%… 10%…]

The voice was strange and ill-timed, yet carried an indescribable piercing force that instantly shattered all Liu Heng’s blurred perceptions.

A system?!

What the hell is this thing?! I have a system too?!