Chapter 2: Sleeping Through Difficulties

A chill ran down Qiao Qingyun’s back, and her expression stiffened slightly. What could be more typical of medical extortion than this? She held herself back, finally forcing a smile that barely touched her lips. “Very well.”

You’re so noble, so impressive—threatening me with my own life.

Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west; don’t let me catch my chance. Once your hand is healed, you may find yourself suffering from some unspeakable ailment.

Yuan Zaichun glanced at her, clearly seeing her reluctance. With a half-smile, he gestured to the steward. “Take her away.”

“Yes, sir.”

Qiao Qingyun didn’t argue, following the steward with a careless stride.

Only when the door closed and silence fell did the dull ache in her head sharpen into stabbing pain, nearly robbing her of breath. Gritting her teeth, brows knitted, she slowly processed the sudden memories flooding her mind.

These memories belonged to a woman sharing her name.

In the first year of the Zhengde reign, the Princess of Yunhe, confined in the palace’s golden chamber, gave birth to a daughter. On the same day, a fire swept through the palace; Yunhe Princess perished, her body never recovered.

Only the infant girl was secretly saved by General Qiao, who had once been close to the princess, and raised in secrecy.

That child was named Qiao Qingyun.

General Qiao, however, had fallen victim to tonight’s assassination.

Qiao Qingyun opened her eyes slowly, unsure for a moment how to judge her situation.

Hours ago, she’d been a revered Imperial Physician, standing in the operating room, using acupuncture to clear a patient’s arteries. In a blink, she found herself living another’s life.

She sighed, recalling the cold corpse that had shielded her when she first arrived.

“To be entrusted is to be loyal. Since I’ve taken your body, I’ll see your vengeance done,” she murmured, pressing her aching temple.

That was for the future. For now, she’d just escaped one peril only to stumble into another, forced to sign a three-day unequal treaty.

“Acupuncture…” She tapped her fingers on the table, muttering, then shook her head, dismissing the idea. “The toxins run too deep; it won’t suffice.”

Gold needles could suppress, but to cure, medicine was needed.

“If only I had my lab here,” she thought wistfully, knowing full well it was fantasy.

She chuckled at herself, shaking her head and yawning, finally deciding to lie down.

When faced with trouble—sleep!

After a night of turmoil, her body was at its limit. She fell asleep the moment she touched the bed.

Half-awake, a flash of white light suddenly swept across her vision. A new world unfolded before her, as if she’d stepped into the lobby of a holographic game.

Madness, she thought. To dream such things!

Clicking her tongue, she glanced around and quickly found the third experimental dish marked NH42. Reaching for it, her hand passed through.

“A projection?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Had life beaten her so badly? Did even her dreams lack ambition?

Suddenly, a light screen appeared before her, stuttering for a moment before displaying a line of text.

“Main Quest: Uncover the truth behind Princess Yunhe’s death. Time limit: two years.”

“Accept reward: NH42.”

She froze, her mind spinning before she understood.

She pinched her cheek, blurting out a curse. “What—this is a game?”

And the reward, arriving so perfectly to solve her immediate crisis—was it mere coincidence, or something more?

“Can I refuse?” she ventured.

The light screen remained unmoving. The next moment, bolded text appeared, dripping with mockery: “This quest cannot be abandoned.”

So it was forced upon her.

Her smile remained, but her eyes grew thoughtful. After a moment’s contemplation, she accepted the quest. The screen flickered, then vanished.

Interesting.

She reached again, and this time, NH42 transformed from illusion to reality.

This space was clearly modeled after her laboratory; every layout and medication was unchanged, though the conditions for access were unclear. She sensed everything here—even her transmigration—might be connected to that strange light screen.

She had no time to ponder, for she felt as if someone shoved her shoulder, jolting her awake. The scene shifted.

Steadying herself, she looked up to find a young maid with twin buns, curiosity shining in her gaze. Seeing Qiao Qingyun awake, the girl straightened and spoke with practiced formality.

“His Highness the Crown Prince summons you. Please rise, miss.”

The Crown Prince?

Qiao Qingyun blinked, thinking she’d misheard. “Who?”

“Who else? Didn’t His Highness personally bring you back last night?” The young maid, puzzled, explained patiently, “Miss, you’d best hurry—don’t keep the prince waiting.”

So, the unequal treaty was with the Crown Prince.

Qiao Qingyun made the connection in a heartbeat and made her decision with equal speed.

Treaty or not, he was on her side.

Assassination behind her, a mission before her; she couldn’t even reach the palace gates on her own, let alone uncover secrets from years past. This was the thigh she would cling to.

“I’ll go at once—how could I possibly keep His Highness waiting?” She stood quickly, putting on a diligent smile.

In the study, Yuan Zaichun sat behind a sandalwood desk, playing with a string of prayer beads. As she entered, he lifted his eyes indifferently, his tone unreadable.

“You’re here?”

Qiao Qingyun nodded slightly, her fingers brushing the NH42 hidden in her sleeve, striving to appear obedient. “Did Your Highness wish to see me?”

“A night has passed. Has Miss Qiao decided on a remedy?” Yuan Zaichun watched her, lips curved in a smile that never reached his eyes.

It felt as though he meant: Have you finished making it up?

Qiao Qingyun clicked her tongue, swallowing her sarcasm and replacing it with a polite smile. “I would not dare neglect my duty.”

She turned to the steward, nodding, “Please prepare three qian of white-boiled herb as the main ingredient, supplemented by cold incense seeds, cold lotus, and century-old water ginseng. Decoction: three bowls reduced to one.”

These herbs were sour or bitter—enough to make anyone nauseous.

“That’s all? Nothing novel, it seems.” Yuan Zaichun raised an eyebrow, turning his prayer beads, his gaze deep. “I don’t keep useless people.”

As he spoke, dog barks sounded from the courtyard, the threat unmistakable.

Qiao Qingyun felt her prescription had been far too conservative. She tugged at her lips, nearly losing her temper, and replied stiffly, “The decoction is for regulation. To detoxify, acupuncture is essential.”

“Heh.” Yuan Zaichun laughed softly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

He watched her with a playful gaze, his tone light. “On the third day, there will be a family banquet here.”

“My seventh royal brother will attend.”

What did that have to do with her? Was she not just a physician—why concern herself with her patient’s social calendar?

Qiao Qingyun was thoroughly baffled, inwardly rolling her eyes, and replied with perfunctory indifference, “Oh.”