Chapter Fifty-Eight: Gratitude and Thanksgiving

Zhan Yan’s face flushed deeply with embarrassment, and even Zhongli Yu, who was usually thick-skinned, showed a faint rosy hue. Meng Tao, observing the pair, burst out laughing. “Ha ha, no need to worry! Youth is wonderful. If you get hurt again, just call for Grandpa, and I promise I’ll be there in a heartbeat.” As if their embarrassment wasn’t enough, he kept stoking the fire.

At this moment, Zhan Yan truly wished she could disappear into the earth. Zhongli Yu cleared his throat awkwardly, his face quickly returning to normal as he spoke earnestly, “Thank you, Grandpa. When the time comes, please remember to come.”

Zhan Yan was mortified. This man’s skin was so thick—he recovered so quickly and answered as if nothing had happened.

“Ha ha, I like this boy,” Meng Tao said happily, stroking his beard.

“Thank you, Grandpa,” Zhongli Yu replied with a smile, all traces of embarrassment gone.

“Excellent... excellent. This is a top-grade healing salve. I don’t give this to just anyone. But since you’ve won my heart, I’ll let you use it.” Meng Tao took out a small white porcelain bottle, poured out a clear liquid, and applied it gently to Zhongli Yu’s wound.

“Thank you, Grandpa,” Zhongli Yu expressed his gratitude once more.

“That’s enough, enough. No more thanks. If you keep being so polite, I’ll be unhappy. With this medicine, your wound will be fully healed in three days,” Meng Tao said proudly. He had spent decades developing this rare remedy.

“Grandpa, you are truly a miracle doctor,” Zhongli Yu said admiringly. He had his own healing salves, but none worked so swiftly. For such a deep wound to heal completely in three days—it was remarkable.

“Go on, go on... Miracle doctor is what others call me, not what I call myself,” Meng Tao replied modestly, though his heart was brimming with joy. Age had made him childlike, and praise from others still delighted him.

“Grandpa Meng, you really are a miracle doctor—no need to be modest,” Zhan Yan interjected, unable to bear it. The two seemed to have forgotten her presence, lost in their exchange.

“You silly girl, when I told you to learn medicine from me, you went off to study martial arts instead. Now your skills are impressive, but you don’t even know whether your own husband is alive or dead—how can you still have the nerve?” Meng Tao glared at her, speaking gruffly.

“I’ll learn medicine from you when I return to the capital, all right?” Zhan Yan said, her expression one of genuine remorse.

“Good. Once you’re back in the capital, you’ll learn medicine from me. We’ll see whether that old Wu Li’s martial arts are greater, or my medicine is more powerful.” Meng Tao was satisfied, having finally secured a personal disciple, and his heart was full of delight.

“Very well. When the time comes, I’ll arrange a courtyard for you at Prince Chun’s mansion so you can stay there,” Zhan Yan said happily.

“Don’t serve me too well, or I might never leave,” Meng Tao warned, giving her a stern look.

“Then don’t leave. Not only can I support you for one lifetime, I could support you for two,” Zhan Yan replied spiritedly.

“You’re such a spendthrift wife—not good, not good,” Meng Tao shook his head and glanced at Zhongli Yu.

“No matter. Grandpa, stay as long as you like,” Zhongli Yu replied, understanding that Meng Tao was subtly seeking his opinion. He smiled gently.

“Very well, then. I’ll be shameless and stay with you both. Take care and rest well; I’ll take my leave now.” Meng Tao spoke cheerfully.

“Safe travels, Grandpa Meng.”

After Meng Tao left, the room quieted once more.

“This is all your fault—Grandpa Meng made fun of me because of you,” Zhan Yan complained, casting a reproachful glance at Zhongli Yu.

“Yes, it’s my fault,” Zhongli Yu replied, laughing softly.

With Zhongli Yu’s orders, no one dared disturb them again. Using his recovery as a pretext, the two withdrew from worldly affairs and enjoyed their own quiet world. They were inseparable, wrapped up in each other, living in bliss. Seven days passed in this way, and Zhongli Yu’s wound had healed and scabbed over; his body returned to normal.

“Are you feeling bored, Yan’er? Shall we go out for a walk and see how Wangcheng has recovered?” One morning after breakfast, Zhongli Yu suggested.

“All right,” Zhan Yan nodded. Zhongli Yu was well again, so of course they could go out.

The two went out alone, neither bringing attendants nor taking a carriage, strolling together down the street. One wore a light blue brocade robe, the other a white gauze dress—he was gentle and refined, she beautiful as a fairy. Walking together, they were a striking sight, a picturesque pair. The street was lively again; people had resumed their daily lives, and the cries of street vendors rang out without pause. All manner of goods were displayed for sale, with no trace of the chaos of war. Clearly, Zhong Yi’an and Zhong Yijin had done an excellent job restoring order.

As Zhongli Yu and Zhan Yan walked by, people knelt and bowed, their voices trembling with excitement. “Greetings, Your Highness. Greetings, Princess. Thank you, Your Highness, for saving our lives. Thank you, Your Highness!” These were the refugees who had been imprisoned by Yan Kuan that day. Zhongli Yu had risked his life to save them, and they were deeply grateful. Seeing Prince Chun, they hurried to bow and pay their respects.

“Please rise. I only did what I ought to do,” Zhongli Yu said calmly, nodding to signal them to stand.

The people were thrilled to see Zhongli Yu alive. A small boy, about six or seven years old, approached Zhan Yan, holding a bundle of pastries. He handed them to her, his large eyes shining, and said timidly, “Fairy Sister, my mother asked me to bring you these pastries.”

“I am Prince Chun’s wife, not a fairy,” Zhan Yan replied with a gentle smile, amused by the boy.

“No, you are Fairy Sister. Only a fairy could be so amazing and kill the big bad man,” the child insisted earnestly, believing that those who were powerful must be immortals.

“Oh? Those who kill bad men are fairies? Who told you that?” Zhan Yan asked, smiling.

“You look as beautiful as a fairy, and my mother said that you kissed the prince and he came back to life. Only a fairy can bring the dead back to life,” the boy explained seriously, convinced that Zhan Yan was a fairy.

Zhan Yan’s face reddened. These people didn’t realize she was administering medicine to Zhongli Yu at the time, and before this innocent child, she truly didn’t know how to explain.

Zhongli Yu watched her blush and couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You’re still laughing—it’s all because of you,” Zhan Yan glared fiercely at the culprit beside her.

“Little one, this sister is not a fairy, she is my wife,” Zhongli Yu explained patiently, eager not to anger his beloved.

“Just because she’s your wife doesn’t mean she can’t be a fairy, does it?” The boy posed a question of surprising depth.

“Well...” Zhongli Yu was momentarily speechless. It was indeed a valid point.

“Your Highness, she is Fairy Sister, isn’t she? Why is she embarrassed to admit it? Is she afraid the Jade Emperor will come to take her back?” The boy, it seemed, had heard too many stories.

“Xiao Yu, come back here—why are you pestering Their Highnesses?” A young woman in her twenties hurried over, taking the boy’s hand. “Your Highness, Princess, please forgive him. He’s just a child and doesn’t know his manners. Please pardon his offense,” she said apologetically.

“It’s nothing,” Zhongli Yu replied kindly.

“Your Highness, Princess, we’ll take our leave now. Enjoy your stroll,” the woman said, leading the boy away.

“Fairy Sister, don’t worry—I promise not to tell anyone. The Jade Emperor won’t find you,” the boy assured her, pounding his chest, convinced that Zhan Yan was a fairy who had secretly descended to earth. The young woman, clearly troubled, hurried off with him, disappearing into the crowd.