Days had passed since Zhang Wei and the gathered herbalists began their desperate work. The palace's imperial chamber had turned into a makeshift laboratory of sorts, filled with the hum of hurried preparation and the scent of crushed herbs. Zhang Wei worked tirelessly with the others, measuring and mixing, testing different combinations of herbs, hoping to find a remedy that would slow the spread of the deadly plague.
The infection had spread rapidly through the capital. Almost half of the population was now infected, from humble street vendors to high-ranking nobles. The city was no longer the bustling metropolis it once was; now it felt like a ghost town. The streets were eerily quiet, with only the occasional sound of soldiers on patrol, their faces grim, their eyes wary. Panic had begun to set in as more and more citizens fell ill, their bodies covered in dark purple swellings. Some soldiers, once strong and proud, now lay in the sickbeds, their limbs shaking and their feverish breath ragged. Even a few nobles had succumbed to the disease.
At the palace, King Han Yujin paced restlessly, his face drawn with worry. The once-vibrant capital had turned somber, and he knew time was running out. His advisors and generals had been working day and night to maintain order, but it was becoming clear that the city was on the brink of collapse. His mind constantly returned to the prince of Hei'an, who had been the first to show signs of the disease. The prince's condition had worsened, and he was barely recognizable now, his body covered in festering boils, his fever high. There was no sign of improvement from any of the treatments tried so far.
In the imperial chamber, Zhang Wei and the herbalists worked relentlessly. They had been testing various combinations of herbs, trying to replicate the effects of the modern medicine Zhang Wei had described, but every test brought more questions than answers. Though some combinations seemed to provide slight relief, they failed to halt the progression of the disease. It was clear that the disease was far more powerful than anything they had encountered before.
Zhang Wei, his hands covered in crushed herbs, sat back for a moment, his eyes tired but focused. "We're running out of time," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Pan Qiang, who had been assisting him tirelessly, looked at the growing piles of failed herbal mixtures. "Brother Zhang, do you think there's something we're missing? We've tried everything we can."
Zhang Wei shook his head slowly. "We haven't tried everything yet... but I'm starting to believe that the herbs we need may not even exist in this world. This plague, it's different from anything I've seen or read about in the books from my time. It's not just a disease. It's something... worse."
The words hung heavy in the air, and a grim silence settled over the room.
Outside the chamber, the mood in the capital continued to deteriorate. Reports flooded in from the outer districts: the numbers of the sick were growing by the hour. Some areas had been quarantined, but it did little to stop the plague's advance. Soldiers had been dispatched to prevent anyone from leaving the city, but the disease spread faster than they could contain it. The atmosphere was thick with fear, and even the most powerful nobles began to feel the weight of their helplessness.
In one of the palaces' outer halls, a young nobleman, feverish and pale, was brought in on a stretcher. His body was shaking violently, his swollen neck and limbs a sign of the disease's rapid progression. The royal healers could only shake their heads in despair as they watched yet another victim fall to the plague.
It seemed that the capital was on the verge of collapse. Yet, amidst the chaos, King Han Yujin still held on to a shred of hope. Zhang Wei was their only chance now, the only one who could stop this disaster from consuming them all. If only they could find the right combination of herbs, if only they could replicate the modern medicine Zhang Wei spoke of.
Meanwhile, in the imperial chamber, Zhang Wei's face tightened with resolve. "We can't afford to fail. I will find the cure, even if it's the last thing I do."
In the halls of the Hei'an imperial palace, a private council was held behind closed doors. The long meeting chamber was dimly lit by lanterns, casting flickering light across the faces of high-ranking officials, generals, and ministers seated around the table. No servants were allowed inside, and guards stood posted outside to ensure secrecy.
At the head of the table sat Minister Hu Cheng, calm and composed. He tapped his fingers against a scroll containing the latest reports from the envoy sent to Lianhua.
"Our prince and his attendants were received without suspicion," he said with a cold smile. "The sickness has begun to spread, just as we expected."
General Nie Yun raised an eyebrow. "How fast?"
"Faster than even our healers predicted," Minister Hu replied. "The servants showed symptoms shortly after arrival. They've already moved through the city. If the disease spreads like it did here, it will soon overwhelm them."
A younger advisor leaned forward. "And if they realize it was intentional?"
"Then it's already too late," scoffed an older noble. "They'll be too busy trying to survive."
Another minister added, "This strategy saves us the cost of war. No siege, no lost troops. If Lianhua fails to contain the plague, the kingdom will rot from within."
General Nie Yun leaned back in his chair. "And if they manage to survive?"
"Then they survive wounded," Hu Cheng said. "Weakened, disorganized, desperate. Their forces will be drained, and their attention turned inward. That's when we strike."
The ministers nodded among themselves, some murmuring in agreement. The plan was risky, but the reward, dominion over a weakened rival was too great to ignore.
"Should we prepare troops?" asked a wary voice.
"Not yet," said General Nie Yun. "Let them burn for a while. If they fall, we march in and take what's left. If they recover, we crush them before they rise again."
Minister Hu added, "In the meantime, send spies into Lianhua. Watch their progress. Watch the prince. Watch for signs of a cure."
"And if they do find one?" someone asked.
"Then we act," Hu Cheng said. "Destroy it if we can. Ensure their people continue to suffer. Whether they fall or stand, we will be waiting."
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft creak of a chair as someone shifted.
The decision was made.
Days had turned to weeks, and Zhang Wei had barely rested. His eyes were red from the smoke of countless decoctions, his hands stained with herbs, and his robes soaked with sweat. The royal infirmary, once a place of order, was now filled with trays of dried roots, bubbling pots, and scrolls scattered with notes and diagrams.
But finally, finally he stood up, clutching a parchment covered with symbols and carefully written characters.
"I've found it," he said hoarsely, voice barely above a whisper. The room fell silent as the elder healers, alchemists, and herbalists turned to him.
"This is no ordinary cure. It's a blend unlike anything this world has seen," Zhang Wei explained, his eyes blazing with determination. "The herbs act together to purge the corrupted blood, calm the fever, and heal the damaged meridians."
The air in the chamber was thick with heat and tension. The scent of crushed herbs, smoke, and sweat filled the space as Zhang Wei hunched over the table, jade pendant glowing faintly beneath his robe. His hands moved swiftly, guided by the knowledge that had slowly unveiled itself through sleepless nights and endless study. Behind him, Grandmaster Wei Zhen crouched by the furnace, coaxing the flames with precise movements of his hands. Dr. Li and the other herbalists prepared ingredients under Zhang Wei's sharp instructions.
"Fireleaf Resin now!" Dr. Li called.
"No, wait!" Zhang Wei snapped too late.
The resin sizzled as it hit the brew. The color darkened too quickly. The mixture curdled.
A sharp pop echoed through the chamber, and the batch frothed violently before bubbling over the cauldron's rim.
Zhang Wei clenched his jaw. "Too early. The Resin reacts with Redbell Root if it hasn't bonded with Golden Ash first."
Dr. Li grimaced. "I measured it perfectly…"
"It's not the amount," Grandmaster Wei Zhen said, panting slightly, "it's the timing."
"Again," Zhang Wei said. "We adjust the Resin. Add it only after the Golden Ash changes color."
They began again. The herbs were crushed. Powdered bone-marrow vine was measured with care. This time, the Golden Ash shimmered with a pale blue sheen before the Fireleaf Resin was added. The mixture boiled steadily.
Then too steadily.
Wei Zhen frowned. "The flame won't respond. It's too cold."
"Not enough Starlight Pepper," muttered Dr. Li.
"Or the root isn't aged," one of the assistants said.
Zhang Wei inspected the simmering contents and shook his head. "No, the order is wrong. Coldroot needs to be steeped before the pepper to activate the warming effect."
Again.
The failures wore on them. Each one etched deeper lines on their faces. They burned through stocks of rare herbs, adjusted temperatures, and tested ratios. The chamber grew hotter, and their movements slower. Still, they didn't stop.
Wei Zhen's hands trembled as he adjusted the flames once more. "I've been too rough. This fire, it needs to breathe."
Zhang Wei wiped sweat from his brow. "Control it like a pulse. Gentle. Consistent. Not forceful."
Dr. Li grunted, wiping his hands. "This isn't alchemy, it's surgery."
By now, their robes clung to their backs. The assistants had grown silent, focused only on their tasks.
Another failure. The brew hardened into stone.
Zhang Wei slammed the table. "Too much Ironroot Bark."
"You said more would stabilize it!" one of the herbalists barked.
"Clearly not this much," Zhang Wei snapped, then sighed. "No one's to blame. We're getting closer."
Grandmaster Wei Zhen nodded, voice hoarse. "I can feel it in the flame."
Dr. Li handed Zhang Wei the final sprig of Phoenix Bloom. "We've only one left."
The ninth cauldron cracked apart with a loud snap, sending everyone stumbling back.
"Again!" Zhang Wei said through gritted teeth, his voice sharp with urgency but not despair.
Dr. Li wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. "We followed your steps… everything. Every measurement was exact."
Zhang Wei nodded solemnly, eyes flashing with determination. "I know. But the fire wasn't right. The sequence was perfect, but the flame, it needs to be alive, not forced. It must move like breath, not like rage."
All eyes turned to Grandmaster Wei Zhen, his hands trembling slightly from exhaustion. He had been controlling the alchemical fire for hours now, balancing between too weak and too strong.
"This old man's hands haven't stopped shaking since sunrise," he muttered, lips dry. Then he glanced up at the herbs Zhang Wei had laid out again. "One more try."
Zhang Wei placed a steady hand on the grandmaster's shoulder. "This is the last batch of Ghostshade Essence we have. If we fail now, we'll need days to gather more." He looked around at every tired, strained face. "This time… we make it count."
The room grew still.
Dr. Li took his position, carefully laying out each herb. The Moon Dew Petals shimmered like morning frost. The Silver Lotus Seed was ground to dust, glowing faintly in the dim light. Steam curled from the cauldron as Wei Zhen lit the alchemical flame one more time.
The fire danced to life. But this time, it wasn't wild. It flowed, gentle at first, then growing steady and blue, under Wei Zhen's absolute focus.
His hands moved with slow grace, fingers weaving through air as if commanding the fire like a maestro. His robes clung to his soaked frame, his face pale but resolute. Sweat ran down his cheeks, but his eyes were unwavering.
Dr. Li added the Ashen Thorn Root at Zhang Wei's nod, then the Blistering Fern, carefully, then the Cloudfire Resin. One by one, the ingredients disappeared into the brew. The cauldron hissed, shimmered… and held.
Then came the Ghostshade Essence, the final and most delicate step.
Everyone held their breath.
Zhang Wei whispered, "Steady… now."
Wei Zhen narrowed his eyes, the flames swirling under his will as Dr. Li poured the essence in with precision. For a moment, the mixture turned black. A horrible smell filled the room. Someone coughed. A bead of fire sparked at the edge of the cauldron-
"Hold!" Zhang Wei cried.
Wei Zhen gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body straining as he twisted the flame, lowering its intensity, then suddenly raising it just enough.
And then-
A soft golden light began to glow from the cauldron.
The blackness faded. The liquid shimmered with a faint warmth, like sunrise through morning mist.
"It's…" Dr. Li whispered. "It's stable."
Zhang Wei stepped forward, peering into the cauldron. His hands shook, not from fear, but from relief. "We've done it."
Wei Zhen let out a shaky breath, his knees buckling slightly. "Don't just stand there," he said with a rasp of a laugh. "Bottle it. Now."
They poured the glowing mixture into a small jade vial. A tired but determined guard brought in a near-death lieutenant. The panacea was fed to him.
Minutes passed. The man coughed violently, then exhaled-deeply. His pulse steadied. The buboes under his skin began to shrink. Color returned to his cheeks.
The room erupted, not with cheers, but stunned, breathless silence.
"It works," whispered Dr. Li.
Grandmaster Wei Zhen nodded, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and relief. "We can mass-produce it now… The heavens have not forsaken our Lianhua kingdom after all."
Outside, spies from Hei'an crouched in hidden corners, their faces pale as they watched from the shadows.
"They've done it," one muttered. "We must get this to Hu Cheng. If they cure their people, the balance will tip again."
But soldiers paced every wall and gate, alert and armed. There was no way out yet. The spies shrank back into the dark, waiting, biding their time.