Chapter Seventeen: Changzhi, How Do You Like My Little Weapon?

At that very moment, swift as lightning, Cheng Yuan grabbed another electric baton with her other hand. Before Xie Changzhi could even react, a sharp tingling sensation spread from his waist throughout his entire body.

“This…” Xie Changzhi’s pupils trembled, his stance wobbled, and he staggered backward two steps, only to fall backward onto Cheng Yuan’s bed!

The quilt was soft and plush, and his whole body sank into it.

When he finally realized where he had fallen, a faint blush colored his usually resolute face.

He hurriedly propped himself up on his elbows, only to be stunned by a strange weakness in his limbs, as if his bones had been softened. His arms and legs still tingled, utterly powerless.

“How is it, Changzhi? Does my little weapon still work well?” Cheng Yuan asked, smiling sweetly as she leaned over, holding the anti-assault baton in her right hand, her left hand resting on the bed.

Her smiling face loomed large in Xie Changzhi’s eyes. He could barely lift his chin, yet dared not look directly at her, turning his face aside.

“Very... very effective, truly effective,” he panted slightly, unconsciously licking his dry lips.

“That’s what I thought!” Cheng Yuan’s lips curved in delight. Then, noticing his flushed complexion, she tilted her head, reaching out to feel his forehead. “Are you burning up? Why is your face so red? Could you be catching a cold?”

But her hand was suddenly grasped tightly by another, warm and steady.

A wave of heat radiated against her skin.

Cheng Yuan narrowed her eyes.

Feeling the delicate skin beneath her palm, Xie Changzhi was startled and quickly withdrew his hand, his face reddening even more.

“Miss Cheng Yuan, I didn’t mean to—”

But Cheng Yuan snatched the electric baton away and firmly pressed her hand on his shoulder. “You definitely have a fever, your hand’s burning hot! Don’t move!”

“I’m not—”

Xie Changzhi tried to protest but dared not touch her again. He let her cover him with the thick quilt. A faint fragrance drifted to his nostrils, and he stiffened, afraid to move even a little.

“Take off your shoes. I’ll get you another quilt. Your room faces the morning sun, but in winter, there’s hardly any warmth. The quilt seems to be one my mother discarded a couple of years ago—no wonder you caught a chill.”

Cheng Yuan pressed the back of her hand to his forehead—it was scorching, alarming her.

She quickly fetched a brand-new cotton quilt from the wardrobe and covered him with it.

“Hmm, it’s a bit heavy and warm, Cheng Yuan…” Xie Changzhi moved his arm slightly, but the weight of the two quilts made it hard to lift. He cast a pleading look at her.

“Don’t move. Sweat it out. I’ll get you some medicine,” Cheng Yuan said sharply. She caught his hand as he tried to sneak it out from under the quilt, tucked it back, and smoothed the covers tightly.

Before leaving, she warned Xie Changzhi not to expose himself to the cold.

“Hey! We’ve cleaned everything! I even chopped the firewood!” Xie Yanzhi’s voice came from behind. Cheng Yuan gave a distracted reply and hurried away.

This was no longer the modern age where a cold was a minor ailment, one to be endured stubbornly. In ancient times, a chill could be fatal.

She had just found a dutiful and capable son-in-law and couldn’t afford to lose him so easily.

Xie Changzhi originally planned to stand once Cheng Yuan left, but the warmth of the quilt dulled his mind.

Just before slipping into sleep, he sighed in relief—sure enough, the fever and heat were caused by the chill.

“Uncle Huang! Uncle Huang!” Cheng Yuan stopped before a small courtyard, raising her voice to call the middle-aged man drying herbs under the sun.

After several calls, the man seemed to hear and turned, revealing a fair and kind face.

“Miss Yuan’er,” Huang Yunhe said as he quickly set down the herbs and hurried over to open the door.

“My hearing’s getting worse. Come in and tell me, what’s the matter?”

The courtyard was cluttered with all manner of herbs drying on racks, leaving little space to step. Cheng Yuan stood at the entrance and said, “Uncle Huang, do you have any medicine for chills and fever? Please prepare two doses for me.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get them for you,” he said eagerly. “You look well in spirit—did your mother catch a cold?”

“No, it’s my husband,” she shook her head, casually placing some silver coins on one of the racks.

Huang Yunhe paused, seeming about to say something but then held back.

“Yuan’er, you can read, right? I’ve written down the instructions and dosage. If it’s not better after finishing them, come back to see me.”

“Thank you, Uncle Huang.” Cheng Yuan nodded and turned, suddenly bumping into a cool chest mingled with the scent of herbs.

“Ah!” she exclaimed and instinctively took two steps back. The snow was slippery, and she nearly fell onto the precious herbs spread out beneath the sun. Panic filled her eyes.

“Careful, Sister Yuan, are you okay?” A strong pair of hands firmly caught her and pulled her back.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cheng Yuan exhaled in relief and looked up, meeting a pair of clear, smiling eyes.

The man before her bent slightly, his face remarkably gentle.

His smiling face framed by thick lashes, stray hair covering his forehead, his high ponytail lifted by the breeze.

His voice was like a bubbling mountain spring, clear and melodic.

This was Uncle Huang’s only son, Huang Xuqiu.

“You brat, where have you been fooling around? Coming back so late—aren’t you going to help?” a sharp voice called out.

Cheng Yuan snapped out of her daze, stepping aside quickly.

“I’ll be going then. You’re busy.”

The warmth in her embrace vanished, leaving only the lingering fragrance in the crisp air. He looked back at her retreating figure.

“Still staring? She’s just getting medicine for her husband—they’re newlyweds, after all!”

Huang Xuqiu lowered his head with a smile.

“Here I come.”

Outside the main hall, the Xie father and son sat side by side under the eaves, squinting in the sun, cracking sunflower seeds with a crisp sound.

Xie Yanzhi saw Cheng Yuan enter. His relaxed expression instantly turned alert, and he clenched the seeds tightly in his palm.

But Cheng Yuan didn’t spare him a glance.

She quietly opened the door, peered through the crack at the peacefully sleeping man on the bed, and then carried the medicine to the kitchen.

“Yuan’er?”

Inside, Cheng Zhi and Cheng Hu stood before a steaming pot. It seemed to be boiling sugar, and nearby sat a basket of bright red hawthorns.

The hawthorns had just been washed, pitted, and looked plump and juicy.

“Big sister!” Cheng Hu sat on a small stool by the stove, his cheeks flushed from the heat, eyes sparkling.

“Is this medicine?” Cheng Zhi came closer, immediately tense, holding her face in his hands, eyes scanning her. “Yuan’er, are you ill?”

“No, it’s Changzhi,” Cheng Yuan hurried to explain. “He caught a chill. I went to Uncle Huang to buy two doses of medicine for him to take.”

Cheng Zhi finally relaxed and fetched the medicine pot. “Leave it here. Mother will take care of it.”

Cheng Yuan nodded; as someone from the modern world, she really didn’t know how to prepare herbal decoctions.

Her gaze fell on the hawthorns, and she asked curiously, “Where did these hawthorns come from?”

Cheng Zhi’s expression immediately grew anxious again.