Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Little Princess of the Jiang Dynasty

Jiang Jiu paused beside a busy figure, stroking her chin in contemplation: Hiss~ Why does this figure look so familiar…

The old man in front of her suddenly stopped what he was doing, his face beaming with a smile as bright as a chrysanthemum as he turned to Jiang Jiu.

This… wasn’t this the very Imperial Physician Song who had examined her after she fell into the water, prescribed her medicinal herbs, and brewed those foul concoctions? That period had truly marked the beginning of Jiang Jiu’s misfortune: every day she was forced to drink medicine so bitter her lips went numb, and towards the end, the decoction became drier and drier, until the last two days it was more porridge than soup!

But with Jiang Ling and Jiang Che around, she couldn’t refuse. Every time she drank, it was agony. Well, well! She had finally caught this old fellow again. Every time she visited the Imperial Medical Institute, he was always out on a call—there weren’t that many concubines in the palace, so who was he tending to? She was well within her rights to suspect he was avoiding her on purpose!

“Your Highness, it’s been a long time!”

Jiang Jiu returned a polite smile. Her gaze shifted downward to a bowl of medicine she recognized instantly—thick like porridge, exuding a tempting aroma. Not bad at all.

Jiang Jiu patted Imperial Physician Song’s shoulder. “Keep up the good work!” She pointed to the bowl. “It seems you’ve brewed this batch even better than before.”

Imperial Physician Song set the bowl down and bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness, for your praise. This is my profession, after all!”

Jiang Jiu watched as the patient lying nearby wore an expression of utter despair. Quietly, she lit three metaphorical candles in her heart. Brother, I understand your suffering!

Huai Ze sat alone beside Shen Yue Ru, lost in thought. Jiang Jiu walked over, spoke with King Jiang and Queen Jiang about the situation outside the city, then sat beside Shen Yue Ru.

Huai Ze looked at Jiang Jiu, then bowed his head, staring at Shen Yue Ru’s bloodless face.

Neither spoke—a silence hung between them.

Candlelight cast a faint rosy glow on Jiang Jiu’s pale face, creating a sharp contrast with Shen Yue Ru.

“I’m sorry,” a deep voice murmured from beside her.

Jiang Jiu found it a bit ironic. Some mistakes, once made, cannot be undone or compensated for. What use is an apology?

“Sister Yue Ru should have flourished in a prosperous era, becoming a flower of wealth among mortals.”

Huai Ze opened his mouth but closed it again, his apology stuck in his throat, leaving him to taste the bitterness alone.

The night passed sleeplessly.

At dawn, Jiang Jiu led her people to continue gathering uninjured citizens, not daring to pause for a moment.

[Master, trouble! There are walking corpses both ahead and behind!]

Jiang Jiu’s heart skipped a beat—sooner or later, this confrontation was inevitable.

A little boy, seeing the walking corpses outside the window, shrank into a ball in fright and accidentally knocked against a wooden board. The sound carried outside, alerting the walking corpses.

Their senses of smell and hearing were far keener than ordinary people’s.

Jiang Jiu and her companions huddled beneath the narrow space under the stairs.

Outside, the noise grew. The walking corpses sensed the presence of living people in the house and searched every corner relentlessly.

A shoe appeared through a gap—that was Jiang Jiu’s perspective. A walking corpse was approaching their direction.

Suddenly, a commotion outside drew the corpses away. Jiang Jiu sighed in relief, quickly emerging from the stairway.

Peering through the window, she spotted a white cat—was it familiar? Chong Li!

It was Chong Li’s cat!

[Master, hurry! The walking corpses have been distracted!]

Jiang Jiu seized the chance and led her group back to the palace.

Along the way, she couldn't help but worry about the cat. Yet, upon returning, she saw the white cat lounging lazily atop the jade railings before the palace’s golden hall.

Jiang Jiu realized she had worried in vain. Chong Li was formidable, and a cat raised by him could not be ordinary.

[Master, look closely—how could that be a cat? That’s clearly a pure white tiger cub!]

Jiang Jiu squinted—indeed, it was a juvenile white tiger, and a rare breed at that.

After settling this group, Jiang Jiu and her companions took a brief rest, then ventured out again to search for survivors.

Half the city’s residents had now been relocated to the palace.

Following Little Wretch’s guidance, Jiang Jiu led her team to a dilapidated house. There seemed to be no trace of walking corpses nearby.

[Master, it’s strange—there are both normal human and walking corpse scents inside!]

Jiang Jiu sensed something unusual and instructed Jiang Ling and the others to stay outside, entering alone.

Jiang Ling protested, “I don’t agree! What if something happens to you alone?”

Jiang Jiu replied, “Objection overruled. I can fly, can you?”

Jiang Ling stammered, “I—I can help…”

Her confidence faltered.

Jiang Jiu quipped, “Help, or hinder?”

Jiang Ling fell silent.

Watching Jiang Jiu’s retreating figure, Jiang Ling became a statue of longing, nearly petrified.

The courtyard was desolate, the house tightly shut.

Jiang Jiu pushed hard, the door opened, revealing a walking corpse bound tightly to a pillar in the main hall. On the floor, a little boy in patched, ragged clothes kept watch over the creature.

Seeing Jiang Jiu, the boy bristled like a porcupine, standing guard before the walking corpse.

Sunlight streamed in, and Jiang Jiu finally recognized the child—it was the street urchin who had guided her at Drunken Fragrance Pavilion.

If he was that boy, then the walking corpse behind him must be… his mother…

But the walking corpse had fully transformed, sporting fangs and purple-black claws, yet still retained a semblance of humanity. Could this really be the power of motherly love?

The child seemed to recognize Jiang Jiu as well, lowering his guard. Clearly, he held a favorable impression of her.

Jiang Jiu gently asked, “Is this your mother?”

The boy nodded. He looked at his mother’s form, not bursting into tears; his eyes were filled with reliance.

His mother had always been his pillar—now, he had to learn to be an adult, to care for her, to become her support.

“Have you ever been bitten by someone like your mother?”

He shook his head. “Mother was bitten while saving me.”

Tears fell despite himself, and he wiped them away.

Mother had taught him that a man must stand tall and protect his country—he could bleed, but he must not cry!

He wouldn’t cry; his tears would make his mother sad.

“May I take a look at your mother?”

The boy hesitated but instinctively trusted Jiang Jiu.

With the child’s permission, Jiang Jiu approached his mother. She appeared no different from the other infected outside.

A pink handkerchief stood out against her dark linen clothes.

Jiang Jiu pulled a corner—there was a character, “Nine.” It was the handkerchief she had embroidered for Shen Yue Ru, her hands pricked and bloodied in the process. She remembered the stains, and had lamented its loss, never expecting the child to have found it and brought it home.

The boy mumbled an apology, but Jiang Jiu paid it no mind—a handkerchief could always be replaced. But Shen Yue Ru would never wake again…

Pushing aside her thoughts, Little Wretch’s voice suddenly sounded: [Master, Jiang Ling and the others are surrounded by walking corpses!]

Jiang Jiu pressed her forehead. She knew it—what was bound to happen would happen. You might escape it once, but not forever.