Shutong’s words caused the dignified and serene Madam to slightly part her lips and cross her hands over her stomach, as she bowed deeply to Shutong.
"I thank you for your efforts, Master."
"Please, Master, this way."
Second Young Master also seed excited, sniffing deeply as he personally led the way.
The servants nearby, seeing both heads of the household so earnest, dared not neglect their duties either; they stepped aside to clear a wide path for Shutong and his company.
Passing through the main entrance, there was an old screen wall, its age evident. Judging by the fading carvings on it, this screen was a valuable item.
Once they rounded the screen wall, they ca upon a spacious courtyard with a hint of ancient architectural style, though not entirely authentic.
Shutong didn’t spare a second glance, leading Fu Yunhe, Dou Dou, and a drowsy Little Pink Pig through three courtyard doors until they finally arrived at a secluded courtyard.
"Master, this is my son’s courtyard. Will you join inside?"
Shutong turned his head toward Yun He and said, "Take care of good boy here. I’ll be right back."
"Okay."
After Yun He responded, a middle-aged man with the appearance of a butler ca forward, guiding Yun He and Dou Dou to a pavilion in the courtyard to be seated, where refreshnts and fruits were provided—a treatnt of high regard.
At that mont, Second Young Master and his wife ushered Shutong into a room, which was divided into two sections: the outer portion was a parlor, while the inner area was hidden behind a curtain.
"Cough, cough—cough, cough—"
From behind the curtain, a series of coughs resounded, weak even in their attempt, followed by a voice that was crisp with a slight chill.
"Dad, Mom, is that you?"
"Qingqing, it’s us."
Second Young Master’s normally coarse voice deliberately softened a touch, nodding at Shutong before lifting the curtain.
Behind the curtain was a world apart, the space within several tis larger than the parlor outside.
The space was vast, yet the furnishings were scarce—a bed, a desk, two chairs, and a couch.
A bamboo couch was placed in front of a window, overlooking a pond with blossoming lotuses, elegant and unsullied.
Yet, none of the beauty of the pond’s lotuses could compare to the figure on the couch.
Clad in a white robe draped over a slender fra, the skin appeared devoid of color, leaving only a pallid coldness.
This man seed like an ice lotus from a snowy mountain, blooming in the midst of chilling solitude.
Yet, this lotus flower was not long for this world.
Second Young Master stepped forward, supporting the man attempting to rise from his couch, feeling the bony thinness between his fingers, and forcibly blinked back his tears.
"Qing, this is the Ancient dicine Doctor your old man found. Shall we give it a try and see?"
The negotiable tone of the man and the hope in the eyes of the Madam who followed made him smile faintly and say, "Sure, as you wish."
In truth, the man felt within himself that his illness was beyond the help of dicine; his days were numbered.
But considering his parents, he was willing to cooperate. The thought of his parents enduring the loss of their child, gray hair mourning black, weighed heavily on his heart.
The cooperation of their son brought a bitter smile to the Madam at the door.
She was well aware that her son was rely complying for their sake, having long since abandoned hope.
Sotis, the Madam thought about letting go, to stop tornting Qingqing.
However, the thought of the final outco tore at her heart—she always clung to a ’what if’, hoping the next cure might just succeed.
If it worked out, and her giving up caused them to lose Qingqing, she couldn’t bear the consequences.
"Sit."
Nian Shutong sat in a chair, waiting for the man to take his seat.
The man called Qingqing pushed away Master Huo’s support himself and moved with faltering steps. Though weak, he still managed to walk over with a certain steadiness.
"Thank you, Great Master. My na is Lian Qing; I take my mother’s surna."
At this point, the man glanced at his parents, sharing with a hint of emotion, "My dad thinks his own surna doesn’t sound good, so he was determined to give a nice na."
From the man’s words, it wasn’t hard to know that he truly loved his parents.
"Very well, stretch out your hand."
Lian Qing obligingly rolled up his sleeve, revealing his emaciated arm, blue veins visible as if just wrapped in a layer of skin.
Nian Shutong showed no surprise; she had seen people without flesh, let alone re thinness.
She placed three fingers on Lian Qing’s pulse, feeling the weak and powerless beat.
Nian Shutong’s brows were furrowed, her expression unchanging. Master Huo and his wife, on the other hand, were incredibly tense.
Could it be possible?
Could it work?
They really didn’t have the energy to hear "I am powerless to help" again.
In the entire room, only Nian Shutong and Lian Qing were completely calm, one seriously taking a pulse, the other having completely given up.
Lian Qing didn’t think he had any hope of surviving.
Three years ago, Lian Qing was a prodigy. But starting from a certain day three years earlier, he beca weaker and weaker; his cultivation stopped progressing and even began to regress. Now he found it difficult to walk even a few steps.
Recovery tanks, treatnt tanks, various dicinal concoctions—he’d tried them all to no avail.
A year ago, his father, who was often away from ho, was in search of an Ancient dicine Doctor, clutching at that sliver of hope.
The only sound in the entire room was the whisper of the wind. Lian Qing’s parents were breathing softly, careful not to disturb Nian Shutong.
After a few minutes, Nian Shutong lifted her fingers from his pulse, resting her hand on the table.
"It’s treatable."
"Master, could you repeat that?"
"Master, what did you say?"
Master Huo and his wife took turns speaking, their fingers tensely clenched as they stared unwaveringly at Nian Shutong.
Even Lian Qing seed a bit incredulous, a spark of hope in his eyes, yet too afraid to harbor too much expectation.
The family of three watched Nian Shutong intently.
"I said, it’s treatable, it can be cured."
Nian Shutong deliberately emphasized "cured." She watched as Lian Qing’s parents instantly burst into tears, fumbling with their hands, wanting to wipe away tears but shaking so much they didn’t know where to put their hands.
As for Lian Qing, he simply smiled faintly, his eyes flickering with disbelief—disbelief that occupied a large part of his expression.
Master Huo, overwheld with emotion, wiped his nose with his sleeve, asking Nian Shutong with even greater respect, "Great Master, what illness does my son Qingqing have?"
Even Lian Qing was sowhat interested in Master Huo’s question; he also wanted to know the reason.
He had spent three years looking, and not one person could diagnose his condition. At most, they said they were powerless; even more often, they had no idea what the cause could be.
Nian Shutong looked at Master Huo and asked, "Lian Qing was once a genius, wasn’t he? And you gave him a lot of Crystal Stones, right?"
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