Chapter 95: Exposing the Ruse

Although reluctant, Qing’er knew from Yuanxi’s attitude that there was absolutely no escaping O Xinlai’s examination today. Since avoidance was impossible, she would face it head-on; evasion now would only reveal her guilt.

Qing’er placed her hand before O Xinlai, who naturally took her pulse. Yet, barely had he touched her wrist when he raised his eyebrows in surprise, casting a cryptic glance her way. Qing’er smiled politely at him.

Whether this girl before her truly possessed skill or merely pretended, Qing’er would not allow such a rustic to shatter the carefully maintained facade she had upheld for so long.

“Cai’er, how is she?” Madam Shan’s concern was immediate.

“Qing’er’s pulse is extremely faint. Were it not for my careful attention, I might not have detected it at all. Any ordinary physician examining her would likely conclude she’s near death,” O Xinlai explained. Indeed, Qing’er’s pulse was so weak it was almost imperceptible.

“Miss Cai’er, please do not worry or feel burdened. Qing’er’s constitution has always been delicate; it seems her life cannot be saved. But that’s all right—Qing’er has accepted this fate. You need not blame yourself,” Qing’er said, withdrawing her hand with satisfaction.

“Miss Cai’er, is there anything else? If not, I shall take my leave. I am unwell today and wish to rest early.” Qing’er’s tone was courteous, her expression carefully neutral, showing no hint of resentment toward O Xinlai.

“No further matters, Miss Cai’er. You may go,” O Xinlai gestured, dismissing her.

Though the Shan family of three did not fully understand O Xinlai’s intentions, they allowed him to handle Qing’er’s case independently.

Just as Qing’er turned to leave, O Xinlai reached out from a distance and lightly pressed her arm with a subtle yin-yang technique. Qing’er felt a numbness, her grip loosened, and with a soft thud, a small round potato slipped to the floor.

O Xinlai’s eyes gleamed knowingly upon seeing the potato.

Yuanxi and Madam Shan stared at the unexpected tuber, puzzled about its significance.

Yuanxi’s mind raced. This potato must be linked to the diagnosis Cai’er gave earlier; otherwise, how could Cai’er be so certain that something else was concealed within Qing’er?

The potato’s appearance disrupted Qing’er’s previously calm demeanor, betraying a flicker of panic. The trick of concealing the potato in her armpit while closing her pulse had been a fortunate discovery made by Qing’er once by chance. She had believed few, if any, knew of this secret.

“Though your health is frail, your appetite is good—carrying a potato around, hoping to roast it when hungry?” O Xinlai smiled warmly, as if to tease. Were it anyone else, Qing’er might have escaped detection.

But the place she came from differed greatly; such unusual methods were common enough there.

“You’ve caught me, Miss Cai’er,” Qing’er said, falling silent and not offering any excuse, casually picking up the potato. “Father, Mother, Sister, I shall take my leave.”

Since O Xinlai’s arrival, Qing’er had felt increasingly out of place with the Shan family, while Cai’er blended with ease. Now, Qing’er departed as Cai’er remained.

Once Qing’er left, Yuanxi instructed a servant to bring a potato and placed it before O Xinlai. “What’s so special about this potato? It’s a humble food, dug from the earth. Since Qing’er entered our household, she has lived in luxury—how could she favor such coarse fare, and carry it around unashamedly?”

O Xinlai chuckled, took the potato, and tucked it under his own armpit. “Lord Shan, you know a bit about pulse-taking, yes? If you want to understand, try it yourself.”

He extended his wrist to Yuanxi, who, upon feeling his pulse, was astonished. O Xinlai’s pulse matched the faintness he had described in Qing’er.

After removing the potato, Yuanxi felt again and understood the trick.

If Qing’er had no ailment, why the elaborate ruse with the potato?

“Father, is there truly something wrong with this potato?” Ziyao, who also knew some pulse-taking, pushed Yuanxi aside and tucked the potato under O Xinlai’s armpit, testing the pulse repeatedly with bright eyes, fascinated by the novelty.

Back in her room, Qing’er’s informant reported that Yuanxi had brought a potato to show O Xinlai. Two words flashed through Qing’er’s mind: “It’s over.”

If Cai’er had not known this trick and merely thought it was an ordinary potato, then retrieving it would imply suspicion. Qing’er seethed in frustration—why had her hand faltered, allowing the potato to fall? Otherwise, she could have continued the deception.

Yet Qing’er had not realized that her apparently healthy body was unlike Ziyao’s frail one; how could she have suddenly become so weak, her hand soft enough to lose grip of even a small potato?

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Meanwhile, outside the Shan residence, Li Yinxin was already aware that his schemes had been uncovered. Upon entering his carriage, he intended to return the meteorite to its box—but found it missing.

Panic surged through him. The small, black stone had been his source of easy wealth from the Shan family.

Li Yinxin wanted to return to search for it, but he knew that the stone was so ordinary in appearance it would draw no attention. If he made a scene searching, others might discover the stone’s secret, ruining his ruse.

Though uneasy, he dared not ask the Shan household for help retrieving it. Instead, he resolved to treat Shan Ziyao more earnestly next time. After all, her illness had dragged on for years; even with effort, he could not cure it, thus not breaking the pact with Black Crow.

He planned to visit the Shan residence under the pretense of sightseeing, confident they would not refuse the care he had long provided their young mistress.

With these thoughts, Li Yinxin calmed somewhat.

Yet since that day, he developed a strange affliction: anyone he treated only grew worse.

Initially, his treatments seemed effective; patients felt better briefly before their symptoms returned, worse than before.

He treated one patient three or four times without cure. Though he accepted payment twice, by the third visit he was too ashamed to charge, yet the patients’ conditions declined.

By the fourth time, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. This had never happened in his long career.

Worse still, that afternoon he received three patients—each from wealthy, influential families, able to afford his services.

The first patient’s worsening condition was soon mirrored in the next two.

Naturally, doubts arose about Li Yinxin’s skills. Furious, he denied fault, leading to heated disputes with patients and their families.

He finally declared he would refund fees if proven responsible.

Then, another renowned healer from the city was summoned. Miraculously, this healer cured all three without relapse, even after half an hour passed.

Faced with this, Li Yinxin had no choice but to return their fees.

Rumors spread quickly: the famed healer Li Yinxin was no longer trustworthy—no longer a true doctor, but a quack. Those brave or desperate enough to seek him out did so at their peril.

Hearing this, Li Yinxin nearly spat blood in frustration. How could he be reduced to a charlatan? It was only a fluke!

He retreated home to experiment on his servants. Strangely, while his treatments initially brought relief to patients, with his own servants the results were disastrous; one even vomited blood.

His reputation plummeted further.

Once respected healers held great status; to fall to a fraud was to become a pariah.

All former patients rejected him, seeking other healers for diagnosis. Fortunately, none had worsened suspiciously before.

Otherwise, they might have exposed the Li family scandal.

Seeing this, Li Yinxin panicked. Ever since losing the stone after treating the Shan family, his art had deserted him.

He suspected the loss of the stone was the cause. Despite knowing its terrible power, circumstances forced him to retrieve it.

But the Shan family had coldly dismissed him, declaring he was no longer welcome and that a superior doctor had cured their young mistress. He was barred from ever returning.

Shocked, Li Yinxin realized that while others might not know, he fully understood Shan Ziyao’s decade-long illness.

No treatment could cure it—only delay the pain. The Shan family would never joke about such a matter.

If even their servants spoke so, it meant a true expert had cured her illness.

Li Yinxin trembled with fear. He was no fool—any skilled doctor could detect a dragged-out ailment like Shan Ziyao’s.

His former prominence had silenced dissenters, but with her recovery, his tricks had been exposed.

Would Lord Shan spare him after learning the truth?

Indeed, as Li Yinxin stumbled home, he found his shop sealed and his title of “sacred healer” revoked.

That title had granted him near invincibility in the city; now, he was as a stray dog.

Misfortune piled on: without a shop, status, or home, three families including the Shans accused him of fraud, malpractice, and delaying treatment.

He might protest to others, but he dared not with Shan Ziyao.

In mere hours, Li Yinxin fell from exalted healer to public scorn, pelted with rotten vegetables and insults.

“Black Crow! Black Crow, where are you?” Li Yinxin shouted into the empty sky. “If you don’t appear, I’ll go to the Shan household and tell Lord Shan it was you who harmed their daughter!”

He was furious; without Black Crow’s guarantee, he would not have dared delay treatment for the Shan young mistress.

Black Crow had promised his secret would remain safe, allowing Li Yinxin to live without fear.

Yet now, the matter was public, and Black Crow was nowhere to be found.

In the medical world, good and evil factions existed. The righteous supreme doctor was named White Phoenix; the evil leader was Black Crow.

Ordinary doctors and sacred healers alike yielded before either, unwilling to challenge their authority.

Li Yinxin’s boldness had stemmed from Black Crow’s backing—assurances no harm would come, and if it did, protection to live worry-free.

“Name yourself,” demanded a figure clad entirely in black, face obscured save for two dark eyes peering from a cloth mask.

“What now? The Shan family has uncovered the truth; their young lady’s illness is cured. I have nowhere to hide in this city or the realm of Vermilion Bird. What should I do? What will you do?” Li Yinxin was angry that his peaceful days were shattered.

“The illness was truly cured,” Black Crow murmured, his dark eyes deepening with murderous intent.

“If not for you, I would never have done this. All these years, you gave me no medical knowledge, only coin. Today, you must help me fix this!” Li Yinxin was cornered like a wild dog—desperate enough to bite.

Though usually terrified of Black Crow, now he was ready to die alongside him.

“Rest assured, I never regret what I promise,” Black Crow said coolly, seemingly drawing silver notes from within his cloak. “Here are a hundred white crystal stones; with this, you can live comfortably for life.”

Li Yinxin’s eyes brightened. He could no longer heal; his lifetime earnings as a sacred healer never reached a hundred stones. This was a windfall indeed. “Black Crow is as direct as ever.”

Yet when Black Crow raised his head again, two black needles dripped with green liquid appeared in his hand. Li Yinxin failed to evade as they stabbed him.

With a swift whoosh, the needles vanished, seeming to dissolve into his body. Li Yinxin screamed as white smoke with a scorched flesh scent rose from the wounds. His flesh visibly eroded, revealing bone.

Rolling on the ground, death was inevitable. His body eventually turned to white bone; even his clothes melted clean away.

Among the pool of blood remained a single black feather, untouched by the decay.

The black-clad figure wrapped the feather in a handkerchief, sneering, “Just a black feather, yet you thought it belonged to Black Crow himself. So distant, so unattainable. If not you, then who else would I use?”

Removing the mask, the figure revealed a strikingly beautiful yet cold face, eyes dark but tinged with a crimson malice.

It was none other than Qing’er, known intimately to the Shan family.