Early the next morning.  

Huang Xiuyun returned with a basket of pigweed on her back. “Zhizhi, come see if there’s anything you need.”  

Bai Zhizhi came out of the house and rummaged through the bamboo basket. Finally, she found what she was looking for.  

“Yes, thank you, Second Sister-in-Law.”  

Huang Xiuyun patted her head. “We’re family—no need for thanks.”  

Liao Guizhi’s foot hadn’t fully healed yet, but the household had no medicinal herbs left. Bai Zhizhi had to ask Huang Xiuyun to gather some while she was out collecting pigweed.  

Clutching the herbs, Bai Zhizhi skipped away happily.  

Watching her retreating figure, Huang Xiuyun turned to Bai Junwu, who was busy with woodwork, and said worriedly, “Junwu, do you think our little sister is afraid to go up the mountain now? She hasn’t left the house these past two days.”  

Before, even when she wasn’t quite right in the head, their little sister had loved going outside, especially to the mountain.  

“If she doesn’t want to go out, she doesn’t have to. It’s not like we can’t afford to keep her at home,” Bai Junwu replied as he planed an uneven piece of wood. He was making a cabinet for his little sister.  

Huang Xiuyun shot him a glare. This man understands nothing.

Her gaze then shifted toward Song Jing’an’s room. “And that educated youth, Song Jing’an—he hasn’t come out since yesterday either.”  

Bai Junwu shook his head. Probably still not used to country life.  

Inside the house, Liao Guizhi watched with tender affection as Bai Zhizhi applied the herbs to her foot. To her, her daughter was perfect in every way.  

Bai Zhizhi carefully spread the herbs and wrapped them around the injury, then frowned slightly. “We should still have someone take a look at it.”  

Liao Guizhi: “It’s already much better.”  

Bai Zhizhi stared at her sternly, and Liao Guizhi finally relented under her gaze. “Alright, alright. Later, we’ll check if Uncle Lin is back. If he is, we’ll have him take a look.”  

Only then did Bai Zhizhi feel reassured. She was still just a half-baked amateur at best—her knowledge was mostly theoretical. It was better to have a real doctor examine it.  

“Alright, go wash your hands and eat.”  

Bai Zhizhi nodded and went to the yard to wash up. Seeing her second brother about to knock on Song Jing’an’s door, she immediately rushed over. “Second Brother, let me do it. I’ll call him.”  

After all, the unlucky guy was still the unlucky guy. It was better for the family to have as little contact with him as possible.  

When the knocking sounded, Song Jing’an was still not fully conscious. He could hear the noise but couldn’t wake up, his body feeling unbearably heavy.  

A chill ran through his heart. This feeling was all too familiar. In his past life, he had been in this same groggy state for seven or eight days. By the time he recovered, the entire Qinghe Brigade’s attitude toward him had changed.  

That was the first time he became Lin Bangguo’s foil—while he was bedridden with illness, people accused him of faking it to avoid work. Meanwhile, Lin Bangguo was praised for his diligence and capability.  

He had thought that by not staying in the educated youth dormitory this time, he could avoid this plot point. Yet here he was, just like in his past life. Was there really no escaping the fate of being the contrast?

For a moment, Song Jing’an felt lost and utterly helpless.  

No. It won’t be like that again. 

This time, he was staying with the Bai family. With the brigade leader as a witness, he wouldn’t be misunderstood like before.  

As the knocking outside gradually stopped, Song Jing’an felt immensely grateful that he had decisively chosen to stay with the Bais. Now, he just hoped someone in the family would notice something was wrong soon.  

With a creak, the door was pushed open.  

In Song Jing’an’s hopeful anticipation, the visitor spoke:  

“Unlucky guy!”  

Bai Zhizhi wasn’t particularly fond of Song Jing’an to begin with. After knocking for so long without a response, she grew annoyed and simply pushed the door open. To her irritation, she found Song Jing’an fast asleep. She rolled her eyes.  

If she still had her thorns, she would’ve poked him a few times.  

“Comrade Song, time to get up for breakfast.”  

One second, two seconds, three seconds.  

No reaction.  

Bai Zhizhi raised her voice. “Comrade Song!”  

Song Jing’an wanted to respond, but his body was too heavy—he couldn’t control it at all.  

“Comrade Song? Unlucky guy?” Sensing something amiss, Bai Zhizhi noticed his breathing seemed weak. She stepped forward to shake him awake.  

The moment her hand touched Song Jing’an, her expression changed abruptly. She bolted out of the room.  

“Mom!”  

“Oh dear, what’s wrong?” Liao Guizhi hurried over, alarmed. “Comrade Song? Comrade Song?”  

She touched Song Jing’an’s forehead. “He’s burning up! This won’t do. Zhizhi, go get your second brother.”

Bai Zhizhi nodded and ran out again to call Bai Junwu in.  

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Bai Junwu walked in, confused, still holding a bowl of rice in his hand.  

“Go see if Uncle Lin is back. If he is, ask him to come over.” Liao Guizhi spoke while wetting a towel and placing it on Song Jing’an’s forehead.  

If it were a family member with a fever, she could use the herbal remedies left by her late father-in-law. But she couldn’t use them on Song Jing’an—if anything went wrong, it would be trouble.  

Bai Junwu also saw Song Jing’an lying on the bed and immediately slurped down the porridge in his bowl before rushing out to fetch the doctor.  

Bai Zhizhi stared at Song Jing’an. The unlucky guy got sick just like in his past life. She felt a surge of eagerness to take his pulse and figure out exactly what was wrong with him.  

Cough! Cough!

Song Jing’an suddenly coughed twice, gradually regaining some strength. He managed to open his eyes weakly. “Auntie…”  

Seeing him slightly more conscious, Liao Guizhi sighed in relief. “You have a fever. Junwu has gone to fetch the doctor—he’ll be back soon.”  

Song Jing’an forced a weak smile. “Sorry to trouble you, Auntie.”  

“It’s no trouble.” Liao Guizhi replaced the damp towel on his forehead.  

Feeling her care, Song Jing’an felt dazed, as if he were experiencing a mother’s warmth for the first time in a long while.  

Suddenly, he felt a slight pressure on his wrist—Bai Zhizhi had taken his pulse.  

“Zhizhi!” Liao Guizhi couldn’t stop her in time and could only awkwardly explain to Song Jing’an, “Don’t mind her, Jing’an. Zhizhi’s grandfather was a doctor, and she used to watch him diagnose people, so she picked up a little.”  

Song Jing’an shook his head slightly to show he didn’t mind. His gaze softened as he looked at Bai Zhizhi. “Well, Doctor Bai, what’s my diagnosis?”  

The pulse feels strong when lightly pressed but weak when pressed deeper. 

A classic floating pulse—more specifically, a floating and tense pulse.

Bai Zhizhi looked at Song Jing’an and asked, “Are you sweating? Does your body ache? Do you feel cold? Nauseous?”  

Song Jing’an was taken aback. He had thought Bai Zhizhi was just playing around out of curiosity, but she sounded surprisingly professional.  

Even Liao Guizhi was momentarily stunned, seriously considering whether her daughter might have a future in medicine.  

“My body aches, but I’m not sweating. I feel cold and a little nauseous.” Song Jing’an answered truthfully, a faint flicker of hope rising in his heart. What if Bai Zhizhi actually knows what she’s doing? What if she can cure him?

Hearing his response, Bai Zhizhi fell into deep thought.  

“In Taiyang disease, the pulse is floating, with stiffness and pain in the head and neck, accompanied by aversion to cold. In Taiyang disease, if there is fever, sweating, aversion to wind, and a slow pulse, it is called ‘wind-strike.’ In Taiyang disease, whether fever has already developed or not, there must be aversion to cold, body aches, vomiting, and a tense pulse in both yin and yang positions—this is called ‘cold damage.'” (1)  

Every one of Song Jing’an’s symptoms perfectly matched Taiyang cold damage.

How to treat it?

Bai Zhizhi searched through the medical knowledge passed down to her. The inheritance she had received was a condensed essence of thousands of years of medical wisdom, all crammed into her mind. When she needed it, she had to retrieve it.  

Fortunately, Bai Zhizhi was a little hedgehog who had cultivated for hundreds of years—her mental strength was strong enough to handle such vast knowledge.  

Found it!

Her eyes suddenly lit up.  

“In Taiyang disease, with headache, fever, body aches, lower back pain, joint pain, aversion to wind, absence of sweating, and panting, Ephedra Decoction (Mahuang Tang) is the remedy.” (2)  

This was the original text from Treatise on Cold Damage regarding the Taiyang cold damage syndrome and its treatment with Ephedra Decoction.

“Ephedra (three liang, with nodes removed), Cinnamon Twigs (two liang, peeled), Licorice (one liang, roasted), Apricot Kernels (seventy pieces, peeled and tips removed). These four ingredients are boiled in nine sheng of water. First, boil the ephedra until reduced by two sheng, skimming off the foam. Then add the other herbs and boil until two and a half sheng remain. Strain the decoction and take eight ge while warm. Cover lightly to induce slight sweating. No need to drink porridge afterward. The rest of the regimen follows the same method as for Cinnamon Twig Decoction.” (3)  

After reviewing Song Jing’an’s symptoms and the corresponding prescription in her mind, Bai Zhizhi visibly brightened.  

Seeing her smile, Song Jing’an also grinned weakly. “Did Doctor Bai figure it out?”  

Bai Zhizhi shook her head. Her purely theoretical knowledge still needed verification.  

Song Jing’an wasn’t disappointed and even comforted her. “It’s alright. You’re already amazing.”  

At that moment, Bai Junwu returned, bringing someone with him—Uncle Lin, the only doctor in Qinghe Brigade.  

All three people in the room turned to look, their anxious hearts finally settling.  

But Bai Zhizhi was brimming with anticipation. This was her first interaction with a real doctor since receiving her medical inheritance—she was both nervous and excited.  

She wanted to know: Was her diagnosis correct?