( Drugged )
Zhang Wei was carried back through the inn with a speed that did not match Zhang Lin's usual composed nature.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the lively murmur of guests dimmed—not because the inn had grown quiet, but because attention shifted. Heads turned. Conversations slowed. Curious eyes followed the drenched, unconscious boy in Zhang Lin's arms.
Their group did not stop.
"Clear the way," Zhang Lie's voice cut through, low but edged with authority.
The disciples moved ahead immediately, forming a loose barrier. Their once neat gray-blue robes now bore the marks of urgency—wrinkled hems, loosened belts, sleeves slightly rolled as if ready to act at any moment. Their expressions were sharp, alert, scanning every movement around them.
Some customers scoffed quietly.
Others leaned back in their chairs, watching with thin smiles and knowing eyes.
A few exchanged murmurs.
"…must be trouble…"
"…look at the boy…"
"…pretty thing like that—no wonder…"
The amusement was subtle.
Mocking.
And it did not go unnoticed.
Sang Sang stiffened, her hands curling within her sleeves, her peach robe trembling faintly with each step she took. Her eyes flicked toward those whispering, anger flashing—but she said nothing. Not now.
The girl in lavender walked closer to Elder Mi, her earlier composure gone entirely. Her fingers clutched the elder's sleeve like an anchor, her gaze fixed only on Zhang Wei.
"Upstairs," Elder Mi ordered.
His voice carried weight.
No one blocked their path after that.
—
Zhang Wei was laid gently onto the bed in his temporary room.
The space was small but clean, the silk bedding soft beneath him. Zhang Lin adjusted him carefully, one hand lingering at the side of his neck as if ensuring his breathing remained steady.
"Girls. Stay downstairs."
Zhang Lin's voice was calm—but it left no room for argument.
Sang Sang hesitated. Her lips parted, her eyes flickering toward Zhang Wei—but under Zhang Lin's gaze, she lowered her head.
"…Yes."
Reluctantly, both sisters withdrew, though not without casting repeated glances back, their worry lingering like a shadow.
Elder Mi remained.
As did Zhang Lie.
The door closed.
—
By the time the sisters returned with the physician, Zhang Lin and Zhang Lie had already finished.
The damp robe Zhang Wei had been wearing was gone.
Burned.
Not discarded—destroyed.
The faint scent of scorched fabric still lingered in the room, barely noticeable unless one paid attention. Zhang Lie stood near the window, arms crossed, his deep blue robe now properly adjusted but still bearing faint creases. His expression was dark, his brows drawn tightly together.
Zhang Lin stood beside the bed.
Zhang Wei had been changed into the same soft purple robe from the night before—light, delicate, almost weightless against his small frame. His damp hair had been loosely dried, now spread across the pillow like dark silk, though a few strands still clung to his pale cheeks.
He looked… untouched.
As if nothing had happened.
That alone made it worse.
—
The door opened again.
An old man stepped in, led by a disciple.
He was dressed simply—faded brown robes, worn at the edges, sleeves slightly frayed. His hair was thin and gray, tied loosely at the back, with stray strands falling around a deeply lined face. His beard was uneven, not from neglect but from age, and his eyes—though clouded slightly—were sharp.
He paused the moment he entered.
His gaze swept the room.
The tension.
The figures.
The silence.
"…Where?" he asked.
His voice was rough, aged—but steady.
Zhang Lin did not speak.
He simply stepped slightly aside and gestured toward the bed.
The old doctor followed his motion.
And then he saw him.
He stopped.
Just for a moment.
His brows lifted ever so slightly.
"…Oh?"
The reaction was quiet—but real.
He stepped closer, slower now, his experienced eyes taking in every detail.
The boy's features were… delicate beyond reason.
Smooth skin untouched by hardship. Fine bone structure. Long lashes resting gently against pale cheeks. Even in unconsciousness, there was a softness to him that seemed almost unreal.
The doctor exhaled faintly through his nose.
Did his mother drink fairy water while carrying him…?
The thought came unbidden.
He did not voice it.
Instead, he sat beside the bed.
"Move the light closer."
A disciple obeyed immediately, adjusting the small oil lamp.
The doctor reached out.
His fingers, though aged, were steady as he gently lifted Zhang Wei's wrist. He pressed two fingers against the pulse point, eyes lowering in concentration.
Silence filled the room.
Zhang Lie shifted slightly, impatience evident in the way his foot tapped once against the wooden floor—before he forced himself still.
Elder Mi stood with hands behind his back, but his gaze never left the doctor's movements.
Zhang Lin… did not move at all.
The doctor's fingers adjusted slightly.
Then he leaned closer, placing a hand lightly against Zhang Wei's forehead. His touch was careful, practiced—lingering just long enough to gauge temperature.
Next, he gently turned Zhang Wei's face to the side.
His fingers brushed lightly along the jaw… then paused near the neck.
A faint scent.
His brows furrowed.
"…Mm."
He leaned back slightly, then used two fingers to part Zhang Wei's lips just enough to check his breath.
A pause.
Another slow breath.
Then—
He released him.
The doctor straightened, exhaling quietly as he rubbed his fingers together, as if confirming something only he could sense.
"Well?" Zhang Lie asked, unable to hold back any longer.
The doctor glanced at him.
Then at the others.
"You're making this heavier than it is," he said plainly.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"He was drugged."
The words landed cleanly.
Sang Sang, who had quietly slipped back into the room at some point, sucked in a breath, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Drugged?" she repeated softly.
The doctor nodded.
"Nothing uncommon in places like this," he continued, his tone almost dismissive in its familiarity. "A mild sedative. Likely mixed into something he ate or drank."
Elder Mi's expression darkened.
"…Will it harm him?"
The doctor shook his head.
"No lasting harm." He gestured toward Zhang Wei. "His pulse is steady. Breathing normal. The body is simply… forced into rest."
He glanced once more at the boy's face, eyes narrowing slightly in quiet observation.
"With his constitution, he'll wake soon enough."
Zhang Lin's shoulders, though still straight, eased—just slightly.
"What about side effects?" Zhang Lie pressed.
The doctor gave a small snort.
"He'll feel weak. Maybe dizzy. Possibly confused when he wakes." A pause. "And hungry."
That last part earned the faintest shift in the room's tension.
"He'll be fine," the doctor concluded.
Silence followed.
But this time—
It was different.
Relief, though unspoken, settled slowly among them.
Yet beneath it—
Something else lingered.
Because now they knew.
Not lost.
Not wandered.
But taken.
And in a place like this…
That truth was far more dangerous.